The Husband Lesson

The valet took forever with my car, and I wondered if he’d gone to confirm how much I’d had to drink. With liability being what it is nowadays I couldn’t fault a business for being cautious. Even though I was left outside shivering. That had been my choice. I could have waited indoors.

Or better yet, I could have stayed in Manhattan. Then leaving my car wouldn’t even have been an issue. I’d have simply tipped the valet and let the doorman call a taxi.

I wasn’t sure what I’d have done if the doorman gave me trouble. What could I do? Call Susanna? Still would have meant leaving my car. Unless Susanna brought along Brooke, who's now driving even though Susanna is awfully tight-fisted with the car keys considering Brooke's heading off to college in a few weeks. But that’s just my opinion. And Brooke’s, of course.

I didn’t want to be used as a nonexample for my beautiful, impressionable goddaughter. And Susanna wouldn’t be able to contain herself and resist the chance to drive home a life lesson. She couldn’t resist mothering on a good day let alone when I drop a perfect opportunity in her lap.

Being between husbands at the moment, I had no one else to call and my mother wasn’t an option. All I wanted to do was get home. And home was only a few miles down a long, very lonely stretch of highway late at night.

CHAPTER FIVE

OKAY, SO KARAN HAD GOTTEN HER initial therapy session and her first homework assignment behind her in less than twenty-four hours. That left the rest of her alternative sentence looming before her like an endurance test. With any luck, Rhonda had come up with a brilliant job for Karan and when she arrived at New Hope today, she’d be able to clock some hours to speed this process along. Today would be the perfect day for it—since Charles wouldn’t be there based on the conversation she’d overheard between him and Rhonda yesterday.

Karan decided to pop into her mother’s on her way into town. Technically, she would be on her way to New Hope as her mother lived on the same lake. Couldn’t get to New Hope without passing the house where Karan had grown up so she wouldn’t be violating any sentencing conditions. And there really was no point in dodging the visit. Not when her mother had made it a point to call to find out how the interview had gone yesterday.

Karan drove toward the main road that led down the mountain, maneuvered up her mother’s driveway and parked in front of the house. The place dominated a hilltop with a steep-pitched driveway her father used to joke was better left iced in the winter so they could slide their cars to the road. Of course driving back up had required chains.

But he’d chosen this property because it boasted a spectacular view of Mohawk Lake, which nestled in the forested mountainside north of Bluestone proper. He had his own boat dock, lots of room to snowmobile and several acres on all sides padding him from the nearest neighbors, which had pleased him enormously. The house was her mother’s creation, a showcase as majestic as her father’s view.

Karan’s own house was situated on a modest half acre on the eastern shore. Close, but not too close. And her house didn’t remotely resemble her childhood home. Not in size. Not in design. Not in any way except the view.

“Abigail, hello,” Karan called as she stepped in the foyer.

Her mother’s housekeeper appeared quickly from the direction of the kitchen. “Karan, I thought I heard your voice. Had the radio too loud. I’m getting as deaf as a rock.” Her good-natured laughter echoed in the cavernous foyer. “But don’t mention that to your mama.”

There would be no need, Karan knew, since her mother probably already knew. She didn’t miss much. But Karan didn’t point that out as she leaned over and hugged the soft, round little housekeeper. With her apple cheeks and twinkling blue eyes, Abigail looked like Mrs. Santa Claus.

But looks could be so deceiving. This sweet-faced lady might wear her white hair in a bun, but she called things exactly the way she saw them. And anyone who dared to give her a hard time would get beat with the rolling pin. She had to have a spine of steel to care for Karan’s mother.

“Mum’s the word,” Karan agreed.

“Beautiful, and gracious, too. Are you okay?” That bright blue gaze could have sculpted ice. No question about whether or not Abigail had been brought up-to-date on Karan’s troubles.

“No worries. You’ve got your hands full enough here.”

“Pshaw. Nothing I can’t handle. It’s practically still the crack of dawn. Would you like coffee? What about breakfast? Now’s the time if you do. Before you head up to see your mama.”

That was code for: your mother is in a mood.

She would want to be briefed on Karan’s situation, give her only daughter advice and be motherly. Of course Karan had timed the visit so she could stay only a limited number of minutes.

“Thanks, but I’ve stalled long enough. I’ll head up.” And with any luck get this over with quickly.

Abigail inclined her head stoically. “The sitting room.”

Karan heard the unspoken “Good luck.”

Making her way up the stairs, she headed toward the room where her mother enjoyed coffee in the mornings while reading the paper, handling correspondence and otherwise preparing herself to join the living.

Karan tapped on the door then pushed it open.

Years ago, when Karan and Susanna had been in high school, they’d read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice for a lit class. Thus began a love affair with Mr. Darcy that had weathered decades. No matter where they were, no matter what was happening in their lives, they’d drop everything and get together to watch whatever new version hit the television or theaters.

Their absolute favorite to date was a television miniseries that had run on the Arts and Entertainment channel. They would submerge themselves in Regency England and watch all five hours straight through.

It had become such a tradition that Susanna’s kids had joined the party, and even her late husband, Skip, had been known to walk through the family room, catch a bit of dialogue and sit to finish the episodes with them.

Mr. Darcy’s venerable aunt, Lady Katherine, was the epitome of a regal lady, no matter what version of the story. Karan always thought of her mother as Lady Katherine incarnate.

“Hi, Mom.”

Georgia Madden-Kowalski sat at a Rococo-style table, the china coffee set neatly within reach, four newspapers before her, keeping her current on events from local to global so she could converse easily about any topic at social functions.

She gazed over the rims of reading glasses, face fully made up, even though she still wore her lounging robe, preferring to ease into the day.

When Karan had been young, she’d thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world with her spun-silk hair, porcelain skin and striking light eyes. Adulthood hadn’t changed that opinion. Her mother was still one of the most beautiful women Karan knew.

“Good morning, dear.” Her mother smiled in welcome. “You look very lovely this morning.”

“Thanks, Mom, you look well, too.”

“Come sit. Tell me how everything went yesterday. Would you like coffee? I’ll have Abigail bring more.”

“Thanks, but no. I’ve had some.” Setting her purse on a side table, she sat across from her mother, who folded a paper and set it aside to give Karan her undivided attention.

“How did everything go?”

Karan met her gaze across the expanse of the table and gave a casual shrug, determined to do her part to keep this conversation light. “Well, I’m happy to say the people were welcoming. I’m not exactly sure yet what I’ll be doing there, but the program director seemed eager for me to start.”

One of them, anyway.

Karan weighed the merit of mentioning Charles. Did she roll the dice and chance that her mother didn’t find out?

“So it’s a big place then? I haven’t seen much about it in the papers. Only public budgetary reports and minutes from the town council meetings. And that exposé, of course. They must have run a full week of stories about women, and men surprisingly, who’d broken away from abusive relationships. Apparently, domestic violence is epidemic.”

Her mother was clearly interested, so the odds of her not discovering Charles’s involvement at some point weren’t looking good. If she did find out and Karan hadn’t mentioned it…

“I did get a surprise while I was there.”

“Really?”

“Turns out Charles is one of the program directors.”

Her mother stopped with the cup poised at her lips. “Your Charles?” Karan nodded.

She took a small sip, considering, then said, “Well, that is news. Why is a cardiothoracic surgeon involved with a domestic violence program?”

“I have no idea. But from what I’ve been told few people are actually paid employees. The majority are volunteers. Charles shares managerial responsibilities with a psychotherapist who has a local practice.”