Bittersweet Passion

by Peggy Webb

  Hoping he wouldn’t notice that she’d been crying.

  Just as she entered the building, the janitor appeared around the corner carrying a mop and a bucket.

  “Lordy, Miss Skylar. What’s the matter with you?”

  There was no use lying to Bob. He had the eyes of an eagle and the instincts of a mother hen. Ever since Skylar had been singing for his wife, Bob had considered her a part of his family.

  “Nothing serious, Bob. I just had a good cry.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Relief flooded his face. “Lordy, I remember when Harriet used to do that. Said it was good for what ailed her.” He propped on his mop handle, prepared to talk a spell. “And guess what? She was right. After one of her crying fits she’d walk around the house just a-smilin’ as big as you please.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “So where’s that smile, Miss Skylar?”

  She gave him one. Otherwise she’d be there forever trying to convince Bob that she was all right.

  Was she?

  After last night’s sorry performance in front of Daniel, she might never be all right again.

  So, what else is new?

  Skylar hated that inner voice, that sarcastic, scathing little voice that reminded her of cringing in the back of the church while her daddy’s hell-fire-and-damnation voice thundered around her.

  “There, now, that’s better,” Bob said, then he patted Skylar’s arm and she walked on down the hall.

  Michael’s door was standing wide open. Skylar braced herself, and when she came even with it she tilted her chin up and sailed past as fast as she could walk, all the while trying to catch a glimpse inside the room. Just in case…

  Just in case Daniel was sitting beside his father’s bed with his blond hair falling into his left eye. Just in case he glanced her way. Just in case he called her name.

  Skylar’s heart beat too fast, and her breath came in uneven spurts as if she’d just run the Boston Marathon and had come in second place in spite of putting forth a final burst of speed as she neared the finish line.

  “Skylar?”

  The voice was husky, but definitely female.

  Skylar turned and found herself facing one of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. High cheekbones, hair black as shoe polish, enormous green eyes with an exotic tilt at the corner.

  “You have to be Skylar.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Hannah, Daniel’s sister.”

  Skylar could see it now, the strong bones, the finely chiseled features that spoke of ancestors with blue blood and a knack for careful selection of their gene pool. She’d bet there was not a single skeleton in the Westmoreland’s family closet. Not a single black sheep. Not a whiff of scandal.

  And certainly no one the family would be ashamed of. A con man or a thief or a star of the most explicitly sexual music video in America.

  Why in the world was Hannah Westmoreland offering her hand to a woman like herself?

  The smart thing to do would be to walk on down the hall. Add insult to injury. Disgust Daniel then snub his sister.

  Skylar stuck out her hand. Nobody had ever accused her of being smart.

  “Yes, I’m Skylar.” Hannah’s handshake was firm, her smile warm. “How did you know about me?”

  Skylar wavered between hope that Daniel had told Hannah about her work with the nursing-home patients and the fear that he’d told her more.

  “Daniel told me, and you’re every bit as lovely as he said.”

  Was that all he’d said?

  “Thank you.”

  “I was hoping you’d come today while I’m here with Dad alone. I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

  “Though I’ve been singing to the patients here for several years now, I’m afraid I can’t give you any kind of professional opinion about your dad. All I do is try to give them music.”

  “Not about Dad. About Daniel.”

  “He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, my God. This is beautiful, beautiful.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “You. Daniel.” Hannah chuckled. “You should have seen your face when I said I wanted to talk about my brother. Everything was there…concern, pleasure, love.”

  Oh help. This woman was nobody’s fool. Skylar doubted that in Hannah’s lifetime more than one or two people had ever gotten the best of her. Skylar wasn’t even going to try.

  Hannah gave her full-bodied laugh again. “I warn you, though, I always say exactly what I think and I’m nosey besides.”

  “No warning necessary. It’s obvious.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  This time they both laughed, and suddenly Skylar saw how easy it would be to attach herself to this lively, straightforward woman. She missed female friendships. Not that she didn’t have any. There was Louise who’d been her friend since they were in sixth grade together, but she’d married right out of high school and moved to Chicago with her husband. For a few years they’d written regularly and never failed to call on birthdays and Christmas. And then Louise had started having kids and Skylar had started driving her daddy crazy and the letters had decreased to one or two a year and finally petered out altogether. The phone calls had continued till Louise’s husband had had his first heart attack, then they’d dwindled to once in a blue moon.

  Skylar had Pete’s wife, but that was not the kind of close friendship where she could walk in and kick off her shoes and spill her heart all over their chipped walnut coffee table.

  Then there were Kiki and Lulu from college, but Kiki had never been one for small talk, and Lulu had abandoned it altogether after she got into medical school.

  All in all, Skylar had no one to talk to. Except her cat, and Pussy Willow was too opinionated to be counted on in a pinch.

  Last night, for instance, she’d walked into Skylar’s bedroom, taken one sniff at her mistress’s tear-soaked pillow, and huffed off to the kitchen with her nose in the air.

  Because Chicago might as well be Mars, and whole continents separated Skylar from college pals, and her cat was a fair-weather friend, she went into Michael Westmoreland’s room with Daniel’s sister. She sat in a chair by the window and the sunshine warmed her face while she talked and talked.

