He couldn't think of anything to say, mostly because her appearance was so bewitching. That incredible dress had caught his eye when he picked her up, but it looked even more spectacular here.
It set off her glowing face and regal neck, her lustrous eyes—how had she managed to make them look even bigger than usual?—and the mass of hair curling down from the crown of her head. He might make a poor showing in his department-store suit, but there wouldn't be another lady here who could hold a candle to Kerry.
Well, maybe Leila, but she was a model and a bride-to-be. Nobody else.
A tuxedoed butler ushered them into the sprawling modern living room, which opened seamlessly onto a terrace. The rustle of dozens of voices rolled toward them, along with the clink of glasses and the effervescent tang of champagne. In a far corner, a bartender deftly mixed drinks for a crush of partygoers.
"There." Chris pointed to Tony and Leila, standing near the glass doors that opened onto the veranda.
Except for a tracing of gray in his longish hair, Tony didn't look much older than when they'd graduated from high school seventeen years before. Narrow-rimmed glasses gave him a sophisticated air, matched by a suit that, even to Chris's inexperienced eye, appeared hand-tailored.
Beside him, Leila radiated contentment. Her upswept blond hair was sprinkled with glitter mirroring the shiny dark blue fabric of her gown.
"She's beautiful," Kerry said.
"She's a model," Chris noted. "Although she's going to be devoting herself full-time to helping Tony with his restaurant business after they're married."
"A partnership." Was that a touch of envy in her voice? "It's nice when people have so much in common."
Before they could advance halfway across the room, a balding man with a slight paunch confronted Chris. "Hey! Layne the Brain! Remember me?"
Through the distant mists of memory formed an image of the high school's resident jokester, a pudgy youth with a quip for any occasion. "Buster! Buster Duster—no, that's not your real name."
"Buster Destry." The man pumped Chris's hand. "What've you been up to? You didn't really go off and become a cop like you threatened, did you?" He laughed heartily.
"Actually, I did," Chris said.
The laughter subsided. "Uh, that's terrific." Buster shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm in banking, myself. It's a good field if you ever get tired of playing cops and robbers."
Chris realized that, despite his roly-poly appearance, Buster was wearing a silk suit and a watch that must have cost a thousand dollars. "Great. Good to see you again." He excused himself and dragged Kerry off without an introduction.
Two steps farther and they were accosted by a woman with the leathery skin and deep facial lines that came from too many summers spent baking in the sun. Nevertheless, she'd maintained a slim figure and wore some delicate, flowing thing that Chris guessed must have a designer label inside.
"Chris Layne!" The throaty rasp was accompanied by the smell of tobacco, even though there was no cigarette in sight. "Nadine Franks, remember me?"
"Prom queen," he said promptly. "Of course."
"And—" She regarded Kerry questioningly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you and Lou weren't—"
"Lou died ten years ago," he said.
Nadine's mouth opened and closed. After a moment she said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea. You two were so wonderful together. I used to envy you, all the fun you had. Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a touchy point?"
"Not at all," Kerry said smoothly. "I wish I'd known her."
To Chris's relief, Tony came barreling over. "Chris! Welcome! You'll excuse us, Nadine?"
Chris found himself and Kerry piloted to where Leila and a handful of guests stood. They were quickly absorbed in making introductions and trying to remember names. Thank goodness not everyone here had gone to high school with him and Tony.
The others, he learned, were a real estate broker, an insurance executive and the president of a computer software company. All exuded affability and wealth.
He couldn't help wishing he'd gone out and spent more than he could afford on a good suit. Not that it would fool anybody once they learned what he did for a living.
What was wrong with him, anyway? He didn't want some desk job shifting money from one pocket to another, some meaningless occupation where the sole measure of success was charted on a profit-and-loss statement. And it never hurt to meet all these movers and shakers. You never knew when such an acquaintance would come in handy for the police department.
Yet he wondered what Kerry thought of all this. As he'd expected, she put every other woman except Leila in the shade.
