Leigh dropped the phone. She scrambled to catch it before it clattered onto the floor, but wasn't quick enough. She reached down and snatched it up. “Omigod, Ellen!!! Are you serious? I won? I won? Oh, God, you're kidding. I didn't even know it was entered."
"I entered it for you, girl. But then I forgot about it. Anyway, they're presenting the awards at the Watergate on August 10th.” Ellen took a deep breath and went on, “It's going to be a formal dinner and I've already held a gun to Joey's head and got him to agree to go. All you have to do is work on Bob. Maybe afterwards, the four of us can go hit the Washington night life."
Leigh's smile dimmed. Not going to happen. She could never imagine Bob spending an evening with Ellen, a fiery black woman who'd marched to the White House with Martin Luther King. Not to mention her Italian husband who taught Soviet History at the University of Maryland and made no apologies for his leftist political leanings. God, would the sparks fly if they got on that subject. “Well, we'll see,” she said noncommittally.
When she shared the news with the kids, they swarmed around her, all talking at once. Mark gave her a warm hug. “I always knew you'd be a prize-winner, Mom. Someday, we'll probably see your paintings in the National Gallery."
"Right.” Leigh grinned. “Next to the Van Goghs and Rembrandts."
"That's bad, Mom!” Mel bestowed upon her the first genuine smile in what seemed like months. “I knew you were good, but isn't it great someone else thinks so?"
Yes. Yes, it was. Not that the work alone didn't give her joy, but it was thrilling to have it validated by others. Especially people as illustrious as the Smyth-Huxbury judges.
"Mom, can I take the book into school?” Aaron asked. “Nathan thinks we're going to get Mrs. Pritchert for fifth grade, and she's really mean. But if I show her my mom is an artist who wins prizes, maybe she'll go easy on me."
Leigh smiled at him. He looked so cute she couldn't resist stealing a kiss from his dimpled cheek. “Yes, you can take in the book. But Mrs. Pritchert might not be so easily impressed."
Hours later, Leigh discovered that Mrs. Pritchert wasn't the only one who wouldn't be easily impressed. She was in bed reading when Bob came in at eleven-fifteen. She waited until he'd showered and climbed in next to her before telling him the news.
"Ellen called today. Bob ... I won the Smyth-Huxbury Award."
Silence. Then, “The what?"
"It's an award for illustration in children's picture books. There're usually over fifteen-hundred entries. Can you believe it? I won it, Bob. Me! I still can't believe it."
"Hey, babe. That's great.” He leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the lips. “Really nice. You deserve it.” Stifling a yawn, he turned over on his side. “Jesus, I'm beat."
Hey, babe. That's great. Really nice. Slowly, Leigh switched off the bedside lamp. She stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling as if a giant glacier was inching its way through her very soul. No, damn it. She wouldn't let him do this to her.
"They're giving me the award on August 10th at the Watergate. Ellen and her husband will be there, and ... you'll come, won't you?"
His only response was a low, “Mmmm?"
"This is the most exciting thing that's every happened to me, Bob. Please tell me you'll come."
He was quiet for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. But finally, he groaned and turned over onto his stomach. “Yeah, sure, honey. I'll be there."
* * * *
The night before the awards banquet, Bob received a phone call from a lobbyist in Atlanta asking him to speak at a National Rifle Association convention in place of a senator who'd fallen ill. He'd accepted without even hesitating, and that was what hurt the most. Leigh had tried to swallow her disappointment. After all, she was a congressman's wife, a person whose needs had always came second to those of Bob's constituents. And it wasn't as if the award was really a big deal. As Bob had so diplomatically put it, “Let's face it, Leigh, it's not the Pulitzer, is it?"
An obviously furious Mark volunteered to take Leigh to the awards banquet. When they arrived at the Watergate together, Ellen didn't even raise an eyebrow. But why should she? When had Bob ever showed up for one of Leigh's functions?
Because her feelings were so bruised by Bob's lack of interest, Leigh had taken extra care with her appearance, choosing a sleek black dress with capped sleeves, elegant but understated. She drew her layered shoulder-length ash-blond hair into a sophisticated french braid, allowing a few tendrils to escape around her face.
