by Jan Coffey
Sarah wiped her sweating palms on her dress. “Is everything all set for tomorrow?”
“I think so. We just have to hope that Rosen keeps his promise.”
~~~~
All but two of the cribs in the nursery were gone. Scott saw the blue caps and name cards on the sleeping babies and guessed his daughter was in with Lucy.
The smell of dinner was already wafting out of some of the rooms when he turned toward his wife’s private one. Sounds of conversation mixed with a laugh here and there and a baby’s soft cry seemed such a natural part of this section of the hospital, so different from the stillness of the ICU three floors above.
By the door of Lucy’s room, Scott saw the untouched tray of food on a rolling table. He took another step in and frowned at the empty bed. His heart suddenly sank at the thought that she’d already checked out of the hospital without even telling him.
A soft cooing from a portable crib made of see-through plastic drew his attention at the same time that he heard a toilet flush. In a moment, the bathroom door opened. Standing motionless in the door, he enjoyed the eternity of thirty seconds of watching his wife before she noticed him.
She looked good. No, she looked beautiful, he corrected, admiring the warm smile she gave the infant as she leaned over to pick her up.
“I’m right here, sweetheart. Such a face…” She froze with the baby in her arms as her gaze lit on him. “Scott.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Of course not.”
For the lack of something better to do, he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb. A stupid half smile edged onto his face as he watched the baby’s mouth continue to move in her direction.
“I…I think she is hungry.”
“She is always hungry.” Lucy laid the infant against her shoulder, supporting the fragile head and neck with her hand. “I think I ordered steak and potatoes for dinner. If you pull the cover off that food and cut up the meat real small, we can feed her some dinner.”
He straightened up from the door, pulling his hands out of his pocket. “You’re not serious.”
Her laughter was a kind music that he had been missing in his life for too long. His spirit lifted, his mind cleared somewhat.
“Now that’s more like it.” The dimples that used to drive him crazy now appeared. “You know, you’ve been acting like a real jerk the past couple of days. Come over here.”
He did exactly as she told him. They sat on the small sofa side by side. He watched her breast-feed the eager infant, and then she taught him how to hold the baby.
Sitting there with his daughter in his arms, he realized he’d never held a baby in his life. She smelled like milk and bath powder. Holding her made him think of dreams and innocence. He pushed the knit cap away and rubbed his cheek on her soft wisps of hair. The perfect little fingers moved. He stared in awe at the fingernails. Even they were so perfect.
“So you two are coming home tomorrow?”
“Hopefully, early in the morning.” She kissed him over the baby’s head. “Now, I can call a—”
“No. I’ll be here,” he said, meaning it. “Lucy, I need you to give me a chance. I promise to be a good father…and a much better husband.”
“Don’t be silly!” She shook her head, though her expression was thoughtful as she turned her face away. They had never discussed it, had never openly said the words, but they’d both known for a while that he’d been standing on a ledge. As he stared at her profile, he knew that this was Lucy through and through, pouring it all inward and acting as if nothing was ever wrong.
When she turned her attention back to him, Scott saw her gaze go from the sleeping face of her daughter to his pleading eyes.
“We’ll be here waiting for you.”
Chapter 26
The small cottage sat on a grassy knoll overlooking a sparkling deepwater inlet south of the village. Sarah looked at it, thinking that she was dreaming. Wrinkled roses of red and white and pink, bent by the sea winds, bloomed on small knolls of sand and stone. No trees grew tall or straight here. None was strong enough to withstand the battering of the Atlantic winter storms unscathed, and gnarled scrub pines rose out of hollows like defiant squatters.
In the east, the pale azure of the sky was in full retreat from the deepening blues. Seabirds wheeled above in the distance, and she could hear in her mind their plaintive cries. The calm water of the inlet beyond the cottage was a dark, unnamable shade of blue and green. Every line, every color was incredibly sharp in the brilliant light of the setting sun, and as she turned her gaze, she saw that the western sky itself had become a divine palette of golds and reds, blues and purples.
Sarah could see no other houses nearby as the car traveled down the dirt road that led to the cottage. The rolling hills and the low, thick growth of brambles obscured the prying eyes of neighbors, yet still offered a clear view of the peaceful countryside that spread southward to the sea.
The cottage itself was an old-fashioned Cape Cod building of one-and-half solid stories, with natural shingles that had been stained and weathered to a handsome gray. On one side of the house, trellised red roses climbed up and onto the roof. White windows with green shutters and flower boxes sported bright red geraniums in full bloom. Beyond it, a brick path led down to a boat dock. The effect nearly took Sarah’s breath away.
She got out as Owen opened the garage. On their drive over, they had stopped to buy whatever toiletries they would need and enough food to take them through the night. He parked the car in the empty garage and closed the door. Sarah helped him carry the bags. The key was under the flowerpot by the door, just as Susan, his assistant, had promised.
“So beautiful.” she whispered, switching on the light just inside the kitchen doorway.