Although her field was the arts, Kerry obviously belonged among people like this. Most of the men were giving her the eye, and the women studied her with a mixture of admiration and envy. Did she feel let down to be on the arm of a guy wearing the cheapest pair of shoes in the room?
Chris glanced at Kerry's face, but he couldn't read anything there except polite interest in the conversation. It concerned the latest developments in state politics.
He almost wished he hadn't brought her. This was a world he entered only as Tony's friend. It was the life his father had wanted for him—visible success and prestige. But it wasn't the life he'd chosen.
He didn't belong here any more than he fitted in with Kerry's parents or her ballet friends. He'd much rather be at the bowling alley right now, even if he did end up getting trounced by Ken Oakland.
Kerry wished she could figure out why Chris wore such a grim expression. Wasn't he enjoying the party? The hors d'oeuvres were exquisite, there was plenty to drink, and everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Besides, Chris obviously liked Tony and Leila, and they clearly felt the same way about him.
What was the problem?
She clutched her champagne glass tighter and wondered if it was because some of these people had been friends of Lou's. Nadine's comments played through her mind. What a lot of fun Chris and Lou had had together. What an ideal couple they'd been.
Was he missing his late wife? Was he wishing he and Kerry had more carefree fun together instead of being preoccupied so often with their work?
Or did these people make him uncomfortable with their expensive clothes and jewelry? It would be a perfectly natural response.
Although, when Kerry was dating George, she'd moved among even more worldly circles than this one, she'd never felt a part of them. Ballet didn't pay very well except for the biggest stars. Instead, you got lots of long hours, touring, time lost with injuries and unending expenses for classes and toe shoes.
She'd never cared about that. Her work was what mattered, not how much she earned. She liked the fact that Chris shared her attitude.
No, more likely he was being forcibly reminded of Lou, and missing her. It unsettled her to think that he still mourned his wife so strongly.
Leila drew Kerry aside. "Is something bothering Chris?"
"You noticed, too? I thought maybe—well, one of the women didn't realize his wife had died, and—I thought he might be missing her," Kerry blurted out.
Leila gave her a strange look. "He hasn't told you?"
"Told me what?"
"About him and Lou? I guess not. Ask him." She turned to greet some new arrivals, and Kerry wandered back to Chris's side.
What had the hostess meant? Kerry wasn't sure she dared raise the subject, since Chris hadn't broached it himself. But then, he'd felt free to ask questions about George, hadn't he?
When they were finally alone together in the car, heading along a nearly empty freeway and fighting yawns as the dashboard clock edged past midnight, Kerry decided to risk it. "Leila suggested I ask you about Lou."
"What about Lou?" He didn't sound annoyed, merely puzzled.
"Well, I thought..." She gathered her courage. "You seemed pensive tonight, and I thought after what Nadine said that you might be missing her."
"Missing Lou?" He took his eyes from the road for a moment to stare at Ke
rry.
"It does seem logical," she told him. "She was your wife. And she died so young. Why shouldn't you miss her?"
He inhaled deeply. "I see. You didn't know that Lou and I were divorced?"
She blinked in surprise. "Divorced? But Melanie told me once that she remembered you driving out in a storm to buy some grapefruit juice for her mother when she was going through chemotherapy and couldn't tolerate anything else."
"She remembers that? She was only five." Chris veered left to pass a slow-moving truck on the steep grade. "Lou moved back in with me when she got sick. There was no one in her family to take care of her."
"You nursed your ex-wife?" Kerry said.
"She had custody of Melanie, and I wanted to make sure my daughter was taken care of," Chris said. "Besides, I couldn't let her die alone."
"Is it painful to remember?" Kerry didn't want to press too far. "You don't have to tell me."
"The most painful part was the divorce." Chris slowed as blinking lights directed traffic out of the fast lane to make way for road repairs. Highway work was conducted year-round in Southern California, primarily late at night. "It was Lou who wanted out."
"May I ask why?"
