by Nora Roberts
never minded it. Sometimes I like a dreary, sleepy day. I can be lazy without feeling guilty. Maybe that’s what you should do, Brandon, be lazy today. You’ve got that marvelous chessboard in the library. Why don’t you teach me to play?” She lifted her hands to his shoulders and feeling the tension, began to knead absently. “Of course, that might be hard work. Julie gave up playing backgammon with me. She says I haven’t any knack for strategy.”
Raven broke off when Brand turned abruptly around and removed her hands from his shoulders. Without speaking, he walked away from her. He went to the liquor cabinet and drew out a bottle of bourbon. Raven watched as he poured three fingers into a glass and drank it down.
“I don’t think I’ve the patience for games this afternoon,” he told her as he poured a second drink.
“All right, Brandon,” she said. “No games.” She walked over to stand in front of him, keeping her eyes direct. “Why are you angry with me? Certainly not because of the song.”
The look held for several long moments while the fire popped and sizzled in the grate. Raven heard a log fall as the one beneath it gave way.
“Perhaps it’s time you and I talked,” Brandon said as he idly swirled the remaining liquor in the glass. “It’s dangerous to leave things hanging for five years; you never know when they’re going to fall.”
Raven felt a ripple of disquiet but nodded. “You may be right.”
Brand gave her a quick smile. “Should we be civilized and sit down or take a few free swings standing up?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think there’s any need to be civilized. Civilized fighting never clears the air.”
“All right,” he began but was interrupted by the peal of the bell. Setting down his glass, Brand shot her a last look, then went to answer.
Alone, Raven tried to control her jitters. There was a storm brewing, she knew, and it wasn’t outside the windows. Brand was itching for a fight, and though the reason was unclear to her, Raven found herself very willing to oblige him. The tension between them had been glossed over in the name of music and peace. Now, despite her nerves, she was looking forward to shattering the calm. Hearing his returning footsteps, she walked back to the tea tray and picked up her cup.
“Package for you.” Brand gestured with it as he came through the doorway. “From Henderson.”
“I wonder what he could be sending me,” she murmured, already ripping off the heavy packing tape. “Oh, of course.” She tossed the wrappings carelessly aside and studied the album jacket. “They’re sample jackets for the album I’m releasing this summer.” Without glancing at him, Raven handed Brand one of the covers, then turned to another to read the liner notes.
For the next few minutes Brand studied the cover picture without speaking. Again, a background of white, Raven sitting in her habitual cross-legged fashion. She was looking full into the camera with only a tease of a smile on her lips. Her eyes were very gray and very direct. Over her shoulders and down to her knees, her hair spilled—a sharp contrast against the soft-focused white of the background. The arrangement appeared to be haphazard but had been cleverly posed nonetheless. She appeared to be nude, and the effect was fairly erotic.
“Did you approve this picture?”
“Hmm?” Raven pushed back her hair as she continued to read. “Oh, yes, I looked over the proofs before I left on tour. I’m still not completely sure about this song order, but I suppose it’s a bit late to change it now.”
“I always felt Henderson was above packaging you this way.”
“Packaging me what way?” she asked absently.
“As a virgin offering to the masses.” He handed her the cover.
“Brandon, really . . . how ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think it’s an uncannily apt description: virgin white, soft focus, and you sitting naked in the middle of it all.”
“I’m not naked,” she retorted indignantly. “I don’t do nudes.”
“The potential buyer isn’t supposed to know that, though, is he?” Brand leaned against the piano and watched her through narrowed eyes.
“It’s provocative, certainly. It’s meant to be.” Raven frowned down at the cover again. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not a child to be dressed up in Mary Janes and a pink pinafore, Brandon. This is business. There’s nothing extreme about this cover. And I’m more modestly covered than I would be on a public beach.”
“But not more decently,” he said coldly. “There’s a difference.”
Color flooded her face, now a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “It’s not indecent. I’ve never posed for an indecent picture. Karl Straighter is one of the finest photographers in the business. He doesn’t shoot indecent pictures.”
“One man’s art is another’s porn, I suppose.”
Her eyes widened as she lowered the jackets to the piano bench. “That’s a disgusting thing to say,” she whispered. “You’re being deliberately horrible.”
