Rand fretfully combed his hair with his fingers. The hand that came to rest on his arm was soft and gentle. He looked down through the mist in his eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking and what you’re feeling,” Val said quietly. “It’s not the end of the world. I seem to remember that you thought you weren’t going to make it when your mother died. We spoke at the funeral. Perhaps you don’t remember because of your grief. Life goes on, Rand. Billie . . . she could . . . there’s every possibility she could live a long time. They come up with new drugs and procedures every day. The Colemans are a tough bunch. I know you aren’t a Coleman, but you belong. Someone is going to have to hold them all together, and that someone is you. Cary can’t. Thad . . . Thad is going to need you. All of them are going to need you. Riley especially. From what Ivy told me the last time we spoke, he still hasn’t come to terms with his grandfather’s death. This will be such a blow to him. Cole is very close to Billie. You’re the one, Rand. You’ll have to hold it all together for them.”
“According to Maggie,” he said, “Susan is going off the deep end. Sawyer . . . Sawyer will bluster her way through and trample anyone who gets in her way. How do I deal with that?”
“Tell Susan to grow up and act like the woman she is. As for Sawyer—you’re on your own there. Adam will reel her in and be there for her. He’s got a level head. I think you can count on Adam.”
Rand placed both hands on Val’s shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She had pretty eyes without all the makeup she usually wore. “How’d you get so smart?”
“I don’t belong, so I can be objective. It’s the lawyer in me.”
“You still planning on dumping the family?” His tone was curious.
“Yep.”
“Reconsider,” Rand said.
“No.”
He was too close, she thought, so close she could smell the faint scent of his after-shave. She could also see the late afternoon shadow of his beard. She tensed beneath his fingers. She knew without a doubt that if she took him by the hand and led him to one of the upstairs bedrooms, she could . . . She shook her head. “I’m hungry, and you need to go to the attic and ... and do whatever you have to do. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.” She jerked her shoulders free. A moment later, Rand was gone. She could hear his footsteps overhead.
The urge to cry was so strong, Val opened the freezer door and stuck her head inside. The sharp, cold air restored her self-control. It occurred to her that she might be having a hot flash when she yanked her head back out. Maybe she should have cried. Crying was better than the warm flush she was experiencing. Stress, the doctor had told her months ago, could often bring on the hated hot flashes.
She worked automatically, taking food from the refrigerator and freezer, working the microwave and setting the table. Her thoughts refused to be still. For the first time in years she wasn’t able to separate her emotions from the business at hand. Her own desire was suddenly clear to her: she wanted to go to bed with Rand. Wanted to see what it was like to make love with someone she really liked, someone she chose. She thought about all the men she’d slept with and the reasons she’d slept with them. She cringed when she remembered the sagging potbellies, the hairless heads, the kinky things she’d done. So many times she’d asked herself, honestly, if she’d be where she was if she hadn’t done the things she felt she had to do to get ahead. The answer was always an honest no. No, she wouldn’t have gotten ahead; she wouldn’t have her own firm, wouldn’t have all the wealth she’d accumulated. She’d never been in love, never borne a child, never had even a halfway serious relationship.
By my choice, she thought bitterly. What good was having all this if she didn’t have someone to share it with? And when she died who would she leave all this to? Who was going to remember her? Who was going to go to the cemetery and cry for her? Who would care? She slapped a piece of Kraft cheese between two slices of frozen bread. The frozen sandwich slid down the counter.
As she rummaged in the oven for a baking pan, she thought about her friends—actually, more acquaintances than friends. All were high-priced, fast-track attorneys like herself. All dressed in fashionable clothes; all of them were eagle-eyed and had razor-sharp minds. Occasionally they lunched, attended the same cocktail parties, cozied up to the same judges. But were they the kind of friends you called up at two in the morning and cried to? Not likely. There were no tears when you worked in a man’s world. You just kicked and scratched, clawed and fought, and hoped for the best. She was sick of it. Sick of the families she had on retainer, sick of the whole damn legal profession.
A month ago, possibly longer, she’d received in the mail a bumper sticker from some disgruntled person that read: FIRST OF ALL WE KILL ALL THE LAWYERS. Another time she’d overheard two men in the courthouse say all lawyers were insignificant lumps of snot. At first she told herself they didn’t mean her. She was a damn good lawyer and won ninety percent of all her cases. But then, for weeks afterward, she’d taken a good, hard look at herself and her profession. That was when the hot flashes started and her period took a leave of absence. Day after day she shrieked at herself in the bathroom mirror: get out, quit while you’re ahead! Move. Make a real life for yourself. Think about adopting a child, get a dog.
Val flipped the sandwich over. Burned. She turned down the flame and prepared another one. She shoved the Tater Tots, whatever the hell they were, into the oven, and turned off the stove.
She found a can of Budweiser in the refrigerator, behind a Tupperware container of ground coffee. There were three more, in case Rand wanted one later. Sipping from the can, she walked out to the garage and brought in the twelve-pack sitting on the floor near the garage door. Was Susan a secret drinker or was this a Ferris leftover? Back in the kitchen, she set the whole package in the freezer and made a mental note to take it out and put it in the refrigerator in twenty minutes.
