“I took a risk and trusted you.” Carolina faced him. “Now you take one. Forget everything but this. There’s nothing we can do about any of the rest of it tonight Forget everything but me. Me, and what you want.”
“You are what I want.” For years, he realized—although he’d stopped admitting it to himself after her marriage.
“Maybe if you had told me that a long time ago, I wouldn’t have married Champ. If you had told me you wanted me when we were kids, maybe I would have waited for you. Not that it’s your fault. I was a fool then, a fool who needed pretty words, daydreams and reassurances. But I’m not a fool any longer.”
She reached for his shirt, her long, slender fingers unhooking the buttons and pulling them loose, one by one. She trailed one of those fingers along the newly exposed ribbon of flesh. “They say some things are worth waiting for. Do you think this is one of them?”
He closed his eyes as regret washed over him. If he’d had the courage to tell her his feelings all those years ago, things might have been different. They might have grown together, learned together, and at the beginning of their adult lives, perhaps they might have married. Perhaps this old house would be filled now with the sounds of their life together.
But they were who they were, and they’d done what they’d done. He held her palms flat against his chest and opened his eyes and his heart. “I love you, Carolina. I think I always have.”
Her eyes grew misty. “And I love you.”
He took her lips; she moved closer, and with one kiss the protests and the reassurances disappeared. He found the zipper of her dress; she found the clasp of his belt. They undressed each other quickly, hungry to strip away everything that still separated them.
He was a thoughtful, steady man, a man who considered everything and took care of those around him. Now he was someone else, desperate for the solace and release he would find inside this one special woman. She was beautiful; he registered that much. As perfect, as wholly female, as he had known she would be.
Her skin whispered softly against his, warm and slightly damp in the summer heat. Her hair gleamed like silver in the moonlight and felt like silk against his shoulders and chest. On his bed, she moved against him, her legs tangling with his, her hands exploring greedily, as if she needed to claim all of him at once.
Time lost its meaning except as a way to measure the agony of unrulfillment. He knew how to pleasure a woman, but now knowledge and calculation defied him, and he could only take pleasure in her. He reveled in the exquisite climb toward release, tasting and touching and joyfully drinking in the soft sounds she made.
Then he was inside her, without thought, without plan, without permission. He paused in horror as he realized what he had done.
“Billy…” She lifted her hips in invitation, straining toward him. Her eyes were wide and fixed on his. He realized that by taking his own pleasure, he had brought her to hers.
She was more than ready for him, crying out his name euphorically as he withdrew, then thrust again.
Time lost all meaning then, and there was no longer any agony to measure. Ecstasy grew and exploded at the moment he realized Carolina had found her own ecstasy in his arms.
10
Carolina had not expected to sleep at all that night, but back at home, in the narrow single bed under Maggie’s crocheted coverlet, she dozed fitfully. She had stayed with Billy Ray until after midnight, making slow, healing love again, after their first greedy race to fulfillment. But she had wished she could stay with him until dawn. Before tonight she had only guessed how much pleasure she would find in his arms. The reality had been far sweeter and more explosive than the most detailed fantasy.
She had spent her young adulthood with a man whose interest in sex depended solely on the quantity of drugs or alcohol circulating through his system. Too much or too little, and Champ had been unable or unwilling to make love. And after the first year of their marriage, love had had very little to do with it, anyway. At college, away from the influence of his parents, Champ had been a different man. In those early days she had been able to convince herself that she loved and needed him. But after their return to Moss Bend, those tender feelings had died slowly and painfully, no matter how hard she tried to sustain them.
Now, after just hours in Billy Ray’s arms, she knew that what she had felt for Champ, even in those golden days of their sad relationship, had been nothing compared to what she could feel.
She closed her eyes and tried not to think about Billy Ray or what lay ahead of her. The hearing was set for ten o’clock, and because of the Gray sons’ status, it would probably last longer than most. Judge Sawyer would bend over backward to be certain there were no hints of impropriety; Billy Ray had warned her that he would probably allow the testimony to drag on for hours. He would not want to be accused of making a hasty decision.
Outside her window, she could hear crickets, a constant and somehow comforting drone that screened out more disturbing noises. When Champ had been at his most abusive, she had learned to concentrate on sounds, the whirring of a fan, the hum of a car engine, to remove herself from his grasp. He could scream or slap her, but the most essential part of herself she had kept from him.
Now she concentrated on the crickets, closing her mind to her fears for the children and her fierce desire for a life with Billy Ray. She would get through this night, as she had gotten through others.
The crickets receded as she began to relax. Drifting between wakefulness and sleep, she opened her mind and images paraded leisurely across it. She saw Kitten as an infant, a spunky, demanding baby who had refused all attempts at scheduled feedings and had only been happy when Carolina held her. Chris, in contrast, had slept through the night almost immediately. He had been placid and cheerful, nearly as contented watching the world go by from his infant seat as he was in his mother’s arms.
She could never choose between her children. They had both brought so much into her life. But she was sure that if the Graysons were to choose, Chris was the one they would ask for. Chris, who would pass on the family name.
