Beatrice sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the soggy tissue. “I…I…”
Lizzie waited, trying not to roll her eyes.
“I don’t blame you for being mad at me,” Beatrice finally blurted.
Once again, Lizzie was thrown off track. Her guard came up and she had to remind herself whom she was dealing with. “What do you mean…”
Motioning toward the door, Beatrice continued. “All of it! Everything.”
Lizzie sighed. This was obviously going to take a while.
“I’ve been horrible,” Beatrice sobbed, crumpling the tissue around and around in her fingers to find a dry spot. “I’ve lied and hidden my past, I pushed you so hard… I’ve ruined everything…”
With her brow lowered, Lizzie stared at the other woman for a long moment, then stood to grab the tissue box off the desk and hand it to her mother. Finding that she felt more in control, she chose to stay standing.
Plucking three tissues from the box, Beatrice sniffed and choked on her words, then tried again. “This place.” She waved her hand toward the view of the forest from the window. “Being here brings it all back. I was afraid of this. I knew it…”
“I know you don’t like the country, Mother,” Lizzie sighed.
Beatrice clutched at Lizzie’s hand, drawing her down to sit next to her. “It’s not that, it was never like that…”
Darn sure that her memory was intact, Lizzie pulled a face. “Oh, it was always like that, Mother—”
“It’s not— Oh, Lizzie…” Beatrice interrupted, erupting into a fresh fit of sobs.
A glimmer of concern rose in Lizzie’s chest as she watched her mother cry into the handful of tissues. “Then…what is it, Mother? Tell me.”
Lifting her eyes to her daughter’s face, Beatrice searched for understanding. “You don’t know why I hate the country, do you? Of course you don’t, I never told you! Only your father knows. I’ve never told anyone… else….” The admission unleashed another spillway of tears.
Perhaps her mother was being honest, Lizzie realized, beginning to thaw. Unsure how to take the turn of events, she waited, trying not to wring her hands.
Finally, Beatrice gained enough control to continue. “My mother…” The words were almost more than the woman could bear, but with great effort she continued. “She died when I was seventeen.”
Lizzie nodded, wondering how her grandmother played into all this.
“She… I…” Beatrice dabbed at her eyes. “I loved her very much, and when she was gone, just one day up and gone….”
A lump formed in Lizzie’s throat as memories of her grandfather death’s rose once again in mind and heart -- the devastation, the soul-wrenching loss, the empty void.
“…I missed her so much. I couldn’t… I didn’t….”
Lizzie reached out to take her mother’s hand.
Mother’s eyes met daughter’s as Beatrice gathered the strength to continue. “My daddy, he always said I was the image of her, and….he could hardly bear to look at me.”
Shock and sadness fell hard onto Lizzie as she listened, trying to imagine the heartbreak and desolation of the teenage girl her mother had been.
“Oh, Papa was as broken-hearted as I was, I’m sure, but he…” Her hand gestured. “He couldn’t talk about her, not to me or anyone.” She sniffed and dabbed at her nose. “Our house became a silent tomb.”
Her mind spinning, Lizzie squeezed her mother’s hand, wondering how she’d known the woman her entire life and had no clue as to the depth of the pain her mother carried. To lose her mother and to be rejected by her father all in one fell swoop must have broken her mother in ways she couldn’t imagine. Or could she?
“I didn’t know how to cope,” Beatrice continued. “We didn’t have grief counseling in those days…”
Lizzie nodded.
“I just wanted to get away, to have a different life, to be a different person in a different place.”
Tears filled Lizzie’s eyes, understanding dawning.
“I met your daddy that summer and I…” The woman’s voice broke with emotion.
A tear slipped down Lizzie’s cheek.
“He was so sweet, so kind… I saw a chance to get away…to be someone else...”
The breath was knocked clean out of Lizzie’s chest at her mother’s words. The woman’s motivation to leave the country behind had been driven by loss and…and…the desire to create a new life. Was she that much like her mother? The thought pleased her and horrified her at the same time.
Beatrice continued. “And it doesn’t end there, oh no, I had to make it all worse! Once we got settled in the city and your father was finishing school, I thought being a socialite would change everything, somehow erase my country past and my mother’s death…” Tears flowed once again, along with several noisy nose blows. She tugged her fingers from Lizzie’s grasp and stared at the floor. When she continued, her voice was small, barely a whisper. “Worst of all, I found that I wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to be accepted…so…I made you do it.”
Once again, Lizzie was devastated. Not only for her mother, but for her own failure. She’d let her mother down. She’d not been tough enough or clever enough or pretty enough. There it was again, the first sensation she felt when things went wrong, but this time she understood why. She was able to take her self-deprecating reaction and separate it from herself, turn it over in her mind and see it for what it was. It had nothing to do with Lizzie as a person and everything to do with the grand struggle of life over death. “Mother…don’t—”
The older woman’s hand flew up. “Don’t make excuses for me, Elizabeth, don’t try to appease me anymore.”
Silent, Lizzie didn’t know what to say as she swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. This was all uncharted water, and she felt as if she might be drowning. Her thoughts spun and twisted, searching for something to cling to.
