if you’re the one who wants out of the marriage,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “When you get married, you have all these hopes and dreams—”
“Oh, please,” Lantry snapped. “You married Frank because he was rich and powerful.”
The moment the words were out, he regretted them—and not just because she touched the gun resting between her thighs. He had seen the wounded look on her face. He didn’t want to be cruel, but he also couldn’t take much more of this.
“I married Frank because I loved him,” she said quietly.
“My mistake.” He was glad when she put both hands back on the wheel.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t believe in love,” Dede said, still sounding hurt.
Lantry warned himself to treat this woman with kid gloves. Who knew what she’d do next? And yet, she was so annoying. This whole situation was damned infuriating.
“It isn’t love I don’t believe in, it’s marriage,” he said into the hurt silence that had filled the pickup cab. “Any reasonable person who’s seen the statistics would think twice before getting married, except that people in love always think they’re going to be the ones who make it.”
“But if you never gamble on love—”
“Marriage isn’t a gamble. It’s like playing Russian roulette with all but one of the chambers full of lead. Do you realize how many marriages end in divorce? Fifty percent of first marriages, sixty-seven percent of second marriages and seventy-four percent of third marriages.”
“Have you always been this pessimistic?”
“Statistics don’t lie,” he said. “Most first marriages end after seven years. So do second marriages. Only thirty-three percent reach their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Half of all married people never reach their fifteenth anniversary. Only five percent make fifty years.”
“I believed I was in that five percent.”
“Even after what you’d been through?” He looked over at her as if she’d lost her mind, then remembered she had. “You thought Frank was the right person, which proves how blind love is. That’s the reason why I am never getting married. My life is much safer without a spouse, and so are my assets.”
She shot him a sympathetic look. “That’s pitiful.”
“I consider it intelligent.”
“I still believe in marriage,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve always loved those stories about married couples who die of old age within days of each other because the spouse can’t stand to let the other one go without him or her.”
He stared at her profile in the dash lights. “I’m astounded after your marriage to Frank that you can still wax romantic about marriage.”
“When he put that gold band on my finger, I planned to wear it to my deathbed, the ring wearing thinner and thinner with the years.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. But that doesn’t mean that the institution of marriage is doomed.”
He couldn’t believe her, given what Frank had put her through. She actually had tears in her eyes.
“Come on, tell the truth. You pawned your engagement and wedding ring as quick as you could after the divorce without a second thought.”
“I never even considered the monetary value.”
“So where’re the rings?” He saw her expression and burst out laughing. “You did pawn them.”
“I had to use the rings to get out of the mental hospital in Texas. It was all I had to offer at the time.” She glanced over at him, then back at the road. “Why can’t you believe that I loved Frank?”
That was the problem. He did believe it. What amazed him more than anything was that she still loved the man.
THROUGH THE FALLING AND BLOWING snow Violet could barely make out Old Town Whitehorse. The wind whipped the fallen snow into sculpted drifts, and the air outside the stolen SUV had an icy-cold weight to it that made it hard to breathe.
Violet cut the engine and stared down the hill at her mother’s house. The day had turned bright with the earlier dawn and the falling snow.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing here,” Roberta said. “Aren’t the roads going to blow in? Maybe we should find some place to stay for a while.”
“I’m going down to my house to get us some warmer clothes, food and money.”
“What if your mother is home?” Roberta asked. “Maybe it’s a trap.”
That was the problem with hanging out with a schizophrenic.
Violet watched a large SUV pull into the drive. She picked up the binoculars she’d stolen along with clothing from one of the houses they’d visited earlier.
She watched a large man climb out and go into the house. A few minutes later, he came out with a suitcase, went back in and came out with a long garment bag and carefully put that into the backseat. Her mother’s wedding gown?
A few moments later, her mother came out. She saw Arlene look around as if she knew Violet was close by. Maybe her mother knew her better than she’d thought.
Arlene seemed to hesitate as if she didn’t want to leave. Finally, she got into the SUV and the two drove away. Violet had seen the man driving. The fiancé, no doubt. He looked … nice. Bigger and better looking than she’d expected.
Violet started to get out.
“You sure no one’s home?” Roberta asked, looking down at the house through dim winter light. The temperature had dropped quickly inside the SUV while they’d been waiting.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you just see them drive off?”
“Still …”
“All the lights are off. They’re gone, okay?” she snapped. She’d come to regret bringing Roberta along. “Stay here.”
“What should I do if you don’t come back?” Roberta asked.
“I will be back.” Violet pulled the key from the ignition and climbed out. She was going home.
LANTRY WATCHED THE ROAD ahead—what little he could see of it—and listened to Dede talk about her marriage, trying to distract himself from thinking about what this woman might have planned for him.
“Frank changed,” Dede was saying. “One day I just woke up, and I was lying next to a stranger.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” he said.
“I’m sure you got more than a dollar every time you heard it.” The pickup broke through another large drift that had blown across the road. Fortunately, the roads out here were fairly straight since it was getting harder and harder to see where the roadbed lay between the fences.
“It
