A Reason to Stay (13 page)

The woman with the package of raisins in her hands grinned and focused her attention in their direction as if wanting to hear her answer as well.

Faith held up a finger. “Uh, could y'all excuse me a minute?”

Holding her breath, she darted through the crowded living room and made her way down the hall, toward their bedroom. She needed a couple of minutes alone to collect herself.

Geary caught up with her before she made it to the door. “Honey, you okay?”

She held up her hand. “I'm—uh, I'm just fine.” She hated hearing the edge in her voice. “I just need a few minutes. I'll be right back.”

He looked confused. “Uh—okay.”

Relieved for a brief respite, she shut the door and leaned against it. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to find a calming point.

Deep inside, she knew his family and friends were trying to be nice. Still, those were her cupboards—well, Geary's cupboards, but hers too now. She wanted to be the one to organize them. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cooked with raisins or walnuts—not that she cooked a bunch. She was more the takeout type.

Perhaps her inability to cope with the unexpected interruption could simply be attributed to being overly stressed after learning the station had staffed the news director position with someone new. Clark Ravino seemed to have singled her out by inviting her in on a series of stories he planned on Houston's most affluent neighborhood and its residents. But she still had a lot of work ahead to cement his favor.

Success in the cutthroat news business required acumen and savvy. There were no pause buttons, only reject knobs, and she'd have to play hard and fast to stay ahead. Ask Barbara Dover Nelson.

She glanced at the suitcases stacked over by the bed, wishing she could open and unpack. She couldn't. Not yet, not until this pounding thing was over.

The room was just as they'd left it, the bed made up with a downy duvet comforter. Geary's place was already tastefully decorated. Together they'd elected to leave everything the same, that is, except the bedroom. The one room they wanted to create together.

In the weeks before the wedding, they'd made a trip to the Woodlands Mall, ending up at Pottery Barn, one of her favorite stores. She wasn't much of a shopper, but the items in that store made her drool.

Upon the advice of the in-store decorating consultant, they went with off-white walls painted Heron Plume and a king-sized upholstered headboard. At first Geary had preferred a more nautical theme, but he'd easily given in to the beautiful duvet comforter in oyster with a muted paisley print in shades of beige and ice-blue, hoping to please his soon-to-be wife.

She smiled, remembering the way he looked over at her while they were putting the sheets on the bed for the first time.

All right. She could do this.

She went into her bathroom to freshen up a bit and reached for the cabinet door, where she knew Geary kept his aspirin. Strangely, the door was slightly ajar.

Scowling, she opened it. Inside, what looked like a brand-new tube of toothpaste lay on the bottom shelf. The lid was screwed on funny and was caked in fresh toothpaste. Not something Geary would normally do. He was far too neat.

She lifted the sticky tube from the shelf, noticing that the paste oozing from the lid was fresh.

By instinct, Faith unscrewed the cap and brought it to her nose. She wasn't sure what was inside—but it definitely wasn't toothpaste.

She tossed the tube on the counter, whirled around, and marched through the bedroom, out the door, and down the hallway lined with Geary's family pictures. The crowd had not thinned. If anything, the small living space was teeming with more people.

Including Stacy Brien, whose mouth drew into a slow smile when she saw the look on Faith's face.

Geary was next to the sofa, talking to his dad and Harry Olson, an elder at Lake Pine.

She weaved her way through several small pockets of people until she got close to her husband. “Uh, excuse me,” she said. “Geary, could I see you for a minute?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Sure. What's up, babe?”

“Alone?”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Faith explained the reason for her ire. “Someone has been in our bathroom.”

“Yeah, there's quite a crowd. I'm sure—”

She shook her head. “No, I'm not talking using our bathroom. I mean someone has been in our bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet.” She motioned for him to follow.

In the bathroom, she held up the toothpaste tube. “Smell this.”

He took it from her hand. “Smell it?”

“Yes, smell it. That is not toothpaste.”

He nodded slowly. And smiled.

“What's so funny?”

He hesitated. “Well, sometimes a pounding includes—uh, a few pranks.”

“Pranks? What kind of pranks?” She didn't know why he'd find that the least bit amusing. She didn't relish the idea of anyone helping themselves to her private things, especially to pull a prank. Then it dawned on her. “Bobby Lee?”

“That'd be my guess,” Geary admitted.

She grabbed the tube from his hand and slammed it into the trash. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Now, Faith. Calm down.”

“You're telling me to calm down? When Bobby Lee has been pawing through my bathroom? What, has he been in my drawers? Did he go through my nightgowns too?” she demanded.

Geary sifted his fingers through his dark hair. “No, it's not like that.”

She pointed back at the tube in the trash. “Please—please tell me what it's like then?”

