“The school was doing wonders for Cole,” Cranston said as if he hadn’t heard her. “He’s an expert marksman. His grades are way above average. His deportment is excellent. He’s under close supervision. He’s not on drugs. Face it, Maggie: you made a mistake by taking him out. He wants to go back to the academy or to a private school in New York.”
Maggie’s heart fluttered. She could feel the first stirrings of panic. “Cole needs a home, a sense of family. He doesn’t need strict rules and regimentation. I’m sorry I ever listened to you and enrolled him in the first place.”
“Come off it, Maggie! You didn’t want to be bothered, either. He was cramping our style. Every chance you got you sent him off somewhere. Now all of a sudden you have motherhood running in your veins, and you think you’re going to make him live in this godforsaken shrine to your father. I think that’s sick!”
Maggie flinched. “It’s what’s important for Cole now!” She took a deep breath. “And I refuse to let you draw me into some discussion only a lawyer can win. If you want to talk about Cole, fine. If not, I’ll leave you to whatever it is you want to do.
“By the way,” she added, “my nephew, Riley, is here. Please be civil and don’t allow your prejudices to get in the way.”
Cranston blinked in surprise. This definitely was not the Maggie he once knew. Something about her reminded him of Billie—the same iron fist in a velvet glove. He got up from the bed and began to prowl the room.
“Okay, let’s talk. Cole called me and asked me to come here. He told me that he wanted to live with me in New York. I told him I’d think about it and would discuss it with you. I didn’t promise him anything. But what are you going to do, Maggie—force him to stay here? He said he hates this place.”
Maggie sat on a soft green slipper chair and crossed her legs. “Cole is just angry because I took him out of school. He wanted to go off this summer on a trip to Europe with his friends, with little or no supervision. I said no. I think it’s time he put down roots, and Sunbridge is as good a place as any. It’s my home now, and it’s his home. Trust me when I tell you this is what’s best for him.”
“Best for him or best for you?”
“For him, of course! A sixteen-year-old doesn’t belong in a New York City apartment with no supervision. Cole has some problems, and I think this is the place to work them out. No child likes upheaval, but he’ll come around if you back me up. Right now, Cole doesn’t like either of us, Cranston, and if we let him, he’ll play us against each other. I don’t want that to happen—and I’m going to need your help to prevent it.”
“I have to talk to Cole. I’ll make my decision after I hear what he has to say.”
“I’ll fight you, Cranston. All the way. You gave me sole custody. You can’t rip him away from me now. You don’t want Cole; admit it. What you want is to get back at me.”
“Now you’re talking like a child. Why would I want to get back at you?”
“Because I left you before you left me. I walked out on you and took Cole with me. You didn’t care about us. All you cared about was how it was going to look to your partners and friends. You had to make explanations, tell lies. And you cooked up some pretty wild stories—I know because they filtered back to me. I didn’t bother to defend myself at the time because I was afraid of you. But I’m not afraid of you any longer.”
“The Coleman grit. It’s awesome, I have to agree. You’re on your own turf here. I can see how you’d get cocky.”
“Damn you, Cranston! I’m doing my best to turn my life around and make something of it. I also want to help Cole, and I won’t stand by and see you ruin him. Now, that’s all I’m going to say about it. I don’t think I’ll join you in the dining room after all. I’ll send Cole in my place. I think it’s time you saw your son.”
“I do, too. I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Only if you’re downstairs at seven sharp. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait till lunch. I have things to do.”
“Mistress of Sunbridge.” Cranston laughed.
Maggie pretended not to hear as she left the room, but she could feel her cheeks grow warm. He made it sound like a dirty title from a grade B movie.
When she reached her own room, the first thing she did was lock the door. Then she let the tears come. Lonesome tears, which rolled down her cheeks and onto the wineberry dress, spotting the delicate fabric. She should have worn a suit of armor for her meeting with Cranston, she reflected bitterly. Battles always left the wounded and bloodied.
