The Lyon Legacy

by Peg Sutherland

He tightened his grip on the towel. “I’m willing to do just about anything to make amends, but forgetting is asking a lot.”

  “Why? That’s what I’m going to do.”

  She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, waiting for the sound of footsteps to announce his departure. Instead, he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Les, sorrier than you’ll ever know. I swear to youj nothing like this will ever happen again.”

  “I believe you. Now get out before I kill you!”

  Then she did hear his footsteps and dredged up the strength to wait at least thirty seconds after he’d closed the door between them before bursting into tears.

  THE FRIDAY LUNCHEON was an enormous success. Even though Leslie was treating Michael like a pariah in private, their public demeanor was unchanged. Which meant that when she spoke, it could still be straight to him, because he understood.

  Surprisingly enough, to her, anyway, her presentation was roundly applauded. Only with Michael did she moan, “I stammered on that first sentence and I forgot the name of the award and stumbled around a little before I got on track again and—”

  “Leslie,” he interrupted, his smile warmly supportive, “you were wonderful. You just proved that you can do anything you want to do. Remember that every time you look at me, and don’t nitpick yourself to death, all right?”

  And she hadn’t.

  To LESLIE’S RELIEF neither Margaret nor Gaby ever breathed a word to her about what Michael had said to them. But they did seem to treat her with more consideration, and there were no more arm-twisting sessions to get her to do things she wasn’t comfortable with.

  May turned to June while plans for the big anniversary celebration moved inexorably forward with minor events and promotions pointing toward the finale in July. Leslie found herself deeply involved in daily planning sessions and surprised herself by enjoying them. Of course, having Michael by her side made a big difference.

  But he wasn’t by her side through those long, increasingly hot nights. They’d settled into a kind of wordless truce that went into effect once they were alone in their suite of rooms. Even worse, he’d taken to working late several nights each week. Those nights were truly horrible.

  There was always Cory, fortunately. The second grade wasn’t much of a challenge to her, but Leslie still enjoyed overseeing homework and solving the little day-to-day emergencies. She also made sure the girl continued her weekly telephone calls to her grandmother in New York.

  During one such call, Leslie was struck by inspiration. After Cory had concluded her conversation and handed over the phone, Leslie gave Cornelia a special invitation to attend the July festivities.

  The woman hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she said stiffly.

  “You wouldn’t,” Leslie said. “We have plenty of room here at Lyoncrest, and my family will be glad to have you. Please come. You can spend time with your granddaughter and watch the Lyons go crazy.”

  That drew a laugh. “I do miss Cory terribly,” the woman admitted. “Let me think about it.”

  She’ll come, Leslie thought. That will make Cory happy, and what makes Cory happy makes Michael happy.

  As if Leslie should be worrying about his happiness after what he’d done to hers. In bad moments she fully expected he’d turn to her one day and say, “All right, Leslie, you not only survived the Lyon extravaganza, you triumphed. My ex-mother-in-law has relaxed, Kate Coleman is engaged to be married, nobody’s chasing me at the moment, and it’s time for us to say goodbye. Let’s just shake hands—”

  No! Leslie wasn’t ready to think about any of that, not yet. She prayed July would never come.

  BUT IT DID, and with mind-boggling speed, over a hundred triumphs and difficulties small and large. More and more, Leslie had moved into the public arena, but she’d done it on her own, without the usual trauma. As long as Michael was by her side, she did her part with good grace. With him, all things were possible. Without him, she wasn’t certain she’d remember how to breathe.

  Cornelia arrived in New Orleans July the first, but refused the hospitality of Lyoncrest—for all of twenty-four hours. When she gave up and moved in, Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been feeling very well for the past couple of weeks, since temperatures and humidity had both soared. Born and bred in these steamy lowlands, she’d never before been so drained of energy by the weather.

  Fortunately most of the work was done, except for last-minute details and mountains of worry, neither of which required much of her attention. Now only two obstacles remained for her to confront: the masked ball Saturday night and the ceremonies and unveiling of the statue of the station’s founders on Sunday.

