Getting Some Of Her Own (22 page)

“I brought this for you,” he said. “I wanted to give you something valuable, not financially, but of real value, so I brought you these.” He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a portfolio and handed it to her.

She opened it and looked through several pages. “Oh, dear. These are houses that you designed?”

“Yes, ma'am, and further on, you'll see some other buildings.”

She closed the folder and clasped it to her breast. “I'm going to study it carefully and put it on my coffee table. Nothing you could have given me would have meant this much to me. You're smart, and I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks. I . . . I'm glad you like it. Well . . . I'll see you again as soon as I can.”

“Don't make it too long.”

She stood at the door, tiny and frail in the twilight, and he put his arms around her. “I'm good as my word, Nana. I'll be back, and before that I'll call you. This has been one of the most wonderful days of my life.” He kissed her cheek.

“For me, too, son. Go with the angels.” She handed him a small shopping bag and he got into the waiting taxi, waved and was soon out of sight.

He walked into his house at seven-thirty, threw his briefcase and jacket on a living room chair, put the little shopping bag on a counter in the kitchen, and headed up the stairs to his den. Suddenly, he realized how disappointed he would be if Susan were not at home. He dialed her number. “Hi, this is Lucas.”

“Hi. You do not have to tell me who you are; by now I recognize your voice. How are you?”

“I'm on some kind of high. So much is happening to me. I wish we were together so I could talk with you.”

“If it's so important, we can fix that,” she said.

“What's a friend if she's not there for you when you need her?”

“It's important,” he said, and waited.

“Okay. We can meet at Sam's, or you can come here; but I can only offer you shrimp salad, hard rolls and coffee.”

Maybe he was begging for trouble, but if that's what he got, he'd deal with it. “I'll take the shrimp. May I bring you anything?” When she declined the offer, he told her he'd be there in twenty minutes. “I'll bring along some delicious apple cobbler for dessert.”

“Great. I won't ask where you got it, but I'll enjoy it, because I love it.”

She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, generating in him a feeling of emptiness, and he realized he needed greater intimacy with her. He hugged her, and watched her face mold itself into an expression of uncertainty. “The food is ready,” she said, and he knew he had undermined her self-assurance.

As they ate, he told her about his grandmother and how he happened to learn that he had one. “It's been an unbelievable day for me, Susan. She . . . she's such a sweet woman, warm and feminine, yet composed and accomplished like you. She's softer than my mother, but I understand why: she had the love and support of her husband, and my mother didn't have that.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“As soon as I can. And I'm going to redesign her kitchen. She's eighty-eight, though she neither looks nor acts it, and those stairs must be a burden for her. I'm going to put a chairlift on those steps. It's amazing how much she and I have in common. I learned a lot about my father, too. You know, he's really good to her, calls her a couple times a week and goes to see her at least once a month. That surprised me.”

“Why should it have? Isn't that how you treat your mother? You've made your grandmother happy, and I'm glad for both of you. What does your mother say about this?”

“I haven't told her yet. I suspect they'd like each other.”

“When will you see your mother?”

“Tomorrow.” He put the bag containing the apple cobbler on the table. “Let's try this for dessert.”

“Your grandmother made it?” She bit into a piece. “Mmmm. This is wonderful.”

He nodded. “Sure is. Do I dare ask about your relationship with Rudy?”

She looked past his shoulder. “I guess you know that I haven't taken your advice. Mrs. Price lets her spend some nights with me, and once, Nathan stayed with us. I was almost in tears when I had to take her home that Sunday night.”

It was going to backfire, and he wouldn't be able to help her. “Have you done anything about adopting her?”

“I engaged a lawyer, but he apparently didn't think it urgent, so I fired him. I'm looking for another one.”

“I know you love Rudy, but what I can't understand is why you'd settle for adoption. You're young.”

“Who said I'm settling for it?” she asked in whispered tones.

He wasn't foolish. She had a love affair with children, and yet gave no indication of concern that her biological clock ticked away her chances of childbearing. He didn't want to hurt her, so he said, “You'll make a wonderful mother. The child who gets you will be fortunate indeed. Thank you for this evening. I needed to share this . . . what's going on in my life.”

