The Edge of Recall

by Kristen Heitzmann

  He drew himself up, cool and reserved again, professional. “So back to work?”

  “Sure. I think I’ll wander around with my eyes shut for a while.”

  He showed a flashing remorse for yesterday’s comment, then inclined his head. “You’re the expert.”

  She ducked into the office for her sketchbook and laptop, but before she could escape, Bair looked up.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes. Sorry about Katy.”

  Bair flushed, drowning out his freckles. “It was getting awkward anyway. With the non-disclosure and whatnot.”

  “Curious girl.”

  “I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

  She almost laughed. Of all the things that had stressed her, Katy’s curiosity came in a pitiable last. “No, Bair. It didn’t.”

  “I know the meal . . . wasn’t . . . great. . . .”

  “It’s the thought that counts. I’m sure Katy appreciated it.” Though if anyone could be oblivious to Bair’s effort, Katy fit the bill.

  Bair looked as if he wanted to correct her misinterpretation, but Tessa grabbed the laptop before he could go on and escaped. Smith was busy with his palm device as she swept past, wanting nothing more than to immerse herself in her work and forget either of them existed.

  She found a spot overlooking the labyrinth to finish constructing the preliminary CAD drawing she would submit to Smith. As she worked, the breeze stirred around her. A lazy bee droned by. Ordinarily she’d be at her desk, in the office. That Smith’s presence made it impossible she considered a blessing.

  After several hours of working in the sun, Tessa went back to her car for the cooler that held her lunch and fortified water. Her forehead and the back of her neck were damp with perspiration. She put the cool bottle to her cheek and closed her eyes until the sound of a car caught her attention—mainly the fact that it was being driven hard with the sonorous proof that it was built for it.

  A high-performance roadster whizzed through the open gate and stopped a few yards away. The woman who stepped out could only be Petra Sorenson. Her legs alone appeared to be six feet long, with shin bones that looked as though they’d been pressed to a crease. Her features were gaunt, and her eyebrows angled out to a point. She wore her platinum white hair styled close to her head with a fan of black hair across the back of her neck. The effect was a little Cruella De Vil, but Petra made it stunning.

  Tessa remained perched against the trunk of her rental car as the woman gave her the once-over and said, “Wife or girlfriend?”

  She closed the lid of her bottle. “Tessa Young. Landscape architect. I’m in charge of your labyrinth.”

  The woman raised her brows. “The Neanderthals hired a female?”

  “It’s my specialty. Smith had no choice.” And probably regretted it now.

  Petra’s mouth pulled, and the overweening smile really worked on her. Tessa watched her enter the trailer without knocking and wished she could have seen the effect.

  A moment later, Bair ducked his head out. “Er, Tessa, would you . . . join us, please?” He held the door as she closed up the cooler and went inside.

  Smith slanted her a glance. “Petra wants to share some ideas.”

  Bair brought his desk chair around and awkwardly bumped it into the back of Petra’s legs. Anyone else would have toppled, but she managed a controlled descent. Her slick short skirt left more than enough leg to hold both men’s attention.

  Petra folded her fingers around her knee. “I’d like to see the blueprints.”

  “They’re still in process,” Smith told her. “I have the preliminary design.” He reached for his portfolio. “Dictated by what Mr. Gaston described and elements of the etchings he provided.”

  Tessa recognized Smith’s exacting hand in the drawings he handed over.

  Petra looked from one sketch to the next. “What’s this?”

  “The master suite.”

  Tessa saw the round window figuring prominently in the design. Somehow she hadn’t thought of it in Petra’s bedroom.

  “Where’s the Roman bath?”

  “I . . . hadn’t heard about a Roman bath. Mr. Gaston spec’d an Italian marble soaking tub there.” He pointed.

  Petra raised an eyebrow. “Marble’s fine. I want it sunken. Five steps at least and much bigger.” She studied the drawing, then pressed her finger. “Here?”

  Tessa startled when Petra directed the question to her. “Smith would have to—”

  “Maybe circular? Beneath the window?”

