Twilight Whispers

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Oh, Jordan,” Katia whispered, her eyes filling with tears. When he opened his arms she melted into them, suddenly overwhelmed by a deep inner conflict. She was so very happy to see him, to feel him, yet so grieved at the circumstances. Clinging to him, she wept softly, not at all surprised that his presence had unleashed her emotions, because it had always been that way for her with Jordan. He had been her idol, her protector. She had adored him from the time she had been four years old. He had always been there for her, never failing to make her feel special.

  He held her tightly, absorbing her anguish even as his arms trembled with his own. When her tears ebbed, he brushed them gently from her cheeks, then wrapped his arms around her again and rocked her slowly. She drew strength from him, finding comfort in the sturdiness of his body and the light stroking of his cheek against her hair.

  At last she looked up. “Why, Jordan? Why?” The beseechful question could have referred to many things in her life, in their lives, but the immediate tragedy was foremost in both their minds.

  Jordan took a deep breath, let it out, then spoke for the first time. His voice was as tortured as his expression. “I don’t know. God only knows I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times in the past day and a half, but for the life of me I can’t find an answer.” His eyes grew moist as he looked down at her. Then he looked back up and around to see that relatives and family friends had begun to overtake them. A hand patted his shoulder; another squeezed his arm. Each was accompanied by a murmured word or two of condolence before the giver passed by.

  “Come on,” he said softly to Katia, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and anchoring her close to his side as he began to walk. He gazed down at her. “You’ve been a stranger for the past year.” When she neither tried to deny nor justify the truth of his statement, he went on. “You look wonderful.”

  “I look awful.” She brushed her thumb beneath each of her eyes in search of runaway mascara.

  “No, wonderful. You were always beautiful, but you get more so each time I see you.”

  “And you were always a flatterer, Jordan Whyte.”

  He didn’t argue, because she was right. He had been saying pretty things to women since he was twelve years old. What Katia didn’t know was that when he complimented her, he meant every word. “I think life as an art director agrees with you.” They entered the living room, their conversation now muted by the quiet drone of the gathering crowd.

  “It’s hectic. Life at any level of an ad agency is, I suppose—and we’re far from the biggest. But I like it.”

  “You’ve earned your spot. The men aren’t still giving you trouble, are they?”

  “When they need a scapegoat. But I’ll survive.” The choice of words had been innocent on her part, yet they evoked more somber thoughts. Her expression grew pained. “Suicide … I’d never have expected it of Mark, much less … murder. Are they sure? Are they absolutely sure that someone didn’t sneak onto the boat?”

  Jordan drew her to the same piano bench on which she had been sitting earlier. For as many times in the past as they had sat here, laughing while Jordan had pounded out bawdy tunes on the keys, their thoughts now were sober, solely on the present.

  “They’re investigating.” He snorted. “Famous last words.”

  “How long does it take to go over one boat?”

  “Not long with the naked eye, but much longer in the lab. The preliminary report shows no evidence of foul play by an intruder.”

  “Did Mark have enemies?”

  “We all did—do.”

  “Any who would kill?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowned, seeming to struggle while he absently stroked Katia’s hand. “Mark and I have had our differences. Over the years he’s done some really dumb things.”

  “Those bad investments?”

  “Those … and other things.”

  She was about to prod further when a couple approached. Though she didn’t recognize the pair, Jordan did. He stood and greeted them quietly. Katia managed a polite smile when he introduced her, but her attention quickly wandered from the solemn interchange.

  Across the room, Jack Whyte stood with a group of businessmen, seemingly engrossed in the discussion. By the door, having just entered, Gil Warren was similarly occupied with his followers. They were two of a kind, Katia mused. From the looks of them, the gathering might as well have been a casual cocktail party as a funeral.

  Some distance away Natalie Whyte stood with her arm around Lenore Warren’s waist. Friends surrounded them, and Katia had to wonder whether the attention was a help or a burden. Jack and Gil thrived on it; it was their world. Their wives, however, weren’t as single-minded or resilient. Natalie looked as though she wanted to cry but wouldn’t, while Lenore looked as though she needed to cry but couldn’t.

  Anne, Jordan’s younger sister, was quite openly in tears. Sitting in a corner of the sofa, hugging her daughter to her, she seemed to have simply lost control. Katia had so much she wanted to say to Jordan, but this wasn’t the time. She met his gaze, then turned a worried glance back to Anne.

  Quickly sizing up the situation, he nodded. “See if you can help her,” he urged softly. “I’ll catch you later.” With a soft kiss on the top of her head, he headed off, stopping at nearly every turn to greet one familiar face or another. Katia followed his progress until he disappeared from view, at which point she worked her way toward Anne.

  “Annie,” she said softly, lowering herself to the sofa and putting an arm around her friend. “Shh. It’s all right.”

  Anne pressed her eyes tightly shut and took a ragged breath, then slowly raised her head and looked at Katia. “I said such awful things to him,” she whispered in despair. “It was so unpleasant the last time we were together.”

  Katia leaned forward and stroked little Amanda’s head. “There are all kinds of goodies in the dining room, sweetheart. Why don’t you go get some? I’ll bet your cousins are already there.”