  She could get through that. Staring at her resplendent costume spread out on the four-poster, with Cornelia standing by to help her into it, Leslie steeled herself. She had to go forward, even knowing that next week or soon thereafter, her husband was going to come to her and say, “Thanks for everything. Goodbye.”

  Nausea welled up in her and she clapped her hand over her mouth and stumbled into the bathroom. When she emerged, pale and trembling, Cornelia gave her a questioning look.

  “When are you due?” she asked. “And when are you going to tell Michael?”

  Leslie stopped in her tracks and her eyes flew open wide. “I’m not pregnant!”

  Or maybe she was. She’d missed a couple of periods, but that wasn’t so unusual. The heat had gotten to her big time this summer, but pregnant? Indescribable joy made her wrap her arms around her middle. “Do you suppose?”

  Cornelia laughed and hugged her. “I’d bet money on it,” she said. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize.”

  “I’ve been so busy...” And he’d only made love to her once.

  “Shall I tell Michael you want to speak to him?” Cornelia turned toward the door.

  “No, please don’t!” How was she going to tell him? It might be better to let him go before he knew. She wasn’t sure he’d want this baby, since he obviously didn’t want her. To Cornelia she said, “Please don’t say anything to anyone until I see a doctor and know for sure.”

  But she did know for sure. Now that Cornelia had suggested it, Leslie knew with absolute certainty that she carried the child of the man she loved.

  “I understand.” Cornelia smiled as if pleased to be part of a conspiracy. “Are you going to be able to go to the ball tonight?”

  “Of course.” Now that she knew, Leslie felt giddy with excitement. “Just help me get into this dress and—”

  But another wave of nausea hit, and then another. By the time Cornelia summoned Michael, it was clear to both women there’d be no ball for Leslie tonight.

  He leaned over her prone figure, properly solicitous. “I’ll bet it was that jambalaya at dinner,” he said. “Your mother’s feelin’ a little shaky, too, but she says she’s going, anyway.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” Leslie lied. She pressed the cold washcloth against her forehead. “There’s no need for you to miss the party, though. You go along with the rest of the family.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Cornelia promised. “To tell you the truth, it’s nice to be needed again.”

  Michael hesitated. Leslie prayed he’d insist on staying, that he’d sit by her side and hold her hand and guess what the real problem was, thus sparing her the agony of having to tell him—or not tell him.

  Instead, he said, “If you’re sure...”

  And all her hopes were dashed.

  LESLIE, FEELING MORE OR LESS herself again, walked into a hornet’s nest when she came downstairs Sunday morning. Everyone was, to quote one in a succession of Lyoncrest cooks, “running around like chickens with their heads off.” Margaret was trying to round everyone up for early mass, while Paul waited impatiently. Andre had already left for WDIX, and Gaby looked uncharacteristically nervous. Charlotte, who’d just arrived from Colorado, did not look happy to be here at all. She gave Leslie a wave and rolled her eyes the way she’d
been doing since childhood.

  Cornelia had the children fairly well in hand, though, and Michael surveyed the scene with good humor.

  “How was the ball?” Leslie inquired. “I’m sorry I had to miss it.”

  “Wonderful,” Margaret said, “but the details will have to wait. Out, everybody! After mass we’ll get organized, I promise.”

  For once Margaret was dead wrong. Mass ran longer than usual; traffic was worse than usual; the children were more disruptive than usual. Once back at Lyoncrest Margaret ordered everyone to go ahead to the station while she and Paul handled a few last-minute telephone details. They’d be there in plenty of time for the one-o’clock broadcast.

  Leslie had nothing to do now but go with the flow. Her part was over. She could remain calm and above the fray.

  BY TWELVE-THIRTY, Margaret and Paul still hadn’t appeared at WDIX. André was pacing around the executive boardroom with half a sandwich in his hand taken from the buffet set up on the conference table. He stopped and turned to the members of the family gathered there—the group from Lyoncrest, plus Alain and Charles and their branch of the family. Leslie and Charlotte were sitting together at one end of the conference table, sipping lemonade and getting caught up on each other’s lives.

