Read Online Storm of Desire by Cara Marsi, Laura Kelly, Sandra Edwards - Free Book Online Page B
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she’d tossed it that first day, lay the manila envelope that had fallen from behind it.
Whatever was in the envelope was her mother’s business, not hers. Yet curiosity, or maybe a desire to learn more about Lisa Greco—the woman—propelled Sam to set the sheets aside and reach for the envelope. Being here in her mother’s house, telling Aiden her deepest secret, had opened the old wounds, had brought her mother to the forefront of her mind again. Maybe what was in the envelope contained some clue that would help Sam understand her mother. Maybe she could finally let go of the old hurts.
Envelope in hand, Sam sat on the bed and pulled out the contents, spreading them on the dark green comforter. A man’s photo stared up at her. Something about his eyes grabbed her attention. She knew him, or at least knew someone who resembled him. She picked up the color snapshot and studied it. She’d never seen this man before, yet he seemed familiar.
Tall and slim, appearing to be in his early thirties, longish blond hair blowing in the wind, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood, arms folded, in front of a vintage blue Ford Mustang. The arrogant tilt of his head and his confident smile reminded her of magazine photos of beautiful, privileged people sure of their place in the world.
Sam peered closer. Another car, this one a vintage sedan, was parked nearby.
Maybe the cars weren’t vintage, but new when the picture was snapped. The dunes in the background were familiar too. Although smaller now, she was sure they were the dunes at Bethany Beach before beach expansion and overbuilding almost destroyed them. The picture had to be at least thirty years old. A chill shot up her spine.
The man’s almond-shaped eyes held her. She couldn’t see the color clearly, but they appeared to be light. Picture in hand, Sam strode to the mirror, then held the picture close to her face. The eyes were the same shape as hers. His cheekbones were high and sharp, like hers. Unlike Lisa’s. Sam’s hand shook.
Clutching the snapshot, she stumbled back to the bed and sank down. Her throat thickened. She stared at the photo again. The cars and the dunes faded into the background. All she saw was the man—her father. It had to be. Lisa had told her he’d died in a swimming accident before Sam was born, but she’d refused to say anything more. Sam didn’t even know his name.
She snatched up the envelope with “Tom” scrawled across it, studying it as if it could talk to her. Her father’s name was Tom. With a trembling hand, Sam set the photo and envelope down and sifted through the other papers. A stack of letters was bound together with a rubber band. She slipped off the band and fanned the letters on the bed. Five of them, addressed to Lisa, postmarked Wilmington, Delaware, all written in a feminine hand, the ink slightly faded.
Sam lifted the first one. It was dated seven months before she’d been born. The others were similarly dated, the newest just three months before her birth.
Dread pressed against her chest. She couldn’t read the letters. They weren’t hers. Yet, instinctively she knew they concerned her.
Trepidation flowed over Sam as she slipped the first letter from its envelope and unfolded it. Only one sheet, the woman’s fury evident in the way the feminine handwriting slashed across the page.
Taking calming breaths, Sam began to read.
Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut , the letter began.
The calming breaths weren’t helping. Sam glanced away. She could do this. She could read this letter, and the others.
Steeling herself, she turned back to the letter and continued reading.
Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut. Tom doesn’t love you. He used you for sex while I was laid up with my pregnancy. Find yourself someone your own age and quit fucking other women’s husbands. You’re not the first woman he’s cheated on me with. You’re not even the first one he’s gotten pregnant. He
Whatever was in the envelope was her mother’s business, not hers. Yet curiosity, or maybe a desire to learn more about Lisa Greco—the woman—propelled Sam to set the sheets aside and reach for the envelope. Being here in her mother’s house, telling Aiden her deepest secret, had opened the old wounds, had brought her mother to the forefront of her mind again. Maybe what was in the envelope contained some clue that would help Sam understand her mother. Maybe she could finally let go of the old hurts.
Envelope in hand, Sam sat on the bed and pulled out the contents, spreading them on the dark green comforter. A man’s photo stared up at her. Something about his eyes grabbed her attention. She knew him, or at least knew someone who resembled him. She picked up the color snapshot and studied it. She’d never seen this man before, yet he seemed familiar.
Tall and slim, appearing to be in his early thirties, longish blond hair blowing in the wind, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood, arms folded, in front of a vintage blue Ford Mustang. The arrogant tilt of his head and his confident smile reminded her of magazine photos of beautiful, privileged people sure of their place in the world.
Sam peered closer. Another car, this one a vintage sedan, was parked nearby.
Maybe the cars weren’t vintage, but new when the picture was snapped. The dunes in the background were familiar too. Although smaller now, she was sure they were the dunes at Bethany Beach before beach expansion and overbuilding almost destroyed them. The picture had to be at least thirty years old. A chill shot up her spine.
The man’s almond-shaped eyes held her. She couldn’t see the color clearly, but they appeared to be light. Picture in hand, Sam strode to the mirror, then held the picture close to her face. The eyes were the same shape as hers. His cheekbones were high and sharp, like hers. Unlike Lisa’s. Sam’s hand shook.
Clutching the snapshot, she stumbled back to the bed and sank down. Her throat thickened. She stared at the photo again. The cars and the dunes faded into the background. All she saw was the man—her father. It had to be. Lisa had told her he’d died in a swimming accident before Sam was born, but she’d refused to say anything more. Sam didn’t even know his name.
She snatched up the envelope with “Tom” scrawled across it, studying it as if it could talk to her. Her father’s name was Tom. With a trembling hand, Sam set the photo and envelope down and sifted through the other papers. A stack of letters was bound together with a rubber band. She slipped off the band and fanned the letters on the bed. Five of them, addressed to Lisa, postmarked Wilmington, Delaware, all written in a feminine hand, the ink slightly faded.
Sam lifted the first one. It was dated seven months before she’d been born. The others were similarly dated, the newest just three months before her birth.
Dread pressed against her chest. She couldn’t read the letters. They weren’t hers. Yet, instinctively she knew they concerned her.
Trepidation flowed over Sam as she slipped the first letter from its envelope and unfolded it. Only one sheet, the woman’s fury evident in the way the feminine handwriting slashed across the page.
Taking calming breaths, Sam began to read.
Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut , the letter began.
The calming breaths weren’t helping. Sam glanced away. She could do this. She could read this letter, and the others.
Steeling herself, she turned back to the letter and continued reading.
Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut. Tom doesn’t love you. He used you for sex while I was laid up with my pregnancy. Find yourself someone your own age and quit fucking other women’s husbands. You’re not the first woman he’s cheated on me with. You’re not even the first one he’s gotten pregnant. He
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