LOW PRESSURE

by BROWN SANDRA

  “It hurts,” Bellamy whispered.

  Olivia stroked the back of her hand. “Don’t be too hurt. Even I wasn’t introduced to William until after they’d been together for more than a year.”

  “It didn’t wound you to be shut out?”

  “Of course it did, but I was given no other choice except to honor Steven’s wishes for privacy. Years ago, he asked for distance from the family.” She smiled sadly. “I granted it because I love him, and I understood where he was coming from.”

  Her expression turned reflective. “He didn’t have a very happy childhood. He watched his father die slowly of ALS. He’d barely reached adolescence when I married Howard. Who couldn’t have been a better stepfather,” she was quick to add. “But Steven’s transition into the new family was difficult.”

  Olivia had no idea how difficult.

  “He was fine with you,” she said. “You two took to each other right away. But he and Susan had personality clashes. Steven was introverted, Susan the polar opposite.” If Olivia believed personality issues were the only problem that had existed between Steven and Susan, then clearly Steven had kept Susan’s abuse hidden from her and Howard. If he had wanted them to know, he would have told them, so his secret would remain safe with Bellamy.

  “Sometimes I think . . .” Olivia hesitated, but when Bellamy prompted her with an inquisitive tip of her head, she continued. “I think Steven must have felt a bit abandoned when Howard and I married. He’d had me all to himself for years, then suddenly had to share me with another man. And my love for Howard was so passionate, so consuming, that Steven might have felt slighted.”

  She dabbed at fresh tears and spoke in a voice made husky by emotion. “Howard is my Prince Charming, you know. My knight in shining armor. I loved my first husband dearly, but what I felt for him was like a spark to a bonfire when compared to the way I feel about your father. When we met, Howard seemed larger than life to me. Can you appreciate that?” She looked into Bellamy’s eyes, seeking understanding on a woman-to-woman basis.

  Bellamy nodded. To her twelve-year-old self, Dent had been larger than life. He’d been that way in her daydreams as well. “Yes. I know exactly what you mean.”

  “My first husband’s prolonged illness had been a financial drain. There wasn’t much left in the coffer after he died, so I was lucky to have my job at the accounting firm. I wasn’t a charity case, but I was on a budget.

  “So here I was, a working single mom. And there was Howard, a man of wealth, importance, and position. He excited and terrified me all at once.”

  “Why terrified you?”

  “I knew from the start that he had fallen in love with me, knew he wanted me in his life. He told me so on our second date. And, Lord knows, I wanted him. But I was afraid of failing to live up to his expectations. What if he thought that I’d married him only for the security and benefits that came with him? I would have loved him no matter what, and wanted so badly to make him happy, to make his life as full and complete as he’d made mine.”

  Bellamy squeezed her hand. “You have. There’s absolutely no doubt of that, Olivia. You’ve been his lifeblood. As his only surviving child, it almost pains me to say this, but when he draws his last breath, it will be your name on his lips.”

  With a sob, Olivia leaned forward and rested her forehead against Bellamy’s shoulder. For a time, Bellamy stroked her back, giving her what small comfort she could when her Prince Charming was about to leave her.

  Eventually she sat up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Okay, I’ve had my cry. We got off the subject. Why did you go see Steven at this particular time?”

  “Even when I was researching my book, he was reluctant to talk to me about that Memorial Day. We’d never discussed it as adults. I wanted to hear his point of view.”

  The warmth she’d shared with Olivia just moments earlier cooled significantly. Olivia bowed her head and stroked her furrowed forehead with the pads of her fingers.

  “Bellamy, Howard and I held our peace when you were writing the book. We didn’t like the idea, but it wasn’t our place to interfere. But this . . . this obsession of yours is puzzling and upsetting. Terribly upsetting if I’m being honest. We don’t understand it.” Raising her head, she met Bellamy eye to eye. “Don’t you want to put the incident behind you, forget it?”

  “I can’t,” Bellamy whispered earnestly. But she refrained from telling her stepmother that she couldn’t forget what she couldn’t remember.

  She was spared having to say anything more when a nurse entered the room. “Mrs. Lyston, the doctor will be available shortly to speak with you. In the meantime, Mr. Lyston is conscious if you want to go in.”

  Olivia gave Bellamy a nudge. “You go. He’ll want to see you.” Then, clutching Bellamy’s hand, she added, “But promise me you won’t upset him with talk of Susan’s death.”

  Bellamy was shocked by how much her father had declined over the two days since she’d seen him. His cheeks and eye sockets were deeply sunken, making his face look skeletal. He breathed through colorless, partially open lips even though he was getting supplemental oxygen through a cannula. Beneath the light blanket, his form looked pathetically unsubstantial.

  She moved to the bedside and took his frail hand in hers. At her touch, his eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hey, good-lookin’. Whacha got cookin’?”

  It was their special greeting, one that had made her giggle as a girl, especially if it was accompanied by a gentle poke to her ribs. Now, she smiled through her tears.

  “Forgive me for not standing,” he said.

  “You’re forgiven.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

  “Sit.”

