Texas fury

by Michaels, Fern

  "Okay, I'm going to hang up now and get drunk. Write me a letter."

  "Okay."

  "'Bye."

  "Bye, Adam."

  In a daze, Adam dialed Cole's number. "She said yes."

  "Congratulations; or should I offer condolences?"

  "Smart-ass. I'm going to get drunk as soon as Jeff goes to bed. Want to join me?"

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  "I think I'll pass. Stay happy, Adam. I always said you'd make a great brother-in-law."

  "I always said that, too," Adam said happily. Hell, he didn't need alcohol to feel drunk.

  The cold reality of her aloneness depressed Julie. At times these past weeks, Hawaii and Cary seemed more a dream than reality. A wonderful dream.

  The harshness of the blustery April wind tore into Julie as she walked up Park Avenue. She felt like crying, but knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop. She hiked the colorful cashmere scarf, a gift from Billie and her Uncle Thad years ago, up over her nose. What did she care how she looked? There wasn't a soul in this city she cared about.

  April in New York. It should be warm now, with spring flowers on all the corner stands, and she should be wearing a light coat instead of being bundled up like an Eskimo. Sub-freezing temperatures in April in New York were almost unheard of. "Why not?" Julie muttered under the scarf. "Everything else is fouled up; why not the weather?"

  The weather and her aloneness aside, she knew what really bothered her: she hadn't heard from Cary since her return from Hawaii. She'd had an uneasy feeling that something was wrong ever since she'd returned. For one thing, she hadn't heard from Billie or her Uncle Thad. It was unlike Billie not to call and ask how she'd enjoyed her vacation. Any other time she'd have wrapped up the little souvenirs she'd bought for them and mailed them off, but they were still in the ABC bag she'd carried them home in. The last time she'd looked, the bag was on a chair in a corner in the bedroom. She supposed she could have called her uncle and Billie, but she was afraid something would come through in her voice, would give her away.

  The wind whipped furiously at Julie's back, driving her forward. She sped around the corner to East Seventy-ninth Street and narrowly avoided colliding with an elderly man walking a shorthaired terrier who was resisting the leash as well as the wind. Maybe that's what she needed—a dog. Animals were loyal and they loved unconditionally. She'd heard stories of animals who killed for their masters or defended them to their own death.

  She and Cary hadn't even said good-bye. Both of them knew they'd see each other again; she'd felt it would be soon. Cary had said that he'd be in New York in a few weeks. To her that was

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  soon. She'd gone to the airport with him, just to be with him for an extra hour. She'd waited until his plane took off. She knew he couldn't see her, but she waved until the plane was a dust speck in the blue sky. His plane landed at National Airport in Washington just as hers was leaving for New York. So far apart in distance and miles. But so close in her heart.

  The door to the apartment slammed shut behind her. The warmth caressed her cold, numb body. She tossed off her coat and scarf and headed straight for the answering machine. The tiny light blinked repeatedly. She pressed the message button and heard Cary's voice. "I'll call you at nine o'clock this evening." Nothing more. Julie rewound and played the tape four times to see if she could detect anything in Cary's voice. A business voice, cool and impersonal. She had two hours and fifteen minutes to wait.

  Tonight would be a good time to make dinner, a real one. She'd had enough sandwiches and soup to last her a lifetime. Frozen dinners in their little metal trays were an indicator that she was alone. She hated them. The freezer yielded two individually wrapped pork chops. She seasoned them, and the broiler would do the rest. A potato was scrubbed; the toaster oven would bake it to perfection. Butter and sour cream were set out to soften. A stalk of fresh green broccoli found its way to a small casserole dish and the microwave oven. Now she could change her clothes and get into her old, comfortable bathrobe and scruffy slippers. While she waited for her dinner she'd call Billie and her uncle. She should have taken the initiative and done it herself long ago. They were family. One didn't ignore one's family ... ever.

  Billie's warm voice was better than a hug, Julie decided.