“Last night at the play,” Beatrice continued. “When everyone was staring at me and expecting me to perform, it finally hit me.” Beatrice reached for Lizzie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve put so much pressure on you, expecting you to carry the weight of making me acceptable. It was…” Her eyes darted back and forth as she searched for the word. “Inexcusable. That’s what it was, inexcusable. And I’m so sorry.”
Stunned for the umpteenth time in less than twenty-four hours, Lizzie was at a complete loss. Silence settled in the room as both women sat sniffling and dabbing tears, contemplating the situation.
Finally, much to Lizzie’s relief, Beatrice seemed to be out of tears. Her mother collected the crumpled tissues and stood to tug on the hem of her blazer. “I guess I’ll just have to face those kids and tell them there’s no way I can be in that play tonight.”
Lizzie sprang off the seat, her tears drying on her cheeks. “Oh, but why? Daddy said you were great at that part!”
“He did?” Beatrice asked, her cheeks regaining some color.
Her head bobbing, Lizzie took her mother’s hand. “Please don’t let the town down, Mother, do this for the kids.”
“Honey, I’m an old lady, it’s been years…”
“Do it for me,” Lizzie implored, asking her mother for a favor for the first time in her adult life.
Beatrice sighed and stared out the window. Finally, she turned back to her daughter, her eyes searching Lizzie’s face. “I suppose I owe you that much.”
Overcome with relief and uncharacteristically warm feelings for her mother, Lizzie pulled the woman close for a hug. Immediately, it felt awkward, but each gave the other a pat on the back before backing away.
“Well!” Beatrice sniffed. “I better get busy learning my lines.”
Lizzie grinned, following her mother toward the door.
“And I believe you need to get on the road to D.C…” the older woman tossed over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised.
Lizzie’s mouth fell open as she ground to a halt, causing her mother to chuckle as she h
eaded down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elliot pocketed his keys and dropped his suitcase. Closing his front door with his elbow, he bent to collect the pile of mail on the floor under the mail slot. Disinterested, he kneaded them into a lopsided pile and placed them on the corner of his hall table.
A glance into the living room told him all was as he’d left it, so he headed toward the kitchen. The pristine room shone in the sunlight. The slick countertops and smooth, modern cupboard doors felt somehow sterile and cold. The huge stainless-steel fridge and gas stove seemed overwhelming and ridiculous to him now. The whole room felt overblown, too big, too stark, too…soulless.
Coffee seemed like a good idea, but one glance at the quick, cup-at-a time dispenser with its parceled flavor packets and he lost interest. He wandered to the double-door fridge and tugged it open. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but none of the packaged, ready-to-eat food on the shelves drew any interest, so he closed the door and headed for his den.
The room was dark so he hit the switch inside the door. Frowning, he crossed the room and pulled open the heavy drapes. He’d hoped that the sunlight would dispel not only the shadows, but the deafening silence as well. Had his house always been so quiet? So…heavy? Usually, this room soothed him. He could think there, the dark bindings of the books lining the wall giving him faith and assurance. But today it held only stillness.
Turning away, he collected his suitcase and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. As with the rest of the place, the room felt closed and musty, so he circled the bed and bent to tug open the window. Traffic noise and the smell of trash day rose from the sidewalk, forcing him to push the window sash back down with a thumb.
He returned to the door and hefted his suitcase up and onto the foot of the bed, then flopped down beside it. He needed to shower and get to the office. With one last sigh he surveyed the room. The place was exactly as it had been for the last seven years -- masculine, spotless…and empty.
* * *
After a quick chat with Justin and running home to change, Lizzie was on the road. Coordinates for Elliot’s office were loaded in her GPS. The only question remaining was should she show up at his office or call him first?
Traffic began to back up an hour from the city, the congestion building until it was at a crawl. Four lanes of vehicles edged forward, then stopped, only to start again. A solid wall of brake lights could be seen cresting the hill in front of her, then continuing over the next hill and the next. Glancing at the car to her left, Lizzie noticed the driver was a bearded man with a skull tattooed on his scalp. Trying not to stare, she wondered why you’d want a picture of a skull…on your skull. With a shrug she turned to look at the vehicle on her right. The pickup truck was driven by a girl in her teens, her radio pumping bass-heavy hip-hop music, audible even with the windows up.
Her lane moved ahead and she moved with them, her thoughts turning to Elliot for the hundredth time since leaving home: him strutting around the paddock in the filthy overalls, his kisses in the corn maze, him screeching in the haunted house, her head on his stomach at the picnic, the long sensual night in her room, dinner with her parents, his confusion as she withdrew. She’d really botched a good thing.
What if he didn’t want to see her?
Her lane rolled to a halt once again and she huffed out a sigh, wondering if she’d ever get there. The skull tattoo guy pulled up next to her again, and she snuck another look at the artwork, wondering if it hurt. It must have bled like a mother––
A horn honked and Lizzie jumped, then returned her attention to the road. She checked the GPS, only to find that she was still sixty miles away.
