Adam shook off the tension clawing his insides as he folded and unfolded his fists and finally rested his elbows on his knees, ready to spring. Patience, he told himself. In a minute, you’ll know it all.
“They could have killed you,” Mack said. “That shot in your arm was just a warning. If you ask me, you ought to get into therapy. One of these days, your gambling habit is going to be the death of you.”
Adam didn’t need to hear more. He reached over and clicked the light switch, flooding the room and stunning the two men. Mack started to lunge toward Adam, but Timothy, the bigger man, restrained him.
“Do you want to make things worse, man? Adam Roundtree didn’t come in here by himself. Unarmed.”
“Smart thinking, Coston,” Adam told Timothy as Wayne and the agent rushed into the room.
“If you book them here in Frederick, the sheriff will release them in minutes,” Adam told the agent.
“Why?”
Adam could appreciate the agent’s obvious annoyance as he rocked back on his heels, and a scowl transformed his face.
“This is a small town,” Adam said. “The deputy sheriff is this man’s father.” He pointed to Timothy.
“Then Baltimore it is,” the agent said, walking off with the two in handcuffs. “I’ll call a cop from Hagerstown and take them in.”
* * *
Adam stood by his bedroom window, his foot resting on the rung of a dining chair that had been in the first house Jacob Hayes built. He’d kept the chair in his room since boyhood, but he couldn’t remember ever having sat in it. Yet it had a special place in his life. Would it be that way with Melissa? He knew he wouldn’t forget her. How could he? Shudders ricocheted within him at the thought that he’d never know what she might have been to him. He looked at his left wrist and remembered that he’d pulled off the expensive watch before leaving home earlier that evening to go to the leather factory. Anyway, he knew it was too late to call her.
“You can talk to her now,” an inner voice counseled. “You’ve got the perfect excuse.” Tomorrow. He promised himself.
* * *
Just before noon the next day, Melissa glanced up from the mound of papers demanding her attention and saw Banks standing in the door. Nothing unusual about Banks standing in her office door, she thought, but it alarmed her to see Banks wearing a troubled expression on her face.
“Come in. What’s the matter?” Melissa got up and closed the door. She couldn’t imagine what had precipitated such an obvious difference in Banks. “What happened?” Melissa noticed that Banks didn’t cross her knee, nor did she light a cigarette, but sat forward in the chair with her palms pressing her kneecaps.
“Janie just picked up Adam’s plane ticket. He’s dropping his car off at the rental agency in Baltimore, and taking the seven forty flight to New York Saturday night.” Banks drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly, her expression pitying. “You didn’t make it up with him, did you? You still have time, Melissa. If you let him go, you’ll regret it forever.”
“Thanks for being my friend, Banks, but it’s already too late. If he can leave without telling me goodbye, I doubt I’d accomplish anything by going to him. It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Since when did you become a fatalist?” Banks snorted in disgust, more in keeping with her normal demeanor. “By the way, I was hoping you’d introduce me to Wayne. I get a funny sensation, like stars exploding all through me, every time I see that man.”
Melissa’s lower lip dropped. “Are you serious?”
“I wish I wasn’t, ’cause I don’t think he’s noticed me. But, hey, we’re talking about you. Get with it, girl.”
She doesn’t have her usual saunter nor her crusty self-possession, Melissa thought as she watched Banks leave her office. She shoved aside a feeling of depression, turned on her computer, and got to work. If she had to live without Adam, she might as well start.
* * *
Melissa clipped a metal bookmark on page 192 of Sandra Kitt’s book Sincerely and turned out the light. Joanna Mitchell would get her man by the end of the book, but as much as she enjoyed the story, she couldn’t bear the thought of anybody else’s happy ending. She felt ashamed at the tears that cascaded down her cheeks, mortified that she’d let herself love a man who could walk out of her life without a word of goodbye. Yet she admitted that it was she who bore responsibility for their breakup. She’d known that Adam would not beg, that he’d state his case...maybe a second time, and you could take it or else. She’d turned him away, and he wouldn’t give her a chance to do it again.