  They discussed Thad and his late hours, the weather, Julie's vacation. "I bought you a present; it's a bit tacky, but remember, it's the thought that counts. It's one of those straw things that hang on a wall to put your bills and letters in. It has a red hibiscus on it."

  "If you bought it for us, then we'll love it. I'll even hang it up. I keep my bills in a shopping bag. Thad is always after me about it. How are you, Julie?"

  "If this blasted cold weather would let up, I'd be fine. I'm just itching to walk through the park to see all the greenery. I love spring, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do, but my favorite time of year is autumn."

  "How's all the family?"

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  "My goodness. I do have news! Adam Jarvis called. He and Sawyer are getting married. A real wedding, with all the trimmings, if we can talk her into it. We haven't had one of those for a long time. I plan to dive in with both feet when the time comes."

  "How wonderful," Julie said. "I've caught the bouquet four times. I've given up."

  "Never give up. The right man is out there; he just hasn't found you yet."

  "I'm thirty-nine, Aunt Billie. He's taking a long time finding me."

  Billie chuckled. "Maybe he lost his map. Don't worry, he'll find you."

  "Maggie and Rand? I called the house when I was in Hawaii, but there was never any answer." It was the truth; she had called.

  "They were in England for a while, then they came back and stayed here for two weeks. They're back in their paradise now. Cole is still in Texas, cleaning up what he calls the mess Riley left for him. Riley's still in Rio." That left Amelia and Cary. Billie didn't want to hear the anguish in Julie's voice, or make her ask about them. Perhaps she didn't know.

  "I had a full house for a while," she went on, choosing her words carefully. "Cary and Amelia were here. I don't know if you know this—how could you?" Billie said, answering her own question, "but Amelia had a heart attack just hours after she appeared before Congress. She was in the hospital and came here the day Cary got back from Hawaii. Cole came up and flew them back."

  "I thought the bypass surgery corrected her problem." Lord, that strange voice couldn't be hers.

  "That's what we all thought. Apparently, Amelia didn't tell us everything. She has to take it easy. I'm sure the nice weather will play an important part in her recovery. I still subscribe to the theory that fresh air, good food, plenty of rest, and a loving husband will do the job."

  "I'm sure you're right. I'll have to send her a get-well card. Aunt Billie, I think my pork chops are burning. I'll call you in a week or so. Give my love to Uncle Thad, and keep your eye out for the Hawaiian treasure I'll be sending on."

  "Good-bye, Julie."

  Death. People who had heart attacks usually died. If Amelia died, Cary would be free. "NO!" she screamed. "No, I

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  didn't mean that. I'm not a ghoul. I won't wait for.. . No! I'm sorry! Please, God, I didn't mean that thought to crop into my head. Make her well. Give her many, many more years."

  Anger raged through her. She reached down to unplug the answering machine. It took her a long time to find the box the machine came in. She jammed the machine in, any old way, not caring if she broke the buttons or knobs. She literally threw the box on the top shelf of the hall closet. "That's the end of that," she shouted to the empty apartment. For emphasis she slammed the closet door as hard as she could.

  The pork chops were dry and brittle; the thin layer of fat around the edges was black. The baked potato was still hard, the inside mealy, the broccoli overcooked and bland. She ate it all.

  When the phone rang at nine o'clock, she was in the shower, washing her hair. When it rang again at n
ine-twenty, she was creaming her face. When it rang for the last time, at nine-forty, she was doing deep knee bends. By ten-fifteen she was asleep on the couch, the afghan pulled up around her neck.

  The following day on her lunch hour she took the time to purchase a witty, cheerful get-well card for Amelia. She stood at the mail desk in Macy's and penned off a short message.

  Dear Amelia,

  Please get well soon. I'll look forward to seeing you dance the night away at Sawyer's wedding.

  Affectionately, Julie

  Wasn't love putting the other person first?

  UUiUU CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ))»)»»

  Winter, spring, summer — where had they gone? Cole wondered. He sat in his car, on land between the Jarvis ranch and Sunbridge. He'd taken to checking out Adam's house, more for something to do than for any particular reason.

