Naked Hope

by Rebecca E. Grant

  “Fair enough.”

  They entered the cold-looking room in the back of orchestra hall that for the moment was serving as a press room. The room overflowed with wall-to-wall reporters milling around and talking natter.

  “You certainly cut it close,” Adrienne snapped, glaring first at Gavin and then at Jill. “They’re ready.”

  “Why is the press so hot tonight, Adrienne?”

  Adrienne raised her chin. “Well, Gavin, I’ve warned you for months this might happen. Obviously, there’s a leak.”

  Gavin steered Jill up the aisle and to the right as they reached the front, and tucked her into an alcove where only he could see her. “No one will bother you here.” He brushed his lips against hers. Even that briefest touch sent her senses reeling. She wanted to grasp his lapels and crush him to her—to stop time. Because the moment he went in front of that group of reporters, she had no idea what she might hear…what he might say…or whether things would ever be the same between them.

  He took the podium and faced them—his back straight, shoulders erect, head tipped at a confident angle.

  She didn’t need to see his eyes to know that beneath the carefully manicured public façade he projected into the gathering of hungry reporters, stood a man who believed life itself had betrayed him.

  With a smile, he leaned into the microphone. “So, what are we talking about today?”

  The room quieted.

  A lone voice called out, “Maestro, I heard you’re previewing your new concerto Saturday evening.”

  Gavin searched the crowed until he located the speaker. “Now, Jack, how would I do that? The concerto’s not yet completed.”

  “Not the whole thing—just a preview. You’re saying you’re not?”

  “I’m not.” He offered the crowded room an even smile.

  “But wouldn’t that be a great way to” Jack persisted

  Gavin cut in, “Are you suggesting I need to generate interest?” He chuckled. “The last thing I need to do,” he spread his hands wide, “and I think all of you would agree, since here you stand—is generate more interest. Before I move on to the next question, let me just say my contract details for the premiere next spring restrict me from sharing any portion of the piece. I’m sure you’re not surprised.”

  Several other reporters shouted out questions.

  Gavin pointed. “Dan?”

  “I heard that contract was canceled. Isn’t the real reason you won’t share a taste is because you can’t finish the piece?”

  “That’s a fair question, Dan. You know the piece is one my daughter and I composed together. No one should be surprised to learn I’m waiting until Olivia and I can work on it together.”

  Had he really said that? Jill sucked in her breath and clamped her hands in her lap.

  “But isn’t it true Olivia can no longer compose? What are you saying, Maestro? That you’ll never finish the concerto?”

  Reporters hurled questions without waiting for Gavin to acknowledge them.

  “What is Olivia’s present condition?”

  “Why wouldn’t you just finish it on your own?”

  “Why give up the performance date?”

  “Sources say you haven’t written anything since you stopped working on the concerto. Is that true? And if so, why not?”

  “I heard you were in New York looking for a music tutor for your daughter and that you found one. Any truth to that rumor, Maestro?”

  Gavin put up a hand. “You know I can’t respond if you just keep pounding out questions. Give it a break and let me make my statement. I have every confidence Olivia and I will finish the concerto—together. Now, unless you have questions about Saturday’s performance, we’re done here. Adrienne has press passes to the performance if you need them.”

  A reporter in the back called out, “You have quite a reputation with the women. What’s your relationship with Jillian Cole? Is there any truth to the rumor you and a woman other than your wife were partying at a cozy little getaway the day your wife was killed? And if so, was it the Cole woman?”

  A hush fell over the room.

  Gavin looked out into the crowd. His fingers gripped the edge of the podium and his jaw ticked. “Look, I know some of you believe public figures have no right to privacy. Perhaps, to some extent, we do abdicate our privacy. But for the last fifteen months, my wife’s death, my daughter’s illness, speculation about my career—circumstances that would be considered private if they happened to any of you—have been openly discussed and analyzed in almost every medium. I’ve been as gracious and tolerant as I know how to be, but tonight I’m drawing the line. From now on, my private life is exactly that—private.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gavin came up behind Jill while she stood at the counter in her kitchen pouring one of her favorite cabernets into stem-less wine glasses, hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans, and kissed the side of her neck.

