"I'm not sure, Billie. That's what we thought originally, but I think he might have other plans. I'll have to let you know."
It was something she'd said, Billie thought, that had changed Amelia's tone. It had to be Julie. Her vacation. First Cary was coming to Washington with Amelia, and then he wasn't. "I'll look forward to it, Amelia. Take care, now."
Amelia sighed as she hung up the phone. So that was the reason for the look she'd seen in Cary's eyes the night before —that look she'd barely noticed, just as she'd mentioned going to Washington on the first of March. Julie was going on vacation, and he knew about it.
Amelia rushed to her desk. She pulled out pen and paper with a flourish.
Darling Cary,
Last night was as delicious as that scrumptious dessert at Andre's. I've been thinking, darling. I've decided to let you off the hook for the Washington trip. You will make me too nervous for words. Would you mind terribly if I went alone? I think it would be best. I'll spend a day or so with Billie and come home. We can plan a real vacation for the end of April, if that's agreeable with you. Please say you understand.
Love, Amelia
She was crazy. No woman in her right mind would pave the way for her husband to ... Ah, but true love, she reminded herself, was wanting the other person to be happy. She wondered, miserably, if the day would ever come when Cary would think back and see the sacrifices she'd made so he could be with Julie. Only the selfish part of her wanted him to. What did it matter anyway? She wouldn't be around to hear about it, whichever way it happened.
* * *
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Cary rolled out of bed at eleven. He did some knee bends and ten sit-ups. He showered, shaved, plucked the note off the dresser, and headed for the kitchen to make coffee.
He read the note several times. Amelia didn't want him to go to Washington with her, which meant he'd have to kick around by himself for a few days. March first, March first, March first, he hummed as he measured coffee into the pot.
Where the hell was that last letter from Rand, the one asking if he'd be interested in a sugarcane plantation in Hilo? He figured he knew as much about sugarcane as he needed to. What would the world be like without sugar? Not very sweet. He grinned at his little joke. Rand had said something about sugarcane being shipped to the mainland for refining and then sold back to the Hawaiians. A refinery. He decided he was interested. He'd wait till one o'clock to call Hawaii to announce that interest.
Maggie picked up the phone on the fourth ring. Her voice sounded breathless.
"Cary! How nice of you to call. There isn't anything wrong, is there?"
"Of course not. I've been thinking about that offer Rand made, the sugarcane plantation."
"Oh. Well, Cary, Rand is in England. I'm not exactly sure when he'll be back. He may have lost out on that little venture. It's this business with his daughter, or I should say, the girl who is claiming to be his daughter. He more or less lost interest in everything else for a while. He's at the Dorchester in London. Give him a call. If it's still possible and you really are interested, I'm sure he will be, too. He thought a refinery was a wonderful idea."
"I do, too. I'll call him now. I was sort of thinking of coming over around the first of the month."
"That's wonderful. You'll stay with us, of course."
"I'm a lousy houseguest. Sometimes I prowl at night; I keep odd hours. I'll stay at a hotel."
"I won't hear of it. We'd welcome the company."
"I'll get back to you; how's that?"
"Fine, but I won't take no for an answer. Rand would be upset if he didn't get to play host in this little corner of paradise. I can't wait to show off my house to Amelia. She's going to love it, and before you know it, she's going to want to move here. Mark my words."
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guess God gives you children when you're meant to have them. Being handed a full-grown child, in my opinion, would be a plus. You're contemporaries of sorts. You start out being friends and then you turn into a father when the time is right. I'd go real slow if I were you. I don't know why I say that, it's just a gut feeling. Count your blessings, Rand."
"It's all so sudden. Yesterday I didn't believe she was my daughter; today I'm certain she is. And I don't know what a father is supposed to feel like."
"I can tell you what to do," Cary said briskly. "Hang up and call Maggie. Then you can ask her to send me the blue folder."