  And when Hannah asked her to sing she did that, too. Because she liked Hannah. Because she liked Michael.

  And because she loved Daniel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I hear singing. Who? I don’t know this voice. Not my daughters. Not Anne. Am I hearing music from the other side? A siren’s song designed to lure me into the Great Beyond?

  It would be so easy to sink into the fog that surrounds me. To stop struggling.

  I can’t. I won’t.

  Too much to do. Em’s getting married. To Jake. This much I know.

  When? I can’t remember. I have no way to account for time.

  How long have I been in this deep hole, this eternal fog? A week? A month?

  Lord God in heaven, let it not be longer. Don’t leave Annie out there alone.

  If I could only blink my eyes. So heavy…drifting again…fog closing in…

  No! I’ve got to hold on.

  The music…keep singing…. don’t stop…

  Anne…I need you. Annie….

  Chapter Nineteen

  At first, Daniel thought he was dreaming, and then he realized he was hearing real voices. His mother and Clarice. Apparently going through his father’s desk. Totally unaware that Daniel was stretched out on the sofa.

  “I haven’t been in Michael’s office since he went into the coma,” his mother said. “Since June. It seems like forever.”

  “I read somewhere about a woman who emerged from a coma after two years.”

  “Michael’s not going to be in a coma for two years. I’m going to think of something to bring him back.” Daniel was about to sit up when his mother added, “Daniel needs him as much as I do.”

  “Daniel? I wo
uld have said Emily.”

  “Well, of course, she especially wants him to be present for her wedding, but there’s something bothering Daniel.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “No. You know him. He keeps everything inside, and besides he’s trying so hard to be strong for the whole family. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is troubling Daniel besides the obvious.”

  Now Daniel felt trapped. Not that his mother would feel embarrassed that she’d been talking about him for she would never say anything about him or any of her children that she wouldn’t say to their faces. He was embarrassed on his own account.

  He didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Unintentional or not, that’s what he was doing.

  There was nothing for him now but to face the music. His mother and Clarice would probably laugh. Then they’d want to know why he was sleeping on the sofa in Michael’s office.

  And then he’d have to decide how much to tell them. Obviously he couldn’t say, I had a disturbing encounter with Skylar at Babe’s, and since I didn’t have Dad to talk to I did the next best thing and slept in here surrounded by his things.

  What would he say?

  The teakettle saved him. It gave a piercing whistle and Clarice said, “Lord, that sounds good. I want plenty of sugar in mine.”

  The minute they were out the door, Daniel bolted off the sofa, fluffed up the pillow, refolded the afghan and raced into the downstairs bath to wash his face and comb his hair.

  When he strolled into the kitchen, Clarice squinted at him over her teacup, and Anne said, “You look like you slept in your clothes.”

  “I did.”

  “Want some tea?”

  “Thank you. That sounds good.”

  He sat down at the table facing the window so he could feel the sun on his face, then nabbed a blueberry muffin. His favorite.

  “Where are Emily and Jake?”

  “Off on some mysterious wedding-planning errand. They didn’t say what.” She poured more tea into Daniel’s cup. “Take your time. Hannah’s with Dad.”

  It wasn’t his father Daniel was thinking of, but Skylar. Of whether she’d gone to the nursing home. Of what she would wear, how she would look, how she would act.

  Events of last night weighed heavily on his mind, and though he’d sat in the dark in his Dad’s study for hours after he’d come home, he still had no answers.

  To anything, actually.

  Daniel felt as if he’d been cast into a wilderness without a map, without even a compass. With nothing to guide him except instinct, and lately his had deserted him.

  “I know,” he said. “I thought I’d go there anyhow…unless you need me here.”

  Clarice spoke up. “Yep, we do. Anne and I are fixing to ransack this place, and we need some muscle.”

  Daniel laughed. “I can’t remember when anybody has referred to me as ‘some muscle.’”

  Clarice laughed. “You ought to hear what they call you at the nursing home.”

  “I probably don’t want to know.”

  But he did, of course. In case the somebody in question was Skylar Tate. In case she was saying good things about him in private that she didn’t say to his face. Or couldn’t. Lord, if he didn’t get to the bottom of all this business he was going to go crazy.

  “Down there at Tranquility Manor they call you, ‘That Preacher, the Hunk.’”

  “Who?” Daniel had to know.

  “You’re not going to believe this. It’s that dour-looking Sally Schuster.”

  Anne was quick to defend the underdog. “She’s been wonderfully kind to us. Anyway, she can’t help the way she looks.”

  “Lord, Anne, don’t get on your high horse with me…she could smile.” Clarice set her teacup on the table and stood up. “Let’s get cracking or we’ll never find Michael’s diaries.”

  “You’re looking for Dad’s diaries?”

  “Yes, the early ones. I found his last journal this morning when I finally unpacked his gear.”

  Guilt slashed Daniel. She was talking about the gear Michael had carried with him on that fateful trip to the Himalayas. Why hadn’t Daniel already done that? Or one of his sisters?

  “I should have done that for you.”

