The blueprints for Miranda flashed through his mind. He knew every inch of the print, remembered every notation scribbled with the thick yellow pencil. The cost of everything, right down to the penny, ricocheted across the moonlit ceiling. A mini Miranda, half the size, maybe even smaller, but for what? He wouldn't have to get any kind of backing for a mini, he could swing it himself, but to what end? Amelia gurgled in
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her sleep. He had to get out of bed. .. now! He slid to the edge, then waited a moment to see if he'd disturbed Amelia. Her breathing was deep and regular.
In the kitchen he set about making hot cocoa. While the milk warmed he scribbled notes in his own brand of shorthand, notes Amelia would never be able to fathom if she came across them.
His cocoa finished, Cary washed and rinsed the cup and saucepan. There was no need for Amelia to know he couldn't sleep. He stuffed the notes into his robe pocket. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start a file.
A tear trickled down Amelia's cheek when Cary crept back into bed. She lay quietly, listening to his breathing. She was still awake when the last of the dark night disappeared. Her eyes were loving yet sad when they gazed down at her sleeping husband. She couldn't afford to dwell on last evening's loss. Today was new, and it would be whatever she made it. The kiss she dropped on her husband's cheek was warm and sweet. "I love you so," she whispered tenderly.
UUiUU CHAPTER NINE »»»)»
Riley wolfed down his lunch and popped two Rolaids to ward off the indigestion he knew was coming. The burning in his stomach made him draw up short. The doctor had warned him that ulcers were nothing to fool around with. Ulcers at his age! First chance he got, he was going for a second opinion. Cut the stress out of your life. Easy to say.
Right this instant he was so full of stress, he felt as if he were going to explode. Time to call Sawyer. If it was noon here, it was midnight in Japan.
He didn't mince any words when Sawyer's faraway voice came on the line. "How's my grandfather?"
"I saw him yesterday. He's the same as he was last week when you called. Riley, please call him. Just say hello. He's waiting so patiently."
"All Japanese wait patiently," Riley said flatly.
"If you won't call him, write him a letter—it would mean
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so much. And don't go giving me that crap that you can't. I'm not here to do your dirty work, Riley. What you're doing is unforgivable, and you know it. I don't want to hear that old line that we all have to do what we have to do. It's bullshit, and you damn well know it. Be a grandson, not a bastard."
"You don't understand, Sawyer."
"The hell I don't. You want it all. Well, it doesn't work that way, Riley."
"My grandfather understands. Do you tell him I call you?"
"No," Sawyer lied. She was no shrink, but she'd had enough experience with them to recognize the trouble in Riley's agonized voice. "That old man doesn't know how to play this kind of hardball, Riley. He doesn't deserve your attitude."
"Do you think I don't know that? This isn't easy for me either. You don't understand the Japanese way."
"If you'll forgive me, Riley san, I think it is you who don't understand the Japanese way. Enough said. How's everything in Texas?"
"Rough. Cole and I went over to see Adam the other day. I think your old friend bit off more than is palatable. His stepson is a problem. It looks like Adam's saddled himself with a kid who doesn't even like him."
"Adam will work it out. That kind of thing takes time. Thank God Adam was blessed with patience. Give him my regards when you talk to him."
"I'm leaving for Rio next week in case you need to reach me. I think it pays to stay on top of our oil leases. The office arranged the accommodations, so if you do need to call me, they can give you a number where I can be reached."
"Okay. Don't slay any dragons. Talk to you soon."
Riley hung up the phone. His stomach was killing him. He searched his pockets for the medicine the gastroenterologist had prescribed. Instead of taking one, he took two. Cole would have a laughing fit if he ever found out about the ulcers. The rest of the family would probably ship him back to Japan ASAP.
It wasn't his time yet.
The phone in the Georgetown house rang four times before it switched over to the answering machine that informed callers the Kingsleys were in Austin, Texas.