  Her hands shaking, she almost spilled the wine.

  “Leave it,” he murmured.

  She hesitated as a delicious warmth spread throughout her body.

  His hands moved across her stomach, his lips against her ear. “So, we’re agreed. We talk in the morning?”

  She turned her face to his. “Yes.”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

  “We talked every day.”

  “Yes, and every day I wanted to do this.” He slid his hands under her sweater. His body merged against her backside as he nudged her against the sink and massaged the sides of her breasts. His fingers closed over her nipples and his lips coaxed the edge of her sweater off her shoulder. “You feel exactly the way I remember you.”

  Eyes half-closed, she tilted her head. “Surprised?”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “Memories have a way of getting better as they age. But you’re every bit as I remembered.” He turned her toward him and brushed his lips back and forth against hers.

  His fingers, his mouth, the sound of his voice evoked a tremble in the back of her knees that raced up her spine until she couldn’t wait a moment longer and pulled him closer.

  His hands slid down her body. “Whenever I’m with you, the word callipygian comes to mind. Maybe I’ll compose an ode to the woman with the callipygian curves.”

  With a jab of an elbow, she pushed him away. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  He drew her back. “I’m saying I find you exceptionally beautiful—especially here.” He gave her a light spank and gripped her callipygian curves until she felt every part of his body against every part of hers. His lips sought out her mouth, the space behind her ear lobe, the under curve of her jaw. He nipped her shoulder and lowered the zipper of her sweater.

  “Seems a shame you went to all that trouble changing your clothes.”

  Smiling into his chest, she cuddled into him. “Why, because you’d rather strip off my business suit than my jeans?”

  “So you’re amenable to being stripped,” he murmured.

  Her body contracted with pleasure. She spread open his shirt and kissed his chest. “The act does seem inevitable.”

  “Then I think these should be the first to go.” He hooked his thumbs into her belt loops and eased her jeans over her hips.

  “And next, I think this should go.” He removed her hair clip and unwound the long length, freeing her hair.

  “You object to my hair being up?”

  “I prefer it down, the way you wore it at dinner. But so far, I don’t object to anything about you.”

  “Except maybe my cello-playing,” she teased.

  He stopped rearranging her hair and gripped her shoulders. “I was wrong…stupid. I judged you on some very superficial criteria”

  She pressed two fingers over his mouth. “You weren’t wrong. I’ll give you superficial, but you weren’t wrong. Besides…” She kissed him, nibbling his lower lip. “If I were a cellist, we wouldn’t be standing here about to devour each
other.” Unwilling to wait a moment longer to feel the hardness of his body against hers, she tilted her head. “Now, how about taking off the rest of my clothes?”

  Morning rolled in gray and heavy with snow on the way. Jill eased herself gingerly into the corner of the sofa, sipping her second cup of coffee, her body aching exquisitely from Gavin’s fervid attentions. “Let’s start with the accident. I don’t know if you’re aware but whenever someone mentions it, you act guilty. You said Baines had to come and find you at the lake cabin. Because you and Adrienne were trysting up there that day?”

  His head jerked up and his eyes widened. “What? No.”

  Jill set down her coffee, and patted the space next to her “When you pace like that, you leave me with the impression that you’re about to bolt. There’s room here on the sofa next to me.”

  Gavin fit his long body next to hers, reached for the lamb’s wool afghan, and wrapped it around her feet. “Better?”

  She nodded. “What happened the day of the accident?”

  After a moment, he said, “Everything changed.” He shook his head, his eyes heavy-lidded and shadowed.

  Jill drew his head into her lap where she could stroke his forehead and place her hand over his heart. “Yes, it did.”

