Laurie’s breath came sharply as he turned to her, and tears ran from her eyes as well. “I’m sorry. Please try to understand.”
“I do. I know what you need. And it’s not me.”
She searched his face, questioning.
“You need to know who you are to God.” Even as he said it, the truth of it settled inside him. Laurie didn’t need him. She never had. And as long as he kept trying to be what he couldn’t, she’d never find what she did need.
A fresh tear broke free and started down her cheek. He bent his head, and his mouth lingered on her lips, savoring one last contact, one moment of might-have-been. Then he stepped away.
20
TO HAVE THAT SENSE OF ONE’S
INTRINSIC WORTH WHICH CONSTITUTES SELF-RESPECT IS POTENTIALLY
TO HAVE EVERYTHING: THE ABILITY TO DISCRIMINATE, TO LOVE
AND TO REMAIN INDIFFERENT. TO LACK IT IS TO BE LOCKED WITHIN
ONESELF, PARADOXICALLY INCAPABLE OF EITHER LOVE OR INDIFFERENCE.
Joan Didion
CAL ADDED HIS BARITONE to Cissy’s warbling and Mildred’s monotone rendition of “O Christmas Tree” as Ray reached the tin star with lighted tips to the top of the white fir. Looking at the tree, hung with antique glass and beaded ornaments, he had to agree with Mildred that it was a little thin. But considering his condition, they were lucky to have a tree at all.
After Mildred took the story to the newspaper, word had spread about Ray’s part in Laurie’s rescue, and the way he sent the drug dealers running with Mildred’s shotgun. He was too busy these days to cut a tree for his aunts, and feeling a little self-important about non-paying jobs. He’d even had the luxury of turning down a job or two. Cal hoped it wouldn’t go to his head; then again, he hoped it would. Ray needed a little confidence, a chance to realize his worth. Cal had taken him along to Reggie’s group where they’d loved him up like some lost relation. Ray had beamed like the star he now shoved into place.
With the star set, Ray turned with a grin and added his tenor to the final refrain. It was strange to hear the high, clear voice coming from someone Ray’s size, but maybe his vocal cords, like his brain, had stayed at a more youthful stage. Cal wouldn’t have him any other way. Ray soared to a high harmony that was near angelic, and Cal felt his own chest swell with only minor discomfort.
Cissy clapped her hands. “It’s a darling tree. Isn’t it, Millie?”
“It’s thin as a rail. Next time it’ll be a twig.”
Cal straightened a branch that sagged again as soon as he released it. “Next year it’ll be the grandest tree you’ve ever seen. Once I can swing an ax again.”
“Humph. If you can stay alive that long.”
He couldn’t miss the warmth in Mildred’s eyes even though she turned away to hide it. Some switch had turned on in her, maybe stemming from her part in the goings-on, from having done something adventurous. Cal hadn’t revealed much to Danson, only her care for the children in his absence. He might have given credit where credit was due, but Danson was mad enough to implicate her in obstruction as well. He’d been careful with what he said about Ray, as well. Cissy hadn’t been in on enough to carry any responsibility, but for some reason, they all felt thick as thieves. Cal couldn’t have done it without them.
He looked around the room. They were like family, this mismatched group. His family. Life could be worse. Probably would be when it all came down. But right now a powerful love for each person there made him content. God was filling in the gaps, and whatever happened, it was in the Big Man’s hands.
The smell of the turkey in the oven was wonderful, and he gladly followed the women to the table set with Mildred’s and Cissy’s grandmother’s china. The purple turkey pattern didn’t do much for him, but he’d been informed that it was invaluable. He’d take their word for it.
Cal pulled out a chair but stopped when a knock came at the door. He glanced up at Mildred. “Expecting someone else?”
“Nope.”
Cissy sidled around him to answer the door, and Cal tensed at the sound of Chuck Danson’s voice in the entry. What on earth was he doing there on Christmas Day? Didn’t the man ever give it a break? A moment later Danson followed Cissy in and narrowed his gaze to Cal.
