For All of Her Life

by Heather Graham

  “You really think so?”

  “Well, if not, I do think you’ll be ready by Saturday night!” he grinned.

  “Let’s hope.”

  “People will come out of curiosity and because it’s a benefit performance for a good cause.”

  Kathy smiled wryly. “Yes, but we were good! We have our pride to maintain, you know.”

  Angel shrugged. “You’ll be good,” he said with assurance. “Jordan has never stopped playing. He’ll whip everyone together.”

  “He always did,” Kathy said lightly.

  Angel grinned. “Let me get you both out of this madhouse. Mom and Dad can’t wait to see you, Kathy.”

  “I’ve missed them,” she said, but once again she thought she was insane to do this. It was going to be too painful. She should never have agreed to come.

  But the drive from the airport to Star Island was somehow good. She had loved the city of Miami at night. Night hid the blemishes, the homeless sleeping beneath the bridges downtown, the graffiti that marred most major cities, and the inevitable trash of such a large metropolis. Night brought out the beauty of light on water, the balmy breezes. Starlight made the Miami River shimmer; the moonglow on the bay let each tiny whitecap glitter as if a spray of diamonds rested over the seas. Bridges arched and rose, the skyscrapers of downtown created their own glow in the night. It was the right time for the city. And oddly enough, as much as she dreaded arriving at the house, she was comfortable in the night in the city, back where she loved to be.

  They left downtown behind, heading on the expressway across to the bridge toward the beach, turning off onto the bridge to the island. She was vaguely aware when they passed through the guard gate and moved onto Star Island. She loved the island as well. Granted, it could have a brash quality to it. It was often a haven for the rich—and nouveaux riches. But it was a haven for intriguing and interesting nouveaux riches. Gangsters had made their homes here in the thirties; an Arabian prince had sent real estate skyrocketing here when he had borrowed millions to redo his mansion... before defaulting on all the loans. Actors, actresses, rock stars had often come here, along with bankers, newspaper moguls, old-time money, Jews, Gentiles, Canadians, the Irish, founding fathers, Middle Easterners.

  A deep U-shaped driveway ran from the front of the house to the street, heavy iron gates breaking the barrier of the coral rock wall. Parts of the house itself were built of coral rock, along with thick concrete, cement block, and stucco. The front was flanked by a glassed-in patio surrounded by high archways decorated with gargoyles. The driveway led to seven tile steps and the canopied archway before the front door.

  When they’d bought the place, it had needed paint badly. The little gargoyles had been sad indeed.

  Now, everything was pristine, Kathy noted. And when she stepped out of the car to start up the steps, a trembling began inside her, attacking her limbs, fingers, and feet. She clutched her purse and overnight bag more tightly, felt Jeremy’s fingers wind supportively around her arm.

  She had been insane. This was her house. She should never have come back to it. She wouldn’t be able to nod and be dignified when Tara Hughes smiled good night, clutched Jordan’s arm, and walked up to Kathy’s bedroom. She couldn’t be a guest here, she couldn’t be polite, unchurlish. No one could expect her to. She had to go back. She had—

  “Kathy!”

  The door had opened, and Jordan was coming down the steps, the girls behind him. He was genuinely pleased, taking her hand, turning to Jeremy as the girls hugged her, both talking away a mile a minute.

  Maybe they had been afraid that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t come.

  But she was here. And now, with a child on either side of her and Jordan asking Jeremy about their flight, she could not run. She was being led up the steps.

  “Kathryn, Kathryn, oh, it is so good to see you!” Peggy Garcia said, greeting her as she stepped through the arched entry doors and into the foyer. Peggy looped her arms around Kathy, holding her tight, then backing away. “My Lord, you haven’t changed, you don’t look a day older than when you left here. Thin... you’re thinner. What have you been doing? Too much organic food?”

  Kathy laughed, looking Peggy over at the same time. She was skinny as a rail herself and always had been. She had a touch of an English accent remaining, which sometimes sounded a bit odd, because after all her years of marriage to Joe, she interspersed her English now and then with Spanish words and Cuban expressions.