“I’m simply giving you my opinion,” he corrected, lifting a brow. “You don’t have to like it.”
“I don’t need your opinion. I don’t need your approval.”
“No,” he said and crushed out his cigarette. “You bloody well don’t do you? But you’re going to have it in any case.” He caught her by the arm when she would have turned away. The power of the grip contrasted the cool tone and frosty eyes.
“Let go of me,” Raven demanded, putting her hand on top of his and trying unsuccessfully to pry it from her arm.
“When I’m finished.”
“You have finished.” Her voice was abruptly calm, and she stopped her frantic attempts to free herself. Instead she faced him squarely, emotion burning in her eyes. “I don’t have to listen to you when you go out of your way to insult me, Brandon. I won’t listen to you. You can prevent me from leaving because you’re stronger than I am, but you can’t make me listen.” She swallowed but managed to keep her voice steady. “I run my own life. You’re entitled to your opinion, certainly, but you’re not entitled to hurt me with it. I don’t want to talk to you now; I just want you to let me go.”
He was silent for so long, Raven thought he would refuse. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip until she could slip her arm from his fingers. Without a word she turned and left the room.
***
Perhaps it was the strain of her argument with Brand or the lash of rain against the windows or the sudden fury of thunder and lightning. The dream formed out of a vague montage of childhood remembrances that left her with impressions rather than vivid pictures. Thoughts and images floated and receded against the darkness of sleep. There were rolling sensations of fear, guilt, despair, one lapping over the other while she moaned and twisted beneath the sheets, trying to force herself awake. But she was trapped, caught fast in the world just below consciousness. Then the thunder seemed to explode inside her head, and the flash of lightning split the room with a swift, white flash. Screaming, Raven sat up in bed.
The room was pitch dark again when Brand rushed in; he found his way to the bed by following the sounds of Raven’s wild weeping. “Raven. Here, love.” Even as he reached her, she threw herself into his arms and clung. She was trembling hard, and her skin was icy. Brand pulled the quilt up over her back and cuddled her. “Don’t cry, love, you’re safe here.” He patted and stroked as he would for a child frightened of a storm. “It’ll soon be over.”
“Hold me.” She pressed her face into his bare shoulder. “Please, just hold me.” Her breathing was quick, burning her throat as she struggled for air. “Oh, Brandon, such an awful dream.”
He rocked her and laid a light kiss on her temple. “What was it about?” The telling, he recalled from childhood, usually banished the fear.
“She’d left me alone again,” Raven murmured, shuddering so that he drew her closer in response. The words came out as jumbled as her thoughts, as tumbled as the dream. “How I hated being alone in that room. The only light
was from the building next door—one of those red neon lights that blinks on and off, on and off, so that the dark was never still. And so much noise out on the street, even with the windows closed. Too hot . . . too hot to sleep,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I watched the light and waited for her to come back. She was drunk again.” She whimpered, her fingers opening and closing against his chest. “And she’d brought a man with her. I put the pillow over my head so I wouldn’t hear.”
Raven paused to steady her breath. It was dark and quiet in Brand’s arms. Outside, the storm rose in high fury.
“She fell down the steps and broke her arm, so we moved, but it was always the same. Dingy little rooms, airless rooms that smelled always of gin no matter how you scrubbed. Thin walls, walls that might as well not have existed for the privacy they gave you. But she always promised that this time, this time it’d be different. She’d get a job, and I’d go to school . . . but always one day I’d come home and there’d be a man and a bottle.”
She wasn’t clinging any longer but simply leaning against him as if all passion were spent. Lightning flared again, but she remained still.
“Raven.” Brand eased her gently away and tilted her face to his. Tears were still streaming from her eyes, but her breathing was steadier. He could barely make out the shape of her face in the dark. “Where was your father?”
He could see the shine of her eyes as she stared at him. She made a soft, quiet sound as one waking. He knew the words had slipped from her while she had been vulnerable and unaware. Now she was aware, but it was too late for defenses. The sigh she made was an empty, weary sound.
“I don’t know who he was.” Slowly she drew out of Brand’s arms and rose from the bed. “She didn’t, either. You see, there were so many.”