Cal drew himself up. “I haven’t broken bail. I don’t have so much as a parking ticket.” And there was no way he would miss Christmas dinner when he’d been smelling it these last four hours.
If he looked defensive, Danson looked downright uncomfortable. Of course, Mildred had him pinned in her stare. Cal would have pitied anyone else.
“Well?” Mildred asked.
Danson turned and motioned Pete Rawlings into the room. Pete dropped a large canvas sack to the floor.
Cal looked from the bag to Danson. “What’s this?”
“Part of the nearly two thousand letters from the people of Montrose, some twelve hundred of them from school children handwritten on notebook paper, pleading for leniency on your behalf. The general idea being that in light of your service to the community and the extenuating circumstances of your misconduct, charges against you should be dropped.”
Cal knew better than to think public opinion would sway Danson, especially when he recalled that Cal had put him down like a baby with two blows. But what was this Miracle-on—34th-Street charade?
“I don’t care beans about what’s in those letters, but some highand-mighty folks don’t want this business going to trial.”
Cal frowned. “What high-and-mighty folks?”
“The Prelanes out in L.A. Some senator.”
Ex-senator, but Cal didn’t say so. Why would Laurie’s in-laws care what happened to him?
“With their pressure and the local hue and cry, the mayor’s leaned on the chief.”
Cal was not sure he was hearing this correctly.
Danson drew himself up, hands on his hips. “Therefore, I’m here to inform you that all charges have been waived in lieu of community service. It’s all in this letter from Judge Kinzer.” He drew it from his shirt pocket and held it out. “And this is a letter from Frank reinstating you to the Montrose Fire Department, full seniority and benefits.”
Cal stood, uncomprehending. “Charges are dropped?”
“Waived.” Danson narrowed his eyes. “But not forgotten.”
That part he understood. “Look, Chuck … I do apologize.”
“Yeah? I’ve had that TMJ for weeks.” He rubbed his jaw.
Cal fought the grin.
Danson raised a warning finger. “One crack from you, and you’ll seriously regret it. And if I hear it whispered around …”
Cal held his hands palms forward. “Not a word, I swear.”
“Well, then …” Danson turned to Mildred and Cissy. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner. Sure smells good.”
“Won’t you join us?” Mildred held the potato spoon like a baton. She included both Rawlings and Danson in her gesture.
Pete Rawlings bowed out. “I’ve got the wife waiting dinner.” Danson hesitated. “Well, it’s sure a homey smell.”
Cal wouldn’t have chosen him to spend Christmas with, but looking around the table, he realized he wouldn’t have chosen any of them … before. Now, he angled a chair in Danson’s direction. “Then sit down already. I’m starved.”
Lights glittered from the greenery decking everything from the curved banisters to the archways. It had all been ordered months in advance, though now there were black velvet bows along with the shimmery gold French ribbon. Laurie hadn’t wanted to decorate, but Brian’s mother had insisted. “You must keep up appearances. Brian would want it. He’d want his home as festive and …” Laurie had rested a hand on Wanda Prelane’s shoulder when she broke down. More would have been too personal, too presumptuous.
Laurie looked across the room at Wanda, elegant in black chiffon. The party, too, had been arranged long before she had left town, before Brian came after her. If not, they would never have gotten the caterer.
T
here was some comfort in the knowledge that Dieter and Luìs had confessed to the killing as part of a plea bargain, dropping felony kidnapping with intent to murder, and other charges she couldn’t remember the legal terms for. Brian’s murder was enough for both to get life in prison, but it could have been worse. She was certain the deal included an under-the-table agreement to keep Brian’s illegal connection quiet. Stuart, Sr. had seen to that, reputation control an art for him. Wasn’t that cause for celebration? Laurie sighed. It was all about putting on a face, and she was learning to do it well.
Wanda had insisted the party occur. “Darling, they’ll want to come. To comfort you in your grief.”