  “Peggy, leave her be! Calling her skinny! That’s the pot calling the kettle black, eh, chica?” Garcia said to Kathy. Tall and lean himself, with distinguishedly graying hair and coal dark eyes; he stepped up next to his wife, offering Kathy a warm hug. Again, it was sweet. Again, it was painful. She had left so much behind.

  “Joe, you are as devilishly handsome as ever,” she assured him, touching his cheek and looking back to Peggy who was still smiling, still warm, and still watching her with something like grave concern. “Peggy, I have missed you so much. And your son is all grown up, I didn’t even recognize him!”

  “The kids have gotten big, eh?” Peggy Garcia smiled.

  “Big kids, big trouble,” Jordan said, stepping into the foyer with Jeremy and Joe at his side, the three of them bringing in luggage.

  “We’ve been waiting for you to head out to South Beach,” Alex said, slipping an arm around her mother.

  “South Beach? Tonight?” Kathy asked, dismayed. She’d gotten up at five to finish packing and she’d put in a whole day of work. She’d clenched her chair arm for the entire flight. She couldn’t go out. Not tonight.

  “Mom, you have been gone a long time,” Bren moaned, her amber eyes wide. “It’s the most happening place in the world. The clubs are great.”

  “Is she old enough for those clubs?” Kathy asked Jordan. He’d changed again since she’d seen him last. Shaved. The beard and mustache were gone. He looked younger. She felt more haggard.

  “I let her go with her sister and Angel and a friend of his—don’t worry, it’s a guy I’ve checked out.”

  “This can be a dangerous city.”

  “Right. That’s why we’ve been waiting for you to come out with us. So you can look after us,” Alex said cheerfully. “Ask Dad, there’s some great music out there. We know what to avoid and what’s okay.”

  “And how to manage ourselves,” Bren murmured dryly. “But, Mom, we want to go out with you.”

  “Kathy, I’ve been dying to see South Beach,” Jeremy urged. She was certain that Bren had just stomped on his foot, “hinting” for help.

  She looked to Peggy for help herself. “You’ve all just got to forgive me. Jordan, honest, I know they’ll be happy with you—”

  “Not on your life,” Jordan said. “I’ve been staying in for the last week. I’ve been tripping over paparazzi out there lately.”

  “Dad is acting old and weary. We had high hopes for you,” Alex said. She stood as her father did, leaning back slightly, her arms crossed over her chest as she smiled at Kathy, still certain of a good response, now that she’d been challenged.

  But Kathy shook her head. “I can’t. Honest to God.”

  “Jeremy is dying to see South Beach,” Bren reminded her.

  “And Jeremy should see it,” Kathy said. “He won’t mind going with you.”

  “But Mom—” Bren began again.

  “Hey!” Alex said suddenly to her sister. “You know, if she’s worn out, she’s worn out. And if Jeremy wants to come, he’s welcome. Right?”

  “Well, I don’t know. If Kathy is tired—” Jeremy began.

  “Mom wouldn’t dream of holding you back,” Bren said. Both of Kathy’s daughters stared at her innocently.

  “Excuse me!” Joe Garcia interrupted. “Angel and me, we will take the bags on up to the rooms, eh? He’ll be right back down and take anyone who decides to go down to the beach. Eh, Jordan?”

  Jordan, slightly on the outside of the group, arms crossed over his chest a
nd his stance similar to that of his oldest daughter, smiled and nodded. “Sounds good to me. Girls, you haven’t let your mother and Mr. Hunt out of the doorway. Want to give them a little breathing space?”

  “Sure,” Alex said, edging toward the two tiled steps that led down to the massive, high-ceilinged living room of the house. Toward the back wall a broad, curving stairway led up to the second floor. To the right, another few steps led out to the rear glassed-in patios, and to the far left, a coral rock fireplace stretched across half the wall. “Jeremy, you’re not too tired, are you? You don’t need to change, you look great.”

  And he did—as always. He had a flair for clothes. He wore jeans, but they were jet black unfaded, well pressed. His shirt was a cool blue silk. He could pass for well dressed or casual.

