Texas Heat (39 page)

“Will you please
look
at me?” Amelia cried. “Do I look like I have any fight left? I'm an old woman. Eileen Farrell is just a name. There will always be Eileen Farrells. And each one will be younger as I get older.”

Maggie bit down on her tongue. When she tasted her own blood, she grabbed Amelia by the arm. “You aren't running away from Cary or Eileen. You're running away from yourself. Admit it, Amelia. You're a Coleman and you're copping out. For shame. I thought you were tougher than that. We're all that's left. Fall back and regroup! Go talk to a shrink and get it all in perspective, but make sure you know the reason. It's you, Amelia.”

“We're all that's left! You fool, we're all there ever was. Your mother wasn't a Coleman, only by marriage. We didn't have a choice. Maybe you are right.” Amelia turned to look at Susan, who had just gotten off the phone. “What's the verdict, Suse?”

“There's a ten-o'clock flight to New York. You can pick up your ticket at the airport. I told them you would American Express it. You have a seat on tomorrow's Concorde flight.”

Maggie's shoulders slumped. “How about some coffee? A sandwich or something.”

“I'll take the coffee and a chicken sandwich.” Amelia looked at herself in the dresser mirror. “I'm going to have to wear dark glasses,” she muttered.

Maggie turned to stare at her aunt. “You only have to wear dark glasses if you want to wear them. The choice is yours. You have nothing to hide, Amelia.”

“My age,” Amelia whimpered. “I have to hide my age.”

Susan crossed the room in three strides. Maggie held up her hand to stop her sister. “Then hide it. If you want to hide behind dark glasses to keep the boogeyman away, then you do it. I'll get the coffee.” She made a motion for Susan to follow her. When the door closed behind her, Maggie sagged against it.

“You were a little hard on her, don't you think?”

“Maybe I wasn't hard enough. When you give up the fight, it's all over. You exist. But this is as much as we're going to interfere. Do you agree?” Susan nodded. “If Cary comes here, we don't know anything. Let's see what kind of man he really is. If he's what I think he is, he's going to sweat it out. He won't go after her the way she wants. And that's when we'll know who Amelia Coleman Nelson

Assante really is.”

“I feel so sorry for her. I never thought of her as old. For me she's never changed. I don't understand how that could be so important to her. So many things in life that are more important, yet she's only worried about her age.”

“That house of her mother's was important to her. She actually used to light up a room when she came in at the end of the day. Cary was so proud of her. Where did that go? I can't believe that he got mixed up with that little snot Eileen. If he did, she engineered it. She had her claws out for Rand, too.”

“I think, if you want my honest gut opinion, that Cary is a victim. I think there's an explanation for everything. He loved Amelia.”

“Past tense?” Maggie asked.

“I haven't been as close to the situation as you. I've been busy with Jessie—and coming to terms with her disability. But I've accepted it now, so I can go on and do the best I can. No one can ask more of you than your best.”

“Good girl, Suse. Come on, help me with the coffee. I don't think any of us are going to be hungry this evening. Didja ever notice how good we all are at stirring our food around the plates?”

“Yeah, I noticed.... She's going to be all right, isn't she, Maggie?”

“I don't know. It's going to hit her hard once she's back in England. If Cary is a no-show, I can't even imagine what she'll do. All we can do is be supportive. I'll call Mam after she leaves and give her the facts. I hate to burden her, though. It's time we left her alone. But I'm glad they're coming for the christening. Have you heard from Sawyer?”

“Not yet. I was going to call her this weekend. She'll come through.”

 

Sawyer didn't come through. It was Maggie who held Jessica Margaret in her arms for the christening.

It was a private ceremony with just the family. Cole, dressed in a new suit, stood quietly next to his mother, watching the proceeding with narrowed eyes. Billie, Thad, and Riley sat at the front of the church. Ferris Armstrong stood in the back next to Cary Assante. Both men left quietly before the family started the walk back down the long center aisle.

Billie and Thad stayed for mid-afternoon dinner and caught an early-evening flight to New York.

There was no mention of Sawyer.

Rand Nelson waved to his mother as she took off down
the lane on her bicycle. The sight of her maneuvering the old one-speed made him smile, as usual. He still couldn't get used to having her here, with him. He'd been shocked and surprised a month ago when he'd received the call to pick her up at Heathrow Airport. She'd done little talking on the way back to the house, but what she had told him was enough to make him angry. Not with Cary, but with her. He'd tried to talk sense to her, and she'd listened politely, but he knew she hadn't really heard a word he'd said.

But she'd changed a great deal since then. She'd put on some weight. She was letting her hair color fade out. Her artificial nails and phony eyelashes were gone. She made no effort to coat her eyes with the makeup she used to buy by the pound; they looked wistful now, but alive. She was quite beautiful, possibly the prettiest woman he'd ever known.

