I Know Who Hold Tomorrow

by Francis Ray

  He took her by the arms again and turned her toward him. “You—ve come too far today to give up. You didn—t create this problem, but if you don—t face it you—ll end up hurting yoursell more than Wes ever could have.” He stared at her ravaged face intently, willing her to understand. “What you feel is natural. If you hold it in you—ll never be free,”

  ?—[‘I1 never be free anyway,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “You will if you give yourself permission,” he told her. “Hell, I loved Wes, but if he were here I—d beat the hell out of him myself.”

  The anger in his voice got through where kindness had failed. She finally looked at him.

  “Since he—s not here, what do you think would get to Wes the most?” he asked speculatively. “What if we took the scissors to his fancy suits or put his wingtips outside and let the sprinkler do a number on them? How about you letting that Franklin guy Wes was always bidding against buy his art collection below cost?” He paused and stared at her, “What could we do that would get to Wes the most?”

  “Throw his golf clubs into the water hazard in the backyard,” she said softly.

  The words were barely out of her mouth before Zachary was moving. “You turn the intercom in your bedroom to the backyard, then we—ll go see how far those babies will travel before taking a dunk.”

  He was halfway down the hall before Madison came out of her daze and followed. She paused in front of Wes—s bedroom door, then made herself go in. Zachary was already coming toward her with Wes—s bag of custom-made clubs. They had cost over four thousand dollars, and of course he had to have a custom bag to carry them in.

  “I don—t think you had time to set the intercom.” Brushing by her he went into her bedroom, looked at a peacefully sleeping Manda, then switched on the intercom. He was moving down the hall again in seconds. Madison finally caught up with him when he was going out the Trench doors in the den.

  “You—re serious?”

  He looked back at her. “If it will take that haunted look off your face, I—d toss everything in his room in and if it didn—t all fit, there—s always the lake in the development.”

  Her eyes searched his face. He meant it. Whatever it took, he—d do it for her. She couldn—t remember anyone caring for her that unselfishly besides her parents and sister. How different their marriage might have been if she and Wes had cared for each other that deeply. They thought they had, but life had taught them differently. It was time she faced that fact.

  Then he was moving again. Unsure what she was feeling, Madison followed. The full moon illuminated the backyard, but as they neared the practice area the motion lights Wes had installed so he could putt at night came on.

  Zachary stopped at the edge of the kidney-shaped, ten- by fifteen-foot water hazard, and looked at her expectantly. “Which one takes a dunk first?”

  “Zachary, they cost a fortune.”

  “I—ll contribute the full amount to a charity.” He pulled out a wood iron and grunted. “Never understood why you—d pay good money for a head cover for one of these, then use it to hit a hard ball. Here.”

  The iron felt cold in her hand. She stared down as light reflected oft its shiny surface. Her fingers tightened. This was Wes—s symbol of prestige among his chums at the country club. He—d haul them out with pride. She—d heard him brag endlessly about his golfing expertise. If he hadn—t become a TV correspondent, he might have turned pro.

  A golfer always took care of his clubs, he often said. She—d seen him lovingly wipe a soft cloth across the surface, fuss over them, just look at them and admire their sleek beauty. He—d cared for them, treated them with respect, even loved them while he—d walked over her and her heart every damn day.

  Madison gripped the club with both hands and sent it flying. Before the sound of the splash faded, another, and another one followed.

  “You lying, stinking bastard,” she shrilled, grabbing and throwing clubs as fast as she could. “I hate you! You had no right to have an affair, to betray me, to have a baby with another woman! Not once while I was in the hospital or after I came home did you ever say you were sorry or regretted that our baby hadn—t lived! You refused to talk about her! How could you have been so cold and unfeeling? You betrayed and hurt me in the worst possible way!”

  She grabbed the putter. “You loved these, and not me.” Plunk. Madison didn—t notice tears running down her cheek or that they gleamed in the moonlight. “I trusted you. You hurt me. You bastard, you hurt me so bad.”

