A Note From an Old Acquaintance (34 page)

You can do this. You
have
to do this.

For Zack....

For Brian....

And for you....

She opened her eyes and threw the car into reverse.

It was time to go take back her life.

31

IT
HAD
BEEN
A
mistake to come back.

That was the thought that wouldn’t be denied, wouldn’t be rationalized away to some innocuous comfort zone inside his mind. It kept reverberating, growing louder and louder. So, instead of finding peace and the closure he’d sought when he’d returned to Boston, all he’d done was hurt the woman he’d loved for nearly half of his life. Hurt her a
second
time. And he really couldn’t decide which sin was worse: the lie he’d told her all those years ago, when he’d said he’d never loved her, or telling her the unvarnished truth now?

Brian sighed and shook his head, recalling the rush of tears welling from those shattering green eyes, that look of anguish, a look he’d put there because he couldn’t keep his damned mouth shut. When they’d pulled up in the car and he’d had made his little joke about it feeling like a first date, he’d been trying to avoid thinking that moment might be the last time he would ever see Joanna. That and the thought of going on with the rest of his tour and then leaving town had overwhelmed him. And that was when she’d kissed him. Those tender lips had seared his heart, obliterating his self-control, and he’d just blurted it all out without any kind of preamble, without even
trying
to soften the blow.

You idiot!

It was obvious he handled the lives of his characters far better than he handled his own, and those of the people he supposedly loved and cared about. At least in the pages of his books he had more control. At least there, he could rewrite his mistakes.

Brian shook his head in disgust and stood, the muscles of his legs aching in protest. He’d been sitting too long. Maybe he’d take a shower and get something to eat, if he could stomach it. Then he’d try and call Joanna. He had her home number, though he’d never used it before. And he didn’t give a damn if Ruby was there, either. He’d tell the bastard to shove it and put his wife on the phone. Brian smiled at the image his thought evoked, knowing it was a futile one, at best. Even if Ruby didn’t hang up on him, what made him sure Joanna wouldn’t? Damn, he’d really screwed everything up.

A knock came at the door—loud and insistent.

“Yeah, who is it?”

“Cary Mosley,” came the muffled reply.

Even though alarm bells were ringing in his head, Brian went to the door and opened it.

“Good evening to you, Mr. Weller,” Mosley said. “May I come in?”

Brian opened the door wider and stepped aside. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Mosley walked into the room and moved to the window, peering out through the curtains. He’d turned gray around the temples, and there were a few lines around the cinnamon-colored eyes, but his manner of dress had not changed a bit—still natty and expensive.

“Not much of a view for a world famous author.”

“No, but it suits me,” Brian said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mosley was silent for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard, then he said: “My wife, Althea, is big fan of your books. She says they’re the only ones that ring true, the only ones with honest emotion.... We were both sorry to hear about your wife.”

Brian was touched by the sincerity in the black man’s voice. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Mosley turned from the window, his expression troubled. “He really does love her, you know.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think he’s on the brink of doing something rash and I don’t want to see him go down in flames.”

“Even if he deserves it?” Brian asked, moving to the desk and shutting down his laptop.

Mosley shook his head. “No. He does a lot of good with his money. He helped your father.”

“You were there, Mosley. Did I really have a choice?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“And I also imagine you’re here because of some self-interest on your part, as well?”

“
Touché
, Mr. Weller.”

“Well, it’s nice to know no one’s perfect.” Brian slipped the MacBook into a zippered case. “So, why are you here?”

“He wants to see you.”

“I kind of figured that, but I’ll be gone in a couple of days. Not much point, is there?”

“Mr. Ruby doesn’t see it that way.”

“And how does he ‘see it’?”

“That you’re a perennial problem in search of a solution.”

Brian laughed. “Good one, Mosley, you should be doing stand-up. I’ll bet he thinks he’s found that solution, too.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Then go back and tell your boss that you missed me, that I was out.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Is this the moment the snub-nosed thirty-eight makes its appearance?”

Mosley’s grin was wan. “I have a permit, but choose not to carry. I am a black belt, however.”

“Ah, well, I’d hate to see you muss those clothes,” Brian said, grabbing his A2 flight jacket off the bed. “Let’s go see your boss.”

The Mass Pike was a parking lot.

Cars crept forward at a pace that would have made a snail feel like Speedy Gonzalez. Brake lights flared like angry eyes and horns blared, making Joanna want to scream. She tried to keep her mind focused, tried not to let her nerves get the better of her.

She glanced at the clock. It was 5:15. Time to call Erik.

She pulled her cell phone from her handbag and punched in his number.

“Hello, Dear,” he said.

His voice was silky-smooth, as if nothing was amiss. In years past the sound of it would have made her knees weak; now, it just hardened her resolve.

“Hi. Is Zack with you?”

