by Arlene James
“Absolutely,” he said, his hand coming up to rest heavily on the top of her shoulder.
Chey swallowed, trapped by his gaze, until with a purposeful nod he pulled the boy from her arms and carried him around the corner of the house. She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that she was oxygen-deprived, and gathered her wits about her. That man was not going to make her believe that she was somehow essential to his happiness, she vowed.
But what if it were true? What if, somehow, she could bring him—and herself—a measure of happiness? The depth of her own yearning caught her completely off guard, frightening her so that she resolutely, mechanically quelled it. She was happy, she told herself sternly, no matter what anyone said. But the what-ifs were piling up, and she wondered how long it would be before she couldn’t see beyond them anymore.
Chapter Six
Chey added a touch of red to the gold in the computer palette, decided it was too orange and deleted it. Perhaps a touch of green, she mused, typing in a new code of numbers. The palette on her screen disappeared, then gradually reformed. Very nice. She enlarged the gold portion and studied the palette for a moment before dragging over a section of medium, mossy green and beginning to tinker with it. The door creaked open just then, and she looked over warily to find Seth hanging on the doorknob. Relief that it wasn’t his father made her more friendly than she might have been otherwise, and she said cheerily, “Hello.”
He came into the room, leaving the door open, and just stood there a moment with two fingers in his mouth. Then suddenly he ran toward her, threw himself at her lap and scrambled up, the hard rubber soles of his shoes connecting sharply with her shins and thighs. She helped him in order to protect herself, turning his back to her chest, pulling his legs out straight in front so that his feet stuck out past her knees. He tried to look up at her and bumped her chin with his head. Sliding his head over to her shoulder, he tilted it back and gazed up at her with perfectly guileless eyes of a clear, bright blue. “Hewo,” he said.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, smiling to cover her irritation. He shrugged one little shoulder. She decided to be more specific. “Where is your father?”
“He workin’.”
That was a relief. “And your great-grandmother?”
“Gwamuma in dhere,” he said, pointing a finger at the wall. In that direction lay the elevator, restroom and Viola’s office, in that order.
“You mean in her office?” she asked, and he nodded vigorously.
“Yeah, an’ Marce cookin’, an’ Kate to da store, an’ Mama sweeping,” he added.
Chey felt an unwanted rush of sympathy. “Yes, I know that your Mama is sleeping.”
He suddenly rocked forward and reached for the computer. “Pway game!”
She pushed her chair back out of reach, saying sternly, “That’s not a game. I don’t have any games on this computer.”
He put his fingers in his mouth and said, “Da-ay pwa ga.”
Automatically, without even thinking about it, she pulled his hand from his mouth and scolded gently, “It’s rude to speak with something in your mouth, particularly your hand. Besides being unattractive, it makes it hard for people to understand you. Now what were you saying?”
He stared at her with huge eyes, swallowed and said quite clearly, “Daddy pways games wif his c’puter.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sure he does, but I don’t have any games to play on this computer.”
“What’s dat?” he asked skeptically, pointing to the screen.
“That’s a color palette,” she explained patiently. “I’m putting together color schemes for your house.”
“Okay,” he said, and settled in to watch.
She could have put him down, of course. She should have put him down and sent him from the room, but he wasn’t really in the way and seemed determined to be on his best behavior—for the moment. Soon enough, she reasoned, he would grow restless, and she would send him off with a small object lesson: behave and remain; misbehave and go. She rolled her chair a little closer to the table and began to work again. As she did so, she found herself explaining what was happening. In short order she’d put together a series of schemes built around gold and green. The small color printer brought in for her use was pushing out the first one when Viola and Brodie walked into the room.
“There you are!” Viola exclaimed, and Seth immediately slid off Chey’s lap and onto her feet, which he trampled in his haste to get to the door.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Chey, snagging the boy’s hand. “Seems like every time I turn my back lately, he’s gone.”
Brodie smoothed a hand over the back of the boy’s head, saying, “You worried us, son. Next time, be sure you have Grandmama’s permission before you leave the room. Okay?”
“’Kay,” Seth agreed, nodding affirmatively.
Brodie turned to Chey then. “I hope he didn’t make a nuisance of himself,”
“No, not really,” Chey said, surprised that it was so. Quickly, she changed the subject. “Come and look at what we’ve done here.” On each sheet of paper were printed two large, overlapping circles of green and gold. Rectangles, triangles and squares of accent colors varied from page to page, depending upon the room to which they were assigned. “This is my favorite,” she admitted, tapping a paper accented with a deep, muted violet. As Chey expected, Viola preferred the greens, singling out a paper printed with shades from light to dark. No doubt her love of the color was tied up with her love of her gardens. Brodie paid close attention to the blues, browns, greens and golds meant for his suite.
Chey pulled aside two papers accented with burgundies and mauves, explaining, “I thought we might use this scheme for the formal parlor and ballroom, gold as a primary in one, green in the other, same accents, and I’m leaning toward painting the woodwork in ivory. That would both lighten everything and call attention to the dark finishes on the furniture. What do you think?”
