©2023 Bliss Addison. All Rights Reserved
Authors Note: This is a work of fiction based entirely on the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places.
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.
Broken Promises
Chapter One
I never thought too much about age until the approach of my fortieth birthday. Then, it was all I could think about. Facing the fact that I was all grown up now would take some getting used to. There would be no more backward flips, trampoline jumping, rock climbing or skydiving. Thank goodness those fun things were out of my system, since I was now officially an octogenarian in training.
Father had taken out all the stops and held a big bash for me at the Country Club. I know how that sounded. I’m not rich. Not really. My pappy was. He shared a bit of his wealth, of course. For instance, he paid my way through college, for which I would be eternally grateful. Everything else–clothes, shoes, jewelry, groceries, etc.–like other folks, I worked for. There were certain privileges and benefits the Wheaton name brought with it, like getting the best tables in restaurants, getting bumped up to the head of a line, and not having to wait for an appointment anywhere.
As was expected of them, all of my immediate family had attended the birthday celebration. Well, most of them. My mother didn’t show, for the very good reason no one knew where or how to get in touch with her. She left town after the divorce five years ago and no one had heard from her since. I didn’t begrudge her independence and couldn’t say we’d be happier if she were around.
With the well wishes said and done and thank-yous politely extended to each and every guest, I went to the head of the table where Father was enjoying an after-dinner drink with his new wife. “Are you on your way, sweetheart?” he asked, setting his cigar in the ashtray. I nodded and kissed him on the cheek. “Great party. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I glanced at my watch. “Better get running. Mathias is waiting.” To my stepmother, I plastered on a smile and said, “Thanks for everything, Astrid. You did a great job decorating.” When all she had to do, really, was pick up the phone and call Party Central and tell the event planners to arrange a fortieth birthday party befitting the heiress of a billion dollar estate. When money spoke, wheels turned and things got done swiftly and extravagantly.
For Father’s sake, Astrid and I pretended to get along. Our distrust of each other was a mutual understanding, though we hadn’t given each other a reason to be wary. My close relationship with my father caused her quite a bit of concern, since I was a potential roadblock to his money. I didn’t trust her because…well, because I thought she was after his money.
In the hallway outside the private dining room, a busser, carrying a heavy load of dishes and glassware, pushed me out of his way, almost knocking me off my feet. “Hey,” I said, holding a finger in the air, preparing to further express my annoyance, but the red-haired clumsy oaf was already disappearing through the swinging door leading to the kitchen.
I harrumphed, smoothed my dress and walked to the ladies room to change into jeans and running shoes. Glancing into the mirror, I took a few minutes to touch up my makeup. Looking presentable once again, I grabbed the garment bag holding my dress and heels and left the club through the back entrance.
Mathias and I were spending the weekend at Father’s cabin and neither of us could wait to leave. I was especially anxious to get away, though. Since Father put me in charge of the family business several weeks ago, distancing myself from ringing phones, urgent matters and office politics was a prescription any doctor would write.
I rushed to the parking lot expecting to find Mathias waiting in his Dodge Ram, like we’d planned. What I saw instead was my brother Elliott and our stepmother climb into the back seat of Father’s vintage Bentley. The scene caused me a moment’s pause until I remembered how Astrid enjoyed spoiling her step-granddaughters with the latest fashions and electronic gadgets. Or Elliott could be lending a helping hand as he often did.
Yes, that was it. What other explanation could there be? But I hung around, just in case I might be wrong.
Shifting from foot to foot, I waited for him to jump from the car and onto the pavement. One minute went by then another, and before long, more than enough time passed for him to assist her or give his approval on her purchases for his kids. Maybe this wasn’t innocent, after all. Becoming suspicious, I decided to find out what he was doing. About two yards from the Bentley, Elliott’s hand pulled the door closed.
What the hell?
A helping hand, my ass.
The truth hit home like a fastball to the gut as I realized this was something else altogether. A tryst would be my guess. Shuddering at the probability, I backed up, ducked under the awning spanning the rear entrance and pressed my body against the brick building. Shocked, yet mesmerized by what was happening less than twenty feet away, I peeked around the corner, homing in on the Bentley. I stared at the vehicle like a car wreck, not wanting to look but unable to stop myself from doing so.