  “I’ll call home one more time and then I’m going after them,” André announced, stalking to the telephone at the head of the conference table. “This isn’t like Mama at all.”

  “But it is like Grandpère,” Leslie said, trying to combat the sense of panic that seemed to be invading the room. She glanced at Sharlee, who shrugged. “I’m sure they’re all right, Papa.”

  André slammed down the handset. “Busy. That line has been busy for forty-five minutes—either that or it’s off the hook.”

  Gaby wrung her hands, her expression distraught. “Do you suppose they’ve already left?”

  “We can’t take that chance.” He turned toward the door. “I’m going after them.”

  Michael rose from his seat along the wall. “You might miss them, André. Why don’t I go, too? We can take different routes and meet at the house.”

  André nodded. “Thanks, Michael, that’s a good idea.”

  “But...” Leslie’s heart flipped over. She had no further responsibilities, but she didn’t want to be without Michael when tempers and nerves ran this high.

  Michael squeezed her hand and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead just as if they were any other happily married couple. “I won’t be long,” he promised, but he was obviously already thinking ahead. “André, what way are you going? I thought I’d...”

  The two men hurried out. For a moment there were no sounds except the giggles of the children stacking foam cups into a tower in one corner. Then Charles said quite clearly, “Folly! Folly, folly, folly...”

  AT TEN MINUTES OF ONE, Mary Boland stuck her head into the room. “They’re ready for y’all in Studio A,” she announced cheerfully. She did a double take. “Where is everybody?”

  Gaby looked tongue-tied so Leslie said, “They’ll be here wher they’re needed, Mary. The rest of us will be right down.”

  Mary shrugged and closed the door. Leslie looked at her mother with more sympathy than she’d ever felt before. Gaby loved Margaret like a mother, and worry twisted her face.

  “Leslie, if anything’s happened to Paul or Margaret...”

  And to Leslie’s horror, tears glistened in Gaby’s eyes. “Now Mama, everything will be all right,” she said, sliding an arm around her mother’s quaking shoulders. She sought out Sharles for support, but her sister had turned away to look out the win dow, as if she didn’t want to be part of what was happening “Papa and Michael will bring them back,” Leslie assured Gaby

  “Folly,” Charles said again. “They’re not coming. You women have spent all this money on a great big disaster.”

  Gaby pulled herself together with an effort. “What will we do if they don’t arrive in time, Les?”

  “We’ll carry on,” Leslie said staunchly. “You and Sharles can do the honors. With cue cards and—”

  “Not me.” Charlotte turned sharply from the window. “I have nothing to do with this. 1 wasn’t part of the planning and I wouldn’t be here now if Grandmère hadn’t...well, never mind how she did it. She got me here and that’s all I promised to do—show up and smile.”

  Leslie’s heart sank. “Then you, Mama.”

  “Oh, God, I couldn’t possibly!” Red-eyed and trembling Gaby shook her head vehemently. “I’m much too upset.”

  “Uncle Alain?” Leslie was growing desperate. “You’re good at—”

  “Not a chance.” Alain’s laugh was nasty. “Haul André’s chestnuts out of the fire? I don’t think so. I’m just here to show family unity.”

  That only left...

  “No!” Leslie took a horrified step back, wanting to screan Michael’s name. If he was here, then maybe. But on her own? “No! I can’t and you can’t ask me to!”

  “I don’t want to have to ask you, Leslie, but what choice is there?” Gaby swallowed her tears. “You’re the only one who can do this. We have a real emergency here. We’re depending on you because we must. All the Lyons are depending on you.”

  “Besides,” Charlotte put in, looking a bit more sympathetic, “they’ll probably get here in time. Why, they could be in the studio already, waiting for us. All this angst could be for nothing.”

  Charlotte could be right. Leslie prayed she was.