“What about your father? How is it with you and him?”

“I don't know. The more I learn about him, and the better I get to know him, the less animosity I feel toward him. He . . . uh . . . his life is empty. He's in a loveless marriage and has been for many years, and his daughters, especially the older one, are less attentive to him than I am.”

“Maybe he deserves it.”

“Somehow, I'm not so sure. He put everything into making it big, ensuring his family a good life. They have that, and that seemingly is all they want from him. There's no love in that family.”

He could see that something was on her mind, and that she was reluctant to voice it. “Go ahead,” he urged. “I can take it.”

Leaning forward and in a softer, sympathetic voice she said, “Did he love your mother?”

So she hadn't wanted to hurt him. “Yes, I'm almost positive of that. What I can't figure out is why he didn't get a divorce and marry her. He could have paid off his wife.”

“Oh, that's easy. In those days, divorce around here was frowned upon. Don't forget, this is still the Bible belt. He wanted to get rich, and that meant being a good boy if he wanted to keep his grip on local patronage. It's a pity.”

“Yeah. It cost him a lot.” The memory of his father warning him against doing that flashed through his mind. He stared at Susan, wondering why, after leaving his grandmother with love and joy churning in him, he'd felt such a driving need to share it with her. One thing was certain: he'd better watch his step.

Lucas parked the town car in his mother's two-car garage, got the lawn mower and mowed the grass on the front lawn. Then, he found the pruning shears and trimmed the boxwood. By the time he pulled all the weeds from the tulip patch, he figured he'd had enough exercise for the day. His mother wouldn't be home from church for another forty minutes or an hour, so he went in the kitchen to see what he could cook. He found a roasting hen in the refrigerator, seasoned it, stuffed it with herbs, put it on the spit, set the rotisserie, got his mother's Sunday paper and a cup of coffee and made himself comfortable. It would be either a good day or a bad one, and he was prepared for both.

“Yoo-hoo! Where are you, Son?” His mother burst into the house like a curtain billowing in the breeze. “The front yard looks great”—he wondered why she always referred to the lawn as the yard—“and the shrubs look as if you manicured them. Did you get something to eat?”

He rested the coffee and newspaper on the table and went to greet her. “Hi. I'll bet you turned heads today. You look great,” he said, hugging her.

She patted the back of her dark-green suede hat. “When I was your age, I had all of 'em doing double takes.”

He looked down at her and grinned. “I'll
bet
you did. I seasoned your chicken and put it on the rotisserie.”

“Good. Put some sweet potatoes in the microwave. Everything else is cooked. Let me change my clothes. By the way, you didn't tell me you were coming today. Anything special going on?”

“You may think so. Go on and change.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, but said nothing, for although she easily figured him out, she treated him as the man he was, and never tried to force his hand. With a half laugh, he recalled that she used her wiles on Willis rather than on him, possibly because she scored better with Willis.

“I was down in Athens yesterday,” he told her after she changed. It didn't surprise him that she set the plate down on the table almost hard enough to shatter it.

“Who do you know in Athens?”

He walked over to her and put both arms around her. Her body communicated some resistance, but she didn't move away. “After I questioned my father, he told me that his mother, my grandmother, was living in Athens, so I called her and went to see her. I'm glad I did, Mama. She's a youthful eighty-eight. Did you know that she taught high school math and physics—my best subjects in school—and that she paints? She's pretty good, too. Dad is her only child.”

Shock reverberated throughout his body when he realized he had referred to his father as Dad. “He takes good care of her,” Lucas continued in awed tones. “I learned a lot about myself and why I'm like I am. It's a pity you never met her, because you would have loved her.”

She moved away from him then and looked into his eyes. “Because
you
love her?”

He shrugged. “Yes. I suppose I do. It's impossible not to love her. Having her grandchild with her in her home made her so happy.”

A frown covered her face. “But she has two granddaughters.”

If she was fishing, he was not going to bite. “She didn't know she had a grandson until several weeks back when Dad discovered he had to have that surgery. I told him I was going to see her, but I haven't spoken with him since I got back.”

