by Judy Angelo
That caught him by surprise and despite his uneasiness, he burst out laughing. On top of all her wonderful traits Samantha Fox was a comedian. At the thought he laughed some more and soon she was laughing, too.
The tension broken, they both relaxed back into their chairs. Sam put up a hand to wipe her eye. “Seriously,” she said, “you are the ultimate suspense writer. I bet I’m the only one of your fans who’s actually seen what you look like.”
“You’re a fan?” he asked, still smiling.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve got four of your books at home as we speak.”
“Thanks,” he said, feeling genuinely grateful. It was people like Sam who had made him the success he was.
She tilted her head to one side. “Your books simply state your author name as McKoy. A deliberate attempt to remain anonymous?”
His smile dissolved as his face turned serious. “Yes, and I want to keep it that way, Sam. I hope you understand.”
“But, of course,” she said quickly. She looked directly into his eyes and in her he saw an earnestness that banished any doubts he may have had. “I would never divulge your secret to anyone. I respect your right to privacy, Jake. You can trust me.”
And the strangest thing was, he knew he could. He’d known this woman for less than a month and yet he felt he could trust her with his greatest secret. A shock ran through him as another thought entered his mind. He actually felt he could trust Sam with his life.
“Jake,” Sam said, her voice gentle, “may I ask you a question?’
“Go ahead,” he said with a shrug.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but for a man who’s so wealthy, why would you want to live in a place like this?” She gave him a shy look, as if embarrassed by her own question.
“ When you say 'a place like this’ are you talking about the town,” he gave her a look of mischief, “or the house?”
“The house, of course,” she said with a laugh. “Or maybe both. This is sort of a sleepy town. Why’d you choose this one?”
“Well, you know me,” he said and cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Yes,” she said with a chuckle, “I do. The ultimate mystery man, staying out of sight. But you know you could have found nicer homes here, right?”
“I know,” he said, his voice casual, “but I didn’t buy this place for the house. I bought it for the bubbling stream, the beautiful bridge and this little haven at the bottom of the garden.”
She gave him a soft smile as she looked at him with eyes that seemed to twinkle in the subdued light of the studio. “That almost sounds poetic."
“Well, I am a writer.” His laughter echoed in the room. He got up from around the desk and stretched out a hand to her. “Come on. I’m sure you’re starving. I’ll make you some lunch.” When she rose he stepped back, leaving just enough space not to crowd her. “And then I can see whatever it was you wanted to show me.”
Her cheeks turned rosy in a girlish blush and as she turned to go out the door he touched her arm. “One second,” he said, as she paused. “If you don’t mind…” He lifted the newsboy cap from her head and her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. “That’s better.”
She rolled her eyes at him and he put a hand to her back and gently prodded her through the door.
“Let’s get going,” he said, his mood suddenly very cheerful. “I’m starving.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Down, Luther, down." Sam had to fight off the exuberant Russell Terrier as he bounced around her then threw up his paws, almost knocking her over. “I know, honey, I missed you, too, but let me come in, will you?”
Tail wagging, his body trembling with excitement, Luther moved aside just enough for Sam to finally push the door open and step in. This was their ritual every time she came by to visit her mother at the family home just outside of Niagara Falls. Anyone would think Luther would have been bored with her frequent visits, but no such luck. Every time he saw Sam, even if she’d been there just the day before, it was like a grand homecoming.
“Where’s Mom?” she asked as she strolled through the house toward the kitchen. She smiled as she saw the big round vase sitting in the middle of the table sporting a wild assortment of flowers, the vibrant colors bringing cheeriness and life to the room. Mary adored flowers and even from her childhood days in this house Sam couldn’t remember a day when this kitchen hadn’t had a fresh bouquet of flowers.
Luther was following behind her, still whimpering with joy, when a gray tabby with black pencil strips sauntered into the room.
“Sheba, how are you?” Sam leaned down to pat the cat who paused and gave her a haughty look that said, “You may stroke me now.” Sam laughed and did as she was told, running her hand from the top of Sheba’s head and across her back to the end of her tail. The cat trembled in ecstasy then lifted her head for more of the same. Finally, as a reward to her loyal subject, she rubbed her fluffy body against Sam’s leg.
“Do you know where Mom is, Sheba?” Sam asked as she opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the deck. And, just as she’d guessed, there was her mother sitting in front of an easel in the shade of the thicket of trees and bushes at the bottom of the garden, her eyes focused on the canvas.
Not wanting to startle her, Sam didn’t bother to call out. Instead, she descended the steps and walked across the grass toward Mary whose back was turned to her. As she got nearer she saw that her mother was painting a cluster of buttercups nestled at the foot of a majestic old elm. She marveled at the beauty of the depiction, so striking and true. She never ceased to be amazed by her mother’s talent.
“How are you, dear?” Mary asked without taking her eyes off the canvas. “You didn’t call me yesterday.”
“I’m great, Mom.” By this time Sam was right beside her mother, and she watched as the delicate hand deftly placed brushstroke after brushstroke, creating the effect of light with the simple addition of a touch of white. “Sorry I didn’t call. I just got tied up.”