My first thought was to yank Elliott from the car by his shirttail and demand he tell me what the hell he was thinking. Second and more lucid thought made me realize that would create a scene and draw an audience to something that shouldn’t be anyone’s business.
If I’d been three minutes earlier leaving the club, I might never have known what those two were up to. I would have preferred not knowing. Blissful ignorance. Ten minutes ago, they’d wished me a happy fortieth, then spoiled the happy day by cheating on their spouses. Worse still was the pain their conduct would cause Father and Elliott’s wife once they found out, which they would. Maybe not right away but somewhere down the road. Betrayed spouses always learned the truth.
The adulterers didn’t waste any time getting down to business, either. Within seconds, the old car shimmied and shook on its 1954 suspension.
The skeptic in me forced my eyes closed. A moment later, with great expectation, I reopened them. Nothing had changed. Dammit. I would have given anything to have imagined the whole thing.
A car horn honked. Two short blasts. Distant in my mind but identifiable as Mathias’s truck, I looked over, waved like he didn’t matter, then turned back to the Bentley. Reconsidering my decision not to pull Elliott from the vehicle and have the dressing down I’d reflexively planned for later here and now, Ben Franklin’s wise words sprang to life in my mind: Never put off til tomorrow what can be done today.
Still, though, I settled on letting things be. For now. But my brother and our raven-haired thirty-five-year-old stepmother were not getting away without suffering retribution. I would make sure of that. I wasn’t a vengeful person, but anyone breaking laws or vows should be held accountable for their actions. Those words were preached to us as children. We not only grew up believing them, but we molded our lives around those ideals.
Looking at this from a woman’s perspective, I could understand the attraction. Elliott was a mirror image of our father when he was forty-five–wavy black hair, lanky frame, patrician nose and full, curved lips. Movie-star handsome. Father had a mind for business, while Elliott had a mind for apprehending criminals and making Oldborough a safer place to live. Many women would find a man wearing a badge and a hip holster, like my brother, intoxicating.
Authors Note: This is a work of fiction based entirely on the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places.
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.
Broken Promises
Chapter One
I never thought too much about age until the approach of my fortieth birthday. Then, it was all I could think about. Facing the fact that I was all grown up now would take some getting used to. There would be no more backward flips, trampoline jumping, rock climbing or skydiving. Thank goodness those fun things were out of my system, since I was now officially an octogenarian in training.
Father had taken out all the stops and held a big bash for me at the Country Club. I know how that sounded. I’m not rich. Not really. My pappy was. He shared a bit of his wealth, of course. For instance, he paid my way through college, for which I would be eternally grateful. Everything else–clothes, shoes, jewelry, groceries, etc.–like other folks, I worked for. There were certain privileges and benefits the Wheaton name brought with it, like getting the best tables in restaurants, getting bumped up to the head of a line, and not having to wait for an appointment anywhere.
As was expected of them, all of my immediate family had attended the birthday celebration. Well, most of them. My mother didn’t show, for the very good reason no one knew where or how to get in touch with her. She left town after the divorce five years ago and no one had heard from her since. I didn’t begrudge her independence and couldn’t say we’d be happier if she were around.
With the well wishes said and done and thank-yous politely extended to each and every guest, I went to the head of the table where Father was enjoying an after-dinner drink with his new wife. “Are you on your way, sweetheart?” he asked, setting his cigar in the ashtray. I nodded and kissed him on the cheek. “Great party. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I glanced at my watch. “Better get running. Mathias is waiting.” To my stepmother, I plastered on a smile and said, “Thanks for everything, Astrid. You did a great job decorating.” When all she had to do, really, was pick up the phone and call Party Central and tell the event planners to arrange a fortieth birthday party befitting the heiress of a billion dollar estate. When money spoke, wheels turned and things got done swiftly and extravagantly.
For Father’s sake, Astrid and I pretended to get along. Our distrust of each other was a mutual understanding, though we hadn’t given each other a reason to be wary. My close relationship with my father caused her quite a bit of concern, since I was a potential roadblock to his money. I didn’t trust her because…well, because I thought she was after his money.
