Lock, Stock, and Over a Barrel Read online

  Chapter 2

  Beverly already had a table when Daphne arrived at the busy restaurant, and after their preliminary greetings were over, Daphne explained about her aunt and her dad and why she was late.

  “I’m so sorry.” Beverly reached over and put her hand on Daphne’s. “I’ve heard you mention her before. Didn’t she help you get your job at The Times?”

  “Yes. Strangely enough, Aunt Dee knew someone there back then. I’m not even sure who it was or what the connection was . . . but she did put in a good word for me when I graduated college.”

  “And wasn’t she a writer too?”

  “Yes. But you know, I’ve never actually read a thing she’s written. I think she did some kind of technical writing. Like manuals or textbooks or something pretty dull. When I was a kid staying with her, she’d hole up in her study for several hours in the afternoon, pounding away on her old electric typewriter.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine writing a textbook on a typewriter?”

  “No way.”

  “She had a fear of computers and I suppose they were a little hard to use back then. But sometimes I’d sneak in and ask her if I could read what she was working on. But she’d just laugh and say something like, ‘Oh, it’s so doggone boring, darling, it would put you to sleep faster than a glass of warm milk on a cold winter’s night.’”

  They both laughed.

  “And then as if to make up for it, she’d find me some wonderful classic book to read. Aunt Dee’s the reason I learned to love reading. She started me out on Little House on the Prairie and Anne of Green Gables. Then she introduced me to Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters later. And she made me keep a journal while I was at her house. I learned to love writing because of her.”

  Beverly smiled. “It sounds like she was a wonderful influence on your life.”

  “She was. Everyone in her town loved her. I’m sure she will be missed a lot.” Daphne explained her plan to go back to help her father with the funeral plans. “I just hope Amelia doesn’t mind.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t mind,” Beverly declared a bit hotly. On a regular basis, Beverly told her that Amelia took unfair advantage of Daphne’s loyalty. “You work harder than any of her staff. And you never take sick days. You must have plenty of vacation time coming.”

  Daphne nodded. “I do.”

  “Then take them. And I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sure it’s because of Amelia that you never get promoted.” Beverly rolled her eyes. “But don’t get me going on that.”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  Ever since Beverly had quit working for the paper more than five years ago, back when she married their friend Robert and started freelancing from home, she had gotten quite comfortable at taking potshots at certain department heads, including Amelia. In an effort to preserve their friendship, Daphne had proclaimed discussions on the paper to be off-limits—it was a no-fly zone. And most of the time, Beverly respected it.

  “Okay, you’re right. Let’s change the subject.” Beverly’s tone turned cheerful. “I was going to tell you something . . . although in light of your bad news, I suddenly feel a little guilty. Maybe I should—”

  “What is it? Tell me,” Daphne demanded. “And really, it’s okay. Did you sell your book?”

  Beverly giggled. “No, no. I wish . . . I mean that would be really good news. But this is actually much better . . . in a different sort of way.” Her eyes twinkled.

  Daphne studied her. Something seemed different about her friend. “Is it . . . I mean are you . . . Beverly, are you expecting?”

  With an ear-to-ear grin, Beverly nodded eagerly. “It caught me by total surprise. You know how we’d been trying . . . and how my biological time clock was ticking. . . . But I’d gotten so caught up in the feature I was writing this spring. And it kept taking longer than I expected, it’s like I lost track of my own body. And last month I realized that I was late. I mean very, very late.”

  “And you didn’t even tell me then?” Daphne felt slightly hurt.

  “No way. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Robert.” Beverly took in a deep breath. “You remember when I lost the other baby after only two months and we were all so devastated? Well, I was determined to make it three months before I told anyone.” She beamed at Daphne. “And I did that last week. And the doctor says everything looks really good. I should go full term.”