She thought about Oxmoor then and Brody’s drugstore. She liked the laid-back, sleepy little town with the Dixon’s hardware store on the corner of Main and Elm. She liked the multipaned storefronts, especially the florist shop with its array of spring flowers in the window. There were no franchises here; everything was independently owned, even the tea shop. The library was a small red-brick building trimmed in white, with tubs of spring flowers on the steps. And next to the free public library was the Oxmoor Sentinel, a weekly newspaper.
Would she be out of place here in this picture-pretty little town if she decided to take up residence? Would it be possible to open up a law office and take payment in produce and services? Anything was possible, she told herself. All one had to do was make a decision.
“How’s it going?” Val asked when she set the plate in front of Rand.
“I’m about done with the attic. There’s nothing up there but junk, and if Susan wants it, she’s going to have to come here and do it herself. There was a box of baby clothing I brought down and a box of old playbills from some of Susan’s tours. I’m halfway through Jessie’s room. I packed the photo albums earlier. There isn’t much to pack up so I won’t require your help. Does that relieve your mind?”
Val nodded.
Rand bit into the sandwich. “It’s good,” he said.
Val nodded again.
“You look worlds away, Val.”
“Just thinking about where I’ll live when I retire.”
She began to talk about the town. She told him about the drugstore and how wonderful she thought it was. “The smell was . . . comforting. That’s the best way I can describe it to you. Do you know the drugstore I go to has displays of condoms in different colors? Some of them glow in the dark. At Brody’s they’re probably hidden under the counter.”
Rand looked thoughtful. “Do they really glow in the dark?”
Val burst out laughing. The uneasiness between them had disappeared.
“Did you make a fire?” she asked.
“No, but I’m going to do that while you do the dishes. I don’t
do dishes. I don’t do windows either.”
“Then what good are you?” Val teased.
“I,” Rand said imperiously, “Miss Hotshot Lawyer, am a whiz at a variety of things. If you care to draw me out, I might share some of my secrets with you in front of the fire. I like marshmallows in my hot chocolate.”
“I do too, so when you make it, add a few extra to mine. God, I almost forgot the beer.” Val was off her chair, pulling the box from the freezer.
“Okay, this is the deal,” Val said in her courtroom voice. “I’ll clean up and call the moving company. You finish up, make the fire, and I’ll pop the beer. There’s no hot chocolate. Deal?”
“Deal.”
It was fifteen minutes past eight when Val settled herself on a pile of petit point cushions. She flipped on the television. A rerun of “L.A. Law” sprang to view. Val snuggled into her nest of pillows and watched an intense courtroom scene. Her eyes were glued to the set as Grace Van Owen, the prosecuting attorney, grilled a witness. She liked the show, but because of her late hours, she rarely got to watch it. Rand sat down next to her on the floor. A frown crossed her face when the scene changed to the local legal watering hold. Grace was begging her lover, Mickey, to understand why she wouldn’t be able to sleep with him for at least five days.
“How real is this show?” Rand asked.
A commercial for an air freshener came on. Val tore her eyes from the screen. “About as real as it goes. When you’re prosecuting, or defending a client, you eat, sleep, and drink that case. You leave no stone unturned when it comes to your client’s welfare. There are nights when I don’t get to bed till two or three in the morning, and then I’m up at five, in the office by six-thirty, and in court by eight.”
“You must love it,” Rand said.
“I did. I think I’m burned out. I find myself turning most cases over to my associates these days. I oversee everything, though, and that’s almost as demanding. I need to get out while I’m still on top. Of course, my saying I’m on top is strictly my own opinion.”
“What about financially? Can you afford to pack it in?” Rand asked, curious.
“I’ve made some wise investments. My bank account is quite healthy. And I can sell my practice. My associates are able, capable attorneys, all handpicked. I might consider doing some consulting work just to keep my hand in.”
“So then your decision to sever your relationship with the Colemans doesn’t really have anything to do with the family and Susan in particular.”
“Yes and no. I am sick of the Susans of this world. And I’m tired of the dog-eat-dog world of high-priced attorneys and demanding clients. Maybe it’s why I’m thinking of retiring to a small town like this.”
“I don’t know, Val. It sounds lonely to me.”
“I’m used to it. I’m not exactly swimming in companionship now.”
“Do you miss not being married?” Rand asked.
“You can’t miss something you never had. I suppose you mean the family bit: kids, dogs and cats, the whole nine yards.”
“Well, yeah.”
“I guess I’d have to say no. You got married late. Did you miss it?”
“Not really. But I think as one gets older one wants the security of marriage.”
“Comfort. Familiarity. A nurse for your old age. That surprises me, Rand.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“You were always a mover and a shaker. It’s hard for me to accept that you live on an island paradise and . . . and just exist.”
“I don’t just exist,” Rand said huffily. “I oversee the refinery.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And you lay in the sun, you play, you laze about. You’re at least fifteen pounds heavier than you were the last time I saw you. The good life will do that to you, I guess. What does Maggie do?”