  Tugging the empty bag from Zachary, she heaved it into the water. At the sound of the splash she sank to her knees, her tears flowing freely. “You hurt me. You hurt Manda.”

  Strong arms closed around her, and pulled her against a hard chest. She inhaled Zachary—s scent, felt his strength, his tenderness. “I hate him for doing this to me, for dying and leaving me to take care of his mess. He shouldn—t have done that to Manda or to me,” she whispered.

  The force of her tears shook her body and somehow cleared her mind and lightened her soul. She didn—t resist when Zachary pulled her into his arms and sat her on his lap. When she had no more tears, he dried her eyes with his handkerchief. Sniffing, she stared at the smooth surface of the water.

  “Wes would have had a fit.”

  “That he would.” Zachary—s arms tightened.

  She lay for a few moments longer, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek, then angled her head up. “Thank you.”

  His head started to descend, then abruptly stopped. Madison wondered if he had intended to kiss her on the cheek. Suddenly shaky and not quite sure why, she quickly slipped off his lap and tried to stand. Zachary came gracefully to his feet, pulling her upright with him. No matter how many times she saw evidence of his strength and agility, it never ceased to surprise and please her.

  She started toward the house on legs that grew steadier with each step. This time it was her who didn—t stop until she was inside Wes—s room. The king-sized mahogany bed dominated the room with its seven-foot, heavily carved headboard. Platinum arches jutted from the ten-foot four-posters and crisscrossed each other. Wes said it was a bed for a king. There had never been a place for a queen.

  “I—d appreciate you helping me pack his clothes,” she said, walking farther inside. “There are several charities that could use them. His parents would probably like his personal items. We can start tomorrow, if that—s all right with you.”

  “I—ll bring some packing boxes.”

  Embarrassed by her earlier attack on him, she finally worked up the courage to look him in the face. He smiled down at her. Her fingertips lightly touched his jaw. “I—m sorry about the slap.”

  “Wes—s teeth would still be rattling.”

  She smiled without thinking. “Meaning yours aren—t?”

  “I—m made of tougher stuff.” Taking her arm, he led her from the room.

  “I—m beginning to see that,” Madison said, feeling an easing of her spirits she hadn—t felt since Wes—s accident.

  Madison woke up Monday morning determined to get her life back on track. Life went on and, for the time being, her life was tied to Manda—s. It wasn—t something that she had planned, but the fact remained, Manda was in her care.

  Dressing, she checked on the sleeping baby then went to the kitchen to fix her breakfast. Manda didn—t like to be kept waiting. Madison recalled Wes had been the same way. He wanted immediate results.

  Instead of the jagged pain she usually felt, there was only a slight ache overlaying the grief of his death. Taking the box of baby cereal out of the cabinet, Madison went to get Manda—s cereal bowl. Yesterday she and Zachary had packed Wes—s things. Without Zachary—s reassuring presence she wouldn—t have been able to even think of going through Wes—s possessions. There was too much anger, too much hurt and grief.

  Whenever she faltered, Zachary was there. He—d talked fondly of Wes, the times they—d spent together as friends. She
realized how deeply he—d cared about Wes. In Zachary—s easy way, he made her remember not just the last devastating minutes with Wes, but what she and Wes had meant to each other before they had lost their baby. It was strange, but comforting.

  “Wes was wrong. There—s no getting around that fact,” Zachary said while they were in the middle of packing Wes—s numerous suits into boxes. “But for your own peace of mind and happiness, you have to forgive him and move on by remembering the kind of man he was when you married him. No matter what, don—t forget you once loved each other.”

  She—d cried and used another of Zachary—s handkerchiefs. She and Wes had loved each other. Their love just hadn—t been strong enough to get them past the loss of their child. Now he was gone. And she had to go on.

  As Zachary had said, holding bitterness in her heart could hurt her far more than Wes—s betrayal. Regardless of what he had done, his last thought had been for Manda, not himself. At the time, she had viewed it as selfish, now she had begun to see it for what it was: his last desperate act to ensure his child—s welfare.