Mark, looking handsome in a black tux, had been openly appreciative. He gave a low wolf whistle as she descended the stairs. “Wow, Mom! You're a fox!"
Leigh gave an embarrassed laugh. “Not too bad for almost forty, I guess."
He shook his head, grinning in admiration. “Whatever. I'm not kidding. You look hot, Mom."
Would Bob think so? She shook her head. Who was she kidding? When was the last time he'd even noticed her appearance, much less complimented her on it?
As she settled into her chair at their reserved table, Leigh resolved to forget about Bob and whatever he was doing in Atlanta. This was her evening and nothing was going to mar it.
For most of the night, she did just that. Until Ellen and Joey got up to dance. Leigh sat at the table, running a finger absentmindedly over the elegant plaque engraved with her name, unaware that Mark's eyes were upon her.
"He should've been here,” he said, his brows lowered.
Their eyes met. It was almost as if he could read her mind and glimpse the naked pain she felt at Bob's neglect. But it was only for a moment. Leigh looked away. She wouldn't allow her son to know how much she hurt.
"God, he infuriates me,” Mark said in a low, angry voice. “Doesn't he realize what this meant to you?"
"It couldn't be helped. You heard him. Business comes first."
"Oh, yeah, I heard him. It's the same old story every time, isn't it? We all know it by heart."
"Mark, this isn't the time to discuss this."
"Well, when, Mom? When are you going to stop making excuses for him? He doesn't give a shit about any of us, does he?"
"Mark, please.” Leigh glanced around warily. Bob had trained her well. A congressman's wife didn't make scenes—under any circumstances. “Ellen and Joey will be back any minute. Why do you choose a time like this to start something?"
But there was no stopping him now. “He never made it to my senior play, remember? I had the starring role, but did that matter to him? No. A business dinner was more important. Jesus! I'm amazed he made it to my graduation. Of course, he left as soon as it was over. Had to meet a constituent. Sometimes I feel like we should make an appointment with him at his office. Maybe write a letter to him or something."
Leigh grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Here they come. Can we please drop this?"
He did, but it was obvious to Ellen and Joey that something had happened. Conversation became strained and after a while, Leigh decided the only thing to do was go home.
As Mark drove across Memorial Bridge, Leigh stared out at the illuminated beauty of the Jefferson Memorial. Yet, she wasn't really seeing it. They were both silent. Leigh didn't know what to say, and it seemed that Mark's explosion of words had blown itself out.
But in that, she was wrong. He pulled into the driveway of their English Tudor home in Great Falls, but after switching off the ignition, made no move to get out. He stared moodily at the elegant house, a picture of American affluence.
"I loved that house we had in Alexandria.” He turned to look at her. “You didn't want to leave it either, did you?"
"I didn't know you were so attached to it. You were only seven."
"I remember it was small, but it had great places to hide. All kinds of nooks and crannies. And I also remember you trying to talk Dad out of moving. I wanted to stay, too, but we didn't count, did we? Dad wanted a big house, and that was that."
Leigh's hand moved to the door handle. “Yes, but it worked out. I love th
is place now.” She opened the door and climbed out.
"I hate this fucking house,” Mark muttered.
Leigh's first impulse was to reprimand him for his language, but she just couldn't do it. Because along with the fury she heard in his voice, the pain came through even more clearly.
* * * *
On August 22nd, Erik Haukeland arrived from Norway at Dulles Airport. The day fell on a Friday, and as usual, Leigh had a million things to do. She'd barely returned home from the art supply store when it was time to leave for the airport. Mark and Melissa rode along with her, and she was grateful for that. She wouldn't be solely responsible for conversation with someone who probably had a limited knowledge of English.
Mark was hoping for a close friendship with the Norwegian, and Mel couldn't wait to meet an exciting male college student who just might be interested in blond teenage girls.
"I hope you won't be disappointed, Mel,” Leigh said as she took the exit to Dulles. “Like I told Mark, not all Norwegians are blond and beautiful. Besides, he's too old for you."
"Mom.” Melissa rolled her eyes. “Twenty-seven is not too old."
"Like hell it's not."
"Not only that,” Mark spoke up from the back seat. “He won't be interested in a skinny teenager like you when he sees all those hot babes on campus."
