Abandon

Eight

Bernadette Peacham hated that her ex-husband had caught her eating a frozen lasagna for dinner. She hadn’t even bothered to put it onto a plate or make a salad. She’d simply stuffed the single serving into the microwave, peeled off the film cover and dug in, and there was Cal, as handsome as ever, standing in her kitchen doorway.

And it was her kitchen. Not his. Despite their divorce, she’d hung on to both her house here in Washington, just off stately Massachusetts Avenue, and her lake house in New Hampshire. Her first marriage had smartened her up about protecting her financial interests, if not about improving her taste in men.

“I just heard about Mackenzie,” Cal said. “An FBI agent stopped in my office. I came straight here. Have you talked to anyone?”

“The FBI just left.”

He looked truly upset. “Bernadette – thank God you weren’t at the lake this weekend. The police say the man who attacked Mackenzie might have camped on your property.”

She shoved the lasagna container into the trash. Cal had always been disdainful of her benevolence. “For the record, I didn’t let him.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?”

“No.”

Cal ran a finger across the round, white-painted table, a habit of his when he was stressed and trying not to show it. He’d taken off the ten pounds he’d put on in the last six months of their marriage, and he looked good. His hair was a little thin on top, and what he had left was all gray now, with no hints of the dark blond it used to be. Bernadette had met him three years ago, and it was as if she’d waited her entire life for him. Now, she could hardly stand the sight of him.

The feeling, she was quite sure, was mutual.

He was getting ready to move into the condominium he’d bought in an expensive complex on the Potomac. In the meantime, she’d agreed to let him stay in a guest suite at the house they’d once shared. He was a successful corporate attorney who needed nothing from her, but he would never see it that way. Cal, Bernadette knew, was a man who always wanted more, more, more.

It hadn’t always been like that, she recalled. When they’d first met, he had talked longingly of living out at the lake full-time. Fishing, kayaking, growing a garden. But their marriage had opened up new doors for him, and Bernadette had watched as his income, his stress level, his tolerance for risk, his love of action – the game – all skyrocketed. The lake had lost its appeal for him. For a brief time, he had viewed the lake house as quaint and charming. Now, he regarded her house and land on the lake a waste, when she could sell lots, make a fortune, tear down, rebuild. He had any number of plans for what she could do with the property that had been in her family for generations.

She simply hadn’t seen him changing until it was too late and their marriage was beyond repair.

“You and your three-legged puppies,” he said.

“I told you that I didn’t let him camp -”

“I was talking about Mackenzie.”

Bernadette gasped, taken aback. “I can’t believe you just said that. What a callous prick you’ve become, Cal. Mackenzie barely escaped with her life today. At least let her heal before you start demeaning her.”

“I’m not demeaning her. I’m just being truthful. Where would she be now without you?”

“I imagine she’d be doing exactly what she’s doing.”

“No, you don’t. You know what you did for her.”

“What did I do? I hired her father to build a shed and damn near got him killed. That’s what I did.”

Cal sniffed. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. He was careless, upset because of his wild daughter -”

“For God’s sake, Cal, Mackenzie was eleven. She wasn’t wild – she’d just wandered off. Later on, she got a little wild, but – please. Let’s not do this. I know you resent the help I’ve given to people along the way, but it’s just a part of who I am. I don’t think about it. I’m not looking for anything in return. So just let it go.”

“I’m not as good as you are.” His tone held no plea for understanding, no regret, only condescension. “Living in your shadow has never been easy.”

So much, Bernadette thought, for their mature, civilized divorce. It had gone the way of their mature, civilized marriage. She had finally come to realize that he believed she was lesser for her generosity. Weaker.

She leaned back against the counter, feeling the cool granite through the thin fabric of her skirt. “Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” she said, hearing the exhaustion in her voice. She was just so damn tired of sparring with him.

“I never asked you to be less than the good person you are,” Cal said. “I just got tired of being reminded every day that I don’t measure up – if not by you, then by your deeds, your friends, your colleagues. My own clients.”

Bernadette checked her impatience. They were divorced; she didn’t have to wear herself out trying to pump him up. “Let’s not rehash our problems. What do you want, Cal? Are you hoping to benefit in some way from what happened today in New Hampshire?”

“That’s not fair.”

She sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

“Are you happy as a federal judge?” Cal asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t think about happiness anymore. I’m not sure I even know what it is. A good meal? A pretty sunset? The fleeting moments when life is good? I don’t think happiness even matters in our lives. It’s not something I strive for.”

He looked away from her. “I’m a decent man, Bernadette. I’m not a perfect one. I hope you’ll remember that.”

“I never asked or wanted perfection, Cal.”

“Maybe not. I’m glad Mackenzie wasn’t hurt any worse today. I know how fond of her you are. I’m sorry I was insensitive. I didn’t mean to be. She’s done a lot with her life, more than anyone thought she would after what she had to face. She blames herself for her father, you know. It doesn’t matter how much time goes by. She blames herself.”

Bernadette nodded. “I know.”

“She’ll blame herself for not getting this guy today, too. At least she wasn’t hurt any worse.” He walked over to Bernadette and touched her hair. “You’re beat – you look as if you fended off a criminal with a knife yourself.” He pulled his hand away. “We had some good times together, Beanie Peacham.”

“We did, indeed.”

“Are you planning to date once I’m out of here? I know it’s none of my business, but if you’re not, you should. You’re still an attractive woman. You have a lot to offer a man.”

She smiled coolly. “And what does a man have to offer me? I like my life right now. Don’t patronize me by suggesting I need a man to be happy.”

“God forbid anyone suggest you need anything. Maybe if you’d needed me even a little bit -” He stopped without finishing his thought. “Never mind. They’ll catch whoever attacked Mackenzie. She’s indestructible. I’ll say that for her.”

He retreated down the hall, and a moment later, Bernadette heard his footfall on the stairs. She flopped down at the kitchen table, picturing Mackenzie fighting off an attacker – and twenty years ago, at age eleven, angry, guilt-ridden, neglected and frightened. Her father’s recovery had been long and painful and uncertain, consuming all of them. He still had terrible scars from his gruesome injuries.

And poor little Mackenzie had found him, mangled, near death, his blood splattered all over the shed.

If ever a child had needed a role model and a friend in those difficult days, it had been curly-haired Mackenzie Stewart, so ebullient by nature, so filled with humor and fun, but traumatized by her father’s accident. Bernadette had never considered herself up to the task of helping Mackenzie. She was a workaholic with one divorce behind her and zero interest in children.

She wasn’t nearly as good as Cal believed.

There was a knock on the side door. Everyone had been urging her to improve her security, both here and in New Hampshire, but she never had. She got up, her hip aching from fatigue and from years of sitting in a courtroom.

She saw Nate Winter standing on the steps. Her first thought was that he was looking more and more like Gus, his uncle, whom she knew would see to Mackenzie just as he’d seen to his orphaned nieces and nephew more than thirty years ago.

Nate would know that, too. He was one of the most respected federal agents in Washington and it was no secret he felt responsible for Mackenzie’s decision to go into the Marshals Service.

Bernadette opened the door. “Nate, it’s good to see you.”

He had on a dark suit and must have come straight from work. Life was good for him right now, with a new wife, a new home and a baby on the way. But Bernadette could see the tightness around his mouth, the only hint of any emotion.

He stepped into the kitchen. “We need to talk.”