Unfinished Business - Nora Roberts Page 0,21

need a doctor. It’s just stress.” She kept one hand balled at her side and struggled to get past the pain. “And I stood up too fast.” Very carefully, she relaxed her hand.

“Then it won’t hurt to have him look at you.” Loretta draped an arm over her shoulders. “Van, you’re so thin.”

“I’ve had a lot to deal with in the last year.” Vanessa kept her words measured. “A lot of tension. Which is why I’ve decided to take a few months off.”

“Yes, but—”

“I know how I feel. And I’m fine.”

Loretta removed her arm when she heard Vanessa’s dismissive tone. “All right, then. You’re not a child anymore.”

“No, I’m not.” She folded her hands in her lap as Loretta rose. “I’d like an answer. What was my father punishing you for?”

Loretta seemed to brace herself, but her voice was calm and strong when she spoke. “For betraying him with another man.”

For a moment, Vanessa could only stare. Here was her mother, her face pale but set, confessing to adultery. “You had an affair?” Vanessa asked at length.

“Yes.” Shame rushed through her. But she knew she could deal with it. She’d lived with shame for years. “There was someone … It hardly matters now who it was. I was involved with him for almost a year before you went to Europe.”

“I see.”

Loretta gave a short, brittle laugh. “Oh, I’m sure you do. So I won’t bother to offer you any excuses or explanations. I broke my vows, and I’ve been paying for it for twelve years.”

Vanessa lifted her head, torn between wanting to understand and wanting to condemn. “Did you love him?”

“I needed him. There’s a world of difference.”

“You didn’t marry again.”

“No.” Loretta felt no regret at that, just a vague ache, as from an old scar that had been bumped once too often. “Marriage wasn’t something either of us wanted at the time.”

“Then it was just for sex.” Vanessa pressed her fingers against her eyes. “You cheated on your husband just for sex.”

A flurry of emotions raced over Loretta’s face before she calmed it again. “That’s the least common denominator. Maybe, now that you’re a woman, you’ll understand, even if you can’t forgive.”

“I don’t understand anything.” Vanessa stood. It was foolish to want to weep for something that was over and done. “I need to think. I’m going for a drive.”

Alone, Loretta sat on the edge of the bed and let her own tears fall.

She drove for hours, aimlessly. She spent most of the time negotiating curving back roads lined with budding wildflowers and arching trees. Some of the old farms had been sold and subdivided since she’d been here last. Houses and yards crisscrossed over what had once been sprawling corn or barley fields. She felt a pang of loss on seeing them. The same kind of pang she felt when she thought of her family.

She wondered if she would have been able to understand the lack of fidelity if it had been some other woman. Would she have been able to give a sophisticated little shrug and agree that the odd affair was just a part of life? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been raised to see a sanctified state. And it wasn’t some other woman. It was her mother.

It was late when she found herself turning into Brady’s lane. She didn’t know why she’d come here, come to him, of all people. But she needed someone to listen. Someone who cared.

The lights were on. She could hear the dog barking from inside the house at the sound of her car. Slowly she retraced the steps she had taken that evening. When she had run from him, and from her own feelings. Before she could knock, Brady was at the door. He took a long look at her through the glass before pulling it open.

“Hi.”

“I was out driving.” She felt so completely stupid that she took a step back. “I’m sorry. It’s late.”

“Come on in, Van.” He took her hand. The dog sniffed at her slacks, wagging his tail. “Want a drink?”

“No.” She had no idea what she wanted. She looked around, aware that she’d interrupted him. There was a stepladder against a wall, and a portable stereo set too loud. Rock echoed to the ceiling. She noted there was a fine coat of white dust on his hands and forearms, even in his hair. She fought a ridiculous urge to brush it out for him. “You’re busy.”

“Just sanding dry wall.” He walked over to turn off the