Amy
Автор
Peg Sutherland
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PROLOGUE
“MERRICK, I THINK WE should get a divorce.”
Helene had lowered her voice, no doubt so that the housekeeper wouldn’t overhear as she scurried around in the kitchen. Merrick thought surely he had misunderstood; perhaps he needed that hearing aid after all.
But no, Helene’s smile was strained and her lovely eyes were troubled. And despite almost fifty years of marriage, that troubled Merrick.
“I’m not sure I heard that,” he said, dabbing at the corners of his silver mustache with a linen napkin. “Could you tell me again what it is you have in mind, my dear?”
Helene looked at him uncertainly over her copy of the Hurricane Beach Chronicle, parts of which were scattered untidily over the rest of the table. Her eyes shone brightly, almost the same clear aqua as the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, which rose and fell over her shoulder. Her soft hair matched the frothy whitecaps in both color and pleasing disarray. Merrick marveled, as often he had over the past five decades, that this fascinating and gifted woman had chosen him.
“Well, not a real divorce,” she said. “Sort of a faux divorce.”
A faux divorce. As if that made more sense.
Helene had been the center of Merrick’s life since he’d met her at a USO shindig during the chaos of World War II. She’d been singing “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else But Me,” and Merrick had known immediately that this curvy strawberry blonde was the answer to his every dream.
Nothing meant as much to him as Helene. Not the fortune he’d managed to amass during his seventyfive years—although that was a considerable achievement given his humble beginnings as the son. of a London merchant with no head for business. Not Sea Haven, the breathtaking coastal home where he and his wife had raised three lovely daughters. Not even the trim physique he maintained with his brisk daily walks along his private stretch of Hurricane Beach.
Certainly, Merrick was grateful for everything he had. But the one thing he valued above all was Helene.
Even talk of a faux divorce sent his blood pressure up a notch or two.
Merrick folded the front section of the Wall Street Journal, placed it carefully between the crystal glass of freshly squeezed juice and the china cup of imported coffee—special-ordered by that little shop on Gulfview Lane—and peered at Helene.
“To what purpose, my dear?” Merrick asked calmly.
Helene pursed her lips—a definite signal that Merrick had committed some error in judgment—and reached across the table to confiscate his neatly folded copy of the Wall Street Journal. “You haven’t been listening, Merrick.”
“Guilty as charged.”
She drew a long breath. “What I’m trying to say, Merrick, is that I only want one thing for our fiftieth anniversary. I want a reconciliation between our girls.”
Merrick sighed. If he’d had a clue how to accomplish a closeness between Lisa, Amy and Megan, he would have done so a dozen years ago. “Now, Helene, it isn’t as if they’re actually feuding.”
The hurt in his wife’s eyes stopped him cold. No rationalizations would do this morning, apparently.
“They hardly speak,” she said. “Amy barely remembers which state Megan lives in and Megan changes the subject every time I mention Amy. And I can’t remember the last time Lisa came home to see any of us.”
Merrick frowned. Megan’s estrangement at least they all understood. Losing a child would traumatize anyone. Who wouldn’t want to stay away from the place where those distressing memories originated? Why, Merrick himself had found it impossible after World War II to return to London, where his family, his neighborhood, everything he’d known in life had been destroyed. Yes, Merrick understood his oldest daughter’s reluctance to return to a place that held such painful reminders.
For a long time they had all expected Megan to come back into the fold for comfort. It hadn’t happened.
And for that, Merrick knew, Helene blamed herself. As she blamed herself for the way Lisa had drifted off, and for Amy’s capricious outlook on life. Merrick believed his three daughters were adults now, and responsible for themselves. But Helene believed the flaws in their lives were a reflection of her imperfection as a mother.
“Helene, my love, it isn’t your fault,” he said for what seemed like the millionth time. “And you must know there’s nothing we can do.”
“I think there is. But you’ll have to go along with me.
So he heard her out. Then he told her no, in no uncertain terms. He had every reason to suppose that would be the end of it. After all, Merrick was the man of the house and in his day the man of the house made the decisions.
He had expected she might pout or give him the cold shoulder. But she was cordial and sweet the rest of the day. Cordial, sweet…and persistent.
After breakfast, she followed him into his study when he went to check for E-mail from his financial consultants, and went through the entire plan again. She talked of nothing else when they sat on the screened deck for lunch. She bombarded him with the pros and cons of her plan during their brisk walk along the beach at sunset. She served it up with, cocktails before dinner.
Merrick kept telling himself he’d never allowed himself to be nagged into doing anything in his life. Then it occurred to him that Helene had never done anything that could even remotely be considered nagging.
“This is truly important to you, isn’t it?” he said as he pulled her chair out at the dinner table.
She looked up at him over her shoulder, pleading in her eyes. “Yes, it is.”
He sat across from her and poured the white wine. “You honestly believe that if we lead the girls to believe our marriage is in jeopardy, it will somehow pull them together.”
“We can think of it as our own personal little play, Merrick. A chance to perform again.”
Merrick frowned. He hadn’t acted in forty years or more—not since he’d turned his back on the early days of TV. He’d been successful, certainly, but he’d never taken it’ as seriously as Helene. In fact, he’d followed his stagestruck bride to an audition, strictly as a lark, and ended up with a bit part on Broadway. One thing led to another and he’d eventually landed a TV series of his own. But he’d left it behind without a qualm when Helene had finallygotten pregnant. A normal life for their children, they’d agreed. Helene had been active, over the years, in the local community theater. Had even coaxed Merrick on stage once or twice. But this…
It made no sense at all to Merrick. But he loved Helene more deeply now than ever.
“My dear, I am yours to command,” he said, raising his wineglass. He saw her eyes brighten as she raised her glass and touched it lightly to his. “Let the curtain rise.”