Maggie blinked as she listened. It was daring of her mother
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and Thad to leave such a message. It announced that the house was empty, unless you counted the crazy cat, and he was probably at the kennel. It was like Mam, though. She always wanted her family to know where she was.
Maggie dialed a second time. Her mother picked up the phone on the third ring. "Maggie, how nice to hear from you. Did you try us in Washington?"
"Yes. Mam, you shouldn't leave messages like that. What if someone breaks into the house?"
"Darling, all they can do is steal something, and if they need it that bad, they'd find a way to do it even if we were there. Thad must leave his number at all times, and I don't ever want any of you to call and not know where I am."
Maggie's voice warmed. "I need some mothering, Mam, and some advice."
Billie's voice was immediately full of concern. "What is it, Maggie? It isn't Rand, is it?"
"It's Rand, but he's fine. I mean, he's not sick or anything."
"Darling, what is it? You sound terrible."
Maggie repeated the past week's happenings in Japan.
"Poor Rand. How he must be agonizing. All you can do, darling, is be there for him. Just try to imagine yourself in his place, Maggie. At one time your own life was similar."
"Mam, I never denied Sawyer. What I did was worse. I tried to tell that to Rand, but I can't reach him. All he does is sit under the monkeypod tree pretending to sleep. He had a wonderful opportunity to invest in a sugarcane plantation in Hilo, but I think he's going to lose out because he won't return phone calls. He goes through the motions of eating, but he isn't tasting the food. I could give him poi and he wouldn't know the difference, and you know poi's like eating glue."
"Waiting is so hard," Billie said, "and it always seems to fall to women. It must be because God blessed women with patience, some of us with more than others," she added gently.
"I could do it all for him, Mam. I could hire the private detective. I could call the orphanage. I would, too, if—"
"No, Maggie, you can't. This is something Rand must do."
"How long can he go on like this?"
"Till he can't stand not knowing for another minute."
"Rand has always been so adamant about not wanting children."
"Do you suppose this girl is the reason? If, and I say if,
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Rand did give her mother money for an abortion, there is every possibility it left a scar. Taking a life, an embryo, a fetus, whatever, is traumatic. Giving money toward that end places that person in as much moral danger as the woman having the abortion. We're speculating, Maggie, and we have no right to do that. We're invading Rand's innermost secret thoughts and his privacy. He's in a bad place right now. When he's ready to reach out, grab hold and don't let go."
"I knew you'd have the answer, Mam."
Billie laughed. "I only said aloud what you were already thinking, but if you want to give me credit, that's fine."
"I miss all of you."
"I miss you, too, darling. I wish I was there with you now. I left ten inches of snow in Washington and came here to six inches. There's nothing I would like more than six inches of warm sand between my toes."
"You have a standing invitation, Mam. Everyone does."
"How was Sawyer when you saw her? She's had no setbacks, has she?"
"She's fine. She's operating on a clean bill of health. She says she gets tired if she parties too much, and once in a while she forgets things, but the doctors told her that's all part of her recovery. She goes to see Mr. Hasegawa regularly. I
went with her. Mam, I cried when we got outside. And I found out something I didn't know before—why is it when a parent hears something wonderful about his child, it's hard to believe?"
Billie laughed. "We all fear disappointment, so we tend to wrap ourselves in cotton wool. Then when we hear something really good, we can throw off that protective wrapping. What did you hear about Cole?"
"How did you know it was about Cole?" Maggie demanded.
"Because you use two tones of voice. Both are loving, but one is for Sawyer and one is for Cole. I picked up on that a long time ago. What did you hear?"
"Cole has been corresponding on a regular basis with Mr. Hasegawa. Cole writes his letters in longhand, and Mr. Hasegawa dictates his. He didn't let me read them, he just told me of them. I think it's in the nature of a secret, since he told me and not Sawyer, so don't mention it. He said Cole shares many things in his life with him. I'm very pleased."