  From here he could see his great-grandmother's rose garden at Sunbridge. The house looked mellow somehow, softer

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  in color, bleached by the summer's sun, more pale than a prairie rose. He hadn't been back to Sunbridge, and he didn't miss the old pile of bricks. He was glad that he owned no part of this vast place.

  He looked across the grazing lands that were lush from the spring and summer rains. It still held no appeal for him.

  Six more months and he'd be ready to leave. He didn't know what he'd do or where he'd go, but he knew he was going. He'd set his own time schedule, late one night when he sat alone, watching the David Letterman show. He was taking charge of his life. His plan included telling the family over the Christmas holidays when they all gathered at Sunbridge. He hoped they'd understand. If they didn't, there wasn't much he could do about it.

  He really shouldn't take all the credit for finally coming to his decision. Nick had helped him over the past months. He'd made the time to fly to New York several times, staying four or five days at a time, seeing Nick for a couple of hours each day.

  Time was moving too fast in some areas, too slow in others. Time was fleeting for Aunt Amelia and Shadaharu Hasegawa; it was dragging for Riley, and probably for Sawyer, trying to wind things up so she could get married. He had to think about doing something special for Christmas for his Aunt Amelia, making the holidays really festive. With things so slow at the office, he could make all the arrangements. If he read the situation right, his beloved aunt didn't have ... He swiped at the tears in his eyes. The doctors had said she had a year at the most; and that year would be up next March. This would be her last Christmas. It had to be a good one, as good as he could make it.

  Cole got out of his car and looked around. It was something to do, something physical, but his thoughts wouldn't be still. When he was little, in the military school he hated, he used to lie in bed and pretend he had three wishes. First, he'd wish for his parents to come and whisk him home, saying they'd made a mistake in sending him to the school. His second wish was for a motorcycle. The third was for all the blackberry pie he could eat, every day of his life. He played the game now. His wishes were more serious, and for the most part hopeless, except perhaps the last one. He wished for two reprieves—one for his Aunt Amelia, one for Riley's grandfather. His third wish was for Riley to slap him on the back and say, "It's history. I overreacted."

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  Cole looked at his watch. His lunch hour was over. It was time to go back to the office and tie up some loose ends. Three more cancellations had come in for the DM. Tomorrow there would be more, and the day after that, still more. When prosperous oilmen couldn't make their payroll, they couldn't afford to pay for the jets they'd ordered from Coleman Aviation. Back to a virtually empty office with only a skeleton crew working at a reduced salary. Back to nothing.

  It was a sweltering day in late September. Cole sat at his desk way past closing time, going over the reports that came in on a regular basis from Sawyer in Japan. He was tired and he was frightened. Everything was in the red. Two of their best holdings were on the block. Whatever profit they made would only keep them afloat another couple of months.

  The rise and fall of the Coleman empire. They'd done about all they could. Soon the vultures would be circling. No more long shots, no magic cures. No one to blame.

  It wasn't Riley's fault. He'd done his best. More than his best. Old Seth's bones must be rattling in the ground at what was happening. What would he say? Cole almost thought he could hear the gravelly voice that had been described to him hundreds of times. "Bail out, boy; cut your losses and start over. Use your back, your muscle, and the bank's money. You go belly-up, boy, and there ain't no bank nowhere that will loan you money. Bail out!" Yep, that's what old Seth would say. Riley didn't see it that way. Sawyer was fast coming around to Seth's way of thinking, though; he could tell by the notes she included with her reports.

  Cole looked around the office he'd decorated himself. He could either stay here and write to Riley's grandfather or go home to the condo and do it. If he did it here, he could leave it in outgoing mail for the morning pickup. He'd anticipated this very intention by slipping the latest letter from Japan into his briefcase when he left the apartment earlier.

  He enjoyed the old one's letters, often reading them three and four times or saving them up and reading them one after the other. For some strange reason, he felt close to Riley's grandfather.