She turned back to the table and resumed setting it for their noonday meal. “Back then, I would have given anything to meet her, but after things went sour between Calvin and me—”

“Why did it go sour? Couldn't you both have admitted that you made mistakes and parted friends?”

“Never!” she spat out. “That man loved me, but he loved money and status more. I'm no longer bitter, though, because you've been such a blessing to me, but I'll love him as long as I breathe.”

He didn't know what to make of it. “What do you want from him, Mama? He's still married.”

“I know.” Her voice had a wistfulness that surprised him. “I can't have him, but I long to know that he's contented, that he's well and . . . and comfortable. I know he's not happy, because he loves me and he's living with her.”

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, walked to the other end of the dining room and back to her. “You're telling me that love is that powerful, that it can last so long with nothing to fuel it?”

She stared at him.
“Nothing to fuel it?
We fell in love on sight, and for four years, we gave it all the fuel it needed. Haven't you ever been in love?”

“I'm beginning to wonder.”

 

 

Susan looked through her mail and suddenly her heart seemed to stop beating. She clutched the envelope with
Architectural Design
in its return address, opened it with trembling fingers and read: “We'd like to do a story on you for publication along with photos of the wonderful house you've decorated. We love your ideas and the way you put colors and styles together.”

She couldn't read any further, for tears blurred her vision. She put the letter aside, went into the living room and sat down. Suddenly, she jumped up and whooped for joy. She was going to be featured in one of the country's leading design magazines. She twirled around and around, ran to the phone and dialed Cassie's number.

“I just got a reply from the magazine, Cassie. They're going to run the story, and they want to interview me.”

“Oh, goodness, Susan. I'm so excited. I bet Jay will be a spot of grease on Market Street when he sees that.”

Several days later a reporter arrived at Susan's house along with a photographer, and Susan breathed deeply when at its conclusion, she had managed to get through the interview without relating personal facts that she would hate seeing in the years to come. She had no way of knowing the powerful impact that article would have on her life.

In the meantime, Jessica Burton was so delighted in having her home featured in a national magazine, that she introduced Susan to her friends, several of whom clamored for her services, although their homes did not need redecorating.

“You're gonna fall flat on your ass,” Jay Weeks told her one afternoon while browsing in her shop. “You can't maintain that standard, because anything you buy here is second rate and you can't run to New York every time you need a yard of trimming. Then everybody will know you're in the class with the rest of us.”

Deciding not to lose her temper, she forced a grin. “Not to worry, Jay. If I land on my fanny, I'll find good company, because you'll be down there sitting on yours. Now, would you please excuse me so I can stitch this braid?” He sauntered toward the door, and she called after him. “How'd you like the piece in
Architectural Design
? I thought it was rather elegant.”

“What piece? You can find all kinds of junk in magazines these days.”

Her bottom lip sagged. Why had she ever thought she could be friends with Jay Weeks?
I don't care what he thinks. It wouldn't be junk if it was attributed to him.
She picked up the remote control, turned on the CD player, changed her mood with Ray Charles's “What I Say,” and was rocking to it when the telephone rang.

“Pettiford Interiors. This is Susan.”

“Hi. You sound happy, and well you should. That's a spectacular piece
Architectural Design
has on you in this month's issue. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Coming from you, that's a real tribute, Lucas. Do you really like what I did with Jessica Burton's house?”

“Absolutely. It gave me an idea. How'd you like to work with me at Hamilton Village? I need someone to decorate model apartments. It'll take you a while, because the village consists of three buildings, each with a different design. If you're willing, let me know your fee, and I'll get my attorney to draw up a contract.”

He was serious?
She hadn't dreamed of such a plum of a job. “You mean you'll pay whatever I charge? I've never done anything like that. I'll have to look at the apartments, and I need to know what age and income level you're shooting for.”

“But you'll do it?”

“If we come to terms, definitely, and thanks for thinking of me.”

“Thinking of you is something I do with remarkable regularity.”

I'd better ignore that remark,
she thought.
What is it about this man that the sound of his voice can set me on fire?

“Aren't you going to respond?” he asked, and she thought his voice carried the sound of hope, something that she had not associated with him, for he was a man who wore self-assurance the way judges wear their robes.

