the norm. Most of the married couples he knew did not seem all that happy once the wedding rings were on their fingers, the shackles around their ankles.
“Plus, I work in television,” Grace continued, as she took out a stack of clothes and put them neatly in a dresser drawer. “Being hired and fired is all part of the routine business cycle.”
“It still must hurt,” Chase persisted, taking a seat on the ivory chaise in the corner.
Just as the divorce had hurt. Not that Grace and Tom had ever let their kids see them quarrel. It had been their strict policy not to let their four children be privy to anything going on in their marriage, especially anything bad. The idea, of course, had been to protect Chase and his siblings from any unpleasantness. And so all their kids had thought everything was fine when it was not, and had ended up feeling baffled and distressed when Grace and Tom—for no reason any of their children could fathom—suddenly stopped speaking to each other and began living separate lives. Chase had often wondered what the breaking point had been. Had one of them been unfaithful or done something equally unforgivable? And if so, why? Was the love between a man and a woman something that could just end without warning or reason? Frustratingly these weren’t the kinds of questions his parents fielded. All he knew for certain was, after they’d split, the anger and bitterness between Grace and Tom had been fierce and unrelenting. And that tension had gotten worse, before it had ever gotten better. These days, of course, the two were able to be cordial to each other—at least on the surface. But deep down, Chase still felt there were problems that remained unresolved to this day. Divorce or no divorce.
“I admit my pride is wounded,” Grace said in a way that reminded Chase that this was the first time his mother had been fired from a job. Previously whenever Grace had left a television show, it was to take a better position at another show.
Grace took out several pairs of shoes and carried them to the shelf in the closet. “It hurts having the failure of the show blamed on me and my cohost. But that’s just the way it is in the business.” Grace returned to her suitcase for her toiletry bag. “Whoever is out in front takes the credit or the blame, and in this case it was blame that needed to be apportioned out to appease the sponsors.”
Restless, Chase got up to help. “Something better will come along. Before you know it, you’ll be back in New York on another network,” he assured his mother as he unzipped the first of her two garment bags.
Grace smiled ruefully as she lifted out the clothes already on hangers and carried them to the closet. “I’m not sure I want to work in early-morning television again. Getting up at three-thirty every morning did not do much for my social life. I was going to bed for the night when everyone I knew was just getting off work for the day.”
“Then something that airs later in the day,” Chase persisted, pushing away the disturbing thought of his mother wanting to keep company with any men besides his father. It had been bad enough occasionally coming face-to-face with his father when he was squiring other, usually much younger, women around. Now he’d probably be seeing his mother going out on dates, too. “An afternoon talk show, maybe,” Chase suggested.
Grace made a face as she set out her hairbrushes and combs on the old-fashioned vanity. “Right now that sounds like even more of a grind. No. What I want to do right now is spend more time with you and your brothers and sister, Chase. I’ve missed that.”
Chase warmed at the idea of being able to see and talk to his mother whenever he wanted again and still live and work in the city he had grown up in and come to love like no other. “We’ve missed you, too, Mom.” More than she would ever know. It was their dirty little secret, but without Grace around, the Deveraux did not seem like much of a family. Not the way they once had been, anyway.
Grace enveloped Chase in a warm hug. “And besides, I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook.”
“I THOUGHT YOU’D BE happy for me,” Bridgett told her mother emotionally. She had just shown her the emerald ring Martin had given her after picking her up at the airport and taking her to dinner the evening before. “I thought you wanted me to be happy.” And frankly she was hurt that her mother wasn’t more enthusiastic about the serious turn her relationship with Martin was about to take.
“I do want you to be happy,” Theresa explained gently. “Which is why I want you to spend time with someone whose background is similar to yours.”
“Not to mention,” a deep male voice said from the doorway, “someone your own age.”
Theresa beamed at Chase the way she always did whenever he entered a room. “See, he agrees with me,” Theresa said as Chase kissed her cheek.
“Chase just doesn’t want to see anyone get serious,” Bridgett said, more irritated than ever to have Chase putting his two cents in about her personal life. She stopped folding napkins for her mother long enough to glare at Chase. “Chase does not believe in monogamy, never mind marriage.”
Chase plucked a carrot from the salad Theresa was making. He shrugged his broad shoulders without apology as he turned back to Bridgett. “I certainly don’t believe you should yoke yourself to some hoity-toity art dealer.”
“Hoity-toity?” Bridgett echoed in amazement, unable to believe Chase had actually used such a term.
“Haughty, arrogant, condescending.” Chase pulled up a stool and joined them at the butcher block, where they were preparing dinner.
“I know what it means,” Bridgett countered irritably, wishing Chase would just go away. She put the last of the fan-shaped napkins into a basket for her mother. “I write for a living, too, you know.”
“Martin’s old money, darling,” Theresa warned. “Very old money. And you know what they always say…”
“The rich are different,” Bridgett repeated wearily. She had heard that old saw from her mother a thousand times.
“Not all of us.” Chase helped himself to a tomato wedge. “Some of us old money fellas are down to earth. Just not ol’ Martin Morganstern of the Morganstern Gallery of Charleston. Martin is as blue-blooded and luxury-loving as they come.”
Bridgett found herself defending her soon-to-be fiancé hotly. “He’s very nice.”
Chase raised a dissenting brow as he added salt to the tomato wedge.
Theresa sighed as she continued to whip up a vinegar-and-oil dressing. “All men are nice when they’re trying to…to…”
“Get into my bed?” Bridgett guessed, saying what her mother seemed unable to articulate.
Theresa flushed with embarrassment but did not back down as she poured dressing on the salad and tossed it. “You’re the daughter of a domestic servant, Bridgett. You may want to forget that. But ten to one, in the end, Martin Morganstern and his very old and very proper family won’t.”
REALIZING IF SHE DIDN’T get a move on, she was going to be late, Bridgett said goodbye to her mother and headed out the back door. To her dismay, Chase followed her. “Your mom is right,” he said as he shadowed Bridgett out to her Mercedes. “What you have is new money. To a guy like Martin Morganstern, there’s one heck of a difference. To a guy like me, well, cash is cash.”
Bridgett unlocked her car and tossed her purse inside. “Thank you ever so much for enlightening me.” Hot air poured out of the sedan’s interior through the open door.