She dropped to the grass by her mother’s feet, drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She loved to watch her mother paint. And this evening was perfect for doing just that. It was a beautiful September day, cool enough to be comfortable, the gentle breeze softly stirring the leaves above their heads.
“Almost done,” Mary said with a sigh of satisfaction as she put the finishing touches on her work. She obviously loved what she was doing, smiling as she worked and even humming under her breath. She was so different from the mother Sam had known when she was growing up. Where she seemed relaxed now, even carefree, back then her mother would have been better described as subdued and careworn. It was now that Sam realized that she’d been a frustrated artist, her talent suppressed and sacrificed to her role as mother and wife.
“Your father never appreciated this creative side of me,” her mother once told her. “He’s such a practical man, going out to work and heading back home to the little woman who should only occupy her time with housewifely duties. My painting seemed so frivolous to him.” Still, her mother never resented him. They remained friends even after the divorce. She shared with Sam that she was confident she’d made the right decision in moving on. It was neither the smoking nor the gambling that had made her decide to end the marriage. It was the realization that, in order to grow, she had to move on. She recognized the value of Alvin’s industry and his skills with his hands. His clients sang his praises all around town. “You got the best of both your parents,” she told Sam, “combining the practical world of home repairs with the artistic world of colors and decoration. And you’re great at both.”
But as far as Sam was concerned, her mother was the true talent when it came to art. She was so good at what she did that her work had been placed in a local gallery and she’d even been invited to teach a couple of evening courses in watercolor painting. And she loved it. She’d truly found her calling.
“That’s it,” Mary said and laid down the brush t
hen turned to her daughter. “I'm all ears.”
“Excuse me?” Sam cocked an eyebrow at her mother. “I’m not here to gossip.”
“No, but you’re here to talk.” Mary gave her a pointed look. “Don’t forget, I know my daughter. I’ve been reading her like a book for the last thirty-two years.”
Sam chuckled. “And she can’t fool you, right?”
“Never.” Mary slipped off her stool and sat on the grass next to Sam. Unfortunately Luther, who had used the doggy trap door to slip out of the house, saw that as a signal to romp and came bounding toward them, his tongue hanging out of his head, his mouth open wide in a grin.
“Here comes trouble.” Mary put up her arms just in time to ward off a kiss from a big bundle of energy. “Down, boy, down,” she yelled with a laugh then gave him a pat on the rump that made him hop away.
Luckily, probably startled by the commotion, some birds in the bushes at the other end of the garden raised their voices in strident complaint at the disturbance of their quiet evening. That grabbed Luther’s attention and he took off barking, leaving the two women in peace for the moment.
“Now,” Mary said with a sigh of relief at the temporary respite, “what’s on your mind?”
Sam snapped off a blade of grass and twirled it between index finger and thumb. Where to begin? She stared at the thin green leaf, almost as if it held the key to the mysteries of life, then she tossed it away. Might as well plunge in head first.
“Mom, what would you do if you found yourself falling for a man who could not let go of a past relationship?”
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about Frank Richards? I had a feeling he was fishing around but I warn you now, stay away from that man. He may tell you he’s divorced but he’s not. The nerve of him, flirting with women all around town when he knows-”
“Mom, it’s not Frank.” Sam cut in quickly. Once her mother got started it was a hell of a task to rein her in, especially when she had a notion stuck in her head. “It’s…a man.”
“Of course it’s a man, Sam.”
“I mean a real man, not a braggart like Frank Richards."
Mary nodded. “Keep going.”
“He’s…different from any man I’ve ever met. So powerful and yet so humble.”
Mary gave her a thoughtful look. “Interesting so far, but what’s this about a past relationship?”
Sam plucked another blade of grass and gave a deep sigh. “He lost his wife three years ago but you can see he’s never really said goodbye.”
“He’s a widower?”
“Mm-hmm.” Sam nodded, her mood solemn. “And it’s like he’s determined to play the part to the letter.” Slowly, she shook her head. "It’s strange but from the first day I met him I was drawn to him. He seemed strong and confident but then there was this air of sadness that made me feel I needed to be there for him.”
“Oh, Sam, forever intent on saving the world,” Mary tsked. “You know that was always your downfall, don’t you? Even with that slime, Garrick Sutherland the third.”
“Let’s not bring him up, Mom. He’s not worth discussing.” Sam dropped her eyes and plucked a third blade of grass. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Garrick had dumped her because she wasn’t good enough. Hmm – plumber or attorney-at-law, which to chose? His choice had been pretty easy and she’d found herself out of his life, thrown out on her butt, in the blink of an eye. The weird thing was, he’d known all along what she did for a living. She must have bewitched him somehow and it had taken him a while to realize he could do a whole lot better than her. The jerk.
And now that her mother had brought him up it pulled into sharp focus the question that had been nagging her all along. If she hadn’t been good enough for her ex-fiancé, how in the world would she have any hope with a man who could buy Garrick a hundred times over?