Cary smiled, pleased with the plans he was making. He wouldn't say anything to Amelia until he had the folder in his hands. He decided he felt so good he'd toast his new venture with a drink. He wasn't going to be sitting around doing nothing; he was getting back into harness. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was cut a deal. If Rand's negligence had caused him to lose out on the deal, he'd go in as an independent and bring Rand along later. That, he decided, was a minor point. The second important aspect of the arrangement was Hawaii. Land of beautiful smiles, honey-colored bodies, and nine-to-five sunshine. Warm trade winds, gently swaying palm trees, and... Julie.
And then the guilt set in. He was planning to cheat on his wife. On his wife, whom he loved with all his heart. An inner voice began a dialogue with him: "A little fun, why not? No one finds out, no one gets hurt, and everyone is happy." Amelia would sense something was wrong. He was no actor. "You can cover it up," the voice argued. "Amelia's had her time in the sun. She wants to curl up by the fire. You've worked like a human dynamo these past years. This is your due. Go for it."
Cary paced the luxurious living room. This is stupid, he told himself. I won't be able to handle it. Let it go. He groaned. The voice continued to argue. "Look, Amelia's needs are not what they used to be. Yours, on the other hand, have accelerated, thanks to Julie. You'll never get her out of your mind. She hit nerves. When you weren't looking, she sneaked into your heart and carved out a little niche for herself. Not intentionally, I grant you. These things happen," the voice niggled. "Besides, if, and it's a big if, Amelia did find out, she'd forgive you because she loves you. You can't lose. Everybody does it. Go for it."
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"Shut up!" Cary shouted to the empty room.
He rushed across the room, bumping his shinbone on the sharp edge of the coffee table. He limped to the sliding glass door, slid it open, and stood on the balcony taking huge gulps of the cold, fresh air. He was crazy; there was no other explanation. He'd been sitting around too long doing nothing but watching the boob tube and eating. Fat settled around his brain. Only a fool would do what he was contemplating.
He could cut out the cute phone calls to Julie's answering machine. If he wanted, he could avoid Julie Kingsley for the rest of his life. If he wanted to.
Cary's eye fell on the brass sundial. He knew the words by heart. A poet had written them—Browning, Amelia told him. "Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be." He picked it up angrily. He would have thrown the fifty-pound piece of brass over the rail, but he remembered that pedestrians walked below. He replaced it carefully on the pedestal. It was a lie! He and Amelia had already had the best; it was behind them. What was yet to be would never be better than what they'd had. He could have that again with Julie. All the wonderful highs, the few lows that went with life. He could separate the two. Lots of men did it.
His leg ached. He stormed back inside, slamming the door in its tracks. The heavy door frame hit the lock and slid open again. He went back and closed it properly.
Cary continued his frenzied pacing. His eyes fell on a small framed picture of the two of them. Jesus, Amelia was beautiful. Hell, he wasn't so bad himself. He did love her. He'd always love Amelia. He thought bitterly of the litany he'd recited all these past years: Age is just a number; age doesn't matter. We're what matters. He'd meant it then and he still meant it. "Liar," the voice accused. "You see the crepey skin, you feel the sharp bones, the dryness." Amelia was so fragile now, like one of those Japanese porcelain dolls Billie collected.
Jesus, he'd grown old, too, but in a different way. The twenty ye
ars had caught up. "I need more," Cary cried to the empty room. Why should I have to settle, be satisfied, when I can have what I want? "Because," the voice inside him cautioned, "you made a deal. You married Amelia. Through sickness and health, till death do you part. That's a deal." The voice, Cary noticed, had switched roles with him. Now he'd have to play devil's advocate.
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Just this once, just once, Cary pleaded silently. I need this. I need to feel again, to know I'm alive. All I'm doing is marking time. I'm too young to stifle all my feelings and channel my energies into work. What kind of life is that?
"The kind you bargained for. There's a piece of paper that says anything else is wrong." I don't give a damn, Cary argued silently. If you're my conscience, you're supposed to be on my side. "I am on your side. I'm telling you to go for it." Now what? This voice seemed to be contradicting itself again. "You're full of shit," Cary yelled. "You're the devil and you're tempting me." The minute the words were out of his mouth, Cary felt stupid. "I don't have to tempt you; you already did that yourself." "Yeah, with your help," Cary cried. He and the voice had become one.