Chris, who would be easier to mold and easier to destroy.
She sat up, panicked, and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. Then she forced herself to lie back down. Once more she concentrated on the crickets.
Time crept by until she was no longer aware of the passing minutes. Little by little she relaxed again until at last the crickets faded and sleep claimed her. She dreamed she was in a room with too many people. Someone had made a fire in a freestanding fireplace in the corner, and the temperature was well over eighty.
She didn’t like the room. Even the Christmas tree by the front door failed to add a note of cheer. The house embodied the worst of modern architecture. Spaces so undefined that privacy was impossible. Low ceilings, cold tile floors, gray expanses of concrete broken by windows that no one ever opened. Because of the array of hard surfaces, the noise was as unbearable as the heat.
She wanted to go home, but she couldn’t leave Champ. If she asked a friend to take her, Champ would drive himself later, and Champ was in no shape to drive. If she left in the BMW without him, he would take his revenge against her when he got home.
And Champ’s considerable talent for revenge was heightened by liquor, which had been flowing in abundance all night.
“You’re going to leave him, aren’t you?”
Carolina looked up and found that Taylor had joined her. They were standing near the punch bowl and a doorway into the hall, where the room seemed coolest. People came and went here, and Carolina had wedged herself behind the table to avoid conversation. “Heavens no. It’s too early to leave,” she said with a forced smile. “We haven’t even sung Christmas carols.”
“I wasn’t talking about the party.”
Carolina knew that, just as she knew it wasn’t safe to tell Taylor or anyone the truth. She was going to leave Champ. She was going to take the children and run. She had decided that evening on the
way to the party. Now it was simply a matter of waiting for the moment when their chances of escape were best.
“I think you should leave him.” Taylor put her hand on Carolina’s arm. “Your husband’s a no-good bastard.”
The sympathy on Taylor’s face was fixed in Carolina’s mind as she began to rise above the room. Even as she hovered above the house and drifted toward the clouds, she could still see it. Then, as she looked down at a familiar road below her where her own BMW crept toward the house she shared with Champ, Taylor’s face disappeared, and Champ’s, distorted by rage, took its place.
“I’ll kill you, bitch, if you try to leave me! See if I don’t!”
Carolina woke up with Champ’s name on her lips and her head bursting with pain.
Carolina looked lovely, but somber. Her pale hair was pulled back from her face by a dark headband, and she wore a navy suit brightened only by a pale yellow scarf and conservative gold pin. Billy Ray knew that she’d gotten to bed too late last night. After all, he had been the reason. But now, looking at her eyes, he knew that even after she’d returned home, she hadn’t slept.
He took her arm, pulling her against the wall in front of the room in the county courthouse where the hearing was to be held. “Are you all right?”
She attempted a smile that died before it bloomed. “I just have a headache, that’s all. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“I…Billy, I dreamed about the party last night.”
For a moment he didn’t understand. Then he realized what party she was talking about. “Have you done that before?”
“I think I have. The dream seemed…” She shrugged. “Familiar. But I was so upset last night that I woke up right afterward, and I held on to it.” She had been staring at the floor, as if to focus her thoughts. Now she looked up at him. “Do memories return as dreams?”
“I don’t know. But if they do, the court would consider them unreliable, at best.” He was an attorney today. Only her attorney, because to be anything else would damn them both.
“I know. I wasn’t planning to tell the judge, but, Billy, I think…I think I was planning to leave Champ, that I’d decided to do it and he realized it.”
Something clenched inside him. “Do you remember more than that?”
“He was screaming at me…. Before the party or afterward. I don’t know. Maybe both. That wouldn’t be unusual.” She paused. “And Taylor was in the dream. We were at the party, and she asked me if I was going to leave Champ, and I told her no, because I was afraid to tell anyone what I’d decided. She put her hand on my arm.” Carolina put her hand on his arm in demonstration. “She said, ‘I think you should leave him. Your husband’s a no-good bastard.’”
“That’s pretty specific.”
“That’s what she said.”
“She’ll be here later. I’ll ask her if she remembers a conversation like that. If she does, it must mean your memories are beginning to return.”
“I’d like to know what happened that night. Whatever the truth, I could live with it better than this uncertainty.”
He wondered if she would be able to live with Judge Sawyer’s final ruling better than she had lived with that uncertainty. What would Carolina do if Chris and Kitten were sent to live with their grandparents?
He hadn’t slept last night, either.
She dropped her hand and straightened her shoulders to prepare herself. The hearing was due to begin in a few minutes, and some people were already inside, although the Gray sons hadn’t made their appearance.
“Should we go over the things I’ve discussed with you one more time?” Billy Ray asked.
“No. I’m going to be calm, no matter what’s said about me. No scenes, no tantrums. And I need to make it perfectly clear that I’m willing to let the Gray sons see the children, just as long as they understand that all final decisions about their upbringing are mine.”
“No one will hold a few tears against you. But no outbursts, and no accusations you can’t substantiate.” He squeezed her hand. “I trust you. You’ll do fine. Just be the woman I love.”