  The crackly paper was unlike any other. Cole unfolded it and read slowly:

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  Coleman san,

  My weary eyes appreciated your last letter. It is most kind of you to keep up our correspondence. I look forward to your letters with as much eagerness as my ailing body can muster.

  To be sure, your family is anticipating Sawyer's marriage to Adam Jarvis. Your kind offer of wedding pictures will be appreciated. I have come to love Sawyer as my own daughter, as you know. I pray she is blessed with many children.

  My heart is full of sorrow for your aunt's frail health. Like all of us, she has become old. She is a remarkable woman with a strong spirit much like my own, I am told. I spoke once with her at great length. We talked of dreams and destiny. Her dream, she said, was fulfilled; her destiny, preordained. I, too, spoke of these same things, something I never thought of myself doing, especially with a woman. I felt a better person for sharing those confidences.

  Your grandmother wrote me just last week and told me she is counting the days till January, when Thaddeus retires from his government office. Her plan is to take a trip around the world with her husband. She said she will stop to visit and bore me with all their pictures. My family is blessed to share your own family. East and West, as you are fond of saying. I recall a day many years ago when you and my grandson stood side by side and you asked me, very respectfully, if West could get top billing this one time.

  I am proud, Coleman san, that you shared your dream with me. Man must have a dream to make life worth living. All things are within the realm of possibility. I shall pray that you never lose your dream. It is a life force that binds my spirit to this earth. I fear that my dream will go to the grave with me. It is my darkest secret.

  Once again I must thank you for sharing your news of my grandson with me. I have received only one letter from Riley since his very brief visit in March. It was a brisk letter inquiring about my health. I searched for some sign of warmth and affection but could find none. I felt like a fighter in the ring who has lost fight. I share this with only you, Coleman san.

  My busy daughters are fussing about me and want

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  me to take a nap. If they knew about the monsters that invade my dreams, they would not insist, but I must make them happy.

  Continue to dream, Coleman san, and one day your dream will be fulfilled. My spirit tells me this is so. You must never give up that which you hold close to your heart. I send to you, Coleman san, my American friend, my best wishes.

  Shadaharu Hasegawa

  Cole stared at the blank paper in the typewriter for a long time. What did he want to say to this wise old man? M
any, many things, he decided, that shouldn't be put on paper. Maybe, instead of writing, he should take a vacation, go to Japan. He could visit and talk as much as the old man wanted. Right now he could use all the wisdom the old Japanese could offer. Anything was better than rattling around the office with no real work to do. He hadn't taken a vacation last year or this year; he was entitled. He could soak up some Eastern culture, dine on sushi, hang out with Sawyer, visit with Riley's grandfather, walk down the Ginza, snap a few pictures to prove to himself he'd really taken a vacation, and rest.

  Cole covered the typewriter. The phone was so much quicker. His watch told him it was seven-thirty in the morning in Japan. Mr. Hasegawa was an early riser.

  All he had to do was pack, file a flight plan, and he was off. Not wanting to disturb the old one, Cole left a message: Coleman Tanner would arrive by early evening.

  Sixteen hours later Cole Tanner rang the bell on the Hasegawa gates. He was ushered in politely and escorted to the Zen garden, where Riley's grandfather sat. The light evening breeze wafted about Cole. He thought the garden the most beautiful spot he'd ever seen. He'd made no sound, yet the old one raised a frail hand and spoke softly.

  "Coleman san, welcome to my humble home. Join me here in the garden, where it is so peaceful. My grandson used to play here with his mother when he was a child."

  Cole walked over to the wicker chair, uncertain if he should hold out his hand or bow. When he was uncertain about anything, he did what he felt like doing; he dropped down to one knee and grasped the old Japanese's shoulders in both his hands. "It was presumptuous of me to call and announce my arrival as I did. It's good to see you, Mr. Hasegawa."

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  "And you, Coleman san, are a welcome sight for these old eyes. I am glad you came to visit me. Sit beside me and talk. If my fussy daughters see me engaged in conversation, perhaps they will allow me to stay up longer. Or you could intervene and tell them to ... to buzz off."