After That Night. Ann Evans

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      And then she woke up one day to discover that Jack hadn’t settled at all. That he’d emptied their bank account, run up their credit cards and booked a flight to Tahiti.

      For two.

      Evidently his secretary had similar dreams of an adventurous life.

      The divorce had been painful, but mercifully quick. The boys had been spared the details of their father’s desertion. Jenna had sold the house, moved back in with her father and begun to rebuild her credit. Her family had closed ranks around her, and she’d been so devastated she’d gone right back to letting them take care of her.

      Her one moment of spiteful retaliation? Jack’s boat, left behind because it simply wasn’t grand enough, had mysteriously burned to a crisp. She wasn’t a saint, after all.

      Yet she couldn’t honestly say she missed Jack all that much. He’d been so emotionally distant for so long. The boys were finally getting used to the fact that he never called or wrote. Not even a card to them on their birthdays or at Christmas. Those were the only times Jenna thought she could really hate the man.

      Perspiration beaded her forehead from the dishwasher’s steamy heat. She swiped it away with one arm. The moonless night had turned the window over the sink into a mirror. She caught her reflection in it, and her submerged hands stilled.

      Who is that woman?

      It had been years since she’d really evaluated her looks. Now she gave herself the most thorough once-over she could remember. And what she saw made her throat go dry with panic.

      Because her mousy-brown hair lacked body, she’d always worn it short, a perky style she’d considered becoming to her long neck. But when had carefree become careless? And her eyes. It wasn’t just the unflattering overhead lighting in the kitchen. There were shadows under them that made her look downright unhealthy. In their dark depths there was no gleam, no energy. Only an unnervingly bleak, fenced-in look.

      It was the sight of her mouth that troubled her the most. It had always been her best feature, and truthfully, she was a little vain about it. A lovely bow shape, it curved upward at the corners, the lower lip lush and mobile. In their romantic early days, Jack had told her that it just begged for a man’s kiss.

      Of course, he’d probably told his secretary that, too.

      But it didn’t matter. What she saw now was nothing she wanted to lay claim to. Her lips seemed thin and down-curving, as though she were the type who constantly manufactured grievances. And tight, as though her teeth were clenched on despair. When had that happened? And how could she have missed it?

      She hardly noticed when the dishwater turned too cool to do much good. She kept looking at that stranger in the glass. She knew the divorce had left her pride in tatters, had left her feeling rudderless and finished, but she thought she’d finally come through all that. She was picking up the pieces, moving on with life, moving into life again.

      You sure about that, Jen? If that was so, then who was this stranger who stared back at her? And how long before the years took an even greater toll? Once the boys no longer needed her… Once life was filled with more disappointment than fulfillment…

      I’m not going to let that happen, she swore to the woman in the glass. I refuse. It’s not too late to change things.

      She set the rest of the pots to soak and dried her hands. The family was engrossed in some sitcom blaring on the television and hardly noticed as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

      She dialed Vic’s number before she could change her mind and was relieved when her friend picked up on the second ring.

      “What are you doing?” Jenna asked.

      “Packing, of course.” There were muffled sounds from the other end of the phone as Vic readjusted the receiver. “What will take hollandaise sauce out of a white cotton blouse?”

      “Try some club soda mixed with baking powder.”

      “I knew you’d know. So what’s the answer?”

      Jenna didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go.”

      Vic whooped with delight. “Terrific! I told Lauren that once you got home and really thought about it, you’d come up with a dozen reasons why you should go.”

      Jenna couldn’t resist smiling. “Actually I couldn’t come up with a dozen. Only six.”

      “And they are?”

      “Dad, Christopher, Trent, Petey and J.D.”

      “That’s only five reasons. What’s number six?”

      Jenna drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Me.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      “STOP LOOKING at me like that,” Jenna told Lauren for the third time.

      “I can’t help it,” her friend replied with a silly grin. “I’m still in shock.”

      They were alone in the small elevator of New York’s Belasco Hotel, headed up to the penthouse suite. The hotel was a pleasant surprise. Jenna had expected someone of Mark Bishop’s wealth and position to be drawn to a place more pretentious, more dazzling. Instead, the Belasco boasted Old World charm and discreet elegance—no doubt at horribly expensive rates—but enchanting nonetheless.

      Lauren, whose exposure to these kinds of places was much broader than Jenna’s, didn’t seem a bit impressed by their surroundings. Instead, her appreciative gaze roamed over Jenna again. “When did you find the time to do all this?”

      This was the transformation Jenna had attempted to make in her appearance before their plane had taken off that day at noon. She’d decided that if she couldn’t actually lay claim to being a serious journalist, she ought to at least look like one. Confident. Sophisticated. Savvy. Judging from Lauren’s reaction, her efforts had been worthwhile.

      “It’s amazing what you can accomplish once you decide to eliminate sleep from your life,” Jenna told her friend. “I raided the cosmetic counter at my all-night drugstore. I did my nails and gave myself a facial. Then I called Max early this morning and promised him a month’s salary as a tip if he’d do something with my hair.”

      “The change is incredible,” Lauren said.

      Self-consciously, Jenna touched the wispy ends of her new haircut. “You don’t think the blond highlights are too radical?”

      Lauren shook her head as though she still couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “I think they look fantastic.”

      “It’s not helping that you’re this shocked. How bad did I look before?”

      “Sorry. You just look so…”

      “Professional?”

      “I was going to say sexy.”

      Jenna frowned. “Oh, dear. That’s not the image I was going for.”

      “Maybe СКАЧАТЬ