For the first few weeks Amelia hovered close to the phone and was outside, rain or shine, when the postman arrived. Eventually she'd given that up; these days she forgot to pick up the mail unless he reminded her. Once she'd had her old bicycle fixed, she'd begun to take long rides on the country lanes, sometimes asking him to join her. He could do more than relate to Amelia now: he could actually understand.

There'd been no phone calls from Texas for him, only that short letter from Maggie after the holidays. His guilt was so overpowering, he couldn't make himself pick up a pen or the telephone to make things right. In her own way Amelia was handling things better than he.

The only regular mail that arrived from Texas to Rib-bonmaker Lane was from Susan. She wrote faithfully, every ten days or so. Rand never answered, and from Susan's letters, he learned that Amelia didn't respond, either. Once again he read the letter that had arrived today, enjoying the chatty, breezy tone.

 

Dear Amelia and Rand,

Spring has finally come to Texas. It's almost as beautiful as Jessie. Sometimes I put her out on the patio in her carriage for hours at a time. I've actually gotten Cole and Riley to baby-sit if I go out. Of course, they don't do it together. Some things never change!

Did you know the boys were taking Sawyer and Adam Jarvis to Hawaii for a summer vacation? They're going to be staying someplace high in the hills, at the house Mam stayed in when Pap was stationed at Pearl Harbor. It's where I was conceived! They're leaving in June and staying for about six weeks. Maggie is going in April to ready the house for them. No one knows that, so please don't mention it. It seems the place has been closed for years and years. I don't know how long she'll be there.

Sawyer didn't make it for the christening. Maggie took her place. She's so wonderful with the baby. I've enclosed some snapshots the boys took. Jessie's hair is starting to curl now into little ringlets. Cute, huh?

My attorney informed me yesterday that Jerome will be here the early part of April. I'm dreading that. I suppose he can make all kinds of trouble, but I won't allow it. I don't even want him to see Jessie, but I suppose I have to let him. Of course he'll blame me for her disability.

I saw Cary in town one day last week. He looked so tired and drawn. He asked about you, Rand, said that he received your check and where the hell is your body? They could use you. That's a direct quote. Why don't you give him a call?

Cary tells me the progress they're making on his inner city is phenomenal. Some of the structures are actually up. I plan to take a look the next time I'm there. Ferris is impressed. Ferris is Ferris Armstrong, Jessie's doctor. I've been seeing him a little on a social basis. He's helping me organize a small group of parents with children like Jessie. He's very nice.

Well, that's my news for now. It would be nice to hear some news from England. I miss you both.

I send my love and Jessie's, too,

 

Susan

 

Rand watched Amelia pedal her bike up the lane. He waved the letter as she drew near. “Susan,” he called loudly so he wouldn't have to see the disappointment on her face.

She hopped off the bike and adjusted the kickstand. “Be back in a minute,” she told him. “I want to put this fish in the fridge.”

It was a long time before Amelia joined him. Long enough to read the letter three more times. Maggie was going to Hawaii soon.

Amelia read the letter, folded it, and replaced it in the envelope with the bright red border. “Would you like rice or noodles with your fish?”

“Rice. What did you think of the baby's pictures?”

“She's adorable. She looks like Susan, thank God. One of us should write to her.”

“Yes, one of us should,” Rand said thoughtfully.

“I'm not much of a letter writer,” Amelia said, sipping her tea.

“I'm worse.”

“Then one of us should call,” Amelia said tightly.

“Yes, I suppose you're right. One of these days.”

“Yes, one of these days,” Amelia said. They were like an old shoe and an old sock, she thought sourly. “We're having an early dinner this evening. I'm playing backgammon with the Goodwins. Would you like to join us?”

“No, thanks. Do you want me to drop you off?”

“I'm quite capable of driving myself, but I'm going to bike it. Since you put that light on my bike, I can use it in the evening. Don't worry about me, Rand.”

“It's that bike I'm worried about. It's prewar.”

“Almost as old as me. It's holding up very well. Most things do over the long haul. Do you get my drift?”

Rand laughed. “I sure do. Do you?”

“You bet. Dinner in an hour. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes,” Rand responded absently. Maggie in Hawaii.

Amelia pedaled her bike down the lane at five minutes of six. At five minutes past six Rand placed a call to Vermont. He talked to Billie for well over an hour. Actually, he did more listening than talking. Why was it, he wondered, that some people had the ability to make others feel wonderful and always, always, had the right words?

That night Rand slept deeply, peacefully, for the first time since he'd returned to England. It was only when he woke to a new day that he realized he hadn't needed half a bottle of whiskey to sleep. He felt like singing.

 

Her name was Valentine Mitchell and she was Maggie's attorney. She was thirtyish and tall, almost six feet. Crisp and neat in a gray flannel suit with a white silk blouse. There was a Mark Cross bag over her shoulder and she carried a Gucci briefcase in her hand. Her hair was short and wavy, complementing a sharp, suntanned face. Her eyes, Maggie noticed, were the color of bright new spring leaves just coming into bud.

