T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (38 page)

“Weren’t you invited to the rehearsal?” He adjusted the tie, put his shoes on.

“Well, of course. I am to be seated as her grandmother tomorrow. I’d just rather the groom was different, that’s all. So I had to do something about it.”

He smiled at her as he put the finishing touches on his hair. “Don’t like Tib?”

“Tib’s a fine man. He’s just not Lyla’s fine man. You are.” She folded her arms across her ample chest. “So what are you going to do about this?”

“What do you think I should do? What can I do? Hasn’t she already made up her mind?”

“Read my lips. Rebound.”

“So I’m to stand at the back of the church and yell ‘Lyla!’ and all heads will turn and she’ll run into my arms and we’ll live happily ever after?”

“Well, if you don’t get up there much before noon, that’s exactly what you’ll have to do. Don’t you still want her? You’ve sure enough been silent on the subject!”

He turned to the old woman, put his hands lovingly on her arms. “Want her? She is all that has kept me going for four months! What do you think has kept me straight? What kind of hope have I had but her? The idea that I’d open this door tonight and find her sitting where you were—oh, Bertie, the idea itself has lit up my life! But I also didn’t want to make her life miserable, to reintroduce the media into it. There was enough of a problem over that Dallas paper’s It Happened column. So I was silent. Not to ignore her, but to prove that I could give her the time she needed. I depended on you to work my magic for me, to plead my case. I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you did the right thing. God knows, I tried, but sometimes the generation gap resembles the Grand Canyon.”

There was a knock at the door. “Limo, Mr. Samuels!”

T bit at his lower lip. “I have to play piano in a bar. Full circle with a vengeance.” He thought for a minute, then let a smile break across his face. “Can the twins get home by themselves?”

“Certainly. They’ll be the first ones to inform you they are in college now.”

“Okay.” He looked around the room, spied Bertie's purse, picked it up, gave it to her. “Let’s round them up, drive them to their car and then you’ll be my date.”

“What?” She wrinkled her brow.

“Don’t you want a night at The Manorborne?” he asked as he guided her to the door. “I have a suite reserved, no sense letting it go to waste. You can listen to my performance, then go up to the rooms anytime you’re ready. In the morning, we’ll go find Lyla.”

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes. Look at me! Now, Sam…” she protested all the way out the door, into the limo and to The Manorborne.

*  *  *

T settled Bertie at a small table in the back he’d asked be reserved, hopefully for Lyla, and got the bartender to make her the fanciest drink he knew. He handed it to her, cut off any further protests with a kiss on the cheek, and checked out the standing-room-only crowd and the piano. “John, tip jar!”

“What?”

“Pianist always gets tips!” T settled himself on the bench in front of the amber and green stained glass. He splayed his hands on the keys, winked at the woman on the barstool who couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

John returned with a vase, held it precariously over the piano. “Name your charity, T.”

“The drug rehab program I’ve set up in Kentucky.”

“It’s done!” He placed it on the wood.

“Nuh-uh, John. You put in first.” He was tinkering with a wicked version of chopsticks, playing so low all conversation had stopped in an attempt to hear it. The maitre d’ settled a twenty in the jar. “John, John. Fifty at least.”

“Blackmail.” He dug into his pants pockets again. “I hear you wangled a comp suite. But your choice of date…” he motioned in Bertie’s direction. T played still softer. “Whatever did you promise reservations?”

T shrugged, eyed the jar. “You got fifty in there?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a start.” He grinned broadly. “Leave or be blasted out!”

John wasn’t two feet from the instrument when BCA's first hit song launched.

T looked at Bertie and winked. Come the morning, between the two of them, Lyla didn’t have a chance!

Chapter Thirty

T
watched Bertie stare out the helicopter window the next morning. He nudged her, smiled. “I told you it would be okay. We’ll be to the church on time.”

He leaned forward and pointed the church out to the pilot. There were no cars as they set down in the back parking lot. The pilot cut the engines as Bertie and T disembarked. “Sam, this isn’t good. It’s eleven o’clock. Place ought to be crawling with folk.”

He involuntarily touched his stomach. “You think they eloped?”