  Tessa imagined Petra bathing beneath the window that overlooked the innermost sanctum of the labyrinth. So much for sacred geometry.

  Smith straightened. “It’s not possible to put a sunken bath in an upper level. It would have to be raised.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . there’s a ceiling underneath.”

  Tessa caught the hint of condescension he struggled to conceal.

  Petra thrust out her lower lip. “Move it to the first floor, then.”

  “The bath?”

  “The master suite.”

  Smith did a slow blink. “Mr. Gaston located it in that upper central position.”

  “Then find a way to sink the tub. Now, I’ll need a runway from the closet. Mirrored. I have to see how an outfit performs.” She glanced over, probably realized Tessa didn’t share that need, and turned back to the plan. She touched the closet section of the sketch. “Longer through here. Mirror both walls. I’ll need at least six strides.”

  Smith tried for a smile. “Maybe the three of us should sit down, you and Rumer together, before I proceed.”

  “I want to surprise him.”

  Smith leaned back. “These are major change orders. I’ll have to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  “Rumer wants me happy.”

  Bair covered a snort with a cough.

  “I’m sure,” Smith said ingenuously. “But something as monumental as relocating the master suite—”

  “Monumental?”

  “Mr. Gaston was firm on its placement. He wants to look out from there, over the maze and gardens.”

  “Oh, that old maze.” She turned. “Do we need it?”

  Tessa hid her alarm. “The labyrinth will be the centerpiece of the whole property. Unique and chic. The window in the upstairs room mirrors its center in perfect symmetry. Really good stuff.”

  Petra frowned. “Make it a gallery or something, then. I’ve loads of photos and covers.”

  With all those pictures of herself, would she ever think to look out the window?

  Petra counted off on her impossibly long fingers. “The Roman bath, the runway, oh, and the massage room.”

  Smith saw his escape. “We could locate your Roman bath and massage room in the solarium.” He flipped the page back to the main level. “Here.”

  “Solarium.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s so last century.”

  “Mr. Gaston envisions it a cigar room. But we could incorporate a sunken tub, massage table, and even a sauna, without doing violence to the plan.”

  Petra skewered him with a look. “Se-ve-riously. Why would I open my pores in his cigar room?”

  Smith conceded the point. “I could relocate the humidor. Maybe to the library, here.” He pointed.

  “Library? Where would you put the retro discothèque?”

  Smith’s mouth parted, but it was a long moment before his reply came. “When would be a good time for the three of us to meet?”

  Petra’s eyes narrowed, and Tessa saw a crack in her façade. “You want Rumer to overrule me.”

  “Ms. Sorenson, I want this house to be everything you both want it to be. You have innovative ideas I’d gladly incorporate. But they’re not blending with the vision Mr. Gaston and I discussed before your engagement. I’m only suggesting—”

  “Wipe it out.”

  “What?”

  “All the starchy library stuff, the cigar room, the—”

&n
bsp; Tessa interrupted before she could ax the labyrinth. “Maybe the four of us could sit down. Then you won’t be outnumbered.”

  Smith’s gray eyes concealed his reaction to that. If it seemed she had aligned against him, she couldn’t help it. Petra was apparently unsure of Rumer Gaston’s flexibility, and had hoped to inveigle Smith into working behind her fiancé’s back. She must not realize the tight fist Gaston had on this project, or the fact that Smith would relay any such changes to the owner, in any event.

  Petra studied her intently, then, assuming she had an ally, said, “All right. The four of us. Rumer’s lapdog will call with his schedule.” She arose from the chair like Cleopatra from her throne. How did someone learn to move like that?

  Bair stared after her until the engine roared to life.

  Smith leaned back in his chair, his jaw out of joint as Petra drove away. “Guess that puts the skids on.”

  Bair nodded. “Think she was serious, or just jerking our chains?”

  “She’s serious,” Tessa interjected. She had no doubt.

  Smith pushed up from the chair. “I hope they can come together on something before we end up with a his-and-hers monstrosity. Let’s go get lunch.”