“I know you must be surprised to see me here, but Mr. Abramson said he thought I was the best one to handle this case. I used to practice in New York before joining this firm. I was one of the legion of assistants to the Manhattan district attorney. I watched your husband in court many times. I've done nothing but work on this case for the past month. I think we can beat him.”

“Think? That isn't good enough, Miss Mitchell. He's clever and he's hateful.”

“Yes, think. A good lawyer never says he knows anything for certain. Trust me. Yes, Cranston is clever, and yes, he can be hateful. I've seen him when he lost a case. I never even knew he was married till Dudley told me.”

Maggie giggled. “I never heard anyone call Mr. Abramson Dudley before. I always thought of him as being born old and everyone bowing down to him.”

“Dudley likes young women. I'm his right hand, or so he says.” The bright green eyes were bitter when she added, “And that hand has been very busy indeed.”

“I see. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I was one of these young women who believed Gloria Steinem when she said, ‘Be a lawyer, don't marry one.' I bought it. I'd like to talk to your son. I want to hear exactly what it is you're prepared to give up and what you want to keep. I want to hear from the boy where he stands. I'm good with kids. I want you to trust me with your son, and I don't want you to interfere. Your case comes up in two weeks, so we don't have a lot of time.”

Maggie looked into the leaf-green eyes. Something she saw there made her nod. “Whatever you want. Stay for dinner and you can talk to Cole afterward. My time is yours now.”

“Good.” The Gucci briefcase snapped open. Legal papers crackled.

Maggie's eyes dropped to Valentine's feet. Ferragamo shoes at three hundred dollars a pair. This was going to be one expensive divorce. “Shoot,” Maggie said happily.

Dinner was more than pleasant. Maggie enjoyed every minute of it. Val, as she preferred to be called, regaled them with tales of her stint in the Manhattan prosecutor's office. The boys, in turn, talked about baseball and archery. Riley surprised his aunt and Cole, too, by bragging that Cole was the number-one archer on the school team. Cole could do no less than supply all of them with Riley's batting average. “His RBI is the best the school's ever had.”

Maggie beamed:

They had coffee in the living room, after the boys had excused themselves to do homework.

“Cole, don't go anywhere. I need to talk to you. When do you think you'll finish your homework?” Val asked.

Cole's eyes swiveled to his mother and then returned to Val. “Forty-five minutes.”

“Good, I'll be up then.”

Maggie sipped at her coffee. “Just how well did you know my husband?”

Val grinned. “Very well. But I didn't go to bed with him. I know somebody who did, though. His name was Evan Lantzy.”

Maggie sputtered her coffee all over the front of her blouse. “
What
?”

“Feel better about this case now?”

“My God! I never.... Who would ...”

“Isn't it great? Once in a while I love to play dirty. Just tell me what you want, Maggie, and it's yours.”

“Cole. That's all I want. Forget the rest. Are ... are ...”

“Yes. He has to know. Dudley and I discussed it. Regardless of what that old bird is, he does know law and he knows Cranston. We did a run-through on his past cases. Hey, he could destroy you in two minutes without Evan's affidavit. He's got enough on you to. . . . You know what I'm saying. You were married to him, so you know how dirty he can be. It's a game. All lawyers play games and make deals.”

Maggie was still in shock. ‘I don't know if Cole can handle this. Are you sure he has to know?”

“Yes. That's why I'm going to be the one doing the telling and not you. As far as you're concerned, you never heard what I said. That kid can handle anything. I watched him during dinner. I told you; I'm good with kids, especially kids in trouble. I worked with them a lot in New York. Do you want to see Evan's affidavit?”

“No. God, no.”

“It wasn't a one-night stand. It lasted quite a while. According to Evan, he was devastated. Right now, the man of the hour is a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue. He buys children's outerwear. His name is Wade Holder.”

Maggie shook her head. “It's so hard to believe. He told me he's getting married.”

“He is. To a very nice woman, I might add. Dumb, but nice. She bakes cookies, is a hospital volunteer, and quite rich. We ran a check on her, too.”

“Do you ever get sick of what you're doing?” Maggie asked curiously.

The bitterness was back in Val's voice. “Every day of my life.”

“Why do you stay with it?”

“Because I bought the bullshit line that I could do it on my own. They told me I didn't need someone to take care of me; that I could do it myself. They're right. I can. I suppose it's a case of wanting versus needing. Men do business like this every day of the week. Everyone has to work in the gutter once in a while. You go home at night and take a bath. Some of it washes away.”

“What happens when you can't wash it away anymore?”

Val laughed. “Then I'll get married and scrub my husband's back. Dirt doesn't seem to stick to a man like it does to a woman.

“While we're waiting for Cole to finish his homework, I have a pile of papers for you to sign. You won't even have to appear in court. I'll personally deliver your divorce papers.”

It was nine-thirty when Valentine Mitchell walked out of Cole's room and came down the wide circular staircase. The leaf-green eyes had tears in them.

“Remember what I told you before,” she said to Maggie. “Don't ever let Cole know you know. If you do, you'll destroy him. He came through it. He'll be all right. Trust me.”