  “I’m so happy for you. You’ve waited so long. You really deserve this. Both of you.” More tears filled Daphne’s eyes. But these were tears of joy . . . at least that’s what she told herself. The truth was, she didn’t know for sure. Her best friend was married and soon to have children . . . they would undoubtedly drift apart.

  “As you can imagine, Robert is over the moon,” Beverly said. “He’s already looking for houses, if you can imagine.”

  “Houses?”

  Beverly waved her hand. “Oh, you know Robert. He’s a country boy at heart. He’s certain we can’t raise normal, healthy children in the city.”

  “So you’re really going to move?” Daphne tried not to imagine what it would be like living in the city without her best friend nearby.

  “Oh, not right away. Unless Robert finds something too great to pass up.”

  “Well, it is a buyer’s market.”

  “That’s what Robert keeps telling me. He keeps saying things like we have to strike while the iron’s hot.” Now Beverly described some of the charming properties Robert had found, some that actually had white picket fences, explaining how Robert might start working from home part-time to help her with the baby. It sounded like they were about to become such a delightfully happy little family that it took all of Daphne’s self-control not to burst into uncontrollable full-blown sobbing.

  She nodded and smiled as she picked away at her flat-tasting chicken salad, trying to act supportive and interested in her best friend’s perfect life. How was it possible that in just one day, one’s entire life could turn upside down and sidewise while the rest of the world just kept chugging merrily along?

  Amelia had been surprisingly agreeable to Daphne’s sudden need for time off from work. “Take as long as you need,” she told Daphne. “No problem.”

  Daphne should’ve felt relieved as she buckled her seat belt on the plane the next day. Instead she felt dispensable. Of course, The Times could get by without her. They’d gotten by without her for over 150 years. They wouldn’t even notice she was gone now. Beverly was right—Amelia did take Daphne for granted.

  As she looked out the window, staring blankly at the clouds, Daphne decided that when she returned to New York, she would confront Amelia and insist on discussing a promotion. Beverly had been telling Daphne to do that for years now. It was high time Daphne grew a backbone and did it.

  She thought about Aunt Dee. Wasn’t that what she would tell Daphne? Grab life by the horns and live it fully? And truly, that was what Daphne had thought she was doing back in 2000 when she’d first come to New York. She had felt like she was reaching for the stars and dreaming big. But somewhere down the line, she’d given up . . . but why?

  The sun broke through the clouds with blindingly bright light, and Daphne quickly slid down the window covering, and leaning back she sighed. She knew exactly why . . . as well as when and where and how and who.

  She’d given up on her dreams after Ryan broke her heart.

  Although he was seven years her senior, Ryan Holloway had come to work at The Times a couple years after Daphne—shortly after she’d been promoted to writing engagement pieces and was just starting to feel more confident. Previous to The Times, Ryan had been the sports editor for a small newspaper out west, but he’d showed enough promise and potential to secure an impressive job as a sports writer for The Times. And to Daphne’s amazement, she was the girl who had caught his eye. Ryan didn’t know about
her ugly duckling past. He’d never seen the gawky, skinny, redheaded girl who never fit in—the girl with freckles and braces and eventually zits.

  Instead, he looked at her with hungry eyes. He was the first man—the only man besides her father—who told her she was beautiful. “Who can resist a long-legged beauty?” he’d say as he dropped a long-stemmed red rose on her desk. “Here’s one hot number for another,” he’d say as he unexpectedly delivered a cup of steaming mocha. It wasn’t long before they were dating—steadily. And right from the start, the relationship had been magical, wonderful, amazing.

  In some ways it had probably appeared similar to Shelby’s seemingly charmed life now. There had been many incredible moments when Daphne and Ryan, feeling young and in love and invincible, ran around the city with abandon. It had felt like she was starring in her own wonderful movie. A romantic love story that was so totally unlike her previous life—the life where she’d taken everything far too seriously and made all her choices much too carefully. But with Ryan by her side, she threw caution to the wind. She dove into romance, and the water was fine. Sometimes it all seemed too good to be real. Unfortunately it was.

