Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(42)

“People are very fickle, Zandra. One day you’re the toast of the town. The next day you’re a pariah.” Johanna smiled narrowly. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Zandra gave her a smile etched in steel. “And you’d do well to remember what I said about your husband. Perhaps the reason you’ve never asked about the past is that you don’t want to know. One can only wonder why.”

Long after Johanna returned to the opulence of her mansion, Zandra’s warnings haunted her.

Zandra smiled her way through the women’s empowerment luncheon.

She kissed rouged cheeks, laughed charmingly, received invitations to more socials.

She posed for photographs, and accepted congratulations for raising the funds needed to renovate a cultural arts center on the South Side.

She pretended that everything was perfectly normal.

On the way home, she asked Norman to stop at her favorite gourmet coffee shop. She ordered a café au lait, sat at a small table in the corner and stared out the window until she was transported back in time to the bustling streets of Paris.

When she arrived home, she peeled off her clothes and put on her robe. Then she padded to the living room and roamed around gazing at her mother’s paintings, feeling Autumn’s spirit through every delicate but powerful brushstroke.

When she felt strong enough, Zandra made her way to her bedroom closet, unlocked the hidden safe and retrieved the letter that had been delivered to her a week after her mother’s funeral. The letter no one but Remy knew about.

Autumn’s suicide note.

Zandra ran her eyes over the page, though she’d long ago memorized every word, knew the slanting curve of each letter.

*

My dearest Zandra,

I’m sorry. I know those words cannot begin to assuage the pain and confusion you’re feeling right now, but I had to say them. I’m sorry. I tried for so long, but I can’t run this race anymore. I’m tired, and my spirit needs rest.

Thank you for Paris. Being there made me the happiest I’ve been since the day you were born. I don’t know how someone like me could have given life to such a ferociously strong daughter, but I thank God for it, and I thank God for you.

Be your own woman, darling, but never be afraid to open your heart. The right man will know how to take care of it.

I hope, in time, you will forgive me for leaving. I had to, and now I’m at peace.

Love forever and always,

Mom

*

Zandra carefully folded up the letter, but she didn’t put it away. Her throat ached, but her eyes were dry. She wouldn’t cry.

Not this time.

She sat down on her bed, curled her legs up to her chest.

Night fell, plunging the room into shadows.

She didn’t move.

Her cell phone rang.

Calls from Colin, Skylar and Racquel Brand went unanswered.

When Remy called, she reached over and picked up the phone because she knew he’d come over if he couldn’t get in touch with her. And if he found her like this, he’d hold her and murmur soothingly to her, and she would cry.

Sounding as normal as she could, she told him she was having dinner with a client, and he told her he was hanging out with his brothers. She smiled, sent them all her love and wished Remy a good time.

Then she calmly hung up the phone.

Still holding her mother’s letter, she closed her eyes to the darkness blanketing her bedroom, wishing it were as easy to banish the darkness in her soul.





Chapter Twelve

That evening Remy met his brothers for drinks at their favorite sports bar and grill on the South Side, just minutes from the rough neighborhood they’d once called home.

Even though they’d moved on to greener pastures and become successful in their own right, they’d never forgotten the hardscrabble days of their childhood, when crime and violence had plagued their block, and their parents had scraped and struggled to feed and clothe six children. They’d never forgotten who they were and where they came from.

So when Remy walked into the South Side pub and was greeted boisterously by the owner, he felt right at home.

He sidled up to the bar, and without being asked, Donnie poured him a tap beer. Sipping from the foamy glass, Remy spent a few minutes shooting the shit with the burly, bald-headed owner while ESPN highlights blared from a plasma television mounted in the corner, and the mouthwatering aroma of baking pizza wafted through the air. When it came to deep-dish, Donnie served up some of the best in town.

The bar’s dark wood walls were covered with newspaper clippings and Chicago sports memorabilia. There were old baseball tickets, vintage photos of Comiskey Park, autographed jerseys from various Sox, Bears and Bulls players—most notably Frank Thomas, Walter Payton and Michael Jordan.

After Donnie topped off Remy’s beer, he got up and sauntered toward the back, where his brothers sat around their regular table swigging beers and cracking jokes. They were in shirtsleeves, sporting five o’clock shadows and the broad, wicked grins that left no doubt they were all related.

They’d saved Remy an empty chair facing the door, because they knew he never sat with his back to the entrance of any establishment. Even though he’d been out of the navy for three years, he still did a mental headcount of other diners upon entering a restaurant. He still noted the number and location of windows, still checked for things like thick tables for absorbing shrapnel or bullets. He always had to know where the rear exits were, and he never left home without packing heat. But if he was going to see Zandra, he’d usually leave his weapon in the car, because even though he’d taught her how to shoot, the sight of guns still made her uneasy.