Brand said nothing but reached into the pocket of the jeans he had hastily dragged on and found a pack of matches. Striking one, he lit the bedside candle. The light wavered and flickered, hardly more than a pulse beat in the dark. “How long,” he asked and shook out the match, “did you live like that?”
Raven dragged both hands through her hair, then hugged herself. She knew she’d already said too much for evasions. “I don’t remember a time she didn’t drink, but when I was very young, five or six, she still had some control over it. She used to sing in clubs. She had big dreams and an average voice, but she was very lovely . . . once.”
Pausing, Raven pressed her fingers against her eyes and wiped away tears. “By the time I was eight, she was . . . her problem was unmanageable. And there were always men. She needed men as much as she needed to drink. Some of them were better than others. One of them took me to the zoo a couple of times. . . .”
She trailed off and turned away. Brand watched the candlelight flicker over the thin material of her nightgown.
“She got steadily worse. I think part of it was from the frustration of having her voice go. Of course, she abused it dreadfully with smoking and drinking, but the more it deteriorated, the more she smoked and drank. She ruined her voice and ruined her health and ruined any chance she had of making something of herself. Sometimes I hated her. Sometimes I know she hated herself.”
A sob escaped, but Raven pushed it back and began to wander the room. The movement seemed to make it easier, and the words tumbled out quicker, pressing for release. “She’d cry and cling to me and beg me not to hate her. She’d promise the moon, and more often than not, I’d believe her. ‘This time’—that was one of her favorite beginnings. It still is.” Raven let out a shaky sigh. “She loved me when she wasn’t drinking and forgot me completely when she was. It was like living with two different women, and neither one of them was easy. When she was sober, she expected an average mother-and-daughter relationship. Had I done my homework? Why was I five minutes late getting home from school? When she was drunk, I was supposed to keep the hell out of her way. I remember once, when I was twelve, she went three months and sixteen days without a drink. Then I came home from school and found her passed out on the bed. She’d had an audition that afternoon for a gig at this two-bit club. Later she told me she’d just wanted one drink to calm her nerves. Just one . . .” Raven shivered and hugged herself tighter. “It’s cold,” she murmured.
Brand rose and stooped in front of the fire. He added kindling and logs to the bed of coals in the grate. Raven walked to the window to watch the fury of the storm over the sea. Lightning still flashed sporadically, but the violence of the thunder and the rain were dying.
“There were so many other times. She was working as a cocktail waitress in this little piano bar in Houston. I was sixteen then. I always came by on payday so I could make certain she didn’t spend the money before I bought food. She’d been pretty good then. She’d been working about six weeks straight and had an affair going with the manager. He was one of the better ones. I used to play around at the piano if the place was empty. One of my mother’s lovers had been a musician; he’d taught me the basics and said I had a good ear. Mama liked hearing me play.” Her voice had quieted. Brand watched her trail a finger down the dark pane of window glass.
“Ben, the manager, asked me if I wanted to play during the lunch hour. He said I could sing, too, as long as I kept it soft and didn’t talk to the customers. So I started.” Raven sighed and ran a hand over her brow. Behind her came the pop and crackle of flame. “We left Houston for Oklahoma City. I lied about my age and got a job singing in a club. It was one of Mama’s worst periods. There were times I was afraid to leave her alone, but she wasn’t working then, and . . .” She broke off with a sound of frustration and rubbed at an ache in her temple. She wanted to stop, wanted to block it all out, but she knew she had come too far. Pressing her brow against the glass, she waited until her thoughts came back into order.
“We needed the money, so I had to risk leaving her at night. I suppose we exchanged roles for a time,” she murmured. “The thing I learned young, but consistently forgot, was that an alcoholic finds money for a bottle. Always, no matter what. One night during my second set she wove her way into the club. Wayne was working there and caught onto the situation quickly. He managed to quiet her down before it got too ugly. Later he helped me get her home and into bed. He was wonderful: no lectures, no pity, no advice. Just support.”
Raven turned away from the window again and wandered to the fire. “But she came back again, twice more, and they let me go. There were other towns, other clubs, but it was the same then and hardly matters now. Just before I turned eighteen I left her.” Her voice trembled a bit, and she took a moment to steady it. “I came home from work one night, and she was passed out at the kitchen table with one of those half-gallon jugs of wine. I knew if I didn’t get away from her I’d go crazy. So I put her to bed, packed a bag, left her all the money I could spare and walked out. Just like that.” She covered her face with her hands a moment, pressing her fingers into her eyes. “It was like being able to breathe for the first time in my life.”