  Today she was taking another step toward reentering life. After Manda was fed, they were going to Premier Atelier, Neiman Marcus—s beauty salon, to get her hair done. Hearing Manda on the intercom, Madison hurried back to the bedroom. The day was going to be wonderful.

  An hour later Madison wasn—t so sure about the day anymore. Holding Manda securely in her arms, she contemplated her next move. She looked from Manda—s car seat in the back of the Mercedes to Manda. Tears sparkled on her lashes. Madison kissed the baby—s cheek in reassurance and held her closer. “Don—t worry, sweetie. I—m not putting you back there again by yourself.”

  “Then what are you going to do, lady?” asked the service-station attendant who had rushed out to help when he—d seen a frantic Madison leap out of the car, then jerk open the back door to take a screaming baby from the car seat. The elderly man scratched his balding head. “You—ll get a ticket if she—s in the front with you. How are you going to drive with her?”

  “Good question.” Madison—s lips brushed against Manda—s forehead. They were less than two blocks from her house. Neiman Marcus was thirty minutes away. “I—m sure I—ll come up with a good answer.”

  EIGHTEEN

  LOUIS FORBES THOUGHT OF himself as shrewd, decisive, and smart. It angered him to think he hadn—t thought of every angle before he acted. Staring out the window of his third-floor office Monday morning, he surveyed the buildings and homes where the property values ran in the hundreds of thousands per square foot. He liked what he saw, liked being a part of that, liked knowing people with money knew him and sought his favor. He—d come a long way from the tenements of Boston. He—d done well. He planned to do better.

  Whipping the cigar out of his mouth, he returned to his desk. He picked up the sheet of paper on which he—d written the latest offer from the television studio in Chicago. Two million dollars plus a penthouse with a maid, car service, a personal masseuse, and membership to the most exclusive spa in the city.

  Louis rocked back in his chair. If he pushed, he bet he could get them to throw in a boat she could keep docked at the marina on Lake Michigan. But why should he push for an ungrateful twit? His teeth clamped, mangling the cigar.

  Tossing the ruined cigar in the chrome wastebasket, his anger escalated. Threaten him, would she? After all he had done for her. Laying the paper aside, he picked up the newspaper article on Wes and Madison that had run in the Saturday newspaper. This time he allowed the slightest upward tilt of his mouth.

  Helen Bass had proved even more effective than he had imagined. He knew she—d run to Edward Mayes with her story. She and the reporter were lovers, and she often fed him tidbits of information. The story was well written, but didn—t have enough of the sentimental slant he had wanted. Too factual. Mayes had even given statistics on the number of freeway fatalities associated with vehicle stops.

  Louis shuddered. Thank goodness he had emergency car service. Let them risk their butts. Which is exactly what Wes should have done. He—d chosen the wrong time to play the Good Samaritan.

  Stupid bastard. His death was senseless. He—d had his life before him. He—d been so pleased with himself. So damn sure that he could get Madison to relocate. He—d messed it all up when he stopped to help some woman with a flat tire.

  It was so unlike Wes that Louis wanted to rail at fate for doing this to him. Money lost, in Louis—s opinion, was never recouped. He had clients, big clients, but a good agent never rested on his laurels. Why had the fool stopped?

  Wes didn—t get his hands dirty or do menial labor. He—d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth that had turned to platinum by the time he was eighteen due to his father—s car dealerships and shrewd investments in tech stock before it went bust. As far as Louis knew—and he made it his business to know—Wes rented a car with twenty-four-hour emergency maintenance service for that very reason. He didn—t like being inconvenienced or to be kept waiting. He wasn—t the heroic type or the kind to stop and help a strange woman.

  Louis looked at the picture of Madison and Wes. The smiles were there, but he—d been in the business enough to know they—d been having problems. Wes had been out of town a great deal, and when men weren—t getting it at home, they got it someplace.

  “I wonder …” Perhaps he should do a little investigation on Bridget Taylor, the woman Wes had stopped to help. What if she hadn—t been a stranger? The sobering thought took root and sprouted. Leaning over, Louis picked up the telephone.