  Mindful of all the tubes and lines snaking from beneath the covers to various machines, she carefully lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

  “Where’s Olivia?” he asked.

  “Waiting to talk to the doctor.”

  “He’s going to tell her she needs to give up and let go.” His voice was creaky with emotion and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Help her through this, Bellamy.”

  “You know I will.”

  He clasped her hand more tightly. “There’s something else I need you to do for me.”

  “Don’t worry about the business. It’s a well-oiled machine that practically runs itself. But I’m willing to do whatever you need me to.”

  “This isn’t about the company. It’s about Susan.”

  Bellamy glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting Olivia to be there admonishing her to remember her promise. “Let’s not talk about her, Daddy. It pains you too much.”

  “Your book—”

  “Upset you. I know. I’m sorry. I never meant—”

  “You raised questions.”

  Unsure of what he was getting at, she said nothing.

  “Was that intentional?”

  “No,” she replied, releasing her breath slowly. “But as the story unfolded, implied questions emerged. I suppose they’ve been buried in my subconscious.”

  “In mine, too.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve harbored questions, too.”

  She was stunned. “Such as?”

  “Primarily, I question the same thing that tabloid columnist did. Allen Strickland went to prison for killing Susan. But did he do it? I don’t want to die with uncertainty, Bellamy.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t him?”

  “Maybe it was. But I don’t want to spend eternity with maybe. I need to know.”

  Her visit with Steven had left her feeling that the preteen Bellamy had been better off not knowing everything that was happening around her. She also came away realizing that Low Pressure had been written from a very naive perspective.

  On that Memorial Day, there had been strong undercurrents at play, nuances that, as a twelve-year-old, she hadn’t perceived. Even if she had sensed them, she wouldn’t have had the maturity to identify and u
nderstand them.

  Dent had cautioned her that any truths uncovered might be terribly ugly, possibly explosive, worse even than the one she’d learned about Steven and Susan. She had come close to believing that the course safest to her peace of mind would be to leave the past alone.

  But now, her father was asking her to dig deeper. How could she refuse to grant—or at least attempt to grant—his dying wish? His asking this of her renewed her resolve to continue turning over stones regardless of the ugliness she might find beneath.

  “I want to know with certainty, too, Daddy. Since I wrote the book, very recently in fact, some things have come to light that I didn’t know.”

  “For instance?”

  “Susan was seeing other boys, not just Dent Carter.”

  “You’ve been talking to him?”

  “Among others.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “He’s given me no reason to distrust him.”

  “He wouldn’t, though, would he? Has he romanced you yet?”

  She cast her eyes down.

  Knowing what that signified, he grimaced. “Ask yourself why he’s latched on to you, Bellamy.”

  “Why do you think he has?”

  “He wants to trump all of us. What better way to get the last laugh than by taking you to bed?” As though the thought of that caused him grief, he sighed and closed his eyes. Several moments ticked by before he reopened them. “Talk to the detective.”

  “Dale Moody?”

  “Start with him. I watched him during Strickland’s trial. He was a troubled man. Find out why.” He squeezed her hand again. “Will you do this for me?”

  She made him the only promise she could. “I’ll do my best.”

  “You always have.” He reached up and touched her cheek with fingers the color and texture of parchment. “You always strived to please. You wanted everyone to be happy. I think you even married a man you didn’t love only because you knew Olivia and I approved of him.”

  “Water under the bridge, Daddy.”

  “Don’t let me off the hook so easily. I didn’t consider your happiness nearly as often as you considered mine. You sort of got obscured by the tragedy of Susan, which preoccupied Olivia and me through Strickland’s trial. Then we became so wrapped up in rebuilding our lives, I fear we viewed the big picture, and didn’t pay enough attention to what was right in front of us.”

  “Daddy, I never felt obscured or overlooked. I swear. I was shy. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.” She patted his hand. “You were there anytime I needed you, and I always knew you loved me.”

  She wanted to throw herself over him, to hold on tight, and beg him not to leave her. When he was gone, she wouldn’t have any blood relatives left, and knowing that filled her with despair and a terrifying sense of finality.

  But she wouldn’t add a display of childish fears and sorrow to his own suffering. He wasn’t choosing to die. He didn’t want to leave Olivia, or her, or life itself. The best demonstration of her love would be to make his passing as peaceful as possible.

  “If I do this,” she said softly, “I can’t stay here with you.”

  “I want you here. But it’s more important to me that you find out if they punished the right man, and you haven’t got much time.”

  By way of a pledge, she kissed his forehead again. “I understand, Daddy. You want peace. You need to know.”

  He held her near him for a moment longer and whispered, “So do you.”

  Dent took a bite of his jalapeño and Jack cheese omelet and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Do you plan on telling me, or what?”

  Seated across from him, Bellamy situated the paper napkin in her lap and used her fork to rearrange the food on her plate, which he noticed she’d barely touched. Throughout the meal, she’d avoided making eye contact with him, and the tension in the IHOP booth was palpable. He’d decided to address it.

  “Tell you what?” she asked.

