T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (30 page)

She looked back at him, tentatively reached for him. He pushed away in the chair. “Okay.” She put her hand in her lap. “I was with Sam on the boat last night. We were as tangled as fishing worms.” The hurt was swimming in his eyes. She gave up trying to look at him, concentrated on her glass instead. “But Sam or no Sam, this was coming, Tib. You know I don’t love you like I should. I’ve been a coward for putting it off so long. I’ve just kept the status quo, hoped I’d look at you one day and say ‘hell with all this nonsense—let’s get married!—the love’ll come.’ But I haven’t and it isn’t. And it doesn’t look like I will or it will.” He kept his expression noncommittal as she finally looked him in the eyes. “I didn’t go looking for this relationship. It broadsided me, Tib. It broadsided him. There are lots of problems to work out, but we love each other and we’re going to do it. I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you.”

“At least you didn’t say
if
you’ve hurt me.”

“Hurt was inevitable.”

“You remember those words, Lyla. That SOB is going to hurt you. I know his type.”

“No, Tib, you don’t. Just because he isn’t like Wes doesn’t mean he can’t be good for me.”

“I’m not like Wes, Lyla, but still I would have been very good for you.”

“It’s over, Tib.”

“According to you there wasn’t anything to be over.”

“That’s right.” She drew a deep breath. “Please believe me when I say, I will always love you. Just not like you deserve.”

Tib shook his head. “Lyla, do me a favor, okay? Go on down. I’ll be down in a little bit.”

She nodded, pushed her chair back under the table, put her glass in the sink. She carefully closed the door and wiped her eyes before going down the stairs.

*  *  *

“Anybody home?” Lyla heard Bertie’s call through the closed bathroom door. She emerged, blowing her nose, tossed the tissue back over her shoulder into the wastebasket. “Bertie! What a surprise!” She sniffled once. “You didn’t have to come up. I’d have been down in a minute!”

Bertie sat down heavily in the chair vacated by Tib. The pitcher and his glass were still on the table. “Well, this kind of needs to be taken care of in private.” She patted the tabletop beside her. “Come sit down, Lyla.”

Lyla hesitated, then joined her. Just what she didn’t want: one more confrontation at this table tonight. She had no more watched Tib’s taillights disappear down the road than she’d left Harrison playing cards with Arial and came upstairs for some solitude. Like that was ever going to happen. She and Bertie surveyed each other.

“You been crying?”

“Bertie.”

“My, we are testy. Got myself a whole neighborhood of testy people.” She nodded her head. “Very well. I can cut to the chase with the best of them. Had supper with Fletch and Sam. We are calling him Sam?” Lyla nodded. Bertie continued. “And they’re not real happy with one another.”

“Oh?” No news here.

“Seems Sam is contemplating a career change. Fletcher is not happy.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Did you know about this?”

“Fletch being unhappy or the career change?”

“Either. Both.”

“I knew Fletch was unhappy. I’m not surprised at the career change, but it’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know that?”

“I won’t let him do it for me.”

“How can you stop him?”

“I can make him most unwelcome.”

“Sweetheart, from what I’ve seen, I doubt you’d be able to hold out for long.”

“Been holding out for five years.”

“Not exactly the same thing, now is it?” She pointed to the glass. “Tib’s?”

“Yes.”

“And he left happily?”

“No.” It was breathed out.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“I’m almost ashamed to.”

“I need the big picture.”

Lyla looked heavenward, lowered her gaze to Bertie’s face. “I did what I should have done two years ago. I finally told him there was no hope I’d love him like he should be loved.”

Bertie whistled low. “Oh, Lyla, we need to work on your timing.” But there was sympathy in her voice and Lyla grabbed at it. “And he was angry?”

“Resigned. I could have handled anger.” She fiddled with the pitcher handle. “That’s not the worst of it.”

“Tell me he doesn’t know about Sam.”

“Wish I could. He knows about last night. He doesn’t quite see it as the straw that broke the camel’s back, but that’s what it was. The push I needed to tell him the truth.” She looked at Bertie. “Tell me I did the right thing. Please?”

