She darted back inside and ran through a large den, scraped one foot on the hearth’s edge of the soaring field-stone fireplace there, and ran to the expanse of sliding glass doors that looked out on a large wooden deck surrounded by wintry gardens and lawn and huge old oaks,
even now a pretty landscape. She’d designed it to please the eye at any time of year.
She shoved one of the glass doors open and bolted onto the deck. Icy rain pelted her. “Lupa!” The big, bedraggled dog crawled from under the deck, crept up the short flight of steps to the garden path, and wagged her bushy golden tail wistfully. Lily sat down on the steps and put her arms around the dog’s wet neck. “Lupa, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you go around to the front porch?”
The mixed breed flattened her ears despondently and huddled inside Lily’s embrace, burrowing her head under Lily’s chin. No one could make Lily believe that Stephen’s dog wasn’t grieving. Lily rested her cheek on the dog’s head and sheltered it from the rain. They sat there miserably, the rain soaking them.
“He’s here,” Aunt Maude called from the open door. “Lily, he’s driving up
right now
. In a big black limousine. Please come inside.”
Lily raised a hand in dismissal, then slid it back around Lupa’s neck.
Eventually, through a haze, she heard sounds behind her—heavy, leaden footsteps advancing on the wood, then halting. Lupa dragged her head up and laid it across Lily’s shoulder, woofing softly. Lily let go of her and twisted around, rain streaming into her eyes. She rubbed the back of one hand over them.
Artemas looked down at her. The one emotion that flashed through her mind was sympathy. His strong features were contorted in dismay and sorrow. A black overcoat hung open over his suit, and the rain was already slicking his hair. She had to go back inside, if only for his sake.
His expression stiffened. He held out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her up. His pain was hers; it radiated from the gentleness of his hand and the way he squeezed hers. She put her arms around him for a moment, and he shivered. His arms went, around her tightly. They held each other without speaking, and she laid her head on his shoulder. His jaw was hard and warm against the back of
her neck. For that brief moment, the comfort obliterated everything else.
“No need for us both to stand here in the rain,” she said wearily, and stepped back. “Lupa, come on.” The dog trailed them inside.
Tamberlaine stood in the room’s center, frowning. Maude and Big Sis waited beside him. All three looked awkward and pitying. Little Sis burst into the den carrying two large towels. “Here.” She draped a towel across Lily’s hair and handed the other to Artemas. He dried his face and hands, then dropped the towel on the hearth. Little Sis held out her hands and nodded toward his damp overcoat. He shrugged it off and folded it in half before handing it to her, every movement precise and concentrated.
Lily was dimly aware of dabbing one end of the towel to her face as she went to Tamberlaine. He took her outstretched hand in both of his, and his face softened. Behind her, Artemas spoke brusquely, “I’ll wait here while Lily changes into some dry clothes.”
“I don’t need to,” Lily said. She dried her face and let the towel fall around her shoulders, then went to a fat blue sofa and sat down. Lupa stretched out on a rug beside her.
As if on cue, Tamberlaine turned to Maude and the sisters. “I would certainly appreciate a cup of hot tea.”
“We can do better than that,” Maude answered. She shot a wary look at Artemas. “We suspected we’d be extra baggage.” Little Sis linked an arm through Tamberlaine’s. “Come with us. We figured you for a cognac man.”
“How astute. Thank you.” He and the trio left the den. Artemas went after them and pulled its tall double doors closed. The only sound was rain pelting lightly on one of the wide skylights. The den, with its high, beamed ceilings and oversized couches, its heavy pottery lamps and bookcases, and the big-screened television in one corner, suddenly seemed too small for his presence.
Lily regarded him with dull lethargy. He stood with his back to her, his large hands still clasped on the doors’ ornately carved wooden handles. “I always wondered what
your house looked like,” he said. “It’s what I pictured—warm, filled with unique touches.”
She found her voice. It was a raw scrape of sound. “Richard loved woodworking. He has … had … there’s a wonderful workshop out back. He made those doors.”
Artemas drew his hands off them. He turned and stood, motionless, his eyes troubled. His gaunt face belied the well-kept elegance of his clothes. Lily looked away from the sight. Dull pain stabbed at her throat. She looked like hell, but so did he.