“Surely not!” She led the way around to the front of the church. A note was tacked to the door.

They stopped at the bottom step, eyed the note and then each other warily. He squared his shoulders and went up. “What’s it say?”

He didn’t know whether to be joyous or concerned as he read the hand-written words aloud. “‘Wedding canceled. So sorry.’”

“That’s it?” Bertie was incredulous. “Whose handwriting?” She squinted her eyes.

“Looks like Lyla’s.”

Bertie marched up the steps. “Yes, it’s hers. Good news is she took my advice. Bad news is, where’d she go with it?”

“Should have known you were behind this, Bertie.” T and Bertie turned at the sound of the male voice. Tib had come up behind them. “’Course she came by and told me in person last night, after the dinner.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

It wasn’t a particularly cold day for January, but T still felt a shiver at the prospect of this confrontation. He couldn’t decide if it was good or bad that Bertie stood beside him. He settled on the former when she took over the conversation.

“So did something happen last night?”

Tib shook his head, an air of sadness hanging about him. T pitied him at the same time he rejoiced for his own hopes. “Hell of a party. The only people from Jinks not here were watching you.” A touch of sarcasm crept into his voice as he looked at T, but he conquered it as he went on. “Dub and Red laid out a spread. We finished about midnight. I took her home. Hour later, she’s at my front door.” He chewed on his bottom lip and looked up at T. “I’ll give you credit for this, she never mentioned you as the reason, but you’ve got to be it. How did you do it?”

Bertie touched T gently on the arm as he started to protest the accusation of his interference. “What exactly did she say, Tib?”

“Same rubbish as when he was here in August. That I deserve someone who can love me with a whole heart and she that wasn’t that person.” He waited a moment. “It was her before you came and started messing around.”

“I haven’t talked to her in four months.”

“You, old woman? You poison her against me?”

“Tib Wilson, I won’t even make you apologize for that, I’ll just forgive you from the start. I told her in November this smelled like a rebound to me. She’s just smart enough to figure it out for the truth before she makes you miserable. You ought to be grateful for her honesty. Beats the hell out of a divorce in a year!”

“Left standing at the altar on New Year’s Day. Makes my year for me, Bertie!”

“I’m sorry, Tib. I know you’re hurting. You just need to turn your attention elsewhere. Like move to a new locale.”

“Bertie,” he raised his finger as if to lecture, lowered it, shook his head. “I should know I can’t argue with you. And just so you won’t think yourself holier-than-thou for bestowing unsought forgiveness, I’ll apologize now.”

“Accepted.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Now where is she?”

“God knows.”

“Then where’s Harrison?”

“He spent the night with Dub and Red. They’re keeping him while we were honeymooning in Hawaii. Maybe they’ll still keep him while she finds herself.”

Bertie patted her foot, seemed to be making up her mind. “Okay, I know what we’ll do.” She looked up at T. “You take that helicopter and start looking for her Jeep. Tib’ll give me a ride home and I’ll get in touch with Red and Dub and see what I can find out. You don’t find her, you phone me. You do find her, well, send me a postcard.” T looked uncertain. “Go, go! It’ll be all right!”

He pecked her on the cheek, eased down the steps past Tib.

Back in the chopper, he plotted a course with the pilot. First they circled over the water, seeking Lyla’s house. Of course, the Jeep could be in the garage, but the house just felt empty to T. They buzzed the marina and the Quik-Lee, both closed for the holiday and wedding, and finally headed back into Jinks. He almost missed the Jeep under the cover of the live oaks at the cemetery. He pointed downward and the pilot set him down in a field adjacent to the Vinson plot.

There was no ignoring the helicopter. Lyla had already heard it on its first sweep. She’d thought to get back into the Jeep, get on the highway, but she didn’t. Curiosity made her stay put. If it were T, she wanted to see him.

She watched as he strode toward her. There was purposefulness in his step, as if she were his goal and he had almost made it, so unlike the first time he’d come toward her to pay for the gas upon their arrival. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him. He looked strong, determined. His hair was still short, his eyes clear, never wavering from her face. She recognized the khaki slacks and imported sweater from their dinner date shopping spree. The bomber jacket was only partially zipped. Her heart pounded.