"Several reasons—I’m not sure she was clear in her own mind," Chris said tautly. "Lou was one of those people who peaks in high school. I didn't realize it at the time, of course. She was such a lively person, always up for a good time, and the same in community college. She didn't even seem to mind when she got pregnant and we decided to marry. To her it was just another lark—until, I guess, the reality of dirty diapers and living on a rookie cop's salary came home to her."
"She left?" Kerry asked.
"She said she wasn't ready to settle down. She wanted to live it up—and she wanted more money than I was making." Chris glared into the night as if the stars were somehow to blame. "We divorced when Melanie was three."
"Lou got custody?" Kerry had no idea how Lou must have felt. In her late teens and early twenties, Kerry had been singularly focused on her career. The possibility of having a baby hadn't even occurred to her.
“Primary physical custody. She cleaned up her act for the court.” Chris's hands tightened on the wheel. "They lived like gypsies, camping out in her girlfriends' apartments. Lou's father had split when she was a kid and her mother was an alcoholic. You'd think she'd have wanted stability, and maybe part of her did, but when she got it, it stifled her. Maybe I should have fought harder for custody, but I was working long hours, and I wanted to spend my spare time with my daughter, not in court.”
"Did her mother neglect her?"
“If she had, I’d have hired the best lawyer I could afford.” He turned onto the Imperial Highway off ramp. "Lou did love Melanie, and my little girl needed her mother. Their life may have been irregular, but the child was never neglected. I kept close tabs, believe me."
"And then Lou got sick?"
"Breast cancer," he said. "She didn't take it seriously at first. She was only twenty-four. I took care of Melanie during the first operation. Afterward, I remember Lou looking up at me from the hospital bed and saying, `Thank goodness that's over. Where's the next party?' "
Kerry shuddered. She knew all too well the smell of disinfectant, the discomfort of sleeping in hard hospital beds and the lonely sense of being cut off from the world. She'd spent a good part of her twenty-first year in and out of hospitals. But I was lucky. I lived, and she didn't.
"Then the cancer came back," Chris said softly, "in spite of radiation and chemo. She kept getting thinner and weaker. Her hair fell out and she was nauseated all the time. The thing that makes me so angry is that she couldn't even enjoy the last year of her life."
"That's awful," Kerry said.
"So now you know." He turned off the highway onto Brea Boulevard. "I don't want Lou back—not for myself—but I wish she'd had more chance to live."
"And since then you've been raising Melanie alone." Kerry wished they weren't pulling onto the side street that led to her house. Still, he’d given her a lot to think about. "I admire you."
"That's the part I'm glad about." He halted in front of her house. "She's been the best thing in my life."
The way he put it, in sort of a past tense, made Kerry's heart race a little faster. Did he mean Melanie wasn't the only best thing in his life anymore? "You don't have to walk me in. I know Melanie's probably waiting up for you."
"Like an old mother hen," he said. "Jamie went to visit his grandmother tonight. For once, I wish he'd kept my daughter busy."
He leaned over and kissed Kerry lightly. There was no passion stirring tonight, not with the press of memories and the strain of the evening behind them. Still, the contact felt natural and right.
As if they belonged together. As if they’d have plenty of time for passion, whenever they were ready.
"By the way," he said, "if you don't have any other plans, Melanie and I would like you to spend Christmas with us. We leave everything till the last minute—decorating the tree, baking the cookies. That way the day feels more festive."
"I'd love to come," Kerry said. "Thank you."
As she let herself into the house, she realized that Chris had a rare knack for a man: the ability to make a home. Not just to buy a house but to create warmth and closeness and the homey touches that made everything special.
She felt sad for Lou, who hadn't appreciated the man she had while there was still time, but happy for Melanie, who had enjoyed the best of him.
Well, maybe not quite the best. There might still be some of that left for Kerry.
Chapter Ten
Melanie perched on top of the ladder, adjusting the star. Lustrous and many-faceted, it was the perfect crown to the Christmas tree.
