T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (32 page)

“And if it was a man?”

Harrison giggled. “Bertie won’t fish with any man but me. Says they bring bad luck to her fishing. I think that’s kinda’ silly, don’t you?”

“Sounds silly to me. Your mom close the Quik-Lee again so she could come up here?”

“No, Sally’s minding the store. And Mar-Mar’s with her. That’s Tib’s mother. They told me my mom was here.”

Yes, Mar-Mar. An amusing subject T had brought up at an otherwise stilted lunch. A real piece of work. And now she was at the Quik-Lee undoubtedly pumping Sally for all the information she could elicit. Thrill. Tib would be on their doorstep before nightfall.

“So how did you get here?”

“Rode my bike.”

“Going to check in with your mother while you’re here?” Fletch was torn on this point. Much as it would serve T right, he really didn’t want Harrison catching Lyla in a compromising situation. No boy should come upon that. Hell, no husband should and he knew that point from experience. So he’d do his bit for America, mom, and apple pie and either keep the kid occupied or make sure he cleared the gates without any detours.

“Nah, probably not. She really doesn’t like me riding my bike on the road when she doesn’t say it’s okay first. Even if Sally knows and Mar-Mar and I stopped in and saw Grandpa and now you know,” the boy was enjoying cataloging his afternoon contacts.

“Anybody up here you don’t know?”

“No.” He surveyed Fletch’s handiwork. “Missed a spot.” He pointed to a place on the instrument panel. “I can see the fingerprint from here.”

Fine, now he had a critic. But Fletch polished where he was told.

“Why are you cleaning it up?”

“Bertie’s going to let me have some friends spend the night on it this week.”

“Oh.” Harrison thought about that. “Gonna
pay her, like you did us?”

“I’m going to offer.”

“Bertie’ll let you. She must need money. She’s always playing the lottery.”

“Everyone needs money, Harrison.”

“I’m beginning to figure that out.” He rose and peered over the console to the bluff. “I think I’ll get back to Grandpa’s before Mother catches me here.”

“Good idea.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“S
he was beautiful. Like you.” T held the framed portrait of Hannah and stared into her blue eyes. It could have been Lyla as a child. He set it down gently on the top of the bookshelf that ran down the length of her bedroom wall underneath the gallery of mementos and family pictures. Walking into this room, pretending to see it for the first time, had to be chalked up as one of the most difficult things he had ever done. His stomach had taken an automatic dive when he’d realized where she was heading as she left him at the piano. Her hand had dipped into the vase and she’d retrieved the key, explaining she’d left her set at the store. She’d slid the metal into the lock, turned it, but didn’t seem to notice it was already open, then turned to him and beckoned. He’d followed reluctantly.

What had he expected—a new room? Did he think he and Fletch had dreamed the other? It had been hard enough to follow Bertie. This was almost impossible.

Lyla had perched on the edge of the bed, her feet barely touching the floor. She’d spread her arms wide toward the wall. “Look, my gallery. My family, my husband, my son, my daughter.” Her voice had trailed off and then she’d pointed out Hannah’s portrait. He’d picked it up and admired it. Now as he set it down, he turned to her.

“What does this have to do with redemption?”

The curtains were drawn against the brightness of day or the darkness of night. Even with the sun high in its late summer sky, the room was shadowed. Her face was partially hidden from him. She bent her head, studied her hands resting on her knees, followed down to her sandaled feet. She took a deep breath. When she spoke, he had to listen very carefully to catch every word.

“You’ve never been married, have you, Sam?” He shook his head. “Ever lived with a woman?” Same negative response. “Or even a man, for that matter. Having a close relationship, even one based on love and mutual caring, one you’ve been destined for, even that tries your soul. And Wes. Well, Wes was no saint, despite what the people here say. I guess if I’d died, I’d have been the one deified and he’d have been the scoundrel, rather than the other way around.”

She paused for a breath. “I loved my music. Wes knew that. That’s why he wrote that song. Penned it when I was in the hospital after Harrison was born. Worked on it for two years after that, although I don’t know if he changed anything from the original. He wanted to please me like I’d pleased him with Harrison. And Hannah.” She paused, some memory tweaking. “Lord, but she was Daddy’s girl.” Her eyes glazed a little, then she shook her head, returned to the story.