Despite the rustic look of the outside, the interior of the cottage was a very airy and comfortable open space that combined kitchen, family and living room. A set of stairs by the front door led upstairs. The patina of the wainscot and wide-planked pine floors lent a warmth to the place, and it smelled of wood fire and cinnamon and fresh salt air. As she dropped the bags on the kitchen table, it occurred to her that the mix of new and old furniture served to make it a real home, rather than some magazine spread.
“I always dreamed of living in a place like this.”
She moved to the window above the sink, looking out over a stretch of land and the inlet in the quickly fading light.
“A garden.” She smiled, planting her hands on the counter and leaning farther forward to get a better view. “I would have put my garden there, too. And yes, I’d have a shed for gardening tools just there. And I’d get a golden retriever puppy that’d chase after the birds and be wet from swimming every day and smell—”
“And you’d need a van…”
His voice was a warm whisper in her ear. Sarah’s breath hitched in her chest as she felt his warmth close around her. His hands rubbed the fabric of her dress against her skin. She felt his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“You’d need a van to take a wet dog around.”
One hand cupped her breast, the other slid down her stomach, and lower. She leaned her head back against him as his teeth nibbled her earlobe.
His voice was a husky growl. “How about a couple of kids to go with the van?”
She leaned to one side and turned her head to look into his face, only to find the sultry look of sincerity and desire there irresistible. Instead of an answer, she dug her fingers in his thick hair and kissed him deeply.
Although they’d already made love numerous times, the force of his passion at this moment was unmatched by anything she’d experienced before, leaving her breathless before its power.
Afterward, their clothes lying in piles around their feet, Sarah saw her naked reflection in the kitchen window. Gripped by a kind of wonder, she watched as his hands cupped and caressed her, bringing her body instantly to life yet again. It was as if he could not get enough of
her, bury himself deeply enough in her, hold her tightly enough to him. As he made love to her a second time, she watched the two of them rising together on undulating waves of passion.
And in that reflection, she saw something else. On her face she saw the unmistakable presence of joy and hope and trust…obliterating in an instant the loneliness of a lifetime.
~~~~
By the time the fire engines had made their way into the compound, the long row of storage units was a blazing inferno, lighting the black sky with flames and smoke and gases from the melting metal buildings. The fences around the compound hampered the entry of the larger trucks, and the narrow lanes between the rows of units quickly became clogged with vehicles and hoses and falling ash. With unexpected violence, unit by unit exploded in a series of fierce blasts, sending firefighters scurrying for cover as molten cinders rained from the summer sky.
After five hours of intense effort, the fire was brought under control. Getting the nod from the fire captain, the arson investigator opened the back of his van and led his Labrador retriever onto the property.
Specially trained to isolate a variety of volatile substances, even the smallest amounts of fuels and solvents that might be used to accelerate a fire, the dog circled the rows of storage units her nose skimming over the ground. In less than fifteen minutes, the dog and its trainer had covered the outer perimeter of the disaster area, and began to focus on the section where the blaze seemed to have done the greatest damage.
Pawing and scratching an area before a large file storage unit that belonged to a local law firm—a unit that had been reduced to a blackened hole of steaming metal and paper ash—the four-legged specialist gave the investigators a starting point for taking samples.
It would be hours before subsequent lab analyses could confirm that traces of flammable liquids were indeed present in the crevices of concrete before the storage facilities of the law offices of Charles Hamlin Arnold and Sarah Rand. Dan Archer, however, didn’t need to wait for the reports to know what had happened.
What he wanted to know—what no Lab bitch would tell him—was why someone had torched the judge’s old files.
~~~~
Gordon Rutherford held the snifter of brandy up to the light, appreciating the play of light through the amber liquid.
“I know both of these men have been long time friends and contributors to your campaigns, Senator, but an eight-point drop in the polls could have a snowball effect when you’ll want to be looking your strongest. We don’t want anything to affect the support of party’s national committee regarding your potential place on the next presidential ticket.”
Rutherford took a sip of his drink as Edward North, his young chief of staff, drew a file stuffed with newspaper clippings out of his open briefcase.
“We made the initial decision that there was not much we could do about the Judge Arnold association. It was unavoidable that every damn article would mention that the two of you had started your law careers together.” Edward spread specific clippings on the table. “But here, the damn liberals have changed their tactics. Now every report and news article pertaining to the Arnold case contains a direct attack on you and what you stand for. They are attacking your principles, Senator, never mind your specific stand against gun control. Look at these…”
“Law and Order…Double Standards For the Rich.” Edward held the clipping up. “They claim you are always quick to give a press conference whenever any type of crime is committed in the state, but that you’ve kept quiet with regard to Judge Arnold.”
“‘Loser the Latest Label for Rutherford.’” Edward picked up another piece. “They’ve dug up the names of everyone you have had even casual social interaction with and listed something that is potentially objectionable about every one of them.”
“And now with this Hamilton case. Look at these editorials… ‘Meet the Senator’s Pals.’ Again hinting at your involvement with unsavory, though wealthy, friends. ‘Billy the Kid: Like Father, Like Son.’ Innuendo that similar charges may have been filed against William Hamilton, Sr., thirty years ago, only to have been dropped and then expunged from the record.”