"Isn't it wonderful when our children do kind things?"
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"Yes. Mam, what are you doing in Texas?"
"I'm concerned about Coleman Oil. And if you can believe this, I'm here to have Tess Buckalew do my horoscope. I got a bunch of Senate wives to commission theirs, too, so I'll have a good excuse to spend some time with her. I think the Bucka-lews are a little too involved with our family. And I want to talk to Riley and Cole. There are too many families who depend on us for their livelihood. I don't want anything to change that."
"So you're going to look to the stars for answers," Maggie shrieked with nervous laughter.
"In a manner of speaking. I'd like to hear what Tess has to say. Perhaps I am, as Thad would say, barking up the wrong tree, but I have this feeling ..." Billie didn't finish her thought.
Normally Maggie would have pursued the conversation, but today her thoughts were with her husband. "I'll call you in a day or so, Mam. Thanks for listening."
"Maggie darling, if there's anything I can do, or Thad, call us. We're here for you." Billie sat for a long time with the phone receiver in her hand. At one time she'd expected, like most parents, that the older a child gets, the less worry there is. It doesn't work that way, she thought ruefully. Little children, little problems. Big children, bigger problems.
"This is our first dinner invitation, and I don't want you blowing it so we're not invited back," Adam said. "You got that, Jeff?"
"Yeah," the boy said sullenly.
"You're gonna love dinner at Sunbridge. Jonquil puts on a fine spread, and both of us can use a good meal. Let me take a look at you."
"I look like a fruity faggot," the boy complained.
"You look fine. You look the way a goddamn kid is supposed to look."
"Tell me the last time you saw a kid wearing a string tie."
"I always used to wear one. If it was good enough for me, it's good enough for you. What else?"
"Yeah, well, you lived in the dark ages. This is the eighties. Why can't I dress like everyone else? You keep saying you want me to belong. I look like a freak."
"Loafers, dress pants, and a button-down shirt make you a freak, huh?"
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"I been telling you that for weeks, but you won't listen. Only old men who wear panama hats and live in the tropics wear this stuff, whatever it is these pants are made of."
"Seersucker. I used to wear them. In the summer," he said lamely.
"Right."
"What do you want to wear?" Adam asked. As if he didn't know.
"What I always wear. What the other kids wear. Jeans and a T-shirt and my sneakers."
Adam capitulated. "Okay. Sorry. I wanted you to look nice. I want people to know I take care of you. Did you wash your ears?"
Jeff called over his shoulder. "Do you want to see the rash behind my ears from the soap? I'm no slob. I brushed my teeth, too, and changed my underwear."
Adam had to admit the boy looked normal when he came back down the steps. "One last thing. One dirty word out of you and I'll fan your ass in front of everyone. You will be polite. You will be civil. You will say yes, sir, no, sir, and you will thank Jonquil for dinner. You can ask for leftovers—but don't say I said that. I taught you what fork to use and how to lay out your napkin. I don't think I forgot anything."
"Jeez, we're only going to your friend's house. They don't care what I do or how I look. What's the big deal?"
"I care, damn it! That's enough of a reason. Get your butt out to the car and let's go before we're late."
They entered Sunbridge through the kitchen door. The huge room was filled with a spicy cinnamon smell. Adam rolled his eyes at Jonquil and moved on to the library. Jeff stayed behind, and Adam overheard him asking what smelled so good.
"Where's your shadow?" Cole said grinning.
"In the kitchen, probably getting a cooking lesson."
An hour later Jeff was still in the kitchen. "Maybe you better check on him," Riley suggested.
Adam was back in a minute, motioning for Cole and Riley to follow him. He cracked the door to the kitchen an inch or so. Three heads peered in and heard; "If you mix the sugar with the cinnamon and sprinkle it lightly, it makes a nice, even brown coating on the top. You can do that for French toast, too. As long as you're copying down the recipe, make a
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note that it goes into a nine-inch pan, not an eight. Now, how many recipes do you have altogether?"