She began to pace restlessly, trying to think. Cranston could do her in with legal mumbo jumbo. He was the boy’s father. He could say he was busy trying to earn a living to support his wife in the style to which she’d become accustomed. Juries loved to sink their teeth into anything even remotely scandalous or sensational. Her past was going to rear up and slap her smack in the face—not once, but twice, when Thad’s opponents got a crack at her.
It occurred to Maggie suddenly that she had no close friend, no confidant. If ever there was a time to confide in someone . . . Without thinking, she picked up the phone, dialed the airport, and had Rand paged. Ten minutes later she heard his anxious voice on the phone.
“Rand, it’s Maggie. I need a friend.”
“I’m all yours. I’ve another two hours before my plane leaves, and even then it’s doubtful I’ll get off before morning.”
Rand smiled as he listened to Maggie talk. Suddenly, the airport seemed less lonely. They spoke for nearly the entire two hours, and he never once looked at his watch. He doubted he would have heard if they’d announced his departure. But it really didn’t matter: there would be other planes.
It was Maggie who reminded him the two hours were nearly up. “Lord, Rand, I don’t know what got into me.”
“You said you needed a friend. We’re friends. Don’t make it complicated.”
“I feel as though I’ve gone through my entire life without someone I could turn to. Thanks, Rand. Perhaps I can return the favor one day. See you over the holidays.”
Rand listened to the dial tone for a few moments, then, very gently, replaced the receiver.
CHAPTER TEN
Maggie sat in her favorite lounge chair on Sunbridge’s back patio soaking up the late-August sun. It felt good, warming her to the core. It wasn’t often she felt warm these days; Cole’s hostility had been arctic since Cranston’s visit just after the Fourth of July.
Nothing had been settled by the time he left, and he’d returned to New York alone. Maggie knew then that he hadn’t really wanted the boy; if he had, neither heaven nor hell would have prevented him. But Cole could not be convinced. Meanwhile, she had to suffer their son’s petulant antagonisms.
Aside from that, however, things had progressed nicely for Maggie. The Fourth of July bash had given her entrée into several social circles, mainly the country club set in and around Crystal City. Her calendar was filled with tennis and luncheon dates, and she often reciprocated with informal picnics at Sunbridge. Last week she’d held a cocktail hour and sit-down dinner for twenty in honor of Jamison Royce, an artist of acclaim whom she’d known back in New York. Her ability to bring new and interesting people to the Crystal City set guaranteed her success.
Amelia and Cary were busy with Cary’s project, but not too busy to decorate most of Maggie’s shindigs with their special kind of West Coast glamour. Maggie’s newfound status also brought another benefit—Riley was making friends with the younger set. Cole, of course, was an entirely different matter. Maggie felt a frown wrinkling her brow when she thought of her son and purposefully smoothed the lines with her fingertips. She felt drowsy sitting here frying in her own fat, and she didn’t want to think about anything unpleasant, including Cranston’s impending return visit to Sunbridge sometime tomorrow.
Cole appeared out of nowhere, a talent he seemed intent on developing; obviously he enjoyed the way it unnerved his mother. He plopped down at the foot of her chaise, the all-too-familiar
scowl on his young face. Maggie squinted through the sunlight at him, noting he was dressed in snowy white ducks and a striped jersey that seemed to accentuate his slimness.
“So, Mother, did you hear from my father? Have you two come to a decision?”
“You already know my decision, Cole.” Wearily Maggie laid her head back and closed her eyes again. “Your dad wili be here sometime tomorrow. Monday is the last day for school registration; I’d like to settle this once and for all before then. . . . Cole, why aren’t you down at the corral with the others? Don’t tell me Riley didn’t invite you, because I heard him myself. There’s at least a dozen kids down there setting up for tonight’s barn dance and they’re having the time of their lives. Don’t you like to have fun?”
“Not that kind of fun. Riley’s a fag.”
“The others don’t seem to think so. I think he’s adapted very nicely, and he certainly has gone out of his way to make friends. You’re the one who refuses to get involved, Cole. Personally, I think you’re a glutton for punishment. Or is it that you want to embarrass me and Riley?”
