Once Upon A Marriage. Tara Quinn Taylor
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in for coffee. Or simply observing.
“The worst part is, I know I’m being paranoid, but I just can’t stop myself...”
When he’d noticed her alone in the shop—her morning-to-midday-shift full-time employees gone and her late-afternoon shifter unusually late for some reason—he was unable to stop himself from getting out of his vehicle parked across the street and going in.
“It’s just, you know, I told you about my dad...”
That first month he’d been around, she’d made a derogatory comment about Liam’s father, implying that scaggy dads were something the three friends had in common, which had given him an opening to ask about something that made him curious—Marie’s father. Barbara’s ex-husband. When she’d sent over the paperwork required by Tanner Security Services, the woman indicated that she was divorced. She’d given him no idea why she was so mistrusting of Marie’s wealthy college friend, but he’d figured it had something to do with personal experience.
What Marie had told him only solidified that supposition.
Marie’s father had been unfaithful to Barbara. Marie had been seven the first time. Barbara had forgiven him twice. The third time, when Marie was twelve, she’d changed the locks and filed for divorce. According to Marie, the man had spent the next five years earning his way back into their hearts and home. He was devoted, dedicated and 100 percent faithful to them and their family. Barbara, who’d loved only him since they’d first met in high school, had finally taken him back. And during the summer after Marie’s freshman year of college, when Marie and Gabrielle were at Marie’s parents’ home for a visit, they’d caught her father cheating again.
Barbara, who’d nearly had a breakdown, had been in counseling ever since.
The backlit LED on the dashboard clock was too bright, garish in the darkness, shedding light where he’d rather not have it shed. Who cared if it was eleven-thirty? Sailor was known to party until dawn. Might as well be at the elite nightclub as anywhere else. Better there, really. Less hassle.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott, but I fell for a lot of the same lines my father gave my mother the first time I fell in love.” Marie’s words from that afternoon came back to him. His gut clenched again as it had then. The closest he came to expressing intense emotion.
She’d said she’d fallen in love. That there had already been a first time for her (completely expected considering the fact that she’d passed her thirtieth birthday) and he’d tensed up like a kid. For a split second there he’d been overcome.
With jealousy.
* * *
MARIE MEASURED VINEGAR, poured it into the carafe. Added water. Poured the mixture into the water dispenser of the first of twelve professional-grade silver coffeemakers, flipped the button to make coffee and moved on to maker number two. One by one she filled carafes with the vinegar mixture, poured it into the dispensers and hit Brew.
Then, with all the blinds drawn so that she wasn’t on display like a fish in a bowl, she stood there and watched twelve pots drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
After midnight on a Saturday wasn’t a good time to be calling anyone. So she was cleaning the water dispensers. It was a job that had to be done. At least once every three months.
Beat sitting upstairs alone in her apartment feeling sorry for herself.
She’d had a date. Of sorts. Dinner and the theater with Burton. A safe, completely boring man she’d met three years before during the intermission at Phantom of the Opera. Gabi had been going to go with her, but she’d had a custody emergency with a client. Unwilling to waste her ticket, or to miss one of her favorite shows of all time, she’d gone to the theater alone. Burton had been sitting a couple of rows back. He was a season ticket holder, as well. His companion had been his mother until she passed away.
Not wanting him to sit by himself, she’d invited him to join her.
Eventually they’d fallen into the habit of going to the theater together.
She was never going to fall in love with him. He was never going to expect her to marry him. The relationship suited her just fine.
Pot number one was full. Dumping it in the sink, Marie filled the carafe with clean water and dumped it back into the dispenser, hitting Brew again. And down the line she went. For all twelve coffeemakers.
And then another time.
Twelve-thirty. She had to be downstairs to open the shop at seven. Grace, the eighty-year-old spritely and self-sufficient resident who did most of her baking, would be there two hours before that. The stairs at the back of the shop beckoned. Or she could take the elevator next to them. Now that it was fixed, it required a code to travel upstairs from the coffee shop in order to prevent coffee shop patrons from having access to the private apartments on the remaining eight floors.
Her apartment did not beckon. After thirteen years of living with the same roommate, she found that adjusting to her best friend’s marriage was proving to be even more difficult than she’d expected.
Hence the paranoia. She was letting things get to her that had no basis in fact simply because for the past thirteen years she’d run all of her thoughts by Gabi at night. She was becoming a ninny. Like worrying that Liam was heading toward a path of infidelity. And that Gabi could end up as heartbroken and destroyed as her mother had been.
Well, not exactly the same. Her best friend, a lawyer, had a stronger backbone than her mother had ever had. Gabi had been taking care of herself for most of her life and could give thugs on the street a run for their money.
Liam didn’t stand a chance.
Nor did he need one. The two of them were besotted with each other. It didn’t take a believer in true love to see that. The reason Liam had never settled on one woman was that he’d been in love with Gabi all along. That was the fact that was as clear as day.
Still, Marie would rather clean than face her own thoughts alone upstairs in the apartment she and Gabrielle used to share. She was going crazy with loneliness.
What she needed to do was talk to someone. Another voice to drown out the reverberating of her own mind.
And there was one person who owed her an abrupt awakening in the middle of the night. He owed her as many of them as she needed for as long as he lived.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Marie? Baby? You okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Daddy. Are you alone?”
“Yes, of course I’m alone. You know the only woman I’ve ever spent the night with is your mother.”
“It’s only a little past midnight. You don’t necessarily have to be down for the night.” She was being petty. She knew it. Hated it. And took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And sorry for calling so late.”
“Don’t you ever apologize for calling me, baby. You know I’m here for you anytime you need me. Anytime.”
Hard part of it was that she did know that. Her father was a great dad. Had always been a great dad. Even when he’d been sleeping with his assistant while Marie and her mother thought him hard at work on whatever architectural plans his firm had been implementing. Or getting a little afternoon delight from a less reputable source before arriving right on time to coach Marie’s softball team to victory.
“I need to understand, Daddy. I need to know why. And how.”
“Sure. Of course. What are we talking about?”
“The women. All the women.”
Silence fell on the line. In all the years since her parents’ divorce, she’d never asked that particular question.
Because she’d been too afraid