Excitement gripped her at the sound of the telephone.
“H-Hello.”
“Melissa, this is Adam. I’m calling to let you know that last night we caught Timothy Coston and Andrew MacKnight destroying cowhides in the leather factory. They’re both in a Baltimore jail. That finishes my work here.” Melissa later asked herself why she responded as she did when she hadn’t cared about the answer.
“Who arrested them?” She wanted to bite her tongue, for she knew that with those words she’d completed what she started the afternoon that he cleared the snow from her walk and doorsteps.
“An agent of the FBI. You don’t think I’d hand them over to your uncle Booker, do you?”
“Adam, I—”
“I wish you the best, Melissa. I’m leaving in a few days for New York.”
“Aren’t you staying for the dedication of the Gardens for the Physically and Mentally Challenged?” Anything to keep him there, to postpone hearing the sound of that dial tone.
“That’s set for noon on Friday, and I’m leaving Saturday night. Incidentally my mother has renamed the gardens for my father. She’s calling them the John Roundtree Gardens. We already have over a hundred applicants, some from as far away as Baltimore and Washington.”
“I see,” she stammered, feeling powerless to curb what she saw as the inevitable. With each passing second, the gap between them broadened, and he didn’t give her an opening. She couldn’t have begged her case if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t. She’d give up a lot for him, but not her pride.
“Well, I— Goodbye, Melissa.”
* * *
Just before noon that Friday, Melissa joined other Frederick and Beaver Ridge notables in the heated, plastic-domed garden plot that covered three acres not far from the Monacacy River. The gardens were to serve as therapy for handicapped children, who would be encouraged to tend their own small plots. From her place in the front row, Melissa watched as Mary Roundtree rose from her seat between her two sons on the makeshift dais and told her audience how proud her husband would have been to see the project he loved so much completed. A rumble of noise overhead distracted her, and she didn’t hear Adam’s mother introduce him. Shivers crept up her arms when she heard a second, closer and much louder burst of noise above that she recognized as a clap of thunder. A glance at Adam told her that he’d fixed his gaze on her, and she braced herself. She wasn’t going to let him see her fall to pieces.
The lights went out, and she knew from the noonday darkness and the unseasonably warm weather that a wild storm threatened them. She wrapped her arms around her middle as though to shield herself from it, but a brilliant streak of lightning and a sharp clap of thunder completely unnerved her as rain pelted the roof with the force of golf balls. Shaking, she stood up. She had to get out of there. Flashes of lightning illuminated the domed garden, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Melissa, what’s the matter?” Banks asked her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and her lips formed a mute gasp. Another burst of thunder ripped the silence, and flashes of lightning seemed to burst into the dome. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream just before she felt a pair of steel-like arms cuddle her to the haven of a man’s chest.
The scent of his skin, the rough texture of his jaw against her temple, and familiar feel of his hands eased her terror. Adam held her. Then the sharpest flash of lightning and the loudest clap of thunder sh
e thought she’d ever experienced filled the domed garden. Petrified, her arms tightened around his neck, and she couldn’t hold back the wrenching scream.
“It’s alright. I’m here and I’ve got you—I won’t let anything happen to you. Just take a few slow breaths.” He hurried to the entrance and put his coat around her. She didn’t ask him what he intended to do. She didn’t care—she was with Adam, and he would protect her. She didn’t offer resistance nor question him when he picked her up, dashed through the pelting rain, and put her in his car.
“Give me your door keys.” She fumbled in her pocketbook and placed them in his hand.
“Try to relax, I’ll make some tea,” he stated after removing their coats from around her. Melissa wanted to tell him that she didn’t want tea, only his arms around her. She leaned into a corner of the sofa while he left her to go into the kitchen. Another clap of thunder shook the house, and she clasped her hands tightly over her mouth and put her face between her knees. He handed her a cup of tea and placed his own on the glass coffee table.
“How do you manage these storms when you’re by yourself?” She felt his arms around her and, though she knew it was childish, she suddenly welcomed the storm.
