Change of Life. Leigh Riker
couldn’t hold back her worst fear. “What if Earl is having an affair? Or visiting Web sites with nubile women on display?” Women younger, prettier, than Geneva now?
“Wilson’s first peccadillo nearly killed me,” Nora admitted, not helping at all, “and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “For a long while I regretted that it didn’t kill Wilson instead, even when I still loved him with all my heart.” Nora paled again. “Oh, my God. That doesn’t mean you should worry about Earl.” But something in her expression told Geneva that Nora felt exactly that about Geneva’s husband.
Geneva looked at her hands. “I was his trophy wife, you know. We’ve been married for fifteen years,” she said, her voice gathering strength now that she’d stopped crying. “When we said our vows, I was barely twenty-five. Now I’m forty, and no matter how little I eat or how long I spend on the treadmill every day, I’m still ten pounds heavier than when I met Earl—” She broke off, then began again, “I’ve done a thousand sit-ups, a million leg lifts, or I did until I quit my health club. But my face…oh, God.”
“Nonsense.” Nora adopted a perky expression. “Forty is the new thirty, even twenty-something. You’re a beautiful woman, Geneva. Stunning. Certainly you know that. I’m sure Earl does, too.” She gestured at the room, as Geneva had. “He must love you very much. This house, the car you drive, the exquisite pieces you display…” Nora trailed off, as if not wanting to tread too near the subject of Geneva’s missing vase again. Another reason she’d spent so much time crying today. “Those are material things, I know, but many men use them to express how much they care. It’s easier, you see, than admitting their feelings.”
“You think so?”
“Positive.” When her stiff-upper-lip approach seemed to work, Nora plowed on. “Maybe you and Earl could talk tonight.”
Geneva shook her head. “He called just before you rang the bell. He has a dinner meeting at seven. He won’t be home until late again.”
“Ah,” Nora said.
Geneva felt about to tear up all over again. “What if he doesn’t see me as a desirable woman anymore? Then what?” she demanded of Nora, who had no answer. Geneva didn’t notice. She swept the half dozen sketches of Nora’s designs off the marble table. “If he wants another woman, she’ll be the one who lives here! Not me.”
Nora looked horrified. “This house isn’t in your name?”
“We own it jointly,” Geneva said.
“Then at least you have a half interest, which is probably worth a great deal in Royal Palms, should the worst happen. It won’t, of course. You’re just feeling neglected, and insecure. It happens to all of us,” Nora assured her. “But there’s no sense giving in to a major depression. That’s not healthy, and good health is the first defense.” She rummaged in her handbag and came up with a card. “This is my doctor’s number. Mark Fingerhut. Call him. He can give you a lift in no time.”
Geneva examined the card. “An obstetrician?” Her mouth trembled. If only she could have given Earl children. He’d said he wanted only her, without anything else between them except her perfect body, but maybe a family would have provided a stronger bond. Given them something to hang on to other than Geneva’s beauty. It had been her lifelong curse. And it was all she had.
“He’s also a gynecologist,” Nora said. “But he can refer you to the right person if you’d like Botox injections, for example.” Nora composed her face into a serene expression. “They were the best thing I’ve ever done. I’d send you to the man I used, but he just retired.”
Geneva stared at her, then down at the card. Nora fished in her bag for another, handing it to Geneva with a flourish. “This might come in handy, too.”
Geneva read the name. “‘Heath Moran.’”
“I belong to this club where he works. He’s absolutely marvelous, and quite easy on the eyes,” she added. “Not that I think you need some fine-tuning, but if you’re really concerned about a fitness program, join the club and get a personal trainer. Heath is just the man.”
“I hadn’t thought about a trainer…”
But whatever worked, Geneva decided. She had to do something. Why would Earl remain interested in a woman who didn’t look her best, who had moped around all morning wondering how to fix their life together? Only a day or two ago she had been so excited about redoing her home. With a little pick-me-up she soon would be again.
Nora’s sketches were lovely, and she had tried to be of help about Earl, but she would have to wait while Geneva reconsidered her decision. She wasn’t in the mood to make one now.
“I don’t see what else you can do, Ma,” Savannah Pride said with a worried frown. Her mother was pacing the kitchen. “You’ll have to wait. The rest is up to Geneva Whitehouse.”
“I can’t believe how I messed things up. You should have heard me, Savannah, babbling on and on, putting my foot deeper in my mouth with every word. I said all the wrong things. Wait? I probably won’t ever hear from Geneva Whitehouse again. And I’m not a person who likes to sit on her hands.”
“Well, this time you’ll have to. You tried to help,” Savannah added. “There’s nothing more you can do.” In the condo she now shared with Johnny—wonder of wonders, he had finally committed to the relationship she had known was destined from the start—she poured Nora a glass of wine and then opened a sparkling water for herself. “I know how hard it can be to find the right words.”
She shot another look at the kitchen clock, wishing Johnny would get home. Earlier, Savannah had entertained her best friend, Kit, and her four-year-old son, Tyler, both of whom Savannah adored, but they’d gone home. She needed reinforcements before either she or Nora went into extreme breakdown mode. Better to concentrate on her mother’s problems than her own.
“I hope Geneva’s fears are groundless,” Nora said. “But you know how I feel about that man. I wouldn’t trust Earl Whitehouse as far as I can see him. Thank goodness I didn’t blurt out my experience with him.”
“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Savannah agreed.
Nora sipped at her wine. “And speaking of marriage,” she suddenly said, “what on earth are we going to do about your wedding?”
“Do?” Savannah repeated blankly. She didn’t care to have her relationship with Johnny mentioned in the same breath as Earl Whitehouse. She crossed her fingers behind her back as if to ward off trouble.
“I don’t see being able to hold the ceremony until the middle of next year.” Nora ticked off the months. “It’s almost October now, which means a due date in April if my math is correct.”
“April Fool’s Day,” Savannah murmured, which had amused her and Johnny. This baby was the best gift she could give him, and vice versa. But the notion terrified her out of her remaining wits. A mother? A wife? All in the same half year? Sure, this was what Savannah had wanted with all her heart, but her first delight and surprise at the happy turn of events were gone, and she was feeling the slightest bit queasy tonight, not only from morning sickness, which, ironically, seemed to last all day.
There were definitely adjustments to be made, and Savannah admired her mother all over again. Nora charged ahead without the least bit of hesitation, but Savannah was indeed a late bloomer who wasn’t sure of her capabilities in the new roles she had admittedly chosen. Whether or not she felt qualified to handle this newest phase of her life, she was in it now.
If one thing was certain, Savannah had learned when her parents had split, it was that life perpetually changed, often in astonishing ways. It was up to her to manage this change. But what if she couldn’t?
She couldn’t tell Johnny how she felt. She had eased him into the notion that it was all right—and perfectly safe—to love her, that she would never break his heart, and that