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I finished changing into my pajamas so I could get into bed, but at the sound of Mom talking to someone, I went to the door and cracked it open to eavesdrop. That was another thing I wasn’t proud of. But Mom had a bad habit of talking too loud, and I’d learned a lot over the years because of it. Like the fact my father had cheated on her, and who he’d cheated with.
I practically choked on my mortification at the realization Rebecca Dominick was downstairs.
“Thanks for having me over so late,” Rebecca said, something in her voice pulling me closer.
I crept into the hall and silently moved to the top of the stairs, feeling like that fifteen-year-old kid again while learning Dad cheated. That time didn’t make any headlines, so Mom quietly forgave him, never knowing I knew about it.
“You barely kept it together at dinner, but you did. You’re a Barclay, all right,” Mom told her. “And of course I’m here for you. I told your mother I’d always watch over you if anything were to happen.”
You did? That was news to me. Great, Rebecca was basically Mom’s goddaughter. The guilt was about to hit atomic levels.
“So, what’s going on? Is it Carter?”
I plastered my back to the wall and closed my eyes, my pulse thundering up into my ears at the mention of his name.
“He resents me, but he won’t say it to my face. Hates me for forcing him to leave the Army.” Rebecca’s voice was softer that time. Sad. “The problem is, I don’t hate myself for it. He made the right choice to leave. And maybe I can’t push him to get on a presidential path one day like my parents wanted for us, but . . .”
I had no business hearing any of this, but I couldn’t make myself walk away.
“My parents begged me not to date him. They told me to only stay friends, and I didn’t listen. They said he’d never be a Barclay, and I was pretty sure that was his appeal back then. He was different. Nothing like the men my parents wanted me to date. But I do love him and don’t regret our marriage. You know that, right?” She was borderline slurring. How much did she drink?
I was probably supposed to be loyal to Rebecca since she was a family friend, but her husband saved my life. I didn’t know how to reconcile that. He’d also been so sweet and kind to me whenever we’d interacted. Another big that in my book.
“I know you love him, you don’t need to convince me of that.” Mom’s voice dropped a bit lower when she spoke, and I couldn’t help but edge closer to the top of the stairs despite my conscience telling me to head to my room. “But you are a Barclay. Maybe you’re the one your parents should’ve been pushing to go to the White House, not whoever you married.”
“No, no. I told you earlier, if you ever want a seat at the table, I’ll happily write you a check and endorse you for any position, but I’m not running for anything.”
Mom? The White House? Okay, maybe eavesdropping was paying off tonight, because she’d never told me this. Dad had ambitions, sure. But Mom? Maybe it made sense. All the parties she’d dragged me to over the years to schmooze and kiss ass with people I knew she didn’t actually like.
“I’m . . . I need to get something off my chest to someone before I lose it.” Rebecca was near tears from the sounds of it. “I have no one else I trust to talk to.”
“What is it?” Mom asked her, and if there was ever a time for me to walk away, it’d be now.
I was twenty-four, not fifteen. And this was definitely not my business. I started to turn, but then Rebecca rasped, “I cheated on him last week, and I can’t even look at him. The guilt the second he came home was too much. I’ve been drinking nonstop.”
Holy shit.
“I had dinner with Craig Paulsen—you know, the congressman from California. Although, he’s moving back to his home state of New York at the end of his term. And, well, he was searching for financing, and we wound up continuing the conversation in the back of his limo, and we drank too much. And he’s such a smooth talker. The kind of man my parents wished I’d married. He’s also Patrick Dempsey-handsome, and I just . . .”
Holy fucking shit. I clapped a hand over my mouth. That slimeball asshole. Carter had protected me from him years ago, and now the man had hit on his wife.
“We didn’t go all the way,” Rebecca blurted a moment later. “I stopped it before . . . that. But I’ve never cheated before. I’m not that person. And to make it worse, Carter doesn’t like Craig. He asked me not to write him any more checks and made me promise to exclude him from future parties, but I didn’t listen.”
Shit, he did?
“I love Carter so much. I’m just a mess. But I have to tell him, right?”
“No, don’t,” Mom rushed out.
What the hell? How could she, of all people, be suggesting that? She’d been the victim of cheating before. She knew the damage it created. The second-guessing. The guilt.
“If you don’t want to lose him, don’t tell him. Go confess to a priest if that’ll help you feel better, but don’t tell him.”
A priest? Are you for real, Mom? My hand fell to my side, my body trembling now. Paulsen. Ugh, that man is just . . .
“You’re unhappy, that’s all I know,” Mom went on when Rebecca didn’t speak. “You need to figure out why and do something about it.” And then, after one of her patented and perfected dramatic pauses, she added, “Unless being married to him is why you’re unhappy—because, then, maybe what you need is a divorce.”
7
