Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

“Leftovers.”

“That’s fine.”

He’d best believe it was. Right then, I figured, he was lucky he wasn’t eating radish stew. “Will you say grace?”

He did, and after our nearly harmonized “amen,” I said, “So, tell me.” My insides quivering at the new Allison whom Miss Justine—and Grand—had introduced me to as I reached for the Thousand Island and he reached for the Bleu Cheese.

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything, Westley. I want to know about your relationship with Cindie—”

“There is no relationship.” He capped the bottle of dressing and placed it near his plate.

“There must have been at one time,” I said, forcing away the vision of my husband, naked and writhing all over another woman. Her beneath him … over him … blond hair spilling over …

He had the decency to blush. “Look, Ali, I don’t want to get into … that. Because you knew that … our first time wasn’t my first time.”

“Yes, but I never thought I’d have to come face to face with anyone you’d been with and—here I am—” I said, throwing my arms out, nearly knocking over my bottle of salad dressing in the process, “almost two weeks a bride and I already have.”

“I’m so—”

“Please don’t, Wes. Please don’t apologize. If you apologize, I’ll know this whole thing—dating, falling in love, marriage—all of it was a plot on your part. And, if that’s true, I don’t think I can handle that right now. Maybe later, but not now. So, just … talk to me.”

“All right. If it matters, I was drunk. She was drunk. And I was stupid. And I didn’t know you at the time or that anyone like you could ever be in my life.” He leaned toward me. “I love you. I swear I do. Us—you and me—was never a plot. And I never, ever loved her, Ali. Not even close to it. I’m not even sure I like her.”

“Then how could you …”

“Come on,” he said, frustration rising in his voice. “You’re not stupid, Ali. You’re bright as a bulb. I love you. That’s why I was always willing to wait. Why I never … pushed you.”

The thought of the night at Paul and DiAnn’s swept past me, knowing how close we could have come but … Westley had drawn a clear line for both of us, out of respect for me. Out of respect for Daddy. I hadn’t drawn the line. Westley had. Without his fortitude, I may have thrown myself on the wet grass and the crackling fire in front of Paul and DiAnn and God and anyone else who may have walked by. “I know.”

“Because I do love you. She was before I met you and she was just … there.”

“And then she was pregnant.”

He stabbed at his salad but didn’t eat from it. “Yes.”

“How long have your parents known?” I asked, quickly running through the questions my brain had calculated all afternoon.

“I told them before the wedding.”

That explained it. That explained everything. “And Paul and DiAnn?”

“They’ve always known.”

Oh. Oh … “It wasn’t about the job,” I whispered, feeling oddly as betrayed by my brother- and sister-in-law as my husband.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shoved a bit of salad into my mouth and chewed on it, giving myself more time to think as he did the same. “Okay,” I said after swallowing. “I know she’s not from the best family.”

“No.”

“But is she a good mother?”

“I cannot say she is a bad mother. But she’s—she’s not living up to her potential, even for her. For one, she needs to get away from Lettie Mae. If she does, she can be a better mother. That’s why—that’s why I saw an attorney today.”

I set my fork down before I dropped it. “An attorney?”

“I plan to sue Cindie for custody of Michelle. And I can only pray you’ll be there with me.”

I blinked several times, understanding not yet complete. “With you?”

“Yes. With me. We have an appointment with an attorney next Wednesday afternoon.”

A new question rose up within me, one that demanded an answer—straightforward and without reservation. “Westley,” I began slowly. “Did you marry me for this? Because you need a woman in the house in order to get custody of your daughter?”

His eyes found mine without blinking, not even once. “No,” he said. “I told you, I married you because I love you.”

I wanted to believe him. To not believe would mean walking out on a marriage that had barely begun. Returning home. Facing questions. Ridicule. Shame.

I wanted to believe. And, perhaps, believing—for once—was the easiest route to take. “All right,” I said. “I guess we just have to begin again from here.”

Chapter Nineteen

Cindie

Westley had come over the day before as he always did on Wednesday afternoons to see Michelle, but she’d made sure their daughter wasn’t there. Cindie had some things to say, and she intended to say them without the baby there to draw his attention away. Because, no matter what he thought, she was in control. She was. Somehow, she would get him back—she would—and she would make him listen to reason. Whatever and whoever this sweet chick was sitting on his front porch like she owned the place … well, she would be toast. And, once again, Westley would be hers. All according to the plan.

But the plans of one are not always the plans of another, she learned and learned quickly when he stepped up on the porch and knocked on the door. The second she opened the door and told him that Michelle was at Velma’s house, he turned and headed back to his car, sending her plans into the frigid January air. “Hey!” she called after him, panic rising in her chest, squeezing out all good sense and logic. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.” Because all she needed was the right amount of time … and the warm beer sitting out on the stained Formica countertop in the kitchen.

He made it close enough to