"Stop!" Chris called. "The angle's perfect."
"Are you sure? It looks a little crooked from here."
"No, he's right," Kerry said. "It is perfect."
She watched as Melanie climbed down and joined the two grown-ups in surveying the tree. "Okay. Are we ready to open presents yet?" the teenager asked.
Chris laughed. "Don't you even want to see it with the lights on?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot."
He bent to flick the switch. Rich gems of red, blue and green glowed within the mysterious depths of the fir tree.
"It's so beautiful." Kerry had seen a lot of Christmas trees—in parks and public squares, at homes and shopping malls—but there was something special about this one. The old-fashioned silk-covered balls and wooden soldier ornaments roused a sense of tradition, of Victorian holidays where the special treats were candles that flickered and sweet, rare oranges from far-off lands.
"You remind me of a kid." Chris started to slip his arm around her waist, then apparently thought the better of it. "Your eyes are as big as saucers."
"Hey, can we open the presents now?" Melanie demanded.
"Speaking of children." Chris winked at Kerry over his daughter's head. "Sure, go ahead." At Kerry's suggestion, she and Chris had decided to avoid the touchy subject of what to give each other by not exchanging gifts.
"Just a minute. I've got to check the food." Kerry whisked into the kitchen to make sure the ham was browning nicely in its pineapple sauce and to take the potatoes off the fire and drain them, ready for mashing. The salad and cranberry sauce waited in the refrigerator.
Hard to believe it was only noon. After an early morning visit to church, she'd arrived at nine. Since then they'd been busy cooking, hanging mistletoe and decorating the tree.
"Come on!" Melanie called impatiently.
"Sorry." Kerry rejoined the father and daughter in the living room.
Melanie delivered her presents first: for each of them, a beautiful framed photograph. Chris's showed Melanie alone in a sophisticated pose; Kerry's was a striking shot of her beginners' class. Suzie, Tiffany, Rhea, Eileen and the others had been captured as they practiced fourth position, each small face revealing both intensity and something of the girl's individual
character.
"Jamie took them," Melanie said. "I bought the frames. Do you like them?"
"The best present I could have." Chris kissed her on the cheek.
"This is amazing," Kerry agreed. "Thank you, Melanie. I’ll email my thanks to Jamie, too."
"Your turn," Chris said.
Melanie selected the smallest gift first, which was Kerry's present. The jeweler's box revealed a delicate pair of opal earrings in a flower pattern.
"I love them!" Melanie removed the gold balls she'd been wearing and inserted the new earrings. "Thank you, Kerry!"
After exclaiming over a hand-knit sweater from Chris, Melanie turned to the last present, also from her father. "I've been trying to guess what this is all week, and I'm completely at a loss."
"You need torture yourself no longer," he teased.
Hesitantly, almost reluctant to end the suspense, Melanie slipped off the ribbon and removed the paper. As with the other gifts, she folded the paper aside carefully with the bow.
The box opened to reveal a camera. It was larger than most of the ones Kerry saw around, she noted as Melanie lifted it out reverently. "Oh, Dad! Gosh, that was expensive. Are you sure you want me to have this?"
“You’ve been mentioning your interest in photography,” Chris said. “I wanted to get you top quality so it doesn’t go out of date in five minutes. The video capability is nearly professional quality. It even has in-camera video editing. You could make your own movie with this one.”
He must have been carried away, Kerry mused. That happened to guys around electronics, she’d been told.
"I might even borrow it to capture you in action," Chris said. "Before you grow up and go away."
Melanie flung her arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can’t wait to show it to…I mean, to capture some of the ballet classes. It’s wonderful!"
Reluctantly leaving the gifts behind, they went into the dining room. Afterward, feeling stuffed, Kerry lounged back in her seat and closed her eyes. What a day this had been, the stuff dreams were made of.
"Dad?" Melanie said. "Could I go see Jamie? He's going to go crazy over this camera."
By Leaps and Bounds Page 14