“I’d rather be alone in my grief.”
“Sometimes we don’t have that luxury. You’ll do it for them, Laurie, for all those who loved Brian. To honor his memory.”
So she stayed silent while the decorators came, then the caterers and the orchestra, and the Santa Claus for the children. She’d even smiled when Luke and Maddie showed her the extravagant trinkets he’d pulled from his bag for them. A Madame Alexander doll and a replica of a classic Corvette with real working headlights. No squirt gun and squirrel puppet.
Laurie turned away from the stoically grieving face of Brian’s mother in conversation with a solicitous guest whose name Laurie scarcely remembered. All these people in her home, people of privilege. With her eyes she searched out Darla, one friend of whom Brian had never approved.
Actually, Laurie hadn’t been close to her either. But she’d confided more than she should have one lonely night. And Darla had listened. Laurie was tempted again to take her aside, to pour out her confusion and … and what? She’d made her decision. This was her life, for Luke and Maddie to have more than she’d had, for Mother to believe she’d done right. If she left it now, she might never enter that world again. Slowly she crossed the room, smiling, though sadly, as the widow of the tragically murdered Brian Prelane.
The men’s eyes were on her. She knew she looked stunning in the tea-length black velvet Dubois Couture gown. Her eye was caught by Brian’s brother, Stuart, darkly handsome, taller than Brian but not as broad in the shoulders. More preppie than athlete. He waved her over. His arm came around her shoulders, and he bent to her ear. “I’m sure you’re enjoying this as little as I am. Why don’t we sneak out for espresso?”
Laurie looked around the room at the glittering lights, the glittering people. She nodded, and they went out the back. The hired valet brought his BMW, and Stuart let her in before walking around and taking the wheel.
“Am I allowed to leave my own party?”
He smiled. “You’re grieving. Anything’s forgivable.”
Laurie stared out the window. Grieving? She was grieving, but was it Brian’s death? They stopped at an upscale espresso bar. He let her out, set the car’s security alarm, and held out his arm. Tentatively she slipped her hand into the crook.
He ordered espresso. She had an almond cappuccino. They sat at a table for two against the windows. There was no chill in the California evening, not like the cold December of Montrose.
He sipped, then set down the cup. “May I be blunt?”
Laurie raised her brows. What was this? Had she failed somehow, and he would chastise her? “Say whatever you like.”
“I don’t think there was much love lost between you and my brother.” He raised a hand as she started to protest. “Maybe that’s an overstatement. But you did leave him.”
She looked down at her cup. “Under extenuating circumstances.” Would she have gone otherwise, walked away from all she had, even if it was empty and false?
“Don’t think I blame you. Brian was never easy to live with.” Stuart’s voice was sincere. His voice was always sincere, confident, connected, as though the person he was talking to was his only concern. No wonder he was so dynamic and successful. No wonder Brian had struggled to measure up. Not easy to live with? Try it from Brian’s side.
“The thing is, the family’s concerned.”
“Concerned?”
Stuart took another sip. “You know, and I know, that this hypedup version of Brian’s unfortunate death is not exactly factual.”
Laurie pressed her hands to the cup. Was he admitting what she’d already presumed? That the Prelanes had managed to spin the story, leaving Brian totally without guilt, and therefore her as well? She waited.
“They’re concerned that, well, as time passes, you might … move on. You’re a beautiful woman; you can’t have missed the attention already directed at you.”
Had they appointed him spokesman? Laurie could almost hear Stuart, Sr. “Feel her out, son, see if she’s with us or against us.”
“I don’t understand, Stuart. What are you telling me?”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Do you remember the night Brian brought you home to meet the family?”
She nodded. How would she forget? It was her first sight of Camelot.
“Well, I remember it too. I remember thinking, why did Brian find you and not me?”