  “Things had gotten so bad between Vivienne and me. We’d been in separate bedrooms for years. I spent all my time with Liv creating music.”

  Gavin sat up, his elbows on his knees, rocking and holding his head. “Oh, hell, Jillian. The accident was my fault. We fought—” He looked around and began again. Every word plummeted like a rock. “She hated me and I didn’t even care enough to hate her back.” Voice cold with resignation, Gavin described the events leading up to the accident.

  Fifteen Months Earlier…

  Vivienne had just finished filling her fourth suitcase when Gavin found her. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, I’m leaving, and I’m taking Olivia. I’ve been offered a contract for an off-Broadway production.” She tossed her head. “We won’t be back. I’ll email you our address so you know where to send the checks.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “You don’t want to know where to find your daughter?” She wore an ugly smile.

  Gavin fingered one of her suitcases. “This is all very amusing. Go ahead and go, but Olivia stays.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She rolled a bottle of perfume into a sweater and frowned at the door. “Where in the hell is Baines? I need help.”

  “Baines has other duties. You’re on your own. Take anything you want—clothes, jewelry, whatever but make sure you take it all. Because when you leave, you aren’t coming back. And, Liv stays.”

  Vivienne scoffed. “You think you can always have things your way. But no court in the land will separate a mother from her child.”

  “You don’t want her. You’ve never wanted her. Most days, you won’t even look at her. I can produce witnesses to testify you tried to abort the pregnancy, and that you’ve been diagnosed as a somatic narcissist. No one will give Liv to you.” He moved into Vivienne’s personal space and towered over her. “Care to see if I’m bluffing?”

  “I might not want her, but you do—which is exactly why I’m taking her,” she sneered. “What will you do when you don’t have your little prodigy? You see? I can still hurt you. I can take the one thing that matters.”

  Vivienne slammed shut the armoire.

  Gavin’s heart stopped. Olivia had been hiding behind the open door, her little face, stricken. “Liv, honey.” He reached for her but she ran out the door, sobbing. He started to follow, but Vivienne stepped in his path. “Get out of my way, Vivienne.”

  “What’s the matter, Gavin? Can’t take it? And that little scene’s just the start of the misery she’s going to feel. Divorce is painful, you know—especially for the children.”

  Gavin clenched his fists and jammed them deep into his pockets.

  “Hit me, Gavin,” she taunted. “Go on, hit me. You know you want to.”

  When he didn’t, she jeered, “What’s the matter? Not man enough? You never were. You have no idea how to make a woman happy. You’re a ghost. I don’t know how I ever stuck it out here for sixteen interminable years.”

  ****

  Gavin blinked several times and looked at Jill wondering if he was crowding her shock threshold. “I was so done with it all—I just wanted her to leave. To finally be free. I started to go after Liv, but Vivienne came at me, kicking and screaming. Our relationship was always this way. The colder I got, the more violent she became. In the early days, I tried to comfort her. Eventually, I stopped. I’d stay until she calmed down. But this time was different—I just wanted her gone. When she wouldn’t stop kicking and biting, I pushed her away and told her I was through. That I should have tossed her out with the rest of the trash years ago.”

  He turned to Jill. “Not one of my finer moments.”

  She took his hand and lifted it to her lips. “Go ahead. Finish it, Gavin.”

  “When I pushed her away, she fell. The fall was theatrical—she wasn’t hurt. But she was shaken because I’d never pushed her away before. She laid there and when I turned to walk away, she shrieked, ‘you’ll regret this. If it’s the last thing I do, you’ll regret this for as long as you live’. She’d threatened me so many times before I didn’t pay any attention. But I should have realized that this time, there was something different. If I’d been paying better attention, I would have known what she was capable of.”

  Gavin stood and paced the room. “After that, I went looking for Liv. I found her with her grandmother. When I saw she was all right, I left, intent on keeping my appointment at the lake cabin.”