“If you say so, Mother,” he replied insolently. “Are they all staying for dinner?”
“They’re having an afternoon cookout. Then they’ll go home and be back for the dance tonight. I told Martha not to fuss with my lunch; a sandwich will do me. I thought you’d be with the others. . . . I’m really sorry you’ve been so unhappy this summer, Cole. I was hoping you’d meet me halfway.”
“Look, Mother, I don’t want to go to this yokel school. Did you get a look at those kids? The girls especially!”
“Of course I did. They look like kids anywhere, and that includes your fancy military academy.”
“They’re all a bunch of faggots. I don’t like them; can’t you understand that? I don’t fit in with them, and I don’t want to. I don’t belong here.”
Maggie sighed. “At least make an appearance down at the barn. Sunbridge is your home, Cole, and you’re the host. Do the proper thing.”
“Riley’s doing it for me. He’s the one they like, not me. And don’t tell me it’s my fault, ’cause I don’t want to hear it. Besides, I don’t care. I got one over on old Riley this morning, didn’t I?”
“How?”
“With that letter I got from Sawyer, that’s how. Riley hasn’t heard from her in weeks, but I have. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but I know it does and I’m glad.”
Maggie hadn’t realized Cole was hearing from Sawyer, and she was instantly curious. There were questions she wanted to ask about her daughter, things she wanted to know, but when she saw the look of smug satisfaction on Cole’s face, she decided not to play into his hands. “Are you or aren’t you going down to the corral?”
“All right, have it your way. But I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. I hate it here. I hate everything about Sunbridge. Why are you making me stay?” His voice had risen to an agonized pitch somewhere between the frustration of a boy and the rage of a man.
Maggie’s face drained of all color; she was speechless. She’d once cried those words—but in reverse. Light years ago she’d howled, “Why are you sending me away? I belong here. Don’t make me go! Why are you doing this to me?”
Cole stared at his mother. He’d never seen that look on her face before and it frightened him. She seemed about to shatter into a thousand pieces. “I’m going, I’m going! Forget I said anything. Just forget it.” He turned and began to run toward the corral, where Riley and the other kids were cooking hot dogs. He knew he’d hit a nerve, a very sensitive and painful nerve. It exhilarated him to have such power over her, and at the same time it frightened him to realize that his mother could be so easily destroyed.
“Hey! There’s Cole! Just in time for lunch!” called one of the boys, enjoying the titters of laughter from the others.
“Where’ve you been, Cole?” one of the girls demanded, brushing her hands off on the seat of her jeans. “We’ve just hung the last paper streamer in the barn, everything’s ready for tonight, and you didn’t do a thing to help us.” She giggled. “Maybe you shouldn’t come to the dance tonight, even if it is your party.”
“Cole had something to do for Aunt Maggie,” Riley said quickly. “Otherwise he’d’ve been hanging from the rafters like the rest of us. Who gets the first hot dog?”
Cole bristled; he didn’t need Riley to defend him and lie for him. “I didn’t have—”
“Hey!” someone shouted from the barn. “Look what I found! Let’s have a tug-o’-war! Guys against the girls!”
“No fair! No fair!” the girls complained. “It’s even-steven or nothing!”
Sides were chosen, weight estimated and evenly distributed on both sides. Cole was encouraged to join and instinctively chose to pull opposite Riley. Riley was the tallest of the boys and he also had the prettiest girl beside him—if you didn’t care about her braces, that was.
Cole grabbed his end of the rope and dug his heels into the soft ground. He felt the hardness of his muscles in his thighs, the tension and rigidity across his shoulders. This wasn’t a game; it was personal. He clenched his teeth and pulled, surprising himself with his strength. Sawyer had been right; all the work he’d been doing this summer was the same as bodybuilding.
“Pull, Cole, pull! I think we’ve got ’em,” the yell went up.
“That’s what—you think,” came from the other side, grunting. “C’mon, Riley, pull! Use those—muscles. You’re—the anchorman.”