  Bair looked at her. “Tessa?”

  “I brought my own.” She faked a smile. Smith hadn’t intended her inclusion, but Bair didn’t know that.

  “Welcome to join us,” Smith said without looking.

  “No thanks.” She headed for the door, knowing her exit would be nothing like Petra’s. She didn’t care. If Smith couldn’t look at her when offering an invitation, then she wanted no part of it. She wasn’t hungry anyway. The sandwich she had brought would only turn in her stomach.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Tessa heard the Land Rover leave as she stalked back to the labyrinth. Having the whole place to herself, she drew a deep breath, and it felt like the first time she’d breathed since arriving. Last night’s panic had fled, and the sunbathed field welcomed her.

  She had told herself she was fine forgetting last night, but she wasn’t fine. It stung that Smith was. She jammed the shovel into the ground, heaved the dirt, and jammed in the shovel again.

  She wasn’t crazy enough to think she could uncover the entire pathway herself. She simply wanted to discover all she could of its original construction, to sense, if she could, something more than she’d been able to learn about its creator. She closed her eyes and drained the animosity from her mind so she wouldn’t taint with anger a path that had been laid in reverence to God.

  The only way she would maintain that focus was to press Smith out of her thoughts completely. She imagined the path restored, rebuilt where needed, new plants taking root, the gate repaired, rehung. The silence that would permeate the space where pilgrims walked—no, where Petra walked—if she ever bothered with “that old maze.”

  Tessa sighed. It might feel like more, but it was still a job. This was her living, Petra the client. Maybe she could gear the labyrinth to the supermodel as she’d modified the last for Alicia Beauprez. A little retro discothèque in the center. She groaned at the sacrilegious thought.

  Mazes were frequently built for fun and entertainment, but not the Cathedral labyrinth intended as a symbolic pilgrimage to the Holy Land. How could she reconcile that with these owners? Line the hedge with mirrors?

  She needed to calm down and do her job. Just relax and . . . That reminded her she had not checked in with Dr. Brenner as she’d promised. It was always harder the day after a crisis, partly because she had to face the fact that she wasn’t able to cope alone, and partly the embarrassment of having been so transparent. She closed her eyes. Just get it over with.

  He returned her message within ten minutes. “Hello, Tessa.” His unvaried greeting revealed little of his frame of mind.

  “Calling to let you know I’m all right. And thanks.”

  “Have you interacted with Smith today?”

  “Successfully. We’re putting it behind us.”

  “Explain that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I asked him to forget it happened, and he’s done so.”

  “Amazing. You two should patent that. There’d be less heartbreak in the world if everyone could simply erase a difficult interlude.”

  “It’s not erased.” Far from it, and talking made it worse. “We’re simply choosing to maintain a professional distance.”

  “And how will that bring the closure you’re after?”

  “That will come when I’m finished with this labyrinth.” She brushed the wispy bangs back from her face.

  “Ah yes, the labyrinth.”

  “I met the property owner—well, one of them. I’m attempting to adapt the labyrinth to her personality.”

  “Master of the safe segue.” He gave a soft laugh. “My appointment’s here anyway. Ciao.”

  His sign-off gave a much better clue than his greeting as to his mood and the degree of satisfaction he felt regarding their communication. Both must be fairly good to rate “Ciao.”

  While she was at it, she called Genie and checked in. The cat was gone, but Tessa assured her he’d be back. “He has to leave once in a while to prove his independence. Otherwise his life is very nearly that of a domesticated animal.”

  “Can’t have that, I guess.” Genie laughed. “Though he’s content with square meals and sun spots the rest of the time.”

  Tessa enjoyed the way they’d begun communicating as friends since Genie had moved in to house-sit. Surrounded by herbs and suncatchers with which Tessa and her mother had filled the rooms, Genie couldn’t help but feel part of them. Maybe Tessa should stop waiting for her to take off.

  “All right, then. Talk soon.”

  With no more immediate distractions, Tessa