He pulled his cell phone from his back jeans pocket. “Look, I'll call him. See what else he did.”

Immediately, she felt like a heel. Geary couldn't control what his wacky brother-in-law did. Obviously, he felt bad. Her fit sounded far too much like her mother. She wanted to take back her reaction, sand it down a bit, polish her words, and place them back in his hands. She couldn't, so instead she shrugged. “Look, I'm sorry. Obviously, I overreacted a bit.” Faith let herself smile then, ever so slightly. “Could be worse, I guess.”

Geary immediately pulled her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, Bobby Lee could've been your rescuer when you toppled off that boat.” He made the remark in that way he had, often finding the humor in a situation. “I love you. Now, come back out to the party. Everybody is asking where you are.”

She nestled into the warmth of his neck. “I love you too.”

Anyone looking at this relationship from the outside might wonder about her attraction to a man so clearly her opposite. In fact, in the early months of their dating, that very question had sometimes plagued her.

Finally, she'd discovered her answer after stumbling across footage of the infamous Bette Davis telling Barbara Walters in an interview, “I was always competent, earned my own way, and nobody would have thought I needed someone to watch over me. Sadly, I never did find that person.”

Luckily, Faith had.

Geary placed his hands on her shoulders. “You good?”

“Yes,” she assured her husband. “I'm good.”

She sent Geary back out to their guests, then turned to the mirror to freshen up, as had been her original intention.

Goodness, she was going to have to learn to lighten up a bit. Not only was she letting circumstances dictate her emotions, but this constant scowling was creating creases between her eyes, and the camera had a way of picking up and amplifying those things.

Before she rejoined the party, she needed to relieve herself of the large glass of tea she'd drunk earlier. She sat, marveling that she could still make out her father-in-law's voice through two closed doors.

Suddenly, the backs of her pant legs were wet—soaked, actually.

After letting out a yelp, she jumped up and turned. “What in the world—?” she murmured out loud.

Then she saw it—the plastic wrap taped under the toilet seat.

H
igh television ratings are not always achieved with stories about convicted murderers or candidates running for an elected office. In fact, more often, viewers are fascinated by celebrity and will sit glued to any program that highlights the personal side of the stars they see every day in their favorite sitcoms and on the big screen.

Clark Ravino looked at Faith from across his desk. “People would be surprised to know how many extremely wealthy people, including celebrities, live here in Houston, and in particular the River Oaks area.” He leaned back in his black leather chair, tapping his pencil to his cheek. “I want to tap into this. But I think it's a good idea if we backdoor this one.”

DeeAnne Roberts, who wanted desperately to make it to the anchor desk, opened her notebook and took a pen from behind her ear. “What do you mean?”

After the big introduction meeting and her private chat with Clark, Faith believed she'd been singled out for a plum assignment. In the short weeks that followed, she'd realized their new producer had pulled a classic management tool, pooling his best talent and setting them out on the same task—which created a competition of sorts. A competition she intended to win.

She rubbed her lips with the pads of her fingers, thinking for a few seconds before she popped forward in her chair. “You don't want the story about
who
or
where
, but about the
how
?”

He pointed his finger at her. “Exactly! But I don't want this one written on the nose.”

She pulled in a deep breath, satisfied she'd pinpointed what he was looking for so quickly. Even better, he'd noticed.

“Let's give our viewers a taste of what it's like to be that wealthy. We'll showcase the schools and parks, the grand homes. Give our viewers an inside peek into how the rich and influential in this city really live. Not what publicists want portrayed, but what it's actually like to live that opulent lifestyle.”

Faith thought about the oil barons, the real estate moguls, even the minister who had made millions in book sales. She needed a special angle, that special exclusive piece of information that Barbara Walters calls the “get.”

She glanced at the uneasy expressions on the faces of her co-workers, the assignment no doubt catching them all off guard.

Living with a volatile mother had taught her to think fast on her feet. While pulling together a killer exposé on the wealthy might not exactly be a piece of cake, the idea didn't leave her anxious. Just the opposite.

A challenge of this nature magnified the very reasons she'd gone into the news business. Her keen perception of people and situations, combined with her drive and a decent amount of luck, could become the very catalyst for boosting her career into orbit.

She said as much to Geary as she plated the salads she'd picked up at Trader Joe's on her way home. “No doubt this report is going to take some real work on my part, but Clark and I think a lot alike, and I'll have a real opportunity to show him what I'm capable of.” She moved to the table and set the plates down on the pretty new placemats she'd received as a shower gift. “I need to prove myself. The earlier the better.”

Geary looked at the plate with a puzzled expression.

She slid into her chair, unfolded her linen napkin, and laid it in her lap. “What's wrong?”

“Well . . .” He lifted his brows. “Uh—is this all?”