  Amanda didn’t need any more urging. With the loosening of her mother’s arms, she was on her way. Only then did Katia turn back to Anne. “We’ve all said awful things at one time or another. But there are good times to remember. Wouldn’t it be better to think of those?”

  “I try, but I keep hearing the other words and wishing I could take them back. But I can’t. It’s too late. Why did he do it, Katia? What could have possibly been in his mind?”

  “We never quite knew, did we?”

  “No. Isn’t it sad? He was always a little bit odd. And a little bit foolish.” She paused. “Poor Deborah. You knew that she’d been in therapy since … since the baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mark needed it, too. Dad wouldn’t hear of any son of his having psychiatric treatment, but Mother still suggested it, and Mark hit the roof. It had gotten worse and worse each time he visited.”

  “What had?” Though she had kept abreast of his activities, Katia hadn’t seen Mark in a very long time.

  “His talk of money, of fame. He was obsessed with it. Really obnoxious.” Her gaze grew pleading. “We weren’t ever like that, were we, Katia? You know us better than anyone does. Were we ever obnoxious about what we had?”

  “Of course not.” If the press had on occasion suggested differently, envy was to blame.

  “Money was never a be-all and end-all.”

  “No.” Certainly not among Anne’s generation of Warrens and Whytes. “You never flaunted what you had. But Mark went through money pretty quickly at one point. Maybe it became more important to him because of that. He’d been doing well recently, though, hadn’t he?”

  “I thought so. We all did. He certainly talked enough about all he was making. But when he and Deborah were here a month ago, he came to see me at the house and asked for a loan. When I asked what it was for he wouldn’t answer, and when I accused him of being up to his ears in no good, he really blew. That was when … when I said those ugly things.” Her voice broke. “Maybe if I’
d been calmer, if I’d talked with him, tried to understand what he was going through.…”

  Katia tightened her arm around Anne’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Anne. Mark was his own person.”

  “He was my brother.” Her eyes filled again. “You had a brother once, Katia. How did you feel when he died?”

  Taken aback by the question, Katia considered it for a moment. “Sad. Angry. Confused. I was too young to feel guilt, and besides, it was a different situation.”

  “Well, I do feel guilt. Lots of it.”

  “It’s unproductive, and you happen to be one of the most productive women I know. So what are you going to do about it?”

  Katia’s bluntness was just what Anne needed. She stared at Katia for a minute, opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again and sighed. “Nothing. There’s nothing to do … but go on, I guess.” At Katia’s nod of agreement, Anne grew more thoughtful. “You’re good, Katia. You’re a good person.”

  “So are you. All of you.”

  “I don’t know about that. We’ve had things our way for so long that we’re spoiled. When something like this happens it drives us crazy. There’s no way we can buy either Mark or Deborah back, but I swear Daddy would try to bribe God if he knew where to find Him.”

  “Any parent would do that. Jack isn’t unique.”

  “But you are.” Anne quickly turned the conversation back to Katia. “You’ve done well, and all on your own.”

  “I had a pretty good start here.”

  “But beyond that. You could have come to work with us in the business, but you wouldn’t. And you refused to go down to Washington and work with Gil.”

  “I needed to establish my own identity.”

  “Well, you have. I only hope Jordan sees it before it’s too late.”

  Katia’s heart skipped a beat. “Jordan? What’s Jordan got to do with this?”

  “You’d be good for him.”

  “I’m like his sister.”

  “But you’re not. There’s always been something special between you two. And since you’ve broken up with Sean.…”

  Katia sighed. “Anne, your brother has his pick of the most gorgeous women in the world. Every time I see his picture in the paper he’s got a different one on his arm. What does he need me for?”

  “Love, marriage, children.”

  “Maybe he’s not ready to settle down.”

  “He’s thirty-nine, for God’s sake. What’s he waiting for?”

  Katia didn’t have an answer for that. Instead she gave a sheepish grin. “To lose his third million and make his fourth?”

  Anne found nothing amusing in Katia’s attempt at humor. “Are you dating again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seeing someone special?”

  “No.”

  “Do you love Jordan?”

  Katia’s gaze skittered unseeingly across the maze of bodies in the room. She was unprepared for this discussion, not so much because she didn’t know the answer to Anne’s question, but because it was so far afield from the cause for the present gathering. She had wanted to comfort Anne. Apparently she had succeeded too well.

  Frowning she took a deep breath and looked back at Anne. “I love all of you. You know that.”

  “But isn’t what you feel for Jordan different?”

  “We live in the same city, but we don’t see each other often. He’s busy. He travels a lot. So do I.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I can’t. Jordan and I—”

  “I’m going to speak to him.”

  “You will not!” Katia exclaimed. Then, aware of the people close by, she quickly lowered her voice again. “Please, Anne. Don’t.”

  “Why not? He’s my brother. You’re right; there’s nothing I can do now to help Mark. Jordan is another matter.”

  “Jordan doesn’t need help.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “But he’s happy as he is.”

  “He’s a fool. If he doesn’t grab you soon, someone else will.”