  CHARLOTTE WAS WRONG.

  Standing beneath the glare of lights, listening to the countdown to air with a frozen smile on her face, Leslie wondered if she would survive this horror. Would she stammer and blush and make a fool of herself and her entire family?

  Then Michael’s words came back to her: “You can do anything you want to do—remember that every time you look at me.” But he wasn’t here. Somebody do something, she thought wildly.

  Only, there was nobody to do anything but Leslie. It occurred to her suddenly that she didn’t have to actually see Michael standing in front of her. He was locked in her heart and would be until the day she died. She knew how he’d look, what he’d say with his eyes—

  “We’re on!”

  Leslie’s heart leaped into her throat and she took a shaky breath. Then the most extraordinary sense of calm settled over her. When she smiled, it was real, not the phony stretching of the lips she’d learned to do in public.

  She spoke warmly to Michael as if he stood next to the camera. “I’m Leslie Lyon McKay and on behalf of my family, I’d like to thank you all for being part of the Golden Anniversary of WDIX...”

  WHEN THEY CUT to the thirty-minute documentary on the station, Leslie collapsed into a chair, hyperventilating. Her ordeal was finished. The only thing left was the unveiling of the statue in front of WDIX.

  Charlotte was the first to reach her. “You were great!” she announced. “I’m so proud of you, Les.”

  “Th-thank you.” Now that it was over, Leslie felt weak with relief—but she hadn’t tripped over a single word.

  She’d found some backbone. If she could face this, her worst fear...

  Or was it her worst fear? Looking at the man she loved hurry across cables and dodge past cameras to reach her side, she realized there was one more thing she had to do before she could claim her self-respect.

  He spoke first. “Les, my God, you were wonderful. I’ve never been prouder of you.” Pulling her into his arms, he held her close.

  “You know?” Confused, she clung to him.

  “We watched on the TV in the limo—André and I came back with your grandparents and the doctor.”

  “The doctor? Is someone—”

  “It’s nothing. Your grandfather was feeling a little woozy and your grandmother panicked.” He grinned at her, still standing in the comfort of his embrace. “He probably caught whatever was bothering you last night.”

  She let out an astonished gasp. “I doubt it. Michael, there’s something—”
<
br />   Gaby rushed up. “Leslie, you were fantastic! I knew you could do it.”

  “Thank you, Mama, but right now I’m busy. Could you keep everyone back for a few minutes? I have to speak to my husband.” And at last Leslie knew what she had to say.

  It was the right thing, the only thing.

  Gaby looked surprised but impressed by Leslie’s firm tone. “Of course, dear.”

  Michael frowned. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Leslie. drew a deep breath. It was now or never. “Michael,” she said in a voice that trembled with sincerity, “I love you.” She couldn’t bear to see his reaction to her declaration—courage only stretched so far—so she stared intently at his shoulder. “I also love the family we’ve created with Cory—and the family we’re about to create.”

  That silence was the longest she’d ever experienced in her lifetime. It seemed like eons before he spoke, and then it was in a croak.

  “About to create?”

  “I’m pregnant, and so happy at the thought of having your baby I can hardly t-talk about it.” She dared not slow down or she’d never get it out. “I prayed you would share that joy, but if you don’t and if y-you can never love me, I’ll stand by our b-bargain. You can have your freedom whenever you want it, just as I promised. Whatever you decide, I’ll never ever regret our time together or...” Her voice trailed away before his lack of response.

  “Are you finished?” he demanded.

  She blinked, frowned, dared to sneak a look at him. He was glowering at her, not an especially encouraging sign. “I’m f-finished.” For good, apparently.

  “Then you listen to me, Leslie McKay.” He caught her just above the elbows, forcing her to look at him. “Of course I can love you—in fact, I have for longer than I even realized. Who the hell in his right mind wouldn’t?”

  “Are you serious?”

  They stared into each other’s eyes, asking questions, receiving answers, making promises. He pulled her tight against his chest and held her there, and she could feel his heart racing in time with hers.