  Everything came to a screeching halt when Daphne discovered Ryan was already married. They’d been dating for a year and the whole time she had absolutely no idea, not an inkling, that Ryan had a wife waiting for him back in Idaho. And not just a wife. Two small children as well.

  Because he traveled a lot for sports events, she had never questioned his absences. And when he returned to New York, he always seemed as thrilled to see her as she was to see him. Really, if not for that one unforgettable phone call, they could’ve gone on like that for ages.

  Ryan had left his cell phone on the table while they were having a late dinner one night. He’d been paying close attention to his phone because he was waiting to hear about a big assignment from his boss. So when the phone rang, thinking it was Rich at The Times, Daphne answered. In retrospect, she wondered why she hadn’t let it just go to voice mail . . . but perhaps she’d intuited something. Maybe somewhere deep inside she had known that something was amiss . . . too good to be true. But sitting in the plane, thirty-five thousand feet over the Midwest, Daphne still remembered the phone call like it was yesterday.

  “Who is this?” a female voice demanded. “I’m trying to reach Ryan Holloway and I know this is his number.”

  “I’m sorry,” Daphne said. “This is Ryan’s phone, but he’s in the restroom at the moment, so I answered for him. Is this Rich’s assistant?”

  “No, this is not Rich’s assistant. This is Ryan’s wife. Who is this?”

  “I—uh—I—uh . . .” Daphne felt like someone had just pushed a diabolical button causing the floor beneath her to vanish, like she was tumbling down into some deep, dark bottomless abyss. “Pardon me?” she said meekly, hoping she’d heard this angry-sounding woman incorrectly.

  “I said this is Ryan’s wife. Belinda Holloway. What I want to know is who are you? I know Ryan’s been seeing someone. And since it’s nighttime, I’ll bet that makes you that someone. Tell me, are you the other woman? The one who’s been stealing my husband’s affections? The home wrecker who doesn’t even care that Ryan has two young children? Tell me the truth!”

  Without saying another word, Daphne closed Ryan’s phone, set it back down on the table, and slowly stood. She gathered her bag and jacket and, on shaking legs, walked out of the restaurant, got on the subway, and went home.

  Ryan had called her again and again, but she didn’t answer her phone. And she didn’t go into work either. Not for three days. Then following a weekend intervention from Beverly and Greta and their other roommate at the time, Daphne returned to work the following Monday. Humbly going to Amelia, who was threatening to fire her, Daphne groveled and apologized, promising to do whatever it took to make it up to her, including bringing her coffee, taking the worst assignments—kissing her feet whenever she walked by. Daphne managed to keep her job. And, indeed, she had been making it up to Amelia ever since.

  Because he’d been out on assignment and Daphne had become quite adept at making herself nearly invisible—which wasn’t easy for a tall redhead—their paths didn’t cross for nearly two weeks. And naturally, by then he had put two and two together and concluded his wife had figured him out.

  “Our marriage was already over,” he told Daphne after he coerced her into meeting him at Central Park—he’d told her it was either there or the workplace, and Daphne couldn’t risk her job.

  “If it’s over, why are you still married?” she frostily demanded.

  “Because it was just a matter of time.”

  She was avoiding looking at him, worried he would soften her resolve to never speak to him again—after this meeting.

  “Honestly, I don’t love Belinda anymore. I planned on telling her it was over.”

  She turned and glared at him. “And your two children? Is it over for them too?”

  He groaned. “I know, I know . . . it’s not fair to them. But is it fair for me to remain in a loveless marriage?”

  “Was it fair to me for you to pretend you were single and hurt me like this?”

  “I know I’ve made a mess of everything. But I love you, Daphne. I really do.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” She stood. “You are married, Ryan. No matter how I feel about you, I refuse to be involved with a married man.”

  “But I’ll divorce her. I promise I will.”