“Harrison hadn’t been feeling well, but sometimes daddies don’t understand that when they want to do something, and Wes wanted us all to go on a picnic. It was a Monday, but he’d worked all weekend and he wanted to go. I wanted to finish polishing a piece I was going to do for a wedding in a week and then I’d been invited to play at a church about thirty miles from here on the next Sunday and they were going to pay me. Well, hell, I wanted that to be perfect. He just didn’t understand. So I told him to take Hannah and go and they could have a picnic. I’d just gotten Harrison down for a nap and I wasn’t about to wake him up and the discussion deteriorated from there, let me assure you. So he took Hannah—she was delighted to go—and loaded the bass boat with a picnic and bid me farewell. I think I even slammed the door, if that gives you any idea about the tempers. I checked on Harrison and then sat down to practice.”

She paused to think. When she spoke again, her voice was even quieter. “These lake storms are so fickle and I was so engrossed that I never—I swear I never—knew there’d been a tornado less than a mile from here until Tib knocked on the door and wanted to know where Wes was. They needed him to help control the situation until all the disaster relief people could get in.” Lyla lifted her face to T, who knelt at her feet holding her hands. Her eyes were glazed and he didn't think she really saw him.

“I went blank. Then I think I went wild. All I remember was telling Tib that they were on the water and he had to find my baby. By nightfall they had. Wes had his arms locked in her life jacket.” Tears streamed down her face. “I quit music. Then and there. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d have gone, maybe I’d have seen the storm, made him go back. Made him never go.”

“Shhh, Lyla.” T reached up and touched her face, her hair. “Maybe you’d have all been dead. What would that have accomplished?”

“You sound like Tib.” She swiped at the tears. “Music lost all its meaning to me. I quit teaching, stopped playing in public, then stopped playing altogether. Then about two years ago, the piano called me back. Does that sound funny?”

He shook his head. “No. It calls me all the time.”

“But I’d lost Wes’s song. And I couldn’t remember what I swore I’d never forget.” She caressed his face. “You were sent to me to find it.”

A smile played around his lips. “Now who would you have me believe sent me?”

“God.”

He smiled at the idea. “I’m not your redeemer.”

“No, beloved, you’re my redemption.”

“Lyla.” T was totally taken aback. Those were the last words he’d ever expected to hear out of anyone’s mouth. Edwin Thomas Samuels as a force for good? The angels—if there were angels—must really be having a good laugh with this one. But there had to be angels because, God knew, he’d fought enough devils. He had nothing to say.

“Well, it’s not such a ludicrous idea, you know. Don’t you believe God works in mysterious ways?”

He shrugged. If he’d been on a ten-year bender just so he could dry out and rediscover a piece of music that hadn’t even been written when he’d started—yes, that would qualify as mysterious ways.

“Lyla, tell me about the letter from Berklee.” Let her think he’d merely spied it on his way to Hannah’s portrait. He had to know if her story matched Bertie’s.

“My turning point. Got accepted out of college. Grandfather was adamant I’d not go, but I got around him. Wes, I’m sorry to say, showed his chauvinistic side. Instead of merely postponing marriage, we split. There didn’t seem to be a compromise anywhere. Miserable summer. I never thought I could be so miserable again. Of course, I found out I could be far worse off.” She was quiet a minute before continuing.

“Tib goes off fighting forest fires, calls Wes to come get in on the fun, Wes calls me to say good-bye, didn’t I feel sorry for him, after all he’d not have to be doing this if I wasn’t so stubborn. You get the gist of the conversation. We went out and one thing led to another and we conceived Hannah. Didn’t know it, of course, till I’d been in Boston two months. I thought about an abortion, but I knew it wasn’t the right choice for me. So I called him. He didn’t flinch. Just asked how many attendants I wanted so he could get a complimentary number. I came home and the rest, as they say, is history.” She looked at him, her eyes blinking tears, her mouth wedged somewhere between grin and grimace.

“Lyla, I need to ask you something else.”

“Anything.” She pulled at his shoulders so he could sit on the bed beside her. He sat gingerly, afraid to muss the white lace, the very femininity of the place. She turned into him, nestled close.

