Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

Allison turned to face her. “Are you sure he’ll be all right?”

“Don’t worry, he’s stable and doing fine, aside from the pain. But that’s to be expected. We’ll call you if there’s any need to come back.” The blond woman studied Allison’s tired face. “Go on home, honey. You’ve got a long road ahead of you. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll end up in here, too.”

“Thanks for the good advice. For now I’ll take it. But tell him I was here, and that I’ll see him first thing in the morning.” Allison stepped through the doorway, then paused. “If his business partner, Mr. Miles, shows up, tell him to come back later, all right?”

“I’ll be off shift at ten, but I’ll pass on the message.”

“Thank you.” Allison walked back down the hall and out to the parking lot. Only as she stepped outside, and the cold, misting rain struck her face, did she realize how exhausted she was. She hoped the coffee she’d drunk in the cafeteria would keep her alert on the drive home.

Her Lexus was chilly inside. Before pulling away, she turned on the lights and wipers and dialed up the heat. The radio would help keep her awake. She reached for the button to turn it on, then changed her mind. What she needed was silence. She needed to calm her mind and think.

As she took the on-ramp to Highway 65, the night lights of Branson spread westward like a glittering carpet. Theaters, restaurants, malls, and other family attractions swarmed with the visitors who were the lifeblood of the town. Headlights streamed along the main artery that led through the entertainment district.

Branson was like no place Allison had ever known. Cradled by the Ozark Mountains, in an idyllic setting that made it a mecca for fishing and golf, the town had much to offer. But as a transplanted Californian, even after a year of living here, she still felt like an alien visitor—a visitor living in a house with another woman’s ghost.

Only her love for Burke had anchored her to this place and strengthened her resolve to make a home here. Now the world she’d built around that love was rocking on its axis. Holding it in place would be up to her.

Soon the powerful car had carried Allison beyond the bright lights. As she drove through the rainy darkness, the words of Kate’s letter echoed in her memory.

I’m a strong woman, and I’m going to fight this thing like a tigress . . .

Kate had lost her battle with cancer. She would not be here to see Brianna’s wedding, to snuggle her grandchildren, or to celebrate a golden anniversary with Burke. But what a fighter the woman must have been.

Now it was Allison’s turn to be a fighter—this time for Burke. But she’d never faced a challenge like this one. Did she have the courage to be a tigress—to pit her will against his when it was in his best interest? Did she have the wisdom and patience to get him, and their marriage, through this crisis?

What if she failed? What if she couldn’t measure up to the woman Kate had been?

The storm was clearing now. As she turned onto Peaceful Lane, she glimpsed patches of sky through the parting clouds. The house was dark, but the garage lights came on as she raised the door and drove inside. Seeing the empty spot where Burke had parked his Porsche, she felt a tightening in her chest. Resting her forehead against the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and let acceptance sink in. Nothing here, she told herself, would ever be the same again.

In the house, she turned on the kitchen light and checked the voicemail on the landline phone. There was a curt message from Brianna. She’d be arriving at the Branson Airport tomorrow at two fifteen. Allison didn’t look forward to picking up her stepdaughter. The conversation was bound to be awkward, if not downright hostile. But somebody had to be there to meet her flight and drive her to the hospital.

Brianna could be difficult. But the girl had already lost her mother, Allison reminded herself. She was bound to be upset. At the very least, she deserved kindness and understanding.

The fridge was stocked with leftovers from the ill-fated dinner party. And Brianna’s room was always kept in readiness, with clean sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom across the hall. As for the master bedroom . . .

With a sigh, Allison headed for the stairs. Those black silk sheets on the king-size bed would give Brianna one more reason to pass judgment on her stepmother. Now, while there was time to change them, the sheets would have to go.

By the time she’d stripped the bed and replaced the scandalous silk sheets with some pastel-flowered cottons, Allison’s long night and stressful day had caught up with her. This morning, just after reading Kate’s letter, she’d gotten the word from Cox Medical that Burke had signed the consent form and was on his way to the O.R. for spinal surgery to stabilize his broken vertebrae. Ten minutes later she’d been in the car, breaking speed limits to get back to the hospital, where she’d spent the rest of the day.

Tonight she was dead on her feet. All she wanted to do was fall across the bed and pass out. But then she remembered Kate’s letters. She had no memory of having put them back in the drawer.

Downstairs in Burke’s study, she saw the letters scattered on the desk, where she’d left them. They lay like a broken rainbow of spring colors—pinks, blues, greens, and yellows on the polished walnut surface, waiting for her to collect them and put them away.

Too tired to stand, she sank into Burke’s big leather chair. It was an old chair, so well used that the worn cushions had conformed to the shape of Burke’s body. She settled into its contours, seeking comfort but not finding it.

Kate had been sitting in this chair when she’d written to Burke about the discovery of her cancer. She’d been wearing his old flannel bathrobe—the one Allison had stuffed into a donation box after replacing it with a $350 cashmere robe from a high-end catalog. If Burke had missed the old robe, he’d never said a word.

The letter she’d read earlier lay open where she’d left it to answer the call from the hospital. Although she should’ve known better, Allison found herself rereading the first few lines, then the first page, then the second and third.

She could feel the tenderness in every line of Kate’s neatly rounded, schoolgirl script. She could feel the longing, the love, and the little intimacies of a shared twenty-year marriage. No wonder Burke still missed his first wife. And no wonder Brianna resented the younger woman who could never replace her mother.

Allison refolded the pages and slipped them back into their daffodil-colored envelope. What had possessed her to read that letter? Whatever she’d been looking for, she hadn’t found it. Those heartfelt lines had only shown her how poorly Burke’s second marriage compared to what he’d lost.

Gathering up the rest of the letters, she stuffed them back into the manila envelope. The temptation to read more of them was there—but no, the letters were private and personal, meant for no one’s eyes but Burke’s. Reading them would only deepen her own hurt. She should never have taken them out of the drawer.

Opening the file drawer all the way, she stuffed the large envelope into the very back. There, it was done, she told herself as she closed the drawer. She would never touch those letters again.

Rising, she wandered back into the kitchen and opened the fridge to look for something to drink. There was wine from the party, a couple of diet colas, some orange juice, and a quart of milk past its expiration date. Nothing looked good. But seeing the party leftovers reminded her of the need to call Burke’s friends and tell them about the accident.