Melissa threw him a murderous look. “Oh, shut up."
"All right, you two, I know it's a stretch but try to pretend you're adults.” A sticky, stifling heat swept into the Volvo as Leigh lowered the window to accept the parking ticket at the airport lot.
A few minutes later, they waited in the US Air lounge as passengers from the New York shuttle disembarked. Melissa clutched a large, hand-painted sign that read: “Velkommen til Amerike, Erik.” Leigh had a feeling Mel regretted bringing it. It had drawn lots of stares, and if there was anything Melissa hated, it was being the center of attention.
"Maybe I should get rid of the sign, Mom,” she said.
"Don't you dare ... after all the work you put in on it.” Leigh threw her an encouraging smile. “Besides, I think it's a good idea. How else will he know us?"
Her eyes focused on an approaching blond giant wearing a backpack and carrying a tennis racket. Brilliant blue eyes connected with hers for an instant and then moved on to the sign. His straight white teeth flashed in a delighted smile, and the stranger spoke to Melissa.
"God aften. Jeg er meget takk nemlig. Snakker de Norsk?"
Melissa stared up at the tall Norwegian, her blue-green eyes sparkling with sudden interest. “I ... I'm sorry...” she stammered. “But I don't understand Norwegian."
"Oh. My apologies,” he said in perfect English. “When I saw the sign, I thought perhaps you could speak Norske. Still, thank you for the greeting. It is very thoughtful.” He held out his hand. “I am Erik Haukeland."
Dreamily, Melissa shook his hand and murmured, “I'm Melissa Fallon. And this is my brother, Mark."
Mark stepped forward and heartily grabbed Erik's offered hand. “Hi. Glad to have you here.” His eyes paused on the racket in Erik's other hand. “Hey, you play tennis? We'll have to hit the courts some evening.” He remembered his mother. “Oh, Erik, this is my mom, Leigh."
Leigh had been studying the newcomer as he exchanged greetings with Melissa and Mark. He was casually dressed in faded jeans and a blue and gold-striped polo shirt. Although he stood over six-feet, and was rather lanky, his arms were muscular and corded as if he lifted weights. He wore his wavy blond hair long on the back of his neck, but cut short around his face. High cheekbones and an aquiline nose testified to his Nordic heritage along with arresting blue eyes banded by dark blond lashes. When he looked down, smiling at a shy Melissa, Leigh noticed dark blond eyebrows arched in a way that gave him a slightly quizzical expression.
Erik turned to her, a surprised smile on his attractive face and spoke in an accented voice with a low musical timbre. “Mrs. Fallon? I thought perhaps you were Melissa's sister."
Leigh's heart gave a sudden bump. His gaze drilled into her, as if he were peeling her apart, layer by layer. Under his scrutiny, she felt the color rise in her face. In consternation, she glanced away. “Well, let's go get your luggage."
"No need,” he said lightly. “I have everything right here. The rest of it has been shipped."
Leigh felt as if she'd recovered enough composure to look at him again. “Okay. I guess we'll head home then."
He gave her a slow smile. “I'm looking forward to that, Mrs. Fallon."
"Call me Leigh.” She turned to lead the way to the exit.
As they headed to the parking lot, Leigh felt Erik's gaze burning into her back, and although the temperature hovered in the nineties, a sudden chill of anticipation quivered through her.
Chapter 3
At dinner, conversation flowed easily between the Fallons and their Norwegian guest. It was as though they'd all known Erik Haukeland for years. Even Bob appeared to be enjoying the Norwegian's lively manner and friendly smile.
At Melissa's request to hear about his family, Erik took a sip of coffee and grinned. “Remember, you asked for this. I have quite a family. Two brothers ... and a sister, as well. Let's see, Bjorn is thirty. I'm next, followed by my sister, Dordei, who is twenty. Then there's my brother, Magnus who is sixteen."
Aaron grinned. “Did you say your sister's name is Dorky?"
"Dordei,” Erik corrected.
"Do they call her Dorky Dordy?"
"Aaron.” Leigh and Melissa both glared at the boy.
"Don't mind him, Erik,” Melissa said quickly, her face flushed with embarrassment. “He can't help it if he's brain-damaged. Besides, I think Dordei is sort of a nice name."