"Okay, okay, you son of a bitch, the deal is off. I'm going to call Julie right now and leave a message that I've come to my senses. After that I won't call her anymore. Amelia and I will go to Hawaii after Julie leaves."
Angrily Cary dialed Julie's New York number. The color in his face drained, leaving him white and shaken. He listened, hung up, and dialed the number a second time. Julie's clear voice came over the wire. "Roses are red. Violets are blue. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I miss you, too." Cary slammed the receiver onto the desk, missing the cradle completely. When he finally hung up the phone, he noticed he'd scratched Amelia's antique rosewood desk.
Three days passed before Cary decided to say something to Amelia about the blue folder in his top dresser drawer. It took nine phone calls to find out Rand actually hadn't blown the deal. Being a new player to the game, Cary wasn't surprised to hear that the price had gone up $100,000. Plenty of people had tried to jerk him around before. He'd learned more from dealing with Texans than he could ever put into use. A Hawaiian businessman intent on making a killing couldn't be any different than a Texan who wanted a few more notches in his belt. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that two Japanese investors were interested in the same property. Cary's comment was caustic: "They already own half of your island. Hand over the rest and make a clean sweep." The man had chuckled appreciatively. Japanese investors were buying up property and businesses all over Hawaii. Speculation was that they owned more than half the island because the yen was
{236}
so strong. The real know-it-alls said the Japanese were getting even for what they couldn't take by force during the war, and that left them wide open to buy it all up later. He wondered how much real estate Riley's grandfather owned in Hawaii.
Three more phone calls, and Cary was confident that he had a fighting chance. The next step was to go to Hawaii and clinch the deal.
In Amelia's state-of-the-art kitchen, Cary felt as if he had four left hands. His excitement was at an all-time high as he set about preparing dinner for himself and Amelia. He was no cook, but anyone, he supposed, could broil chicken and pop vegetables into the microwave. A baked potato was child's play. You didn't have to be a chef to scoop out the butterscotch ripple ice cream, his favorite, from the plastic container. One didn't necessarily have to be a Miss Manners graduate to set the table properly, either.
Cary stood back to view his handiwork. The chicken was ready, seasoned mildly; the potatoes had been washed and were in the microwave; just waiting for him to push the button. The vegetables were thawing, to go into the microwave after the potatoes were done. He looked down at the glass-topped table with the linen place mats decorated with appliqued butterflies. The Lenox china was plain, but elegant; the crystal winked in the kitchen light. Amelia would be pleased, but something was missing; the table looked naked. A centerpiece, he decided, but where was he to get one? He looked around the apartment at all the beautiful things he and Amelia had collected over the years. Everything was either too big, too small, or the wrong color. He felt annoyed with himself. He should have ordered some fresh flowers from the florist. All the trouble he'd gone to would be spoiled if he didn't have a centerpiece. Amelia was such a stickler for the little things. On his second walk around the apartment he passed the open door of the guest bathroom. On the vanity stood a silk flower arrangement the same color as the butterflies on the place mats. He whisked it to the kitchen and plopped it in the center of the table. It was perfect. His sigh was loud. Finished.
The wine was chilling, the stereo playing softly, some old Nat King Cole melodies that Amelia loved.
Guilt demanded he be a perfectionist.
* * *
{237}
Over dinner, he told Amelia about the deal, handing her the blue folder Maggie had forwarded along with all his notes from the phone calls he'd made.
"Darling, how wonderful for you," Amelia said. He was so excited, she couldn't help but smile. Cary hadn't been this animated in a long time. It did her good to watch him and listen to the enthusiasm in his voice. That's all she would think about, nothing else. Not what else that excitement could mean. "I'll clear away dinner and we can sit by the fire," she said. "I have a hundred questions and maybe one or two suggestions."
"Babe, that's what I need, your input. I'm all fired up, as you can see. I'll make the coffee. I like having coffee in front of the fire. God, Amelia, I didn't even ask how your day was."