  “No, I...uh...don’t need to change,” he said, but he looked quickly to Kathy. “I don’t feel that I should go—”

  “It’s—all right, really,” she insisted.

  “Great!” Alex said. She kissed her mother’s cheek, then her father’s, and grabbed Jeremy’s hand. “Tell Angel we headed out to the car. Love you. both. Don’t wait up. We won’t be too late.”

  She was out the door in a flash, dragging Jeremy behind her. Bren, looking a bit guilty, kissed her mother, then her father, then her mother again, and hurried after the other two.

  “What can I get for you?” Peggy asked Kathy. “Are you hungry? Airplane food is so awful—”

  “The plane food was just fine,” Kathy said. “I’m not hungry in the least.”

  Joe and Angel came back down the stairs then. Angel arched a brow to Jordan and looked at Kathy.

  “The Wild Bunch is in the car,” Jordan said.

  “Kathy, we haven’t convinced you to come?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. Have a nice night. And keep a good eye on my daughters, will you?”

  He grinned. “I always do.”

  He turned, kissed his mother, nodded to his father and Jordan, and started on out. “Don’t wait up, they’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

  When the door had closed, Joe cleared his throat. “I, for one, cannot wait up for the young ones. If you will all excuse me... Jordan, if there is nothing else you need?”

  “All set, Joe. Thanks... and good night.”

  “Peggy?” her husband queried.

  “I think Kathy needs something to eat,” Peggy said stubbornly.

  “Peggy, I’m fine, honest. And if I weren’t—”

  “If she weren’t, and if I intended to starve her, she’d still remember where the kitchen was,” Jordan said firmly.

  Peggy grimaced. “Mock me if you will!” she said good-naturedly. “Good night then.” Impulsively she hugged Kathy again. “It is just so good to see you back, mia amiga!” she whispered affectionately. But she quickly joined her husband then, bidding them both good night.

  When they were gone, Kathy found herself still in the foyer, alone with Jordan. A sudden, sharp, knifing sweep of nostalgia swept over her. Nothing had changed here. Nothing. She could see the huge Chesterfield she had bought—in dreadful condition and refurbished herself—sitting across from the fireplace, right where it had always been. Her handsome Cavalier paintings still hung on the walls. The wicker furnishings were out on the glassed-in patio.

  “Well, welcome back,” Jordan said lightly.

  She grinned ruefully. “The girls were really anxious to see me.”

  “They’ve only been away from you for two days,” he reminded her.

  “I really hope you didn’t stay here to be polite.”

  “I stayed here because I haven’t the stamina to go out.”

  She nodded, felt her heart take a damning plunge, and inquired, “Where’s Miss Hughes?”

  “Bimini.”

  “Oh?”

  “She had a shoot. I imagine she’ll arrive for the party by Monday.”

  “Oh,” Kathy murmured.

  “Come on in. I can’t believe your daughters didn’t get you all the way into the house before disappearing. With your friend.”

  Kathy kept quiet, hurrying ahead when she felt his hand on the small of her back, urging her toward the patio. She took the steps down, sank gratefully onto the well-padded armchair near the sliding door to the pool and outside area.

  Jordan came after, stepping behind the bar. For a second she winced as she heard a blender whir. She arched a brow as he approached her with a something that looked like a chocolate Slurpee.

  “Mudslide. Alex’s invention.”

  “She isn’t twenty-one yet,” Kathy murmured, accepting the drink.

  “They were in honor of you.”

  “Weren’t they all supposed to share in it then?” Kathy queried, watching as he walked back across the bar, taking one of the tall rattan seats. She suddenly smiled. “I mean, this is an awkward situation, isn’t it? The ex-wife coming back to her old house?”

  “I don’t feel awkward.”

  “I sure as hell do.”

  He shrugged, a glitter of amusement in his eyes. “Drink the damned mudslide then. Relax.”

  “Just another night around the house, right?” Kathy queried. She sipped the drink. It tasted like a chocolate Slurpee. A little sweet, but smooth and easy. She sipped it again. What the hell! She presumed she could sleep all morning if she chose.

