Betrayal - Fern Michaels [109]
The room was silent. “What would you like for me to say?” Debbie asked.
“Nothing, because there is nothing to say. You seduced my best friend.”
“Just remember, your best friend molested our daughter, or have you forgotten in all that alcohol fog you’ve lived in for the past three years?”
“Despite what you think, I’m not drunk every hour of the day. I am drunk most of the time, I’ll admit. Did you ever wonder why I started drinking so heavily? Did you ever care to find out if I had a problem?” He held his hand out. “Don’t answer. I already know what you’ll say.”
“Because we’ve had this same conversation a thousand times, Don. You drink because you’re a failure. You lost your job, you fell into a sinkhole. End of story. Not my fault.”
“Think, goddamn it!”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, so it’d be best if you just spit it out. I have got to go to the bank.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me enough. You’re going to stay here and listen to what I have to say. The bank can wait.”
Debbie sat down on the edge of the bed. She took her purse off her shoulder and set it by her feet. She held out her arms as if she were embracing the world. “Okay. I’m all yours. Say whatever it is you need to say, so I can get the hell out of here.”
“I know what you and Sara did. I have proof.” Debbie fumbled with her watch. She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual smart-ass laugh. “Whatever. I have no idea what you’re talking about, Don.”
“Yes, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t deny it. Stop this damned lie that you’re living. I can’t take this crap anymore. Do you ever stop and think that you killed a man?” Don stumbled over to the bed, grabbing Debbie’s arm. “I’d love to smack your goddamn face. I’ve wanted to for years, but I won’t give you the satisfaction. Get the hell out of here. Now!”
Debbie raced out of the room so fast, Don expected to see smoke in her wake. She was a real prize. He’d just confronted her with the worst news possible. She didn’t give a damn. Someone had to. He was so very tired of his life. If he could have only started over, he would never, ever, not in a million years, have married the woman he’d tied himself to. He’d rather be a monk.
Debbie tried to light a cigarette as she drove to her office. Her hands shook worse than Don’s had. She pushed the lighter in again. She removed it, this time able to light the wobbling cigarette.
The shit had hit the proverbial fan, and she was directly in the line of fire. She could deal with Don; he was a drunk, everyone knew it. If he ran his mouth to his cronies at the club, they’d chalk it up to too much to drink.
Sara was pregnant. Debbie would insist she get an abortion. No way was she taking care of another brat. She would talk to her tonight. She was supposed to be on birth control. At twenty, she should know better.
Damn, just one more complication I’ll have to take care of. Why does life have to be so hard? No, why did I marry such a wimp? Why is my daughter such a tramp? Ironic, that Emily is the only decent one in the bunch, besides me.
She parked in her reserved parking place. They weren’t expecting her. More than likely she’d catch them lazing about when they could be making her money. The mood she was in, she’d fire them all.
She bolted through the front door. Looking around the front office, all appeared normal. For once. She went to her office to get the rest of the bank statements.
“Melanie.” Debbie pushed the intercom button from her office.
“Yes, Mrs. Winter.”
“Has Sara called?”
“Six times. I told her to try your cell phone. She said you had it turned off.”
Debbie grabbed her phone from her pocketbook. She flipped it open. Damn, she’d forgotten to turn it on. “Yes, it seems I forgot. Tell her if she calls again—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Sara is here, Mrs. Winter. She’s in the kitchen.”
“Oh, well, thanks.”
Debbie walked down the hall to the kitchen. Figures—where there was food there was Sara. She should insist on her having that new gastric bypass surgery all the fat