Only pride and uncertainty of reception kept her from running to him so she stood there by her family’s headstones, rooted to the spot. She had tried to explain to them what she couldn’t explain to herself.

T stopped three feet from her. “Tell me now. Do I send the pilot away by himself or do I get on, too?”

She felt the energy emanating from him, the control he was exercising to stay just steps away from her. Her voice quavered, as she surprised even herself with her answer. “You ought to go, too. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Hell, it doesn’t. Think again, Lyla.” He turned and waved the guy away.

They waited to speak until the noise died in the distance. “It’s a long walk back to town.” Why would her heart not stop pounding?

“I’ve got nothing but time.” He grinned ruefully. “And determination.” He plunged into an explanation. “Lyla, I haven’t contacted you because I wanted to let you decide for yourself about us. That bet was a sham! I’m so sorry it ever happened. I’m so sorry I hurt you. No more vices!” He stopped. “Except you. And music.” He licked his lips. “Please, Lyla, say something. I saw Tib. I saw the note.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you.”

She wanted to raise her gloved hands, touch his face, but made them stay in her pockets instead. “Bertie explained the bet. Sort of, Sam.” The name dropped so effortlessly from her lips. Hope flashed across his face. She looked down at the ground, shuffled her foot in the dirt, fought for inner control, changed the subject. “I hear the song drove the audience wild.”

“You’re going to make a mint.” He swayed toward her, balanced himself, came back to where he was. “I didn’t know about this wedding until last night when Bertie came to the concert.”
“With Ari and Andi. Yeah, I know. In fact, I’ve already heard all about it. Ari just couldn’t contain herself so I got a blow by blow description at eight o’clock this morning.”

“Woke you on your wedding day?”

“I was up.” She looked off to the headstones. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I didn’t either.”

She collected her thoughts. “I don’t want you to think I called the wedding off because of you. I didn’t.” He raised his eyebrows, the glimmer of a smile on his lips. “Really, I didn’t. This situation has nothing to do with you. I simply watched the rehearsal, Red standing in for me during the vows, and I pictured myself there and my heart sank. I knew then it wasn’t right.” She looked back at him.

“Right ceremony, wrong groom.”

“Give it up. You sound like Bertie.”

“We share some opinions.”

“I wanted to get up and say, ‘Look, folks, this is wrong. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry, Tib. I don’t love you like I should. So sorry.’ But I didn’t. I thought, oh, it’s just the prenuptial jitters and I’ll be all right as soon as I have some of the bubbly Dub’s been stockpiling. But it didn’t get any better. I looked at Tib as we danced the first dance last night and I saw it in his eyes, too. He knew. He’s known all along. Just going through the motions. Just hoping the real thing would hit us over the head sometime in the next year. Or two.” She chewed on her lips, uncertain how to continue.

“That would explain why he was upset but not ready to kill.” He softened his voice. “Real thing’s already hit you over the head. Admit it.” She looked down. “Look at me, Lyla.” He reached over and tipped her chin up, forced her to confront him. “Say it.”

“There’s nothing to say. It just wasn’t right with Tib.”

“Lyla Lee, quit lying to yourself. Quit lying to me. Admit you never got me out of your mind.”

“I see your ego has been rebuilt to specification.”

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Then how about you never got me out of your soul? You’re certainly in mine.”

She pulled away from him. It was true. She couldn’t pass the piano without seeing him sitting there. She couldn’t play without wondering what keyboard magic he’d work on the music. She had made a good pretense of hiding what she’d really been doing: yearning for the other half of her musical soul. Still, she hedged. “We never got around to working out all the details, all the problems. They’re so many. All insurmountable.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Say it.”

“Sam, I-“

“Say you love me.”

“If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have called off the wedding. Now, are you happy?” She glared at him.

“Delirious with joy even if that doesn’t have quite the same effect as—”

“All right. I love you.” It was a headlong rush into re-avowing what she’d tried so hard to avoid admitting, even to herself. “Head over heels, couldn’t breathe watching you come toward me, never thought I’d see you again—I love you. Your hand feels like fire on my face, I love you so much. My insides—”