Amelia laughed. "It had its good and bad points. I'm getting there. This sounds much more exciting. I'm delighted, Cary."
"Me, too, babe," Cary said, hugging her. He was, too. About the deal. Being back in harness was what he needed. All during dinner, up to this second, he hadn't thought of Julie at all. Even now, he pushed her from his thoughts. He wanted to sit by the fire with Amelia and talk about the plantation and the refinery. When it came right down to it, he trusted Amelia's opinions more than his own. She could see around corners, anticipate the unexpected, point out danger areas.
Amelia loaded the dishwasher, then shook out the place mats and folded them neatly. "Does this mean we might eventually reside in paradise?"
"A very good chance. I have a feeling that even though Rand is going to be my partner in this . . . Listen to me .. . it's like the deal's been consummated. .. ."
"It's just a matter of time," Amelia said airily.
"Babe, what would I ever do without you?" Cary beamed.
"Be alone?"
"We're a team. You and me. Me and you. The salt and pepper, the shoe and the shoelace."
"I'm ready. After you, since you're carrying the tray," Amelia cooed. Damn, she felt good. It was like old times. Nothing else mattered. Even if this good feeling between them lasted only an hour, it was worth it. She cleared her mind of everything but Cary.
She felt loved.
They hashed out the proposed deal until eleven o'clock,
{238}
when Cary called a halt. "This is going to be a go; I can feel it, babe. I can't wait to call Rand tomorrow."
"Don't be surprised if he isn't as excited as you are. He has other things on his mind right now," Amelia cautioned. She yawned languidly.
"Don't tell me you're ready to go to bed," Cary complained.
"I'm ready to go to bed, but I didn't say anything about sleep." Amelia grinned.
"After you, madame," Cary said with a flourish.
Cary made love to her that night. Her heart and her body were those of a sixteen-year-old for a while as she matched Cary's ardent lovemaking. It was well after one in the morning when both Cary and Amelia cuddled, exhausted, in the nest of warm, sweaty bedding. "You know what I'd like right now," Amelia whispered.
"A joint?"
"I still have some Panama Red and a smidgen of sinse-milla."
"We'll get all wired up again." Cary laughed.
&n
bsp; "You old men do try a woman's spirit." Amelia giggled.
"Save it for when we clinch this deal." Cary yawned.
Amelia snuggled deeper into Cary's arms. "Uuummm," she said sleepily.
Cary's last thought before joining Amelia in sleep was that he would be a fool to tamper with what he had. He loved his wife.
iUiiiiii CHAPTER TWELVE »»>»»
The night air was refreshing. Adam rolled down the windows in the pickup and took long, deep breaths. All the stars were out, and it was going to be a full moon tonight. Sawyer had told him once that when the moon was full, people did strange things—things they wouldn't do under ordinary circumstances. Once he read that there were more births, more deaths, and more violence at the time of the full moon than at any other time. He'd asked his friend Nick Deitrick if it was
{239}
true; shrinks always know that stuff. Nick had laughed and said he'd heard that old wives' tale himself and he believed it implicitly. And, he'd said, he'd seen some of that strange behavior firsthand, in his patients.
Right now, to Adam, the moon just looked pretty, shining down on him as he drove across the fields to Sunbridge. If his fairy godmother were to appear and grant him one wish, he'd wish for Sawyer to be at his side. They'd walk in the moonlight with all the stars winking at them. He'd have his arm around her shoulder, and because she was as tall as he was, she'd sort of lean into him. her head on his shoulder. They'd whisper to each other, make promises they knew they could keep, and then they'd stop and kiss under the moon.
Christ, he wished Sawyer were here to love him. Sawyer didn't care if he was six feet tall and string-bean-thin. She liked his curly red hair and his homely face. Don't forget your elephant ears, Jarvis, he cautioned himself. That's probably what drove her away—his ears. Maybe he should think about getting them pinned back. Men were getting all kinds of plastic surgery these days—face-lifts, eye jobs, contoured cheekbones, and hair transplants. He'd be happy to have an ear job if it would bring Sawyer back. She was his only love.
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