Her pulse quickened, but it was uncomfortable. What was he saying? He’d coveted Brian’s wife? Stuart, the most eligible bachelor, who was never without a dazzling partner, though if he’d felt a passion for any of them it was the best kept secret of all. “Stuart …”
“I’m sure you think it’s horribly soon and tasteless for me to be saying this. But I want you to understand that my parents are in full agreement. They don’t want to lose you or the children. They don’t want to—”
“Lose control of the story?”
He cocked his head, one eye narrowed. “That was low.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course they’re concerned with their son’s legacy. You should be too. For the children’s sake. Do you really want them knowing their father flew drugs over the border, then double-crossed the dealers and was killed for it?”
How suave of him to leave her part out. “Of course not.”
“Then listen, Laurie.” He closed her hand in both of his. “If we begin a quiet engagement now, we can be married in a year, and everyone will benefit.”
She ought to laugh, but she didn’t. It was her invitation to remain permanently Prelane. As the older and now only son, Stuart was well on his way to a quarter-billion-dollar inheritance. The crown prince of the Prelane empire. He was handsome enough for the stage and had in fact done a significant number of quality amateur productions before his father’s reentry into business claimed his time.
And if Laurie was truly honest, she had wondered at times what it would be like if she’d married Stuart instead. He had the grace and confidence Brian lacked—and lacked the recklessness. He would be a solid presence, a father for Luke and Maddie. “Married in a year, and everyone would benefit.”
“I suppose there would be a prenup reverting everything to you in case of divorce.”
“That is the protocol.” Stuart’s face softened. “But not reverting everything to me. This isn’t some trick to cheat you of your assets, though it’s understandable you’d be dubious. There wasn’t much trust between you and my brother.” His jaw twitched. “With his infidelities and … well, I’m surprised you stood it as long as you did.”
Laurie flushed. Had everyone known?
He threaded her fingers through his. “I’m not concerned with any of that. No prenup if you’re not comfortable, though for that matter it could protect you as well.” He stroked his thumb over her index finger.
It started to sink in what he was offering. She thought of Brian’s impetuous courting. He’d proposed on their first date. But then, wasn’t Stuar t doing the same? But he did it so coolly, almost detached.
“Is this a proposal or a merger?” The words were out before she considered how rude they sounded.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I love you?” She shrugged. Was she? Did she want to know?
“I thought we’d do better if I refrained from … anything too perso
nal.” Then he smiled, Brian’s smile, with amusement in his eyes. He brought her hand up and kissed the fingers.
It was remarkable, really, how little she could feel. Maybe they were better suited than she knew. Laurie raised her cup and sipped the cappuccino.
The fire station lot was full when Cal pulled in, overflowing onto the street. What was going on? He circled and exited, parking the jeep on the grassy rise just off the pavement. Maybe Frank had called in all the volunteers for a meeting.
He set the brake and climbed out. It was warm for two days after Christmas. Not so warm you forgot it was December, though. He walked into the garage and stopped. Rob and Perry and Frank, along with at least two-dozen volunteers were packed in around the two trucks. Cal took in the crowd, all eyes on him. Had he worn his clown nose? “What?”
Rob stepped forward, holding out a wrapped package. “A little something from all of us.” He gave him a crooked grin. “Welcome back.”
Cal took the package and weighed it in his hands, again scanning the group. He could tell by the feel it was a fire ax, short handle. He pulled the paper off. They had spray-painted it gold.
“It’s the golden ax,” Rob said, “to replace your golden tongue now that you’ll be doing more than shooting off your mouth at banquets and civic events.”
“Yeah.” Perry squeezed to the front. “And the first thing you can use it on is that idiot puppet.”
The group laughed.
Cal shook his head. “No way. Rocky and I are partners. Inseparable. I might let him handle a hose someday.”
He shifted the ax to his right hand and felt its balance, like an extension of his own arm. He flipped it around and held it by the head the way he would to search for victims in low visibility conditions. As he had for Ashley Trainor. The thought brought sadness, but no shakes, no screams. “I don’t know what to say, guys.”
Twilight Page 31