“I wish I could put this conversation off,” he told her. “I wish it never had to be. Certainly not this soon.”
“What?” She felt distracted. Her mind wandered to Stephen’s bedroom upstairs, to her and Richard’s bedroom, the guest rooms, the downstairs with its den and large kitchen and dining room, and off the den, the large office she and Richard had shared. Her mind took in the whole house in the space of a few seconds. It was empty. She was empty, a mother with no child to hold. Artemas’s sister was dead, his brother perhaps crippled for life. And there were questions about the Colebrook Building. She had known they’d come.
He looked defeated by her blank silence. “We have to talk about what happened, and why it happened.” His voice was leaden, and his expression had become a mask of restraint.
“Some kind of accident. I don’t know.” Lily drew the towel into her lap, watching water drip from the curly strands of hair matted to her breasts. “I’ve asked myself questions. Every day, every night. I’ve screamed them at the walls in the shower, so Aunt Maude and the sisters can’t hear. I don’t know.”
“Then you and I have been doing the same thing.”
“The lawyers—Richard and Frank’s lawyers—tried to ask me. They gave up. I have to call them when I can make sense. And there are investigators. The state’s people. All of them. I have to talk with them.”
“You have to talk to me first.”
She raised her head, shocked by the command in his
voice. There was enough of her old self left to feel wary. And more coming to the surface. But he had been devastated too. She had to help him learn who’d done this godawful thing. If there was anyone to blame. “How is James?” she asked finally.
“There’ll be another surgery on his leg tomorrow, to repair more of the muscle and nerve damage. He’ll stay in the hospital for several more weeks. The house he and Alise have under construction isn’t finished yet.”
“And the rest of your family?”
“They’re taking it one day at a time. Keeping each other—and James—from thinking too much. They have their homes here. They won’t be going back to New York. We’ve taken two floors at a hotel as a headquarters, for now, until we can find an office building to lease. Most of our people have already moved here. We have to get them situated as quickly as possible.”
“You’re living at the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“What about Blue Willow?”
“I still plan to restore it. Eventually.”
She leaned back in the chair and let her head rest on the hard rim. “Everything you worked for, your dream—”
“My family is torn apart. That’s my main concern.” He paused, his face working silently, the large gray eyes searing her. “I’ll never stop missing my sister, but Lily, your son—I can only try to imagine how it must feel to lose a child.”
“I feel as if everything inside me has been cut out and burned.” She heard her voice from a distance. It was dispassionate. An observer’s calm tone. “And all that’s left is this shell”—she gestured toward her body then laid her hands on the chair’s arms—“this shell that walks around pretending to be alive. If I didn’t need to find out what happened that night, I wouldn’t have any reason to pretend. I’d put the muzzle of my father’s old forty-five in my mouth and pull the trigger.”
He exploded, making some furious, guttural sound and almost running across the room to her. He snatched her
out of the chair by her shoulders. Her bare feet strove for a landing, sliding off the toes of his shoes. She gripped his jacket and stared at him, barely keeping her balance. His eyes glittered wildly. “Don’t you
ever
think of doing that,” he said between clenched teeth. “Goddammit,
swear
to me that you won’t.
Swear
it.”
“I said
if
I didn’t have a reason to go on. I
do
. I’m not a coward—”
“I said
swear
it. Swear it on Stephen’s soul.” She gasped. “Swear that you won’t hurt yourself,” he said again, almost shaking her. “If I can survive, by God, you can too.”
“I swear. I promise.
Let me go.
”
Breathing heavily, he lowered her and released her arms. “I’ll give you plenty of reasons to want to live and fight back,” he said, the words low and fierce. He turned and walked away, ramming his hands through his hair. He took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his hands to his side. Lily looked at him in horror. What he was going through equaled everything she felt. There were so many old ties between them, so much that couldn’t be described or considered. Or denied. So much love.
She groaned and covered her face.