He held her loosely. “Lyla, let me have your song.” She turned to him, a puzzled expression on her face. “No, I don’t mean, have it have it. Buy it, split the rights. It’s got platinum written all over it. Maybe even a movie theme. Wes’s gift to you, immortalized. What do you say?”

She knitted her brow further. “No.”

“Okay, you keep all the rights. I just want the sheer pleasure of introducing it, sharing it with the world.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s mine.”

“But it’s so powerful.”

“No.”

“Will you think about it?”
“No.”

She turned back around in his arms. They were silent, each composing their next words to each other.

“Sam, did I hurt your feelings?”

“About what?”

“Not letting you commercialize the song.”

“No—yes.” He let out a deep breath. “It could be so fine, Lyla.” He hugged her closer. “You know it could.”

“Be that as it may, the answer’s no.”

He nodded against her hair.

“But you’re not giving up, are you?” She turned in his arms to face him. “You haven’t led a life of giving up.”

“That’s the God’s truth. Trouble is, I don’t know where to start to tell you about it—this life of mine.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes, Lyla, I do. I can’t possibly hope for you to love me—to stay in love with me—until you know all the thorns.”

“Past what the fan magazines say.”

He snorted. “Those are the biggest crock of—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “So tell me the truth.”

They heard the front door slam. “I’m going to kill Fletch.”

“At least he slammed it loudly.” Lyla eased off the bed. “Why don’t I meet you at the top of the dock at ten?”

“No backing out?” She shook her head. “It’s better that way, anyhow. Give me a chance to compose myself.”

She dipped her lips to his, took a soft, swift kiss. “C’mon. I don’t want Fletch in here.”

*  *  *

T patted the top step. Lyla sat down beside him. “Thought you’d changed your mind.”

“No, Ari’s parents called and I had to reassure them that her staying with me this week was a Godsend, not a liability. Then they popped the big question. Seems they’re combining a truck run with a good time. Could she stay till the weekend?”

“Twist your arm, huh?”

“Let’s just say I agreed. Harrison is delighted. I left them listening to some thoroughly corrupt rock station. Playing some of your catchy tunes, I believe.”

He kept his expression deadpan and together they stared down on the Osprey and the bass boat. Lights twinkled from the other shore and an occasional boat made its way across the lake. The sky was clear, the stars abundant.

They didn’t touch each other, except where their hips met. They were comfortable together, T realized, something he had never experienced. She pulled her knees up and hugged them. Turning her head to him, she smiled, asked, “Changed your mind about telling me the whole truth and nothing but?”

“Tempted to, but no.” He mimicked her pose. “I’ve just got to work into it.”

“Start in the middle. I already know a little.”

“Little bit of knowledge is the most dangerous kind.” He stared straight ahead. “Review for me what you know.”

“Just what you told me at The Manorborne. That your parents divorced and your grandmother raised you and your twin brother from the time you were ten. That you left home to play in bars as soon as you could. And what I read. The press doesn’t lie, surely? I mean, you didn’t at The Manorborne, did you?”

“What kind of story do you think Mar-Mar’s told Tib about this morning? That should answer your question.”

“Well, Tib hasn’t been down. Thank heaven for small favors.”

“I didn’t lie at The Manorborne. But it wasn’t as simple as all that, either.” He raised his head, stretched his legs, settled back on his elbows. Lyla stayed as she was, staring back at him. “We were poor white trash, Lyla. My father ruled with a belt in one hand and a bottle in the other. Mother was no teetotaler. You might say I learned all my bad habits at home. He beat her. She wouldn’t turn him in. Classic story. It didn’t help matters that C and I were hell on wheels, so every summer they’d ship us off to her parents in Kentucky and try to get things settled between them. I’ve no doubt they loved each other once. With all the soul-searching about child abuse now, we’d have been taken away from them today. Which essentially, we were. It just took ten years. So Grandmother inherited us. If Gramps hadn’t been dead by then, it’s a sure thing he wouldn’t have lasted long with us. It may have been rural Kentucky, but let me tell you, it had all the vices.”

“Sure you didn’t import some?”

He shook his head. “City boys got nothing over their country cousins. And the women!” He let out a long whistle. “Damn, but those country girls had just one thing in mind. Marriage. And they were determined to achieve it by any means possible.”