“I’m sorry to drag you into this, Adam, b-b-but this is the worst one I’ve experienced in years. One of the reasons I liked New York is that there aren’t many storms like this one.” She snuggled closer, but his arms remained loosely about her. “I don’t know how to thank you for getting me out of there. I was scared, and I didn’t want people to know it.” He stood, and she looked toward the window. His gaze followed hers.
“Appears to be over. You’ll be alright now.”
“You—you’re not leaving.”
“Yes, I am. Mother and Wayne need transportation home.” Fear shot through her. He didn’t intend to patch it up with her. He could walk away just like that. He had acted the part of a gentleman, helped someone in distress. She could have been anybody. She looked from his shuttered eyes and his impersonal manner to his wet clothing and led the way to her front door.
“Thanks for helping me.” She tried to form the word “goodbye” but couldn’t.
He nodded. “I couldn’t have done otherwise.” She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t make a sound, and her right hand didn’t obey her command to reach out to him, but dangled at her side. She watched, helpless, as he saluted her in a gesture that struck her as sarcastic, stepped out of the door, and sprinted to his car. Gone.
* * *
Her heart pounded at the sound of the Jaguar’s engine taking him away. She grabbed her chest as though to slow down her heartbeat and leaned against the front door. After a few minutes she could take deep breaths and managed to calm herself. She took his untouched cup of tea to the kitchen, emptied it into the sink, and washed it along with hers, wondering if she’d ever do anything else for him. After an hour during which she distracted herself with “Oprah,” she got a pencil and sheet of paper and began to list the things she had to do before she could consider her slate with Adam clean. Their relationship had ended, but her responsibility to him had not. She finished writing, typed it on her word processor, printed it out, and climbed the stairs.
* * *
The next morning Rafer summoned Melissa to a family conference, and she alerted her mother, certain that Emily hadn’t been included.
“I don’t know who else will be there, but I want you to come along. There’s no telling what he’s up to.” She told her about Timothy’s arrest.
“I was afraid Timothy had gotten in with the wrong crowd. When he was a boy, he was always into something unwholesome.”
Melissa found her aunt Louise, Louise’s husband, Timothy, and her father speaking in hushed voices when she arrived. Seconds after her father began to speak, her mother walked in wearing a chic Armani pants suit and her fur coat draped on one shoulder. Emily Grant could have passed for a fashion model had she been a few inches taller. She marveled that her father could camouflage his surprise so well, and she suspected that she alone knew how angry he was. Her mother paid him no attention.
“Adam Roundtree has gone too far,” Rafer exploded. “Blasting a hole in Timmy’s arm wasn’t enough for Mr. Roundtree. He’s framed our Timmy and had him arrested. I bailed him out an hour or so ago.” He nodded toward his nephew. “Well, we’ve indicted Adam for the shooting and for defamation of character. I won’t have our family name smeared by Adam Roundtree.” In answer to Emily’s question, Timothy revealed that he had been charged only with trespassing, but that MacKnight had been booked on a far more serious charge. Melissa saw Adam’s lenient hand in that.
“He could have thrown the book at you, Timmy,” Emily told the man. “Don’t you think you ought to tell us truthfully who shot you? We know Adam didn’t do it.”
Melissa regarded the players in their little family drama. Her father glared at her mother though she thought she detected his admiration for her as well, and to the irritation of all present but herself, her mother sat relaxed with the serenity of a bejeweled regent surrounded by her loyal subjects. Melissa smothered a laugh. Adam’s mother wasn’t the only consummate actress of her generation in Frederick—Emily Grant could hold her own with any of them. Among those present, she didn’t doubt that only she and her mother cared about the ruination of an innocent man. Adam. She stood to leave.
“I think I ought to tell you, Daddy, that I just mailed the district attorney my sworn affidavit that Adam was with me at his lodge on the Potomac when Timmy was shot, and I also sent Adam a notarized copy. I’m prepared to say the same thing in any court. Adam did not shoot Timmy, and I won’t be party to a frame-up.” Emily stood as though preparing to join Melissa, but instead she walked over to Timothy.