  “Why you’re giving me the silent treatment. On the flight home, you said no more than three words.”

  “The headset was uncomfortable.”

  “It didn’t seem to bother you on the flight down.”

  “Well, it was hurting my ears on the flight back. Besides, I didn’t want to distract you. It was an unfamiliar cockpit, remember?”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the safety precaution. But since we landed, in fact since we left the hospital in Houston, you’ve been noticeably incommunicado. Of course, I’m merely your chauffeur.” The remark finally earned him eye contact.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Figure it out.”

  “You volunteered to fly me down there, Dent.”

  “No I didn’t. Gall volunteered me.”

  “You didn’t have to agree to it.”

  “But I did. Gladly. Which begs the question of why you treated me like a leper once we got there.”

  Her face turned bright pink, indicating to him that she knew exactly why he was a bit hacked. She’d emerged from the ICU looking wounded and miserable, and, when he’d pushed himself away from the wall of the corridor where he’d been waiting, she’d walked straight to him.

  By instinct, his arms had closed around her to provide a comforting hug, but when he touched her, she’d gone as rigid as a two-by-four. He’d dropped his arms, and she’d left him to join Olivia, who was standing nearby quietly weeping into a tissue. Since leaving that ICU, Bellamy had kept her distance.

  Not that he cared. But it pissed him off all the same, especially after the way she’d cozied up to him last night and then had left him wanting. And because he still was. Wanting.

  “If I didn’t fawn over you,” she said snidely, “it could be because my mind is on something else. Like, that may be the last time I see my dad alive. Something preoccupying like that.”

  Shit. Now he felt like a heel for deliberately provoking her. Being a nice guy was work, and he obviously had a long way to go before he got it right. “Considering the way of things, my complaining was selfish. I’m sorry.”

  She made a dismissive motion with her shoulder.

  “Did you two have an emotional parting?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why’d you part?”

  “What?”

  “If he’s that near death, why’d you leave? I figured I would be flying back alone, that you would stay in Houston so you could be there with him when he died. Why were you in such a hurry to get back to Austin tonight?”

  She picked up a french fry, but returned it to her plate without eating it. “We had a sobering conversation.”

  He gave her a pointed look.

  “About matters that are private.”

  “Hmm.” But he continued to hold her gaze.

  Finally she said, “He advised me not to trust you.”

  So much for trying to be a nice guy. He speared a sausage link, taking his anger out on it. “Howard Lyston’s dying words, and they’re about me. I’m flattered.”

  “It wasn’t only about you. He asked me to do something for him.”

  “Pick out his burial suit?”

  She glared at him.

  “It’s gotta be something that urgent or you’d still be down there.”

  She fumed for several more seconds, then turned her head away and looked through the window out across the parking lot of the restaurant. When she came back to him, she said, “Before he dies, Daddy wants to know for certain that Allen Strickland was the man who killed Susan.”

  Reading his startled expression, she said, “Yes, you heard right.” She then recounted the conversation with her father.

  When she finished, Dent frowned. “He’s had doubts about Strickland’s guilt all these years?”

  “It seems so.”

  “And he raises the question now? Now. When he’s on his deathbed? Jesus!” Frankly, he thought laying this burden on Bellamy at this particular time was a shitty thing for her father to do, but he edited the way h
e expressed his opinion. “He’s given you an awfully tall order. Does he realize that?”

  “He said I needed to know the truth, too. Basically, when you think about it, he’s only asked me to do what I was already doing.”

  Yes, but failing herself was one thing. Failing her dying father was quite another. Dent didn’t express that opinion at all, because he was certain Bellamy had already thought of it. That would explain why she looked like she’d been beaten with the chain that she was now using to tow the weight of the world.

  He tried to wash down his resentment toward Howard Lyston with a sip of ice water. “Okay, what’s your next move?”

  With a weary gesture, she pushed back a strand of hair. “Daddy suggested I talk with Dale Moody.”

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him about anything, but Moody’s a good choice.”

  “I have to find him first. I wanted to interview him for my book. He couldn’t be found.”

  “I’ll help.”

  She looked at him uneasily. “Dent, I can’t keep asking you to—”

  “You didn’t ask.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Oh, wait. I’m untrustworthy.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “No? Then why are you looking at me like you’re trying to see past a disguise?”

  “I know you want to clear your name.”

  He waited for more, and when she didn’t proceed, he leaned forward. “But?”

  “But is that your only motive for sticking around?”

  “What does Daddy think? You listen to him and respect his opinion. Why does he think I’m hanging around?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Liar. What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.” He continued to try to stare the answer out of her, but her lips stayed stubbornly compressed. “Fine,” he said. “Truth is, I don’t give a damn what your daddy thinks about me. But I’ll be perfectly candid with you as to why I’d like a tête-à-tête with Moody: Payback.”

  “Is that supposed to relieve my concern? You can’t—”

  “Relax. I won’t do anything physical.” After a beat, he added, “Probably.” He gestured to her plate. “Finished?” When she nodded, he slid out of the booth.

  She excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. He told her he’d settle the bill and bring the car around.