She reached for the pepper mill, another gift. “What do you mean?”

“Are we having any meat?”

She laughed off his comment. “There's plenty of protein in the feta and chickpeas, which also provide a healthy dose of potassium, vitamin B6, and iron.” She wasn't exactly a health food nut, but she needed to stay trim for the camera.

Her husband nodded a little reluctantly and grabbed his fork.

“Anyway, like I was saying, I'm pretty sure anyone else contributing to this package would bring nothing more than tabloid gossip to the table. On the other hand, I plan to find that hidden nugget of information that matters. News means nothing unless told from the perspective of why it matters to the viewers.”

Geary nodded and speared a chickpea. “What do you call these?”

“Chickpeas—legumes sometimes also called garbanzo beans.”

His face grew more puzzled. “And the white stuff?”

“Oh, for goodness' sake. That's feta cheese.” She scooted her chair back and stood. “Look, your mom left another of her casseroles in the fridge last night. I think it has some meat in it.”

His expression brightened. “Yeah, that'd be great. I mean, I'll eat this too, of course.”

Not about to let his annoying eating habits pirate her enthusiasm, she kept talking while rifling through the packed refrigerator for her mother-in-law's Tupperware container. “I can do some preliminary research in the evenings this week. I'm probably going to have to work through the weekend. Maybe spend some time in town.” That was a term she'd picked up since moving to Geary's condo on Lake Conroe. “Maybe Oliver Hildebrand would
be willing to make some introductions or get me invited to a social event where I could scope out things from the inside.”

“You're going to miss church?”

She set the casserole on the counter and kicked the refrigerator door closed with her foot a little harder than she'd intended. “Well, yes, that's very possible. This story is really important.”

“Oh, yeah—I know. It's just that the children's department is putting on some show for the congregation about Joseph and his brothers, and the twins are some kind of animals. I think Dilly was counting on us being there.”

“Well, we'll see,” she said, not wanting to commit.

Geary brought the subject up again as they were getting ready for bed. “Hey, you think you could show me how to use that fancy camera of yours?”

His eyes followed her fingers as she unbuttoned her top. She turned her back to undo her bra, still a bit shy about undressing in front of him. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

“I'd like to get some shots of Gabby and Gunner on Sunday.”

Feeling like a heel for not giving in to going to church, she drew her nightgown over her head and tied the sash. She turned back to the bed as he opened the duvet cover and climbed in, his eyes extending a silent invitation to join him.

“Hey, you're not supposed to sleep on those,” she told him, chastising his disregard for the pillows she'd carefully selected to match their duvet.

“On what?”

“The Euro squares, and all those shams. They're for decoration.” She moved to the beautiful wooden trunk at the end of the bed and opened the lid. She pulled out pillows covered in white cases. “These are what we sleep on.” She walked to his side of the bed and handed one to him.

“Oh,” he said in a teasing tone. “What was I thinking?”

His eyes lingered on the sheer fabric of her nightgown for a
moment, then he reached out and pulled her down. His cocky smile lasted only briefly before his mouth met hers, playfully at first, then he kissed her deeper, his longing apparent.

She loved the solid feel of his arms around her, couldn't help her heart from speeding as he flipped her and they sank against the downy duvet.

“I love you,” he said in a throaty voice.

“I love you too.” She closed her eyes and gave in to the feel of his lips against her neck, her bare shoulders. His fingers slipped beneath the straps of her gown and slid the silky fabric down.

In his arms she felt safe and loved—cherished.

He kissed her again, and she responded in kind, giving herself to Geary with surprising abandon.

In the minutes that followed, their bodies and souls became one.

Afterward, in the darkness, she rested in bed, still so as not to disturb her slumbering husband. Outside the window, a sliver of moon reflected over the lake, causing the water to shine.

Tears sprang unexpectedly.

For years, she'd wondered if she'd be lucky enough to find a man worth loving, someone who would share a life far different from what she'd seen growing up.

She'd once asked her mother if she loved her father. “Well, of course I love your father. He's my husband,” had been her reply.

How many times had she watched her mother at the table, chain-smoking and waiting for her father to walk through the door?

When he did, smelling of cheap cigars and drugstore perfume, Faith knew what would follow—a war mounted of words and accusations that would eventually topple their family. No one could launch more deadly missiles than her mother. They viciously loved—and along with their marriage, both parents had imploded.

She had vowed to never let any man ruin her.

In Geary Marin, she'd found someone who would safely hold
her heart. Despite their differences, and she was learning there were many, she still knew she could trust him never to stomp on what really mattered.

With the back of her hand, she brushed away the moisture from her cheeks, evidence of her deepest fears. Looking through the window out over the water, she silently whispered a simple prayer. Perhaps her first.

Please, Lord, don't ever let
what we have slip away.