Richard, Richard, I didn’t mean to think that. I’ll never think it again. It was over before I met you. Forgive me
. Lily turned blindly and went to the glass doors. Hugging herself hard, she forced herself to concentrate on the future. She had to begin dealing with her grief, subverting it, if only enough to do what had to be done. Artemas’s words suddenly snapped into focus.
I’ll give you plenty of reasons to live and fight back
. A chill crawled up her spine. Fight back?
She pivoted to face Artemas. Her fingers dug into her arms. She wanted to shield herself against the stark new thoughts rising in her mind. “Did you come here to tell me that my husband and his partner are accused of doing something wrong?”
The look in Artemas’s eyes froze her blood. “They were the architects. They designed the building. They designed the bridge. They worked closely with the contractor.
Everyone who had anything to do with the design and construction is being investigated.”
Fury clawed at her throat.
Steady, now. Don’t overreact. He’s only stating the obvious. He has to do that. “I’m
not a fool,” she said slowly. “I know the investigators have to study Richard and Frank’s design of the bridge—that they wouldn’t be doing their job if they didn’t check every detail.” She returned Artemas’s relentless gaze. “But I also know that they won’t find any mistakes.”
His voice was low, anguished. “How can you be so sure of that, Lily?”
“Because there was only one thing Richard loved as much as he loved Stephen and me. His work. He lived for it. His pride in it was
everything.
” Cold threads of panic were winding around her chest. How could Artemas suggest Richard’s architectural firm might be at fault? “Do you think he would have allowed Stephen on that bridge if he thought it was dangerous? Do you think he would have let
anyone
go up there? That he would have gone up himself?”
“If he thought the risk were slight. If he and Frank Stockman miscalculated.”
“No.
No
. You’re saying they knew the bridge might not have been one hundred percent safe.” Trembling with a sense of betrayal—she was stunned that Artemas could be pushing this angle—she realized her hands were pressed to her throat. The pulse there slammed against her fingertips. “Don’t do this. Don’t make ludicrous accusations. I understand your need to blame someone. Revenge, it’s”—her hands formed into fists—“it’s what I want too. But Richard isn’t responsible. Never.”
He shut his eyes. Without moving or speaking, he radiated deadly energy, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. When he looked at her again, there was a kind of despondency in his eyes, but also that lethal drive. “I want experts of my own to look at every document. Every blueprint. Every materials specification. It may take months, but eventually we’ll know what happened. But more important is
why.
” He paused. Then, softly: “Richard was the structural
engineer—he calculated the stress loads, designed the steel frame—”
“I know what my husband’s work involved. And I know how meticulous he was about it.”
“His professional seal is on every blueprint, every materials specification. Lily, if we discover that the failure came from Richard’s calculations, I have to find out whether it was an honest mistake—or deliberate.”
Her knees went weak. Nausea twisted her stomach. “You are talking about a man,” she said between gritted teeth, “who had carpenters rebuild an entire wall of this house because it was one inch off vertical.”
Artemas walked over to her—stood beside her, not looking at her, his hands clasped behind his back. The gray light filtering through the rain and the glass doors cast his face in ashen hues, like stone. “There is the possibility that Richard and his partner collaborated with the contractor to save money, or time.”
“That makes no sense! The Colebrook project was a godsend to Richard. He and Frank staked their reputations on it! It meant everything—national respect, big clients, awards. They slaved over it for
the past three years.
” She leaned toward him, grasping his shoulder fiercely. “He and Frank wouldn’t have risked people’s lives to save a few dollars on a hundred-million-dollar project.”
“Unless they believed the bridge would be safe, regardless. If they gambled—and lost.”
The pulse roared in Lily’s ears. She felt the clammy, cold prickle of shock on her cheeks, and black shadows floated across her vision. But she would not show weakness before this man. She remembered all too well the cost of being vulnerable to him. She made her way to a couch as calmly as she could and sat down. There must be other answers to this horror. Ones she hadn’t had the time or the presence of mind to consider. Only one thing mattered right now—Artemas was saying Richard might be responsible for a tragedy that had taken the lives of a dozen people, including their son’s. A tragedy that marred the Colebrook name. All that had ever been paramount to
Artemas was rebuilding that name. All he cared about now was finding some way to protect that name and his family, even if it meant destroying everything she believed in.