  “You didn’t think of it…and quite frankly, neither did I. It’s done. That’s all that counts. Now let’s go and see if we can find Michael’s diaries.”

  “We don’t have to search. I know where they are.”

  “Michael told you?”

  “No. I found them when I was ten. Actually, Hannah and I both found them.”

  “Where?”

  “In the attic. You know how we used to go up there on rainy days…I guess we explored every inch of that attic. They’re in that old rolltop desk underneath the skylight. At least, they were twenty years ago.”

  Anne sat down at the kitchen table as if her legs wouldn’t hold her.

  “I should have guessed. Michael always loved to go up there. ‘Puttering around’ is what he always said.”

  When Anne put her hands to her cheeks, Daniel could see them shaking. In fact, his mother looked pale.

  “If they’re going to upset you, maybe you shouldn’t read them.”

  “Oh, I must. Don’t you see, except for memories that’s the only way I can still hear his voice.”

  “I’ll get them for you.”

  “No. Wait. I think I want to go up there and read them.”

  “I’ll go with you, Anne.”

  “No, Clarice. I need to do it this way. By myself.”

  With that, Anne started up the stairs and Clarice grabbed Daniel’s arm.

  “Talk to her, Daniel. She’s so damned stubborn I don’t know how any of us can put up with her.”

  Anne turned around and said, “May the bird of paradise fly up your nose, Clarice,” then both of them broke up laughing. Anne laughed so hard she had to hold on to the banister to keep from falling, and Daniel feared she was nearing hysteria.

  Then suddenly she smiled at them and said, “I’m all right. I’m going to be all right.”

  Clarice waited until she was out of earshot then she tugged Daniel back into the kitchen and began rummaging in the cabinets till she found what she wanted—a very good merlot.

  “Where’s the corkscrew?”

  Daniel wasn’t about to say anything about having a glass of wine in the middle of the morning, not after all his shenanigans of the last few days.

  “I’ll get it.” He opened the bottle and Clarice poured herself a glass. “Want some?” she asked, and when he shook his head, she said, “You could probably use it. Dealing with Skylar Tate is not easy.”

  Daniel plopped into his chair as if he’d been gut-punched. “Do you send out spies or are you clairvoyant?”

  His mother’s friend laughed. “Lord, Daniel, I’ve been keeping my finger on the pulse of this town since I was thirty-five.” She took a sip of her wine then grinned and added, “Better make that sixteen, ’cause I’m only thirty-six now.”

  Clarice topped off her glass, then handed him the bottle. “Put that in the fridge before I make a fool of myself, then you get out of here and see if you can’t find Skylar Tate.”

  “Mom’s probably going to need me after she finishes reading the diaries.”

  “No, she’s gonna need me. I’ll cry with her and rant and rave and carry on and maybe get just a little bit drunk, then we’ll both feel better, and afterward we’ll take a long walk in the woods and sit down there on that old petrified log that overlooks the river and she can say any damned thing she wants to me.” She grinned at him. “Stuff she would never tell her son.”

  “You’re a jewel…”

  Clarice held up her hand to stop him. “Don’t say any more,” she said. “I might have to try and live up to it. Go on, take care of what’s been bothering you so your momma can get some peace.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, and Clarice shooed him out the door. Daniel didn’t need much urging. In l
ess than fifteen minutes he’d showered, changed into fresh clothes and was on his way to the nursing home. Beard be damned.

  “She’s gone,” Hannah said the minute Daniel walked into his father’s room. Daniel didn’t even try to pretend ignorance, not with his older sister who had eyes in the back of her head, X-ray vision and mind-reading ability. That’s what she used to tell him and Emily to keep them in line. Hannah had always relished her role as oldest of the Westmoreland siblings.

  Daniel sank into a chair. “You saw her?”

  “Not only saw her, but talked to her for a very long time.” She grinned. “I really, really like this girl, Daniel, and so does Dad.” She patted Michael’s hand. “Don’t you, Dad?”

  “You didn’t grill her the way you did poor Jake, did you, Hannah?”

  Hannah hooted with laughter. “Skylar Tate wouldn’t put up with my high-handed tactics for a second. Trust me, Daniel, this woman is pure gold, and if you intend to marry her you’d better get your butt out of here and batter at her door till she lets you in.”

  “Who said anything about marrying her?”

  “Don’t you think I know you, Daniel? Love’s written all over both your faces, and you’re not the kind to embark on an affair. You and Emily are just alike, traditional to the bone. Not a thing like me. Sometimes I think both of you are adopted.”

  Daniel laughed. “You’re the maverick, Hannah. A foundling left on the doorstep. Right, Dad?”

  Hannah threw a copy of Daily Devotionals left in the room by a cadre of Baptists who visited every fifth Sunday. “Get out of here before you really get in trouble. Go find Skylar and strike while the iron is hot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not what your red face is telling me, bro. I’m talking about Miss Skylar Tate. I’ve got her primed for love.”

  “Hannah…what have you been telling her about me?”

  “Good stuff…mostly.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Go on. I’ve got things covered here.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Don’t call me sis,” Hannah yelled as he left the room. “You know how I hate that.”