“Oh, girl, I don’t know.” She rested her chin in her upturned palm. “What are you going to be faced with when Sam leaves?”

“I’m not worried about that, Bertie. I’ve got to get to that point. I’ve got to get past this—this—” she searched for words “—this craving, this fulfillment I feel with him, to where I can let him go when BCA shows up next week and we have to find new normals in our old worlds. It’s not just physical.” Bertie arched her eyebrows. “It’s not!” Lyla protested. “It’s everything. It’s mental and it’s spiritual. I feel whole for the first time since Wes died. Being with him, especially at the piano, is like I’ve come home again.” She took a deep breath. “So you see, I’m not worried about living here without Tib. I’m worried about living here without Sam.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

Lyla knitted her brows. “Know what?”

“No, of course not, how could you?” Bertie stared at her hands, then looked up at Lyla. “Honey, BCA arrives Thursday. And from what I hear, you’d better get him out of your system fast.”

*  *  *

“Are you going to do that all night?” Fletcher stood beside the treble keys. It was the only safe part of the piano as T was thundering the bass. The older man was slowly drying the fish platter, the dishtowel covering the same territory on back and front over and over.

“I’m considering it.” T’s teeth were clenched. Fletch was surprised he’d been acknowledged at all.

“I need to know. If you are, I’m spending the night on the Osprey.”

“Be my guest.” He was crunching the piano’s midpoint now, rolling the same notes, alternately growing louder and softer, cacophony as he moved steadily toward Fletch’s end of the keyboard.

Fletcher had been considering his next moves while in the kitchen. He’d decided to run up the white flag one more time. Hell, why not? It was the story of his life with these prima donnas. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. You were so happy last night that it just didn’t seem the thing to do. And you know C—if I’d have argued with him, he’d have been here for breakfast today.” He wondered if T was listening, decided he was when all the notes were quieter. “They’re all flying into different nearby city airports Wednesday night, renting cars. The instruments are coming by plain carrier Thursday morning. I thought traveling individually would run up fewer media flags than the bus rolling down the interstate. They should be here around midnight. I told them we’d meet at the Quik-Lee parking lot. I gave them all Lyla’s directions. Figured if you could find it, they could.”

That stopped T’s rumblings. “Come again?”

“What part did you not understand?”

“We’re meeting them at the Quik-Lee? Four sports cars, all stopping for gas at midnight? Shall I go get Lyla and introduce her to them?” His jaw slackened in disbelief.

“What else do you have to suggest?”

“What about just trusting them with the real directions?”

“Could you have found this place without an escort? How about in the middle of the night?”

“And where, pray tell, are they all going to sleep? This was always a hole in your little scheme.”

“We’re renting the Osprey from Bertie.”

T rolled his eyes. “You’ve got it all figured out now, don’t you?”

“Working on it.”

T slumped his shoulders. “Okay, you win.” He didn’t move. “I give. I’ll tell Lyla. We’ll adjust.”

“That’s like adjusting to an eight hundred pound gorilla.”

“I used to be an eight hundred pound gorilla, Fletch.” There was a gleam in his eyes as he looked at the man. “I think I know where to sit.”

*  *  *

Lyla escorted Bertie to the front door, saw that she was safely in her car, then closed the place. Arial and Harrison disappeared up the stairs, Shep following in their wake. Lyla’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs were as heavy as her thoughts. She’d promised to meet T at midnight. She now had neither the inclination to wait nor the fortitude to go when it was time. She both wanted to see him and to ignore him, to run into his arms and to be furious that BCA was arriving early. She’d been a lot happier and more contented two weeks ago when her only male worries had centered on Harrison’s preoccupation with fishing instead of schoolwork and Tib’s preoccupation with her. Well, she sure didn’t have to worry about the latter anymore. What Tib hadn’t already guessed at, she’d made sure he understood.

Lyla closed the apartment door behind her. Shep was bedding down on the couch, Ari was washing the tea glasses, and Harrison was bathing, if the sounds from the bathroom could be believed.

“Will you be going out again?” There was a lilt to Ari’s voice, a conspiratorial tone. “I have lots of reading, so I’ll be here with Harrison.” She shook the water off the glasses and proceeded to dry them.