“I can't encourage that sort of talk, Lucas. I've told you there can't be anything between us but a platonic friendship.”

“You're joking. Surely you don't make love with all of your buddies. Anyway, you don't believe that yourself. There's already more between you and me than many married couples can boast of. You respond to me as no other woman has, and I'd better not get into what you do to
me
. The question is what we'll do about it. Frankly, this unresolved relationship is getting to me. Someday you're going to tell me why you started it.”

“I told you—”

“Oh, sure, you told me something, but the better I know you, the less I believe that explanation.”

“I'm sincere in what I said, Lucas. It's true that I cave in sometimes when I'm with you—”

“Stop it, Susan. Mislead anybody you like, but tell yourself the truth.

“If you can, I'd like you to start in the first building of Hamilton Village in about two weeks. I want the model rooms on the eighth floor.”

“I need to see the plans for that floor so that, from the beginning, I can design each apartment differently. I hate redoing anything. What about the public rooms?”

“These apartments are intended mainly for retirees. I suggest you do the lobby and recreation rooms last. I'll bring the floor plans to your office tomorrow.”

Shortly after one o'clock the next day, Monday, the shop door opened and she looked up from her drafting board to see Lucas stride in carrying a roll of plans. “How about some lunch?” he said. “I can go across the street and get a couple of barbecued pork sandwiches, or we can waste a lot of time on an elegant meal.”

She put the pen aside and took off her smock. “Hi. Make it barbecued chicken, and let's eat here. I'll make some coffee and open two cans of soup. Thanks to you, I have a nice kitchen over there.”

After lunch, they sat down to discuss her ideas for decorating the retirement village. “I think light colors, and a focus on comfort and safety should attract seniors,” she said, “so I won't use ultra modern furniture, or low slung chairs.”

He leaned over the drafting table, too close, and he knew it, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing her reaction to his nearness. “That would make a nice room for a child,” she said, “but since we're dealing with seniors, I'll put a big television in there.”

“That's what I intended it for, a den,” he said. “Speaking of children, what's happening with Rudy?”

“I was going to tell you. I've become friendly with Harris, my lawyer, and his wife, and so I didn't want to use him for something personal like this, but it was moving so slowly that I called him and told him my problem. He brought the papers over this morning, I signed them, and he's filing them. Now, I have to wait. He said it could be a month or ten months.

“Lucas, I don't know what I'll do if they turn me down. I love her so much, and she loves me.”

“I know. I've always known. Well, now's the time to send up some prayers. What are you going to do about Nathan?”

“I'll just have to make sure that they stay in close contact. They need each other.”

“Yeah,” he said in a manner that seemed absentminded, at least for him. “Funny how easily a person can become a habit.”

 

 

Lucas left his regular Monday morning meeting with the senior staff of Jackson Enterprises feeling that they had finally accepted him as the boss, although he'd had to roll heads in order to achieve that. He drove to Calvin Jackson's house, an imposing brick Tudor on the edge of Danville, parked in front of it, strolled up the walk and rang the bell. He'd never cared for the Tudor style, because most of the houses contained space that wasn't easily put to good use.

“Good morning. I'm Lucas Hamilton,” he said to the woman who opened the door.

The woman's eyes widened. “Yes, I can see that. He's in the library.” Considering the draft of cold air that came from her, he didn't have to imagine who she was. He'd finally met Mrs. Calvin Jackson.

The library. And where the hell is that? he wanted to ask her when she left it to him to find his way. But as an architect, he knew the Tudor design, and walked directly to the room in which his father sat reading
The Woodmore Times
and drinking coffee.

Calvin looked up at him, smiled and pointed to a chair facing him. “I wanted to call you and ask how it went, but I decided to leave it to you. I don't have the right to intrude in your life; I'm thankful for whatever you give me.”

He ignored that last part, recognizing the truth in it but prepared to move on from the past, to the extent that they could. “You mean my visit with Nana? I'm still awed by it.” With his forearms resting on his thighs, he leaned forward. “Dad, she's so tiny and frail, and at the same time, she's so strong.”