  “Is it really that hard for you to go out now?” she asked him, a touch of sympathy in her voice.

  He nodded. Waved a hand in the air. “Most of the time I do what I please. I might be asked for a few autographs if I go out to dinner. But there’s been a surge of renewed interest since the movie business started up. A few of the weekly tabloids have hit on the fact that Keith will have been dead for exactly ten years on the night of the benefit. It’s made things a little uncomfortable. How about you? How’s your job? Do you get hounded about the past?”

  She shook her head. “Not often. My young authors usually don’t associate me with any kind of fame. Some people are aware of my connection with Blue Heron, but most of them are through with asking questions about that by now.”

  “What about your older authors? Do they ever wonder why a rock star turned into an editor?”

  She shrugged. “I always tell them rock stars like to have backup careers, that they wear out and want to get out somewhere along the line.”

  “So which was it with you? Did you get old or worn out?”

  “Both.”

  “You’re a liar,” he said suddenly.

  “Damn you, Jordan, I like my work, I love my work!”

  “I’m not disputing that! Yes, you love books, writing, words, you always have!” She sensed tension in him again, the same tension she had felt when he had gripped her arms so tightly that night in New York. “But you didn’t change your life because you were old or because you were tired or because you were afraid you would be. What you did was drop out. You just dropped out.”

  “All right,” she said smoothly after a moment. “Maybe I wasn’t old or tired. Maybe I got hurt.”

  “You left me,” he shot back swiftly.

  “You divorced me,” she reminded him, as quickly.

  “You left me and took my children to a hotel room in New York.”

  “I booked two hotel rooms in New York. If you had wanted to talk with me, I was waiting.”

  “I don’t remember an invitation. I didn’t know I was supposed to come, that it was a command performance. You walked out on me. Left me.”

  “Damn it, Jordan, I might have moved out of the house. But you’d left me long before I walked out.” She was silent a second, then told him, “It seemed you actually left me the night Keith died.”

  He was dead silent then, staring at her. He stood, walking to the patio doors.

  After a moment he spoke, his voice deep and husky with a startling emotion. “You lied to me.”

  “I lied? About what?”

  “About being with Keith.”

  She stood herself, both
surprised, dismayed, and amazingly hurt all over again. “I didn’t lie to you. I wasn’t over there.”

  “I saw you.”

  “I don’t know who or what you saw, but it wasn’t me! Damn you, Jordan, it wasn’t me!”

  She realized suddenly that nothing had changed. Nothing at all. They’d had this same argument before.

  The very night she had left.

  She set her drink down on the coffee table before the chair. “We’ve had this fight before!” she reminded him angrily. “I will not get into it again!”

  He was silent, staring at her. Then, “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Did he mean it?

  “Really, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry because you caused a fight tonight, within thirty minutes of my arrival? Sorry that you still believe I’m a liar? Or sorry that you thought I was one to begin with?” she demanded.

  “Kathy, I—”

  “Fine.”

  “I was about to say I believe you. I just don’t know what the hell happened back then.”

  “I don’t know either,” she murmured. “But I really am exhausted, and I don’t want to revive old fights. I’m going to bed. Thank you for the drink, for the hospitality.”

  She spun around and started for the stairs with great dignity. Halfway there, she realized that she was wrong, that something had changed. She had changed. She wasn’t his wife anymore, and it wasn’t her house anymore.

  She might be going to bed, but she didn’t know where.

  She turned back to him, clearing her throat, trying to maintain the precious dignity that was so damned important to her. “Excuse me. Which room is mine for my stay?”

  “Your old one.”

  “What?” She didn’t mean to snap it out; she did.

  “Don’t worry; I won’t be in it.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, then curiosity got the better of her. “You moved out of the master bedroom?”

  He shrugged. “Just for the time being. I needed the rooms. Jeremy has my office. I didn’t know what kind of arrangements you wanted. With the whole crew coming in along with your mom and my dad, I needed all the rooms in the main house. I’m out in the guest house for this time.”