Navy Brat - Page 29/34

"I would do the same thing all over again," she whispered, and her voice caught slightly. Caught on the pain. Caught on the regret.

"Are you still carrying on about Brand?" Aimee demanded unsympathetically.

Erin nodded.

"Trust me, all of womankind is better off without men. They use and abuse, in that order," Aimee said, and snickered softly. "I’m beginning to sound a bit jaded, aren’t I? Sorry about that. You’ve been in the dumps all week, and I haven’t been much help."

"Don’t worry about it. You’re having problems of your own."

"Not so much anymore. Steve and I have come to terms. The final papers are being drawn up, and the whole messy affair is going to be over. At last. I didn’t think this was ever going to end."

"Are you doing anything after work?" Going home to an empty, dark house, even with a grand piano to greet her, had long since lost its appeal. Before she’d written the final letter to Brand, she’d hurried home, praying there’d be a letter waiting there for her. But there wouldn’t be any more letters. At least not from Brand. Once she realized that, she’d suddenly started looking for excuses not to go home after work.

"What do you have in mind?" Aimee asked.

"James Bradshaw, the famous divorce attorney, is giving a workshop on prenuptial agreements. I recommended it to the women in my class. I thought you might like to join us."

"Hey, sorry, I can’t do anything tonight," Aimee answered in a preoccupied voice. She shuffled a couple of files before she continued. "Prenuptial agreement? Good grief, Erin, you’re not even married and you’re planning for a divorce."

"Not me," Erin replied. "It’s for the women in my class. After seeing what’s happened to Marilyn and women like her, and now you, I think it’s smart to have everything down in black and white."

Aimee busied herself at her desk. "Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea to start out a marriage by planning for a divorce."

Erin stared at her friend, not knowing what to think. Aimee was at the tail end of a divorce that had cut her to the quick. If anyone understood the advisability of prenuptial agreements, Erin thought, it should be her friend.

"Listen – " Aimee rolled back her chair and sighed. "Forget I said that. I’m the last person in the world who should be giving romantic advice. My marriage is in shambles and… I feel like one of the walking wounded myself. Maybe the lecture isn’t such a bad idea after all."

"Go on," Erin urged. "I’d be interested in hearing your opinion."

Aimee didn’t look as if she trusted her own thoughts. "As I said, I don’t think it’s a good idea to start off a marriage by planning for divorce. I know that’s an unpopular point of view, especially in this day and age, but it just doesn’t feel right to me."

"How can you say that?" Erin cried. "You’re going through a divorce yourself. Good grief, you’ve been through hell the last few months, and now all of a sudden you’re making marriage sound like this glorious, wonderful state of being. As I recall, you and Steve can’t carry on a civil conversation. What’s changed?"

"A lot," Aimee announced solemnly. "And you, my friend, have the opportunity to gain from my experience."

Feeling uncomfortable, Erin looked away.

"We’re both here day in and day out, working with women who are making new lives for themselves," Aimee continued. "But finding them a decent job is only the beginning. They’ve been traumatized, abandoned and left to deal with life on their own. If you want the truth, I’m beginning to believe our thinking’s becoming jaded. Not everyone ends up divorced. Not everyone will have to go through what these women have. It’s just that we deal with it each and every day until our own perception of married life has been warped."

"But you and Steve – "

"I know," Aimee argued. "Trust me, I know. I pray every day I’m doing the right thing by divorcing Steve."

Erin was praying the same thing herself for the both of them. "But if you’re having second thoughts, shouldn’t you be doing something?"

"Like what?" Aimee suggested, her voice flippant. "Steve’s already involved with another woman."

"You don’t know that."

"Deep down I do. You saw him the day we went to court. He wore that stupid green tie just to irritate me, and the looks he gave me… I can’t begin to describe to you the way he glanced at me, as if… as if he couldn’t believe he’d ever been married to me in the first place. He couldn’t wait for the divorce to be final."

"But I thought this was a friendly divorce."

Aimee’s gaze fell to her hands. "There’s no such thing as a friendly divorce. It’s too damn painful for everyone involved."

"Oh, Aimee, I feel so bad for you and Steve."

"Why should you?" she asked, the sarcastic edge back in her voice. "We’re both getting exactly what we want."

Erin knew nothing more that she could say. She didn’t have any excuse to linger around the office. The lecture wasn’t until seven, and it was optional as far as her class was concerned. She didn’t have to be there herself, but she thought it would help kill time, which was something that was weighing heavily on her these days.