“How’d you get mixed up in this? Might as well tell the truth—it will come out anyway.”
He shrugged before mumbling, “I’ve been gambling, and one thing led to another. When I tried to quit and didn’t go to the gaming tables, one of the gang took a shot at me. Said it was a warning. Mack paid off a couple of my debts.”
Rafer’s voice rang out. “I don’t believe you. Are you saying that because you’re afraid of Melissa? Have you forgotten who I am? Your attorney, that’s who.”
Melissa looked her father in the eye. “And for a gambling debt, you’re ready to sacrifice a man who’s made a unique contribution to this town, a citizen in the fullest sense. Come on, Mama, I’ll drop you off at The Refuge on my way to work.” To her amazement, her father followed them out of his office and stopped them in the hallway.
“I thought you’d be through with this volunteer work by now, Emily. I thought you’d have gotten it out of your system. I want us back together, but not while you’re playing up to those people.”
Emily’s face bore an expression of astonishment before laughter spilled from her throat. “Be serious, Rafer. Only a chicken is stupid enough to rush back into a cage after having been free all day.” She looked at her watch. “My divorce will be final in fourteen hours and one minute. Our farce is over.” She reached out to touch his hand, but he quickly withdrew it.
“We made a mess of our lives, Rafer, and I’m sorry for my part in that. I intend to get mine straightened out, and I hope you do, too. Schyler has avoided the curse of this feud, because he got away from here and didn’t let any of it touch him. And when Melissa hurts badly enough, she’ll go to Adam and undo the mess she’s made of their lives. But she’d better hurry.”
* * *
Adam packed for his return to New York. He didn’t want any of his mother’s questions, but he knew she’d stay with him until he left, so he reconciled himself to the inevitable.
“What are you doing about Melissa?” He didn’t answer at once, but picked up a brush and used it to clean a pair of soft leather moccasins while he thought.
“You asked me that two or three days ago, Mother. Nothing has changed.” If he sounded a bit testy, she should expect that. He tucked the shoe
s into a sack, turned, and went into his private bathroom. He propped his left foot on the edge of the tub and rested his left elbow on his knee. He’d finished the job and caught the troublemakers, but the letdown he felt was a new thing, as though he lacked completeness. As if he’d lost something of himself, something on which he had unwittingly relied. He looked at his watch, went back in the room, and resumed his packing. As he expected, his mother remained where he’d left her, sitting on the side of his bed. If he had to talk about Melissa or listen to his mother talk about her, he knew he’d succumb to his urge to call her. He’d done that last night, and her first thought had been of her family. Had Booker Coston arrested his own son? She hadn’t said the words, but that was what she’d implied. He walked back into the room and resisted kicking the side of the armoire.
He’d never express to anybody what he felt when he walked out of her house that afternoon. He had wanted, needed her words—that he’d done nothing wrong, that her aunt Louise bore responsibility for what had happened between them. Melissa had wanted affection, maybe lovemaking. He didn’t know. Who the hell could figure out her mind? But she hadn’t taken that first step, and he’d figured she wouldn’t. So he’d left. He’d handed himself something akin to a death sentence. But he’d left, and he wasn’t sorry.
“Just tell me this.” His mother hadn’t been in the habit of nagging him, and she wouldn’t do it now, he decided, if she didn’t need satisfaction about her son’s well-being. She didn’t want a Grant in his life, but she didn’t want him to be unhappy, either. Could she be mellowing? He gave her his full attention.
“Were the Grants involved in the trouble at Leather and Hides? You said Mack engineered it. Who helped him?”
“Timothy Coston was the lookout, but he’s guilty only of trespassing. Poor fellow—he let himself be blackmailed into it. The Grants had nothing to do with it, Mother.” He stopped packing and sat beside her.
“I’d rather not talk about this, but you seem compelled to get the details. Melissa had no part in MacKnight’s havoc at Leather and Hides.” He tossed the affidavit to her. “She’s gone to some lengths to support me against Rafer’s accusations.”
Against All Odds (Arabesque) Page 31