* * *
Elliot circled the parking garage one more time, searching for an open spot. Evidently, in his absence his spot had been claimed by a white SUV. Then again, afternoon parking had always been difficult. Finally finding an open spot three levels up, he pulled in and turned off the car.
With a sigh he tipped up his paper coffee cup, then, with a grimace, plopped it back into the cup holder. Had he ever liked the sugar-heavy, processed stuff that cost six dollars a cup?
Leaning his head back against the headrest, he considered the upcoming meeting with his father. The prospect was more than a little daunting. Luckily, as a kid he’d been interested in architecture, and it had felt perfectly natural for him to finish school and join the firm. There had never been a discussion that he would do otherwise. His father didn’t dominate him at work; quite the opposite, he hardly spoke to Elliot at all. Projects were handed out and arrangements made. No room for negotiation or question ever arose.
It was a nice enough place to work. The people were polite and respectful, the mood even and calm. Interruptions or surprises were rare. The thought of working there day after monotonous day felt desolate now.
With a deep breath he climbed from the car, the smell of exhaust and oil heavy in the air of the parking garage. How had he not noticed the lack of oxygen all these years? As he collected his briefcase from the trunk his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“…Hi…Elliot?”
He frowned. “Yes, this is he.”
“It’s Lizzie.”
Feeling as if the sun had broken through the clouds, his face lit up. “Hi!” Then concern marred his brow. “Is everything okay?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Lizzie?”
“No,” she answered. “Everything is not okay. I need to see you.”
He clamped the phone between his shoulder and ear to reach up and close the trunk. “I’m back in D.C., I told you I was––”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I’m here. We need to talk.”
“Here?” He ground to a halt and snatched the phone from his shoulder, glancing behind him, as if he might see Lizzie standing there. “What do you mean, here?”
“I’m in your office.”
“You are?” he sputtered, heading across the parking garage at double speed. “What happened, when did—how did you get here? Did you bring the VW bus?”
She giggled. “No, I want to have it checked out before I take it far.”
“Right.” He poked the elevator button and glancing up at the numbers overhead. “Well, what—why did you follow me?”
“Are you about here?” she asked. “I’d rather talk in person.”
“I’m on the elevator now,” he said, stepping aboard with a woman in a dark suit. He nodded to her and punched the already lit button for floor six.
“Good! I’ll see you in a minute.”
The line went dead and Elliot pulled the phone from his ear to stare at it suspiciously. Was Lizzie really in town? Upstairs in his office?
“Welcome back, Mr. Reynolds,” the woman said, bringing him back to the moment. He turned to her and nodded hello, immediately feeling bad that he didn’t know her name, or even recognize her face. She obviously knew him and that he’d been out of town. The elevator dinged, the door slid open, and the woman stepped past Elliot to hurry down the hall. He strode from the elevator and glanced at her retreating back one more time, trying to place a name with her face. With a frown, he turned and headed toward the lobby. Was he so busy that he didn’t know the people he worked with every day?
Coworkers surged around him, all nodding greetings and welcome-backs. With a shock, he realized that even though the faces looked familiar, he knew only a few names and nothing about the actual people. Even more surprising was the lack of color and texture. The brown and tan tones of the classic furnishing along with the dark, conservative clothing of the workers blended into a drab drone of sameness. Had the office never had indoor plants, or…color?
As he passed the front desk, the near-frantic receptionist waved him over. Once again the serious demeanor of the place was a revelation. Was everyone here always so serious? No smiles? No chatting about—goings-on? The receptionist’s concern and stress
level were obvious. “Mr. Reynolds, you have a—guest—waiting.” Her lips pursed and she continued in a loud whisper, “I tried to tell her she’d need to make an appointment, but she refused to leave without seeing you.”
A grin teased his lips. “I bet she did.” With a reassuring wave to the frantic woman, he hurried down the hall. When he reached the open door he paused, a smile lighting his face.
Lizzie stood in his gloomy masculine office with her back to the wall of bookshelves. She wore a short sheath dress made from white lace, her only jewelry was a silky tassel on a long gold cord, and her studded leather handbag hung from her shoulder. His gaze traveled from her strappy leather heels up her shapely legs, over the lace dress, to the silky black corkscrew curls that tumbled around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and serious, and he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
“I’m sorry, I should have called earlier…” she began, her hand coming up to gesture.
Dropping his briefcase, he marched across the room and swept her up, unwilling to wait one more moment to have her in his arms. “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured over her head as one hand smoothed down her curls to tuck her head under his chin. Inhaling the smell of flowers and country breezes. He sighed. “You smell so good.”
Lizzie’s arms came around his back, and they stood quiet for several moments, neither willing to break the bond between them. It had only been a matter of hours since she’d run from him at the inn, but it felt like eons.
“Ahem…” A male voice cleared his throat.
Lizzie jumped back to stare at the tall man in the doorway. He had the look of Elliot, every bit as well dressed, but thinner, with a full head of wavy white hair and a serious expression.
“Father,” Elliot said, keeping one hand on Lizzie’s back. “I’d like to introduce you to Lizzie. Lizzie, this is my father, Elliot Reynolds Senior.”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 79