Erin’s thoughts were heavy as she walked outside the double glass doors of the fifteen-story office complex. The wind had picked up and was biting-cold. She hunched her shoulders and tucked her hands inside her coat pockets as she headed for the parking lot on Yesler.

With her head down, it was little wonder she didn’t notice the tall, dark figure standing next to her car. It wasn’t until she was directly in front of him that she realized someone was blocking her path.

When she looked up, her heart, in a frenzy, flew into her throat.

Brand stood there, his eyes as cold and biting as the north wind.

"Brand," she whispered, hardly able to speak, "what are you doing here?"

"You didn’t want me to write you or contact you by phone. But you didn’t say anything about not seeing you in person. If you want to break everything off, fine, I can accept that. Only you’re going to have to do it to my face."

Chapter Thirteen

"You couldn’t let it go, could you?" Erin cried, battling with an anger that threatened to consume her. Tears blurred Brand’s image before her, and for a second she couldn’t make out his features. When she did, her heart ached at the sight of him.

"No, I couldn’t leave it," Brand returned harshly. "You want to end it, then fine, have it your way. But I’m not going to make it easy for you."

"Oh, Brand," she whispered, her anger vanishing as quickly as it had come, "do you honestly believe it was easy?"

"Say it, Erin. Tell me you want me out of your life."

He towered over her like a thundercloud, dark and menacing. Erin’s feet felt as if they were planted ankle-deep in concrete. She needed to put a few inches of distance between them, grant them both necessary breathing room. As it was, she was having a difficult time getting oxygen into her lungs.

"Could we go someplace else and discuss this?" She barely managed the tightly worded request. The urge to break down was nearly overwhelming. It hurt as much to talk as to breathe.

Of his own accord, Brand stepped away from her. "Where?"

"There’s an… Italian restaurant not far from here." The suggestion came off the top of her head, and the minute she said it, Erin realized attempting to talk would be impossible there.

"I’m not discussing this with a roomful of people listening in on the conversation."

"All right, you choose." A restaurant hadn’t been a brilliant idea, but Erin couldn’t think of anyplace else they could go.

She wished with everything in her heart that Brand had accepted her letter and left it at that. Having him confront her unexpectedly like this made everything so much more difficult.

"If we’re going to talk, it has to be someplace private," he insisted.

"Ah…" Erin hesitated.

"My hotel room," Brand suggested next, but he said it as though he expected her to argue with him.

"Okay," she agreed, not questioning the wisdom of his idea. Her primary thought was to get this over with as quickly as possible. It didn’t matter where they spoke, because in her heart she knew it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. "I don’t have a lot of time."

"You’ve got a date?" He bit out the question.

"No… I’m suppose to be at a lecture."

"When?"

"By seven."

"You’ll be there." Brand took off walking, expecting her to follow behind. She did so reluctantly, wishing she could avoid this confrontation and knowing she couldn’t.

His pace was brisk, and Erin practically had to trot in order to keep up with his long-legged strides. They’d gone four or five blocks when he entered the revolving glass door that led to the tastefully decorated hotel lobby.

He paused outside the elevator for Erin to catch up to him. She was breathless by the time she traipsed across the plush red-and-white carpet.

In all the time she’d known Brand, she’d never seen him quite like this. He was so unemotional, so unfeeling. Aloof, as if nothing she could say or do would disconcert him.

His room was on the tenth floor. He unlocked and held open the door for her, and she walked inside. It was a standard room with a double bed, a nightstand and a dresser. In the corner, next to the window were a table and two olive-green upholstered chairs.

"Go ahead and sit down," he instructed brusquely. "I’ll have room service send up some coffee."

Erin nodded, walked across the room and settled in the crescent-shaped chair.

Brand picked up the phone, pushed a button and requested the coffee. When he’d finished, he surprised her by sauntering to the other side of the compact room and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Erin’s gaze fell to her hands. "I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’m so sorry, Brand," she said in a small voice.

"I didn’t come all this way for an apology."

He seemed to be waiting for something more, but Erin didn’t know what it was, and even if she had, she wasn’t sure she could have supplied it. The strained silence was so loud, it was all Erin could do not to press her hands over her ears.

"Say something," she pleaded. "Don’t just sit there looking so angry you could bite my head off."

"I’m not angry," he corrected, clenching his fists, "I’m downright furious." He bounded to his feet and stalked across the compact room. "A letter," he said bitingly, and turned to glare down at her. "You didn’t have the decency to talk this out with me. Instead, you did it in a letter."