“And his anchor’s in his ass!” Cole shouted. He gave the rope a vicious yank, straining so hard he thought he tasted blood. His leg muscles shivered, his hands grew slick with sweat and threatened to slip, a pain tormented the back of his neck, and there was a freight train pounding through his head. But he kept his eyes focused on Riley, groaned and grunted and held his ground. He was the first man on his side of the rope, Riley the last on his. Inch by inch Cole’s grip closed the distance between them; step by step Riley’s team fought defeat. They were giving way; they were losing. If it killed him, Cole was determined to see Riley go down.
Cole’s hands were still frozen around the rope when his teammates were laughing and clapping him on the back. “We did it! We won!” A tiny girl named Marcy kissed Cole on the cheek. “That’s for winning.” Cole blushed.
Riley dusted himself off and grinned as he held out his hand. “That was great, Cole. I guess you’re right about where my muscles are. Hefting that pitchfork all summer really built you up!”
Cole looked pointedly at his cousin’s outstretched hand. Then he smirked and walked away.
Embarrassed, Riley flushed and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Hey, Riley, lean down here,” Marcy said.
“Why?”
“’Cause I want to kiss a loser. Don’t pay any attention to Cole. He ruined Grace’s party, too, by being a jerk. Ignore him,” she said, planting a wet kiss on Riley’s cheek.
Riley shrugged. Cole wasn’t a jerk. He wasn’t sure what Cole really was, but he wasn’t a jerk.
Feeling cocky and smug, Cole sauntered back to the house. His mother was nowhere in sight. He flopped down on the chaise she’d been in and pulled Sawyer’s letter from his hip pocket.
It was a long letter, but only a single sheet of paper. Typed. Cole grinned. Sawyer would never make it in the office pool: the letter was full of typos and crossouts. But what mattered was that she’d taken the time out of her busy schedule to drop him a note. He’d already rehearsed several versions of his response, but he wouldn’t actually write till he heard his parents’ decision regarding school.
Hello, little brother,
Bet this surprises you. Surprises me, since letter writing isn’t one of the things I do best. I meant to write sooner, but work is keeping me pretty busy and I had some other things to take care of, too—you know, wounded pride, sore heart, tearful recriminations . . . If you’re interested, and I know you are, I’m not any better but I’m not any worse.
Right n
ow, I’m staying with an old college buddy, Adam Jarvis. He’s a great guy—kind, gentle, considerate, and he wipes my tears when they get out of hand. He’s a cartoonist. I think he’s a genius.
We live on the upper east side. His apartment is a mess, but I pretend not to notice. What it needs is a good dose of Billie to fix it up.
I hope things are going well for you. How’s your back? Not broken yet, I bet. Try not to be bitter, and take some advice from me; anger only eats you alive. I don’t want to have to worry about you.
Christmas isn’t that far away. Perhaps Maggie will invite me for the holidays. Or, if possible, you might want to wangle an invitation out of me to come to New York after Christmas. Riley’s welcome, too, if you can tear him away from the ranch. You guys would have a ball.
Well, it’s time for me to get to work. I got up early this morning to write this and I have an 8 A.M. appointment with an eye doctor. Guess I need new reading glasses. Things get blurry every so often. Adam says my tear ducts have dried up. He’s probably right.
I know you must be very busy, but if you get a chance, drop me a line—and remember what I said about Christmas.
Say hi to Maggie and tell Riley I’ll probably write him tomorrow. I’m giving you my phone number in case you ever want to call me.
Take care,
Sawyer.
Cole stared at the scrawled signature for a long time. Up till now it hadn’t mattered that he had a sister. Now it was different. He had to remember to tell her about the tug-of-war. She’d laugh. He could almost see her eyes crinkle up and then the thick fringe of her lashes would glisten.
He read the letter a second time. Christmas in New York sounded great. Better than here. Maybe he could make a deal with his parents. If they decided he’d have to stay here, and he was sure that was the way it was going to be, then he’d simply make the deal for Christmas. Or he’d threaten to run away. That always put the fear of God into a parent.
Texas Heat Page 13