  Katia wasn’t so sure about that. She had tried. Oh, yes, she’d tried. She had dated often over the years, had even nurtured her relationship with Sean for four long years in the desperate hope that it would evolve into love. Unfortunately, neither Sean nor any other man she had met appealed to her as Jordan did.

  Of course, she wouldn’t tell Anne that. Some things were sacred.

  So she resorted to humor. “And what would I want with Jordan? He’s on the verge of bankruptcy as often as not, staking his life’s savings on one bizarre project or another. He buys hockey teams that are in the cellar, buildings that are infested with rats, original art that looks like the studio drop cloth. He is totally irreverent and utterly incorrigible. He goes in the out door and up the down escalator. He can’t make it through a day without a macadamia nut fix. And beyond that, he’s a daredevil in a sailboat, a maniac on a horse, a glutton in an ice cream parlor, and he snores.”

  “How do you know that?” Anne asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “Because he’s fallen asleep any number of times on this very sofa, smack in the middle of family parties!”

  Anne brushed a finger along her lower lip. “Mmm. You may be right. He’s not much of a prize at that, is he?” Slanting Katia a mischievous grin, she started to stand, but after a pause she instead leaned over and gave her a hug. “Thanks,” she said softly, and there was a catch in her voice. “Things were pretty hairy at the cemetery. But there is more to life than death, isn’t there?”

  It was a rhetorical question, one Katia was to repeat silently any number of times during the next few hours. Lenore, as expected, retired to the upper level of the house, while Natalie moved slowly and quietly among their guests. Jack and Gil skillfully worked the crowd, albeit in lower tones and with a moderation of the backslapping that was their usual style. The rest of the Whytes and the Warrens mingled accordingly.

  Katia moved from group to group, talking softly with family members, greeting their friends whom she knew and making acquaintances with others. Yes, the deaths were shocking. And tragic. And perplexing. No, there had been no warning of serious trouble from either Deborah or Mark. Yes, it was a useless waste of lives.

  She found the air of mourning oppressive and almost wished she could shoulder it as gallantly as Gil and Jack did. Unable to eat, she drank coffee. When her hands began to shake she simply held them more tightly in her lap. When her head began to throb she gulped down two aspirin in the kitchen. And when she had begun to pray for the day to end, Jordan came to her rescue.

  She was in the dining room talking distractedly to a friend of Nicholas Whyte’s, when Jordan pressed himself wickedly close to her back.

  “I need help,” he breathed by her ear. “I’m going mad.” He looked up at the man who had been talking to Katia. “You’ll excuse us?” Without waiting for an answer, he took Katia’s hand and strode quickly through the dining room into the kitchen, heading for the back door. She had to trot to keep up, but she didn’t mind. The promise of a break—and with Jordan, no less—was wildly welcome.

  He didn’t stop when he reached the back steps, but continued at the same demanding pace until the house, then the stables had been left far behind and they had entered the apple grove. Only then did his step grow more relaxed, but he kept on walking.

  He didn’t speak. Words were unnecessary. Katia understood that he needed to expel the nervous energy that had gathered within him, and she found herself doing the same. Even the heat seemed a respite from the gloom in the house, and though the sadness of the day couldn’t be completely blotted from her mind, it was lessened by the sweet smell of the grass, the sight of new apples growing in the trees, the buzz of a bee. The world was alive, reassuringly so.

  They walked a while longer, through a large stand of lush maples and pines, and then along the low stone fence that bordered the property before returning more slowly to the house. At the back steps, J
ordan finally stopped. Dropping Katia’s hand for the first time, he propped his forearms on the wooden stoop, hung his head and took several long deep breaths.

  Sweat trickled down his cheeks. His hair was damp, curling slightly on his neck. As Katia watched, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders. So broad, she thought. And tense. Still tense.

  Wanting only to comfort him, she began to work lightly at the knots in his lower back. His low moan told her that her ministrations were appreciated, which, in turn, encouraged her to continue. She would have done so for hours had the circumstances allowed it. Touching him was a delight.

  “Mmm, Katia. You’ve been the only bright spot in a fucking lousy day.”

  “This is the worst of it,” she ventured softly. “Things will get better.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” was his muffled response. “The press is going to have a field day with this one. It’s already started. ‘The Romeo and Juliet of the eighties; star-crossed lovers die in each other’s arms.’ The media loves this kind of thing. I’d lay money on the fact that within a week someone will call wanting to do a book on Mark and Deborah. Or a TV movie. It nauseates me.”

  “But it’s nothing new. They’ve always been after you.”

  “After me, I don’t care. After Mark and Deborah, who aren’t around any longer to defend themselves—that does bother me. And the worst of it is that the one to really suffer will be my mother.”

  “She’s a strong woman, Jordan,” Katia said, thinking with admiration of how Natalie Whyte had kept her proud bearing throughout the day.

  “You bet.” His tone was bitter. “It can’t have been easy living with Dad all these years—or without him, which is really more the case. She didn’t deserve that, and she doesn’t deserve this. She may be strong, but no one can be that strong.”