She smiled, and for a moment she looked like a woman flirting with her lover. Then she sobered. “I’m ready.”
He took her elbow and guided her toward the doorway.
The first few minutes laid the groundwork for the battle. The Graysons had arrived exactly at ten, the judge in an expensive dark suit and Gloria in a matronly dress that had obviously been purchased off the rack for the occasion. For the first time in Billy’s memory she looked like someone who would bake cookies or make doll clothes for her grandchildren.
Their attorney, Sam Franklin, was a senior partner at Moss Bend’s largest firm, a hometown boy with chubby cheeks and thinning hair who might take Judge Grayson’s place on the circuit court bench one day. Billy Ray had gone head to head with Sam often enough to know he was a worthy opponent.
Sam stated the nature of the Graysons’ concerns about Carolina and their reasons for believing that Kitten and Chris would be better off under their supervision.
Since it was Sam’s job to prove his clients were right, the morning belonged to him. As Billy Ray expected, the first person to testify was the psychiatrist, Dr. Jack Bellows, who had been hired by the Graysons to evaluate Carolina’s fitness as a mother. Not coincidental^, he was the same man whom they had hired after the accident to counsel her. Legal wrangling before the hearing had not produced favorable results for Carolina. Because her mental stability was at issue, Billy Ray had not been able to convince the court that anything that had transpired in their early sessions was covered by doctor-patient privilege. Carolina had effectively waived that right by declaring she was mentally fit to be a parent.
Dr. Bellows was a stern-looking, elderly man who glanced at his watch twice and was called to task for it the third time by Judge Sawyer. His testimony was as negative and damaging as Billy Ray and Carolina had known it would be. By the time Billy Ray had a chance to do nothing more than object to a few statements, the stage had been well set.
Billy Ray approached the front when it was his turn to cross-examine the man. “Dr. Bellows, your credentials are impressive. But have you had any experience treating post-traumatic stress syndrome?”
The man frowned. “That’s not my expertise.”
“And your expertise is?”
“Psychoanalysis.”
Billy Ray nodded, as if he understood perfectly. “Could you describe your average patient? Is it someone you treat or evaluate after a serious accident, like the one my client suffered, someone with sudden memory loss, or someone trying to cope with the violent death of a spouse?”
“My average patient is someone who chooses to examine his or her life to discover who he or she is and why he or she behaves as he or she does.” He leaned forward. “Someone who is willing to work with me for years. Psychoanalysis is a long-term proposition.”
“I see. And in the days immediately following the accident, is that what Carolina Grayson told you that she wanted? To analyze the events of her life, starting, I suppose, in early childhood?”
“Carolina Grayson was evasive and angry. As I’ve stated, she refused to admit she had problems.”
“Then why was she seeing you?”
He paused as if he saw the trap. But he couldn’t refuse to answer. “She was there because Judge and Mrs. Grayson believed that she needed help.”
“Let me make sure I understand. Carolina was there under duress. She did not want psychoanalysis, yet it was forced on her. In your professional opinion, wouldn’t this explain her reluctance to talk to you about the things that really mattered to her? Or to feel comfortable sharing her feelings?”
“She was belligerent and uncooperative. When I questioned her about the accident and her part in it she—”
Billy Ray couldn’t believe his luck. “Excuse me, but why would you question her directly about the accident, Dr. Bellows? If your expertise is psychoanalysis and that’s
what she was there for, why would you concentrate on one traumatic event in her recent past? Particularly when you say that’s not your area of expertise?”
“I was doing my best to help her.”
“But not, by your own admission, in any way that you’re truly qualified to help.”
The judge listened to Sam Franklin’s objection and waited for him to spout off a list of Dr. Bellows’ credentials, but Billy Ray guessed his point had been made.
He continued. “Before we finish, Doctor, will you please tell the court why you were chosen to evaluate Carolina for the purposes of this hearing? Do you have any special relationship with the Grayson family?”
“I’ve spent time with them socially.”
“I see. And did you discuss Carolina with them after any of your sessions?”
The doctor was silent.
“Dr. Bellows?”
“I couldn’t discuss the case in any detail. I was bound by rules of confidentiality.”
“Did you discuss Carolina’s case with the Gray sons at all?”
“In general terms,” he said at last.
“I see. And why was that?”
“They were understandably worried.”
“About Carolina? Or about their grandchildren?”
“I don’t know.”
“While you were still working with Carolina after the accident, did they discuss their desire to take custody of the children?”
“I really can’t say.”
“You have to say, Doctor.”
Judge Sawyer affirmed Billy Ray’s words.
The doctor sighed and looked at his watch again. “Yes, Whittier told me he was going to file for custody if Carolina tried to leave with his grandchildren.”
“I see. So while you were working with her, you knew that the Graysons wanted custody.”
He frowned. “Yes. But I don’t see what difference that makes.”
“Don’t you? You were probing for information and making harsh judgments about my client when, to my knowledge, a psychoanalyst does neither. Were you looking for reasons that Carolina should be separated from her children to please your old friends, or were you sincerely trying to help her, Dr. Bellows?”
Southern Gentlemen Page 27