The chief of staff held the last article up for him to see.
“‘Dining Out: Murderers and Rapists at Rutherford Soirée.’” Edward’s customary composure was beginning to slip, and he ran a hand through his hair and pulled at his collar.
The senator studied him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Make a statement. Disassociate yourself from them. Call them what they are. Show them for their true colors. Be more judicious in your choice of friends.”
The senator stared for a long moment at the open folder on the table and took another sip of his drink. “No one is perfect, Edward.”
“That’s not true, Senator. Your reputation is impeccable.”
“That’s your job to say so.” Gleaming white teeth flashed in the tan face. “But all of us—and that includes you and me—have little skeletons that we hide in our closets. For instance, how long do you think we can keep the fact that you’re gay under wraps?”
“Being gay is not a crime, Senator,” Edward objected, immediately growing red as a beet.
“Very true. But it certainly would be a liability to a conservative, unmarried politician who has every intention of one day being President of the United States.”
“Senator, I don’t think—”
Rutherford snapped his fingers, silencing him. “Even if our system of law were not built on the fundamental belief that we are innocent until proven guilty, maybe I believe having consensual sex with young…yes, even supposedly underage women is no worse than two male adults committing sodomy and other unnatural sex acts.”
The senator sat back and smiled at the sight of the color rising in Edward’s neck. The young man began stuffing the clippings back into the folder.
“You see, Edward? Sometimes this tough old warhorse can be almost liberal in his positions.” The senator leaned forward. “You’ll learn soon enough that this far from an election, polls don’t mean a thing to me. Judge Arnold and I do indeed go way back, and there is no way in hell I’d walk away from him, just because he’s landed in a pile of shit. If we get a little of it on us, so be it. Loyalty will be the spin we put on what we do now. And as far as the Hamilton situation…hell, they’ve already arrested the little twerp. I never personally liked the boy, anyway, so they can cut his dick off, as far as I’m concerned. But William Sr. and his companies have consistently been our single largest source of campaign contributions over the years. There is no way I’m going to cut my ties with that family.”
The locks on the briefcase closed with a loud snap.
“Do we understand each other, Edward?”
“Yes we do, Senator.” With a curt nod, Edward North strode out of the room.
~~~~
Feeling a bit awkward about sleeping together in a stranger’s bed, they instead lay entwined in each other’s arms on the sofa. Through the open windows the summer sea breeze washed over them.
Sarah had just finished telling him about her childhood, and about her parents, and about how awkward she’d felt attending John Rand’s funeral.
“But even stranger than the feelings I’d had at the funeral was the way I felt on the flight back from Ireland.” She planted her chin on Owen’s chest. “I was totally, totally alone. I suppose, technically, I still had an uncle and two aunts across the Atlantic, and a few cousins on my mother’s side whom I’ve never met. But all these people were even greater strangers to me than my father had been.”
The breeze suddenly felt cooler on her skin, and Sarah reached for the afghan behind them. Owen shifted his weight, tucking Sarah’s body between himself and the sofa and covering the two of them with the blanket.
“It’s an odd feeling having no one to call—nobody to send a card to at Christmas, or to have Thanksgiving dinner with. Of course, it’s not as if I ever did any of those things with my father, but it was
nice to know that someday, if one of us wanted to, there might be a chance of it happening.” She rubbed her earlobe. “You know those earrings I always wear, the star-shaped ones? They belonged to his mother, and he gave them to my mother when I was born.”
“I suppose those kinds of connections are important.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. But you know, I never really acknowledged him. Not with the people I knew. It’s ironic to think that I was supposedly murdered three weeks ago, and no one in this town even had a clue that I might have a father still living. There was no one they should notify. Well, I…I guess we severed that parent-child connection too many years ago.”
Sarah looked up sadly into his dark blue eyes. “Sorry to inflict such a sappy life story on you.”
He leaned over and brushed his lips over her cheeks, her eyes, her lips.
“We are a pair.” He smiled, twirling a strand of her short hair around his finger. “When I was very, very young, I dreamed of having a house with a yard, and a dog, and parents who were around. As I got a little older, having a roof over my head, and food in my belly, and a mother who was conscious became my greatest wish. And then, not long after that, I would have done without the food and roof part if I could have had my mother someplace safe, someplace where she wasn’t getting beat up regularly…someplace where she wouldn’t need to do drugs.”
Every nerve in Sarah’s body cried out for her to try to sooth his pain. But she waited, giving him a chance to pour out what she guessed had been tucked away for years.
“I’ve come to accept all of that. I don’t have nightmares about those days anymore. I’m not even embarrassed every time some rookie reporter decides to dig into Owen Dean’s checkered past.” He shrugged. “That’s life. We can’t control the hand that is dealt to us early on. But I’ve tried my damnedest to control what I’ve done with that hand ever since.”
Sarah watched him for a long time stare at the white ceiling.