"Four. Five if you count the French toast. I'd like that one for the leg of lamb. Apricots and mint jelly mixed together."
"Here," Jonquil said, handing him a recipe from her file box. "I know this one by heart, so you can have it."
"Gee, thanks, Jonquil. I have over a hundred and fifty at home. I'll share them with you if you want. Some of them look real good. Don't tell Adam, okay? He'd think I was nuts."
"Why?"
Jeff shrugged. "I don't know, I just think he'd make fun of me or something."
"Well, you don't have to worry about me; my lip's zipped," Jonquil said, smiling. "I think you're gonna like this dinner tonight."
The three conspirators backed away from the door, trying to stifle their laughter, but back in the study Riley and Cole hooted.
"It's been food all along," Adam said in awe.
"I can understand that, can't you, Riley? Adam's burnt hot dogs and sticky baked beans would turn any kid into a monster. He told me you made Pillsbury cinnamon rolls the other day that bounced two feet high?"
"It was the microwave. I didn't know you couldn't do them in it," Adam said sheepishly.
"You think the kid is any happier?" Riley asked.
Adam waved his hand back and forth. "I'm hopeful. Yeah, a little, but I've got a lot to learn, too. I had him dressed all wrong to come over here. I asked him what was wrong and he told me."
Dinner was actually enjoyable. Jeff ate appreciatively, answered all questions with "sir," and called Jonquil "ma'am." When they left, at nine, Jeff held out his hand. Riley grabbed it and tousled the boy's hair. Cole squeezed, and Jeff squeezed back. Cole let up first. "You'll be a Texan yet." He could see the boy struggling not to come back with something smart.
"Yes, sir." Adam beamed with pride.
"I was proud of you tonight, Jeff," Adam said on the ride home.
Jeff flushed in the darkness. He felt like he should say something smart, but he realized that he didn't really want to.
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When Adam reached across and squeezed his shoulder, it felt good.
The following morning when Adam came downstairs, his breakfast was waiting for him. French toast with cinnamon and sugar and four delicately browned links of sausage were on his plate. His napkin was linen and it was folded just right. A long-stemmed wineglass held freshly squeezed orange juice.
"Wow!" he said appreciatively.
"Beats those green eggs you usually make, right?"
"Well, yeah, Jeff, it does. What time did you get up to do all this?"
"Twenty minutes earlier, that's all."
"Jeff
, I didn't know you could cook."
"There's a lot about me you don't know," Jeff said, grinning. "I cooked, so you clean up. Gotta go or I'll miss the bus."
Adam sat for a long time at the breakfast table. Food. Simple goddamn food. He knew it wouldn't be as simple an answer as it sounded, but it would do for now.
Adam poured himself a third cup of coffee. He had some heavy decisions to make. Should he wash clothes first or do the dishes? Maybe he should make the beds and clean the bathrooms. He had a pile of ironing to get to, and they needed groceries. Christ, he hated housework and he hated grocery shopping. For some reason he didn't mind sawing wood, though. He was proud of the four cords stacked behind the garage. If only he had a fireplace.
He finished his coffee. He knew what he wanted to do, and it wasn't pissy-assed housework. He practically ran to his workroom. The pencil flew over the paper. It didn't matter if he submitted what he was doing or not. This was for him. This was what he did best.
Tess stood in an agony of indecision, staring into her walk-in closet. What to wear for her lunch with Billie Kinglsey? Vivid stripes? A caftan? Too pretentious, she decided. Certainly not a suit, or skirt and blouse. Too formal for the middle of the day. Skinny fingers plucked at the scented, padded hangers. A dress. Simple but elegant. It would be better to look understated. Tess finally chose a hunter-green wool dress with braided leather belt. This was, after all, a business lunch; she'd be dealing with Billie on a professional level. For which
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