Viola glanced at the papers. “Looks fine to me, dear, but to my mind a house is just four walls that keeps me from the out-of-doors.”
Brodie had warned her that his grandmother would have little interest in the interior of the house, but Chey had hoped, for her own sake, that he’d overstated the old woman’s indifference. She saw now that he had not. Laying aside the two papers, she nodded and smiled wanly. Brodie picked up the papers and studied them.
“I like this. It has an airy feel to it.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
He looked her squarely in the eye and said in a husky tone, “I approve very much, Mary Chey, of almost everything you do.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I, uh, that is, thank you.”
He stood there a moment longer, holding her gaze with his. Then he glanced away. “Well, I’d best get this fellow upstairs for a proper nap.”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Viola said lightly. “You two stick with those color schemes.” With that, she turned Seth toward the door.
“Bye-bye, Chey-Chey,” the boy called as Viola led him from the room.
“Bye, Seth.”
Brodie laid aside the papers he’d studied earlier and brought his hands to his hips, saying, “I’m sorry about that. Seth’s been told not to bother you while you’re working, but I’m afraid he conveniently forgets what he doesn’t want to remember.”
“He’s only three,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm, not too young, apparently, to appreciate the company of a beautiful woman.”
Chey caught her breath, appalled by the sweet flush of pleasure that his compliment brought. “Don’t do that,” she ordered softly.
“What?”
“Flatter me.”
“The truth is not flattery.”
“Why won’t you just let this go?” she beseeched him.
“I can’t.”
She rolled her eyes.
“All right, I don’t want to.”
“Please,” she whispered.
H
e leaned close, bringing his mouth next to her ear. “What’s wrong, Mary Chey? Afraid you’ll give in?”
She closed her eyes until she could gather the strength to put him in his place. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She stepped away, glaring at him. “Do you like tormenting me?”
“Yes. But I’d rather make love to you.”
“And I’d rather you fell off the face of the earth!”
He chuckled. “All that fire,” he said, “could be put to better use.”
She turned her back on him then. She didn’t hear him leave, but when she finally turned around, he was gone.
Unfortunately, his departure did not signal an end to the interruptions. On the contrary, within the half-hour, Viola opened the door and walked back into the room. To Chey’s surprise, the older woman seated herself in the chair at the end of the table serving as Chey’s desk.
“Everything okay?” Chey asked.
“With Seth, you mean?” Viola said, then she waved a hand dismissively. “Seth is fine. Sound asleep with the monitor on. Brodie keeps the receiver with him.”
“Ah.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Viola, obviously, could.
“You handle my great-grandson very well.”
“It comes naturally,” Chey commented idly, wondering what this was leading up to. “Actually, it comes with the family, all those nieces and nephews.”
Viola nodded and folded her long, slender hands. “I wish you were as adept at handling his father,” she stated bluntly.
Chey’s mouth dropped open. Anything she might have said, Viola waved away with the flick of her wrist, anyway.
“I’m old, dear,” Viola said tartly, “but I’m not dead. I recognized from the first what exists between you and my grandson, and it seems to me that it has only grown stronger over time. My goodness, when the two of you are in close proximity, the small hairs stand up on the backs of my arms. What I don’t understand is why you are fighting it so desperately.”
Chey gasped for breath, totally overwhelmed. “I don’t…it’s not…” She broke off, knowing that denial would be useless and insulting. She put a hand to her head. “I never get involved with my clients.”
“Well, of course, you wouldn’t normally,” Viola said. “I can understand that. But he won’t be your client forever, will he?” She shook her head and folded her arms. “No, this is not delayed gratification I’m seeing. It’s rejection. And forgive me, but I can’t help wondering why.”
Chey glanced away, very uncomfortable. “I, um, I don’t expect you to understand this, but I like my life just as it is.”
“And Brodie threatens that somehow?”
Chey was uncertain how to put it. Somehow, she wasn’t sure she completely understood it herself anymore. But, no, that was ridiculous. This was a logical decision of long standing. She straightened and looked Viola in the eye. “My career is the most important thing in my life.”
“I see,” Viola said, meaning that she did not.
“Romantic involvements,” Chey pushed on hesitantly, “get in the way.”
“Naturally,” Viola agreed. “What doesn’t? Surely, you aren’t telling me then that you’ve never allowed anything to get in the way of your career?”
“Er, no, not exactly.”
“Then there is something more, some compelling reason why you are attempting to deny nature its course.”
Realizing that she wasn’t going to get around this, Chey took a deep breath and laid her cards on the table. “If you must know, I have a policy against dating men with…encumbrances.”
Viola stared at her a long moment, then her whole face curved into a smile. Chey had the uncanny feeling that Viola was laughing inside. “Ah. I think I understand. I was, shall we say, unwilling to embrace such encumbrances myself at one time. In truth, I never intended to, but the lack of adequate birth control took that decision out of my hands. Then something I never expected happened. I fell in love.”
“With your husband?” Chey asked, curious.
“No, I was already in love with him. I fell in love with ‘the encumbrance.’”