Raven roamed back to the kitchen. She could see the vague ghost of her own reflection. Studying it, listening to the steady but more peaceful drum of rain, she continued. “I worked my way to L.A., and Henderson saw me. He pushed me. I’m not certain what my ambition was before I signed with him. Just to survive, I think. One day and then the next. Then there were contracts and recording sessions and the whole crazy circus. Doors started opening. Some of them were trap doors, I’ve always thought.” She gave a quick, wondering laugh. “God, it was marvelous and scary and I don’t believe I could ever go through those first few months again. Anyway, Henderson got me publicity, and the first hit single got me more. And then I got a call from a hospital in Memphis.”
Raven turned and began to pace. The light silk of her nightgown clung, then swirled, with her movements. “I had to go, of course. She was in pretty bad shape. Her latest lover had beaten her and stolen what little money she had. She cried. Oh, God, all the same promises. She was sorry; she loved me. Never again, never again. I was the on
ly decent thing she’d ever done in her life.” The tears were beginning to flow again, but this time Raven made no attempt to stop them. “As soon as she could travel, I brought her back with me. Julie had found a sanitarium in Ojai and a very earnest young doctor. Justin Randolf Karter. Isn’t that a marvelous name, Brandon?” Bitterness spilled out with the tears. “A marvelous name, a remarkable man. He took me into his tasteful, leather-bound office and explained the treatment my mother would receive.”
Whirling, Raven faced Brand, her shoulders heaving with sobs. “I didn’t want to know! I just wanted him to do it. He told me not to set my hopes too high, and I told him I hadn’t any hopes at all. He must have found me cynical, because he suggested several good organizations I could speak to. He reminded me that alcoholism is a disease and that my mother was a victim. I said the hell she was; I was the victim!” Raven forced the words out as she hugged herself tightly. “I was the victim; I had had to live with her and deal with her lies and her sickness and her men. It was so safe, so easy, for him to be sanctimonious and understanding behind that tidy white coat. And I hated her.” The sobs came in short, quick jerks as she balled her hands and pressed them against her eyes. “And I loved her.” Her breath trembled in and out as everything she had pent up over the weeks of her mother’s latest treatment poured through her. “I still love her,” she whispered.
Weary, nearly spent, she turned to the fire, resting her palms on the mantel. “Dr. Karter let me shout at him, then he sat with me when I broke down. I went home, and they started her treatment. Two days later I met you.”
Raven didn’t hear him move, didn’t know he stood behind her, until she felt his hands on her shoulders. Without speaking she turned and went into his arms. Brand held her, feeling the light tremors while he stared down at the licking, greedy flames. Outside, the storm had become only a patter of rain against the windows.
“Raven, if you had told me, I might have been able to make things easier for you.”
She shook her head, then buried her face against his chest. “No, I didn’t want it to touch that part of my life. I just wasn’t strong enough.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled back far enough to look in his eyes. “I was afraid that if you knew you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Raven.” There was hurt as well as censure in his voice.
“I know it was wrong, Brandon, even stupid, but you have to understand: everything seemed to be happening to me at once. I needed time. I needed to sort out how I was going to live my life, how I was going to deal with my career, my mother, everything.” Her hands gripped his arms as she willed him to see through her eyes. “I was nobody one day and being mobbed by fans the next. My picture was everywhere. I heard myself every time I turned on the radio. You know what that’s like.”
Brand brushed her hair from her cheek. “Yes, I know what that’s like.” As he spoke, he could feel her relax with a little shudder.
“Before I could take a breath, Mama walked back into my life. Part of me hated her, but instead of realizing that it was a normal reaction and dealing with it, I felt an unreasonable guilt. And I was ashamed. No,” she shook her head, anticipating him, “there’s no use telling me I had no need to be. That’s an intellectual statement, a practical statement; it has nothing to do with emotion. I don’t expect you to understand that part of it. You’ve never had to deal with it. She’s my mother. It isn’t possible to completely separate myself from that, even knowing that the