  “Dana, get me … Never mind.” He replaced the phone. He—d take care of this himself.

  If his suspicions were right, he—d have the leverage he needed to control Madison. He—d lost a big commission with Wes—s death. Louis didn—t plan to lose any more money. If he was wrong … His gut churned at the thought of what would happen if Madison found out. She—d fire him without a moment—s thought of how hard he had worked to get her and Wes their big contracts. And it wouldn—t stop there.

  Agents were like priests. Their clients told them things they wouldn—t dare whisper in the dark. If Madison put the word out that he couldn—t be trusted, he—d be ruined. He might very well find himself clientless and back with nothing.

  No. He—d have to keep this to himself. The stakes were too high. After all, if you started a brushfire, you better make damn sure you weren—t caught in the flames.

  Helen came to work Monday morning with a briskness in her step that hadn—t been there Friday. She was feeling good. She even condescended to speak to the receptionist and the do-nothing security guard who would probably faint if anyone said boo. Laughing at her own humor, Helen continued to her office near the back of the TV studio.

  Inside, the cheerful mood she had carried with her since she—d finished making love with Edward that morning fizzled. Drab and cramped with a tiny window, the ten-by-twelve space was a far stretch from the plush office Madison had on the second floor where all the big guys rested their Fat behinds. But her day was coming.

  Jerking out the bottom drawer in her desk, she stored her Kate Spade bag, a real one, not a knockoff like some of her girlfriends—. Helen had never liked having second-best. That—s why it angered the hell out of her that Madison Reed had her own show. Maybe now the higher-ups would start paying some attention to her.

  Pulling back the chair, she sat behind her desk. Edward had done a great job with the story, covered all the angles, including saying Helen had the exclusive with Madison—s agent. That should garner her points at the studio. It still rankled that the piece had to be so sappy, but Edward had convinced her that she had to play her cards close to the chest. Be supportive out in the open, while she waited her chance.

  After her career took off, she could help him move into TV. With his looks and body, he—d be dynamite. They—d make Wes and Madison look sick. Yeah, she and Edward could be the sweethearts of America. They could have it all.

  Lost in thought
, Helen barely had time to register the knock on the door before it opened. Her mouth opened to tell the idiot they were supposed to wait for the person to say, Come in. The words died in her throat when she saw Gordon. He wasn—t smiling.

  “Good morning, Gordon.”

  He closed the door behind him. “I hope you still think that when we—re finished talking.”

  The big breakfast she—d eaten with such gusto suddenly turned on her. “What—s the matter?”

  Gordon braced his hands on the cluttered desk and leaned toward her, “I want to talk with you about the piece your friend Mayes did on Madison.”

  Helen swallowed her fear. “You came to congratulate him?”

  “Hardly.” He straightened to his full height. “I—m only going to say this once. Madison and the baby are off-limits as topics for you or Mayes. We support each other at this station. Not tear people down or create problems for them.”

  Helen was up before she thought better of it. “Her temporary custody of that baby is public information. Madison is a public figure. It—s news.”

  ‘For some. Not for this station or for those who work here.”

  Irate, Helen barely kept herself from kicking the desk. “This can give me more exposure and help ratings for my show.”

  “Or end it completely.” His eyes narrowed. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” She almost choked on the word.

  “Good. I have never liked repeating myself.” He walked to the door. “Have a good day.”

  Helen snatched up the Waterford paperweight on her desk. She raised her arm to throw it, but some instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Her fingers uncurled and she dropped the glass oblique onto her desk before sinking into her chair, rage almost choking her.

  The entire station treated Madison like a little princess. There probably wasn—t a person there who wouldn—t jump to her defense, while they barely spoke to Helen. But she didn—t need them. And she—d show Gordon he couldn—t treat her like a nobody. She—d think of some way to fix him and Madison. She would be more careful this time and keep her name out of it, but they both were going to pay, and pay well.