Leigh gave her a who-are-you-trying-to-kid look. This was her daughter speaking, the one who usually had nothing good to say about anyone unless he had waist-length blond hair and wore chains on leather.
"You probably think a lot of our American names are weird, don't you?” Mel asked.
"What could be weirder than Dordy?” Aaron mumbled as he shoveled a huge bite of apple pie into his mouth.
Leigh frowned at him. “Aaron Michael, if you can't be polite to our guest, you can go to your room."
"Ah, but I don't wish to be treated like a guest for a whole year,” Erik said with a wry smile. “I hope you will think of me as part of your family."
He really was very nice, Leigh thought. She smiled at him. “I'm sure when you leave next summer, it will feel like we're losing one of the family."
"Besides,” Aaron said, obviously hoping to correct his gaffe. “Mom's real name is Kayleigh. How's that for weird?"
"Kayleigh,” Erik tested the word on his tongue and smiled. “I like it. Sounds Irish."
Leigh nodded. “Yes. Like the Irish dance, but it's spelled differently. It was my great-grandmother's name. She never stepped foot out of Ireland as far as I know."
"Why don't you go by it?” Erik asked. “It really is quite beautiful."
She shrugged. “I tried it for a while in college, but it always got shortened to Kay or Leigh. So, I gave up."
"Leigh is more American, anyway,” Bob said, reaching for his coffee cup. “It's a good, solid name for a politician's wife. ‘Kayleigh’ sounds like she grew up in Limerick or Cork, for God's sake. And I'd just as soon not emphasize our Irish heritage. Last thing I need is for the voters to connect me with the Kennedys and their bleeding heart liberal politics."
"God knows we wouldn't want that,” Leigh said, voice heavy with sarcasm. She gave an inward grimace. What had come over her? She usually had more restraint.
Bob glowered at her. And Mark looked like he wanted to applaud. Ignoring them both, Leigh looked back at Erik and smiled. “Anyway, I use Kayleigh for my art. It's a name people seem to remember."
Erik returned her smile. “Oh, ja. While you were preparing dinner, Aaron showed me the picture books you illustrated. I found them exquisite."
His blue eyes locked with hers, a
nd she felt flushed by the warmth in their depths. “Thanks.” What would be his reaction if she told him how she'd kept her first book on display in the living room until she found Bob using it as a coaster?
"I will be glad to call you Kayleigh,” Erik said. “That is, if you do not mind. I think it fits you perfectly."
Aaron chose that moment to ask for more pie and Leigh didn't get a chance to respond to Erik's request. Later, she wondered what she would've said. She couldn't get the image of his expression out of her mind. It was as if he were looking past her eyes, almost as though he knew her better than she knew herself.
* * * *
Classes started a few days after Erik arrived, and both he and Mark were gone the better part of each day. In the afternoons, the house came to life as everyone arrived home around the same time. By then, Leigh was ready for companionship and even a little noise.
Erik had adapted to life at the Fallons with ease; it was as if he'd always been there. In fact, he was almost too popular. Mark, Melissa and Aaron were falling over themselves competing for his attention, and not wanting to slight them, he tried to divide his time equally among them. Of course, being nearer in age to Mark and spending so much time with him at George Mason University, they became friends quickly. Mark introduced Erik to his girlfriend, Vicki, an attractive brunette, who immediately offered to fix him up with a coed from the university. Leigh had walked into the rec room just in time to hear Vicki's offer and was amazed when Erik politely turned her down.
"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not quite ready for American women.” He gave an embarrassed grin. “I don't mean that to be an insult, you understand. It's just that American women are different from European ones. I think it would be best if I sort them out on my own."
Vicki, gifted with a wry sense of humor, contemplated him for a moment and then said, “You may not be ready for American girls, Erik, but you can bet they'll be ready for you. Especially if you play hard to get like that."
Yet, Leigh was sure he wasn't “playing.” There had been something in his eyes as he spoke. Like a flash of lightning, it came to her. Of course. There was a girl back home. In fact, come to think of it, it was a miracle he wasn't married. A man with his looks. Question was, how had the girl ever let him get away without a fight?
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 2