  She took in an angry breath, controlling herself from pummeling his chest and screaming. “Do you really think that’s what I want? To think I’m the reason you left your wife and young children? Do you really think I can live with that? Do you?” She turned and walked away.

  Less than a month later, she learned that Ryan had taken a job with another newspaper on the other side of the country. As much as she appreciated that, she was so deeply wounded that it took years for her to get over him.

  Even now, replaying all this in her head, she wasn’t completely sure that she was. Because as much as she hated him for deceiving her, a small part of her still had feelings for him. And that just made her feel angry.

  At Beverly’s recommendation, Daphne had attended a group-therapy session for a year or so after the breakup. It was kind of like a twelve-step group for the “brokenhearted.” The sad little band of lonely hearts met in a church in Brooklyn, sharing their problems and praying for each other. And finally after nearly a year, Daphne felt she was ready to move on from the group. The best thing she’d learned from her brokenhearted friends was that she needed to forgive Ryan, as well as his angry wife.

  And equally important, she needed to forgive herself.

  So whenever thoughts of Ryan came up after that, sometimes not for weeks or even months at a time and sometimes right out of the blue, she’d promised herself she would pray for him and his children, who were probably teenagers by now. And that was just what she was doing as the flight attendant announced it was time to prepare for landing. And just like always, that did the trick. Somehow just praying for him and his kids seemed to make the pain and heartache go away and she was able to move forward again . . . one step at a time.

  Chapter 3

  Even though she had assured her dad that she could get a taxi to take her the twenty miles to Appleton, Daphne was very glad to see him waiting for her in baggage claim. She hugged him tightly then stepped back to give him a good, long look. He seemed to have aged a lot since she’d last seen him nearly two years ago.

  “You look as pretty as ever,” Dad said as he reached for her bag. She started to protest that he might strain himself but stopped, knowing that would hurt his feelings.

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re looking good too.” She looped a strap of her carry-on over her shoulder.

  He patted his flattened midsection. “The doctor made me lose some w
eight.”

  “Good for you.”

  “And my cholesterol has gone down some too.”

  “Even better.”

  “I thought maybe you’d want to stay at Dee’s house,” he said as they walked through the parking lot.

  “Not with you?”

  He shrugged. “Well sure, you can stay with me if you want, but the place is a mess.”

  “A mess?” That didn’t sound like her neatnik father.

  “Truth is, I’ve been going through some old stuff—you know, getting rid of junk.”

  “Junk?”

  “Oh, just the stuff that piles up over the years. Worthless things you wouldn’t want, Daphne. The Realtor suggested I thin things out.”

  “The Realtor?”

  Dad opened the trunk of his old blue sedan, set her bag inside, then closed it. He turned and gave her a sheepish smile. “I plan to move into a condo. At Green Trees.”

  “A condo?” She frowned. “Really?”

  They got in the car. “I’m not getting any younger, and that house needs a lot of upkeep. The roof will need replacing in a few years. The gutters always need cleaning out. The deck and fence are getting old. And the grass—did you know that grass needs cutting two times a week in the summer?”

  “You could get a landscaping service,” she suggested.

  “I’ll have landscaping service at Green Trees.”

  “So your mind’s made up?”

  “Yep. I’ve got an offer on a unit right now. I made it just last week . . . before Dee passed away. Karen, she’s my Realtor, is certain she can find a buyer for me. She plans to have an open house as soon as I get it cleared out a little. I’ve gotten a little distracted . . . you know, because of Dee’s death. But I plan to have the house listed by early June.”

  “Wow.” Daphne just nodded, taking all this in. “I had no idea.”

  “I know, honey, but it just seemed to make sense. As you know, I’ll retire this fall on my seventy-second birthday.” He chuckled. “Some people, the ones who want my job, say I should’ve retired a long time ago. I thought why not make a fresh start? And there are a lot of retired folks living at Green Trees. Although Karen lives there and she’s not even sixty. But she loves it too.”