  “The final inspection.”

  He nodded. “Vivienne had already loaded boxes and suitcases into my car. She must have chosen it because it was larger, and so I took the Jag. I stopped for a late breakfast just outside of town where Adrienne and I often ate. She arrived just as I was leaving.”

  Gavin hesitated and looked at Jill. “When she heard I was on my way to the cabin, she said she’d love to come along. I thought she’d be good company but the drive bored her. By the time we got there, I regretted bringing her. I finished the inspection and we were just about to hit the road when Baines arrived.”

  He paused before launching into his final admission “The police ruled her death as a suicide with intent to commit homicide.” He stared at Jill. “Do you know how many times I've wished they found me on that bridge? I never dreamed Vivienne would deliberately try to hurt Olivia.”

  “And you feel responsible?”

  ****

  Jill waited, her heart aching for this man so scarred by a woman who’d held nothing but scorn for him.

  “I should have—how could I have not known what she was capable of. I baited her. I let things escalate out of control and didn’t even try to mitigate the damage. She hated me so much. How could I not know?” He jammed his fingers through his hair. “But who tries to kill their own child?”

  Gage’s words floated back, before they ruled it an accident, he was the major suspect in his wife’s death. “Gavin, did you by any chance tell the police Vivienne’s death was your fault?”

  “What?” He frowned then his expression relaxed. “Yes, I guess I did.”

  Jill held Gavin’s face in her hands. “Look at me, Gavin. You are in no way responsible for Vivienne’s actions. The two of you fought. Ugly things were said. You both hurt the other, and what occurred afterward is shockingly sad. But you did not cause that accident. You did not cause your wife’s death. You are not the reason Olivia has TBI. Vivienne, and Vivienne alone, is responsible for her actions.”

  His body went rigid and he pushed away. “But they’re connected. What happened between us drove Vivienne to kill herself and our child, just to keep Olivia away from me.”

  Jill fought the urge to be overly sympathetic knowing he would despise her pity. “I don’t think so. Please, come sit back
down and listen.”

  Gavin eyed the sofa, and sat back down next to her.

  “Something doesn’t make sense. You said Vivienne was leaving you to start a new life for herself. You also said she’s a diagnosed somatic narcissist. They’re provocative, often sexually compulsive, exploitative, and almost always pathological liars.” Jill crossed her legs and tucked her hair behind her ears. “But narcissists have too much self-love to commit suicide. To kill herself would go against every natural instinct she had. Narcissists are about indulging their natural instincts. She’d leave you, but she’d never kill herself. Her instinct for survival would be far too strong.” Jill examined his face, hoping he’d embrace this new information.

  “You were her target, not Olivia, and certainly not herself. Narcissists have no empathy for others so for Vivienne, Olivia would hardly exist. From what you’ve described, Vivienne was obsessed with you, and angry because your attention to Olivia kept you from paying attention to her. That would make her want to hurt you, not Olivia.” Jill leaned forward and smoothed her index finger against frown lines etched deep between Gavin’s eyes. “As a narcissist, nothing would ever be her fault, so she’d have no reason to hurt herself.”

  He caught her hand and stared into her eyes.

  “Do you see what I’m getting at, Gavin? You feel guilty because you should have known fighting with Vivienne would drive her to kill herself and your child.” She squeezed his fingers. “But you couldn’t have known that because it’s statistically improbable that a somatic narcissist would commit suicide. Or have enough passion about Olivia one way or the other to bother trying to hurt her.”

  She waited for him to process her words, and then folded both hands over his. “Parents almost always feel guilty when their child gets hurt. I’ve seen the emotion in the eyes of every parent I work with. A few minutes ago, you stated you would give anything for it to have been you on the bridge that day instead of Olivia. But how terrible would her life be if Olivia had lost you instead of her mother?” Just in time, she pulled back the words, and how terrible for me.