In the hallway outside the private dining room, a busser, carrying a heavy load of dishes and glassware, pushed me out of his way, almost knocking me off my feet. “Hey,” I said, holding a finger in the air, preparing to further express my annoyance, but the red-haired clumsy oaf was already disappearing through the swinging door leading to the kitchen.
I harrumphed, smoothed my dress and walked to the ladies room to change into jeans and running shoes. Glancing into the mirror, I took a few minutes to touch up my makeup. Looking presentable once again, I grabbed the garment bag holding my dress and heels and left the club through the back entrance.
Mathias and I were spending the weekend at Father’s cabin and neither of us could wait to leave. I was especially anxious to get away, though. Since Father put me in charge of the family business several weeks ago, distancing myself from ringing phones, urgent matters and office politics was a prescription any doctor would write.
I rushed to the parking lot expecting to find Mathias waiting in his Dodge Ram, like we’d planned. What I saw instead was my brother Elliott and our stepmother climb into the back seat of Father’s vintage Bentley. The scene caused me a moment’s pause until I remembered how Astrid enjoyed spoiling her step-granddaughters with the latest fashions and electronic gadgets. Or Elliott could be lending a helping hand as he often did.
Yes, that was it. What other explanation could there be? But I hung around, just in case I might be wrong.
Shifting from foot to foot, I waited for him to jump from the car and onto the pavement. One minute went by then another, and before long, more than enough time passed for him to assist her or give his approval on her purchases for his kids. Maybe this wasn’t innocent, after all. Becoming suspicious, I decided to find out what he was doing. About two yards from the Bentley, Elliott’s hand pulled the door closed.
What the hell?
A helping hand, my ass.
The truth hit home like a fastball to the gut as I realized this was something else altogether. A tryst would be my guess. Shuddering at the probability, I backed up, ducked under the awning spanning the rear entrance and pressed my body against the brick building. Shocked, yet mesmerized by what was happening less than twenty feet away, I peeked around the corner, homing in on the Bentley. I stared at the vehicle like a car wreck, not wanting to look but unable to stop myself from doing so.
My first thought was to yank Elliott from the car by his shirttail and demand he tell me what the hell he was thinking. Second and more lucid thought made me realize that would create a scene and draw an audience to something that shouldn’t be anyone’s business.
If I’d been three minutes earlier leaving the club, I might never have known what those two were up to. I would have preferred not knowing. Blissful ignorance. Ten minutes ago, they’d wished me a happy fortieth, then spoiled the happy day by cheating on their spouses. Worse still was the pain their conduct would cause Father and Elliott’s wife once they found out, which they would. Maybe not right away but somewhere down the road. Betrayed spouses always learned the truth.
The adulterers didn’t waste any time getting down to business, either. Within seconds, the old car shimmied and shook on its 1954 suspension.
The skeptic in me forced my eyes closed. A moment later, with great expectation, I reopened them. Nothing had changed. Dammit. I would have given anything to have imagined the whole thing.
A car horn honked. Two short blasts. Distant in my mind but identifiable as Mathias’s truck, I looked over, waved like he didn’t matter, then turned back to the Bentley. Reconsidering my decision not to pull Elliott from the vehicle and have the dressing down I’d reflexively planned for later here and now, Ben Franklin’s wise words sprang to life in my mind: Never put off til tomorrow what can be done today.
Still, though, I settled on letting things be. For now. But my brother and our raven-haired thirty-five-year-old stepmother were not getting away without suffering retribution. I would make sure of that. I wasn’t a vengeful person, but anyone breaking laws or vows should be held accountable for their actions. Those words were preached to us as children. We not only grew up believing them, but we molded our lives around those ideals.
Looking at this from a woman’s perspective, I could understand the attraction. Elliott was a mirror image of our father when he was forty-five–wavy black hair, lanky frame, patrician nose and full, curved lips. Movie-star handsome. Father had a mind for business, while Elliott had a mind for apprehending criminals and making Oldborough a safer place to live. Many women would find a man wearing a badge and a hip holster, like my brother, intoxicating.