“I’m sorry, darling,” Mary said, breaking into her thoughts. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.” Then she touched Sam’s arm. “Sounds like this man made a big impact. So who is he?”
“Sorry, Mom, can’t tell you.” She was not about to give up that piece of information. “All I want to know is, do you think I’d be stupid to give him a hint of how I feel, or should I just leave it alone? I mean, if he’s still grieving-”
“No, dear, don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t back away. Your heart has spoken and whoever he is, it wants this man. I think you should give it a chance, let him know how you feel.” She shrugged. “You never know. It may just be what he needs. Maybe you’ll be doing him a favor.”
“You mean, I should tell him?” Sam frowned, not liking the idea very much.
“Sometimes actions speak louder than words, honey. There are a lot of ways to get your message across.”
Sam bit her lip, still doubtful.
Seeing her hesitation, Mary pushed harder. “Come on, Sam. Give yourself a chance. If he’s as good a man as you say he is then he might just be worth the effort. Remember,” she said with a lift of the eyebrows, “you’re not getting any younger. Before you know it you’ll be thirty-five and then forty. And what about children?”
“Mom, I don’t-”
“No, hear me out.” Mary put up her hand. “Just test the water. See how he feels about you. Nothing tried, nothing won.”
Sam heaved a sigh. “I know, it’s just…hard to compete with a beloved memory. And she was so beautiful…”
“I’m not saying it won’t be a challenge,” Mary stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her elbows, “but I’m sure you’re up to it. Coax him out of his shell. Use your womanly charms.”
“Are you saying I should seduce him?” Sam gave her a crooked smile.
“Yes,” Mary said with a devilish grin, “softly and sweetly. He won’t know what hit him.”
Sam laughed out loud. “Mom, you’re wicked.”
“Only when it matters,” Mary said as she joined in the laughter.
Sam relaxed and then she lay back in the grass, folded her arms behind her head, and stared up at the green canopy of leaves through which she could see patches of blue sky. Yes, she would take her mother's advice. It actually made sense.
And as she thought about it a plan began to form in her mind.
******
Long, blonde hair blowing in the wind, she reached out a hand and stroked his jaw as he angled the boat toward the shore. She had such soft hands. He never tired of her touch.
That day on the lake had been one of the happiest of his life, a celebration of his fifth book hitting the New York Times Best Seller List. Little did he know it would be his last with Jessica. That same evening tragedy struck, changing his life forever.
Jake shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. He had to stay alert. He had another sixty miles to go before he arrived at his parents’ house in Long Island. He also had to use the rest of the journey to work on lightening his mood. He would be spending a week with them, celebrating his Dad’s seventieth birthday in two days. He had no intention of dampening the mood with his long face.
When he finally turned onto the driveway of his parents’ home of over forty years, he was ready. Coming back home to Long Island had been difficult. This was where he and Jessica had gone to high school, where they’d come back after college to get married, where they’d planned to settle down and start a family. Instead, it was where his wife had met her untimely death. At his hands.
Stop it, Jake. Stop thinking about it. Focus on Pop’s birthday and nothing else.
He switched off the engine and climbed out of the car then got his bag from the trunk. He still had his front door key but he would ring the bell anyway, let them know he’d arrived. He didn’t even get the chance to press the button. As soon as he stepped onto the front porch the door flew open and his mother stood there, eyes crinkled in a broad smile. “Jake,” she said, throwing her arms wide,
“come give your mom a hug. It’s been so long.” And as he stepped into her embrace her face crumpled and a small sob escaped her lips.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he whispered. “I’m here now.” Yes, it had been long. Too long. This was only his second visit to Long Island since he’d moved to the house in Tonawanda. Before that, he’d been in Boston and Connecticut. Anywhere but Long Island.
Today, though, he was home and he’d do everything in his power to make his family happy, even if that meant suppressing his pain and putting on a brave face.
“Now,” he said as he gently lifted his mother’s face from his shoulder, “where’s the birthday boy?”
After falling into a deep sleep that night, the result of his exhaustion, Jake spent a pleasant day with his parents, followed the next day by a small gathering of close friends to celebrate his father's seventh decade. It was good to be back among the living. He’d cut himself off from the world for so long he’d forgotten the simple joy of conversation. He was surprised at how relaxed he felt. For the first time in a long time he was happy to be home.
The following day was not quite so easy. This was the day he planned to pay a visit to Jessica’s parents. Mitch and Ellen Bloom lived less than half an hour’s drive away and there was no way he could come to Long
Island and not see them. As hard as it was, it was the right thing to do.
Ellen was out in the garden when he arrived. She immediately came to greet him, giving him a bear hug as soon as he stepped out of the car. Then she stepped back and looked up into his face with sharp, questioning eyes. “You look thin, Jake.” She frowned. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”
He gave her a halfhearted smile. The consummate mother hen, Ellen always knew when things weren’t quite right. “I’m fine,” he told her.
She stared up at him for a few seconds longer, seeming unconvinced, then she took his hands in hers. “Come on. Let’s go inside. Mitch is waiting for you.”