“Yes, and we’ve been having a nice father-son experience. Can’t say I was happy that he came here on his own, however.”

A flash of guilt shot through Joanna. She fought it. “My friend needed a ride.”

There was a brief silence. “So I heard.”

“I’m coming to pick Zack up. We need to talk.”

“You’re right about that. We do....”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all.

“Let me speak to Zack.”

She heard Erik say something she couldn’t make out and then Zack came on the line.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Sweetie. You okay?”

“Sure. Dad’s been showing me all around. Everything’s so huge, you know? We’re going up on the roof next.”

“You be careful and stay away from the edge.”

“Ah, Mom, I’m not an idiot.”

She smiled. “Of course, you’re not. But I’m sure it’s windy up there. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, pausing. “Thanks for taking me today. It was really cool meeting Mr. Weller.”

Joanna smiled. “I’m glad. He really thinks you’re on your way.”

“Yeah,” her son replied. She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was still trying to get used to that idea.

“He’s more than just an old friend, isn’t he?”

Joanna nearly fumbled the phone. Where on earth was this coming from? “I’m not sure how to answer that, Sweetheart. It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay, Mom, Dad’s out of the room. I saw the way you and Mr. Weller look at each other. Like I said, I’m not an idiot.”

Joanna felt herself losing control again, tears stinging her eyes. “Honey, we shouldn’t be talking about this. Not now.”

“I—I just want you to be happy, Mom. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Tears clouded her eyes, making it hard to see the road, which now looked like a smear of red light through the windshield. She wiped her eyes and steadied herself.

“That doesn’t matter, Zack. All your father and I want is what’s best for you.”

The boy was silent for a moment. What he said next pulled the rug out from under her. “I’d rather you and Dad live apart than have you slowly killing each other’s spirits, like you have been.”

Oh, God, what had she done to deserve such a wonderful, insightful boy? Any other kid his age would have made the same observations about her and Brian and hated them both for it. And she wasn’t sure this wasn’t worse in some way. He was much too young to be so mature.

“Zack, I—”

“He’s coming back. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Baby.”

The phone went dead and Joanna tossed it back into her handbag. She gripped the wheel and cursed both her husband and the traffic.

Mosley’s cell phone rang five minutes after they pulled away from the hotel in the black man’s silver F430. Mosley pulled a sleek ultra-thin model from inside his jacket, glanced at the number on the display then brought it to his ear.

“Yes, sir. We’re on our way.... Okay.”

The black man handed the phone over to Brian and shifted gears, the Ferrari’s eight-cylinder engine responding with a throaty rumble.

“Yes?” Brian said.

“Well, it looks as if it’s going to be old home week. My boy is here and I just got off the phone with Joanna. Seems she’s real anxious to see me, too.”

“Zack is there? Ruby, are you out of your mind?”

“I’ve never been more sane, Mr. Weller. It’s time my son learned how things really work, not how they do in books.”

Ruby hung up and Brian handed the cell phone back to Mosley.

“He’s got Zack there with him?” Mosley asked.

Brian nodded. “And apparently Joanna’s on her way there, as well.”

The black man let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder about this job.”

Brian gave him a look, but said nothing.

Ruby’s new fifty-story monstrosity of steel and glass occupied a full block of State Street real estate in downtown Boston. Brian managed a glimpse of the top right before Mosley piloted the Ferrari into the basement parking area. Round and round they went, descending level after empty level, until they came to the private parking area. An articulated metal grate blocked their way. Mosley reached up to a remote and pushed the button. The grate began to ascend, rattling in its frame as it rose. When it was high enough to let the Ferrari slip through, Mosley gunned the engine and the car rocketed forward, coming to a stop in front of a bank of six elevators. Only one other car occupied a space.

Ruby’s Jaguar.

Brian was the first to exit the car. He pushed the elevator button and waited; Mosley joined him. A moment later, one of the elevators opened and the two of them entered. The interior was spacious, like those used in hospitals, but lacked the second set of doors.

“I assume you know where we’re going,” Brian said.

Mosley nodded and punched the button for the fiftieth floor. The elevator accelerated upward, floor indicators snapping on and off in rapid succession, synchronized with the toll of an electronic bell. It slowed when it passed the fortieth floor, but not enough to prevent Brian from feeling as if his stomach was rising up his throat.

Easing to a stop, the elevator doors hissed open. Mosley strode out and Brian followed. The floor was only partially completed, with steel studs, wiring conduits, and plumbing still visible in places not yet covered by drywall. Buzzing fluorescent fixtures hung askew from chains and silver foil ductwork crisscrossed overhead. The air reeked of paint, adhesives, and the chalky odor of the plasterboard. The only sounds were their feet crinkling the thick plastic tarps, which covered the pristine charcoal gray carpeting.