What did Maggie do? He racked his brain. What the hell did she do? She was always available if he wanted to fly to one of the outer islands; she was always ready to walk on the beach, always available to go out to dinner, always ready to make love. She swam a lot and read a lot. He found himself shrugging. “She’s going to take over Billie Limited. I thought I told you that.” His ear picked up his defensive tone. He gulped at the last of the beer in his can. “Why, do you have trouble with that?”
“No, I don’t. What she does with her life is her business. The same goes for Susan. I can’t help wondering, though, how either one of them would have survived out in the world without the Coleman cushion. You too, Lord Nelson.”
“You’re too damn bitter, Val. I could make a gallon of wine from your sour grapes.”
Val’s eyes sparked, but she held her tongue. She knew she could run rings around Rand, his wife, and his sister-in-law anytime, anywhere. She took a swig of her beer.
Rand added another log to the fire. “I miss the cold sometimes,” he said. “I try to come back at least once during the winter months, and when I do, I pray all the way over that there will be snow. I also like fireplaces, like this one.”
“I have a fireplace, but I’ve never used it,” Val said. “It’s one of those insert things and takes those blue flame logs. The decorator put mirror all around it.”
“That sounds god-awful.”
“Yeah.” Val laughed. “That’s why I’m enjoying this one so much. Do you know what I saw in town today? A bookstore. I peeked in. There’s this fireplace against one wall, with chairs and a table in front. It’s like a nook. They serve coffee and tea, and the book buyers kind of sit around and read half the book before they decide if they’re going to buy or not. There was a basket of pinecones on the hearth, and there was a tiger cat snoozing next to the basket. They must have a few local authors around here, because their pictures and their books were on the mantel. Neat, huh?”
“Do you like to read?” Rand asked.
“If I had the time, I’d always have my nose in a book. I cut my teeth reading the Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew. God, I would have killed to have a life like Nancy Drew. Remember those old Shirley Temple movies when she was little? I used to eat my heart out over those,” Val said, yawning. She thought she was slurring her words. But so what if she was? She wasn’t going anywhere. She hadn’t had a buzz on for years. She was damn well entitled. She stared into the flames. “Do you ever have regrets about things, you know, the important things in your life?”
Rand thought about it. Did he? Everyone had regrets of one kind or another. He wondered if Val had any.
“Well,” she said, “do you?”
Rand sucked at the beer can. “A few. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with my mother. I’m sorry I came down so hard on Cary when I found out about his affair. He confessed, for God’s sake. I’m sorry I hurt Sawyer. I’m sorry I didn’t hug Sally Dearest more.... She was my stuffed cat when I was little. Does that answer your question?” he asked. “What about you?”
“Nope, not a one. Bet you thought I was going to be riddled with them, huh?”
Damnit, he did think that. She’d bested him. “You’re a wise-ass,” he said.
“That too. You know what? If someone asked me what I’m proudest of, I’d say . . . Do you have anything you’re proud of, Rand?”
“Hell, yes, lots of things.”
“Name one,” Val challenged.
“I send money to Chesney’s mother every month,” Rand said defensively.
“That doesn’t count. You can never make up for all those years with money. You weren’t there when she needed you. You have to take responsibility for your actions. Money every month won’t cut it, Lord Nelson.”
“Stop calling me that. And money does count for something. I donate a lot of money to charity.”
“And well you should. Those less fortunate deserve help. I’m talking about something big, something that made a difference. You’re a man, so I guess you didn’t.”
“Oh, yeah, what about you, Lady Lawyer? What the hell have you done that made a difference
?” Rand asked sourly.
“I,” Val said, enunciating each word carefully, “marched on Selma. And I attended anti-Vietnam marches on Washington. That’s what I’m proudest of.”
Rand reached out and put his arm around Val. “You’re right, that is something to be proud of.” He finished off his beer and reached for the pack he’d brought in with him on the last trip. He yanked at the rings on two cans and handed one to Val. “To Selma and Vietnam.”
“I never told anyone before. I don’t know why I told you.” Val squirmed around so that her face was within an inch of Rand’s. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s like a treasure, just mine, that I pull out and think about from time to time. Please.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Rand said solemnly. “You have nice eyes, counselor.”
“So do you, my lord,” Val said breathlessly. “I think we’re drunk. That makes both of us vulnerable. Maybe we should go to bed. You in your bed and me in mine,” Val said sleepily.
“It’s cold up there. I turned down the thermostat earlier. Why don’t we just sleep here by the fire. There’s a cover on the couch, one of those knitted things.”
“What if the fire goes out?” Val muttered.
“It won’t. The grate is one of those fancy things with sides for extra logs. That fire will last four more hours. It’s hardwood. Hardwood burns slowly. If we get cold, I’ll replenish it.”
“I hate to shiver,” Val said.
“Me too,” Rand said.
“Are you warm now?” Rand asked as he shook out a purple and white afghan.
Texas Sunrise Page 14