Chey literally recoiled. “That’s exactly my point. I have no intention of falling in love with any…” She thought of Seth’s sweet face and couldn’t say it. “With anyone,” she finished lamely.
Viola smiled knowingly. “The problem with love,” she said, “is that it’s not very easily controlled, and after all, it just means making room in one’s life for another human being. Or two, in this case.”
“One of whom needs a great deal of guidance and care,” Chey pointed out.
Viola chuckled. “We all need guidance and care, dear, even you. That, I am afraid, is the human condition. It doesn’t explain, however, why you are unwilling to allow even casual personal involvement with my grandson.”
“I, um, just feel that it’s unwise, given all the negatives.”
“Almost any other woman would fail to see beyond the positives,” Viola stated definitely. “My grandson is an extremely attractive man, you know. But what does it matter, since you are so dead-set?” She lifted a sleek eyebrow, then got to her feet. “It is a shame, though. I’ve seen the way my grandson looks at you—as if he could just eat you up where you stand. His grandfather used to look at me like that. The memories alone have seen me through more hardship and heartache than I care to recall. I wonder what memories will see you through the hard times to come, for they will come, believe me.” With that, she sighed and left the room.
Chey stared unseeingly at the color-scheme printouts, wondering if Brodie’s grandfather had singed Viola’s skin the way Brodie could hers with the simplest of touches. It seemed, suddenly, as if she was missing out on something very potent, and she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was no longer as “dead-set” as she had once been, as she ought to be. Why shouldn’t she make a few memories of her own, after all? Where would be the harm in merely exploring the possibilities?
Suddenly the fact that she even wondered alarmed her greatly and shook her confidence in her position.
It was time to level the flagstones in the garden room, a sure sign that they were making progress, though for a while it had seemed that they’d actually lost ground. Finally, however, floors were down, walls were moved, doors were closed and others opened. It was cool and comfortable in the house. Paint was going up, bringing color and life to once-dead rooms. Chey felt a certain pride and relief and also an odd sadness, a looming disappointment. She was depressingly aware that when the house was done, she might well never see Brodie Todd again. It was with mixed emotions, then, that she personally oversaw the movement of the exercise equipment to its new home in Brodie’s suite. She’d sent a message upstairs to let Brodie know what she was intending and had received one in return that he was busy in his office with an important long-distance telephone call.
While the workmen placed the equipment as ordered, she looked around the room. The cedar-wood floors gleamed so brightly that they reflected the vibrant spring-green walls, which were set off by clean ivory picture-framing. Mellow golds and yellows seemed to draw light from the soft blue ceiling, against which filmy white clouds drifted. It had required scaffolding to get that done, but Chey judged it well worth the effort as it gave the suite an airy, out-of-doors feel. The same color and paint scheme carried over into the sitting room and bedchamber, with variations in accent and primary colors. Keeping with the outdoorsy feel, she’d chosen woody browns and soft grays.
The furnishings were still a problem. While she had every intention of maintaining the neat, uncluttered atmosphere, her inclination was to go with light, simple pieces and ruffled ivy prints to counteract the stark masculinity of the room. But she’d put off making the choices since Brodie was apt to prefer the opposite, and thrashing it out would mean spending a good deal of time alone in his company, something she had avoided assiduously of late, with mixed results.
Brodie was still
apt, in any given moment, to appear unexpectedly at her elbow, speaking in intimate half-whispers that never failed to turn her insides to jelly, even when the subject was a mundane business matter. He seemed to approve of what she’d done with his house so far. In fact, he’d cornered her only the day before to tell her how very much he liked how his suite was shaping up. As usual he’d crowded her, made her pulse race erratically with nothing more than the heat from his body and a brush of his fingertips down her arm. She had reacted with her customary nervous detachment, but more from habit than any real desire to resist, a fact he had proven with dismaying ease when he’d suddenly gone away again, leaving her disappointed and craving his touch. She still felt a twist of resentment. It seemed desperately unfair that he could do that to her with so little effort on his part. What would it be like, she wondered, to be “eaten up” by Brodie Todd?
Shivering, she forced the thought away and saw the last weight bench carefully positioned, then paused to take inventory one more time while the workmen all tramped down the stairs. Even then she lingered, until finally she realized what she was waiting for. Brodie. Why couldn’t the blasted man show up when she expected? Why must he always surprise her, catch her off-guard? Shaking her head, she moved through the suite and out into the hall, sternly forbidding herself to knock on the door of his office.
Moving toward the landing, she impulsively diverted her steps instead, and turned down the hallway to her left to check on the pair of guest rooms that stood across from what she had come to think of as the hospital suite. In deference to the patient’s special needs and the comfort of guests, it had been decided to move the doors of both guest rooms by constructing a narrow, short, hallway between them for access. Both doors now opened off that private little entry. That plan had necessitated the moving of closets and some creative planning for both small baths, however, and they’d encountered unexpected problems along the way. Though she hoped those had now been fixed, Chey had not yet made a physical inspection. Now was as good a time as any.