“I don’t know.” True enough. She’d call him in a bit. According to Bertie, he’d not taken the news of BCA’s early arrival any better than she had. It would give him time to calm down.

“Well, just wanted to let you know.”

Lyla smiled at her, knocked on the door to the bathroom. “I don’t hear splashing.”

“You told me not to make a mess,” he sing-song’ed back to her. Out-thought by an eight-year-old. Hell of a day.

Lyla moved into her own bedroom and closed the door behind her. Reaching into the top drawer of the dresser, she retrieved the hymnal and the yellowed sheet of music Wes had worked on so diligently. He’d had scant musical training but enjoyed singing in the church choir and could read the clefs. He’d penned the song while she was in the hospital after Harrison’s birth and played with it over the next two years. Presenting it to her for their fifth anniversary, he’d said the words had been the hardest. How could you put into words all that he felt for her and their children?

Now she sat on the edge of her bed and smoothed the wrinkles out of the staff paper. She’d never thought she could forget this, but his death had buried this to her mind as surely as the shovel had buried him. The words tumbled back to her as her fingers lovingly traced the notes and her voice hummed the tune.

“For you know we only hold/Heaven on a kite string/Wrapped around our entwined hands,/To feel our love, to see it soar toward Heaven/My heaven held in your hands./My life, my love, all yours/my Heaven in your hands./Let me know you only need/Heaven on a kite string/Wrapped around my hand.”

No music awards here, they’d decided.

Lyla brushed away the tears and settled the page back into the book. She set it on the bed beside her, then lifted the telephone receiver and dialed her own number.

*  *  *

T ignored the phone’s ringing, but the sound was insistent. The idea that it might be Lyla crossed his mind. It might also be C. That was even better.

He scrambled into the kitchen, noting it was ship-shape and ready for a new day. Fletcher’s attention to detail was driving him crazy. He was glad the manager had taken himself and his sullen mood and adjourned to the Osprey. “Yeah?”

There was hesitation on the line at the rough sound of his voice. “Sam?”

He hadn’t realized he’d sounded so harsh. “Sorry, Lyla. Fletch’s gone to the dock and I had to run to get the phone.”

“Okay.” She seemed to accept his reasoning for logic, if not for truth. “Sam, about tonight.”

T shut his eyes. Please, please come, he mentally begged. Don’t be frightened, but to her, he said cajolingly, “Can’t wait until midnight?”

He caught a slight laugh. “Yes and no. I couldn’t wait to talk to you, but I think I need some physical space.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I cleaned that bathroom, honest. It would pass a general’s inspection.” Please, don’t do this.

“I’m sure you did.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t come.”

“I need some time to think.” She paused. “Bertie told me about the band coming early. She said you were upset.”

Her voice, like his, was barely a whisper. “I was. I am. In the normal world, the arrival of one’s brother and business partners wouldn’t change a thing, but I’ve not been part of that normal world, ever.” He took a deep breath. “They are almost beyond comprehension, Lyla. There’s no way I can explain, and there’s no way I want you near them.”

“But you were—are—part of them.”

“No. Not any more. I want to protect you from them.”

“I handle myself around you. There’s a certain lot that would say you’re the worst of a bad bunch.”

“Was the worst. I’m reformed.”

“Sam, we’ve got to get our heads on straight about us.” He grimaced. It had been a while, but he’d heard that tone before. It usually preceded some form of ‘so long, sucker,’ but he remained quiet, let her talk. “Bertie said you’re contemplating quitting.”

“Slowing down. You think I could quit music?”

“You
are
music. That’s why you can’t quit or slow down.”

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying I love you, but I’m here and you’re everywhere else.”

There was a silence. “I love you, too.”

“Think about what I’ve said.”

“All I’ve heard is that you love me. That’s all that matters.”

“Well, you just concentrate and play this call over in your mind tonight when you go to bed. Alone. I think something else will appear.”

Damn straight, he thought, something would appear and it had nothing to do with thinking and everything to do with his physically needing her. But he said, “I’d wish you pleasant dreams, but without me there, I know that’s an impossibility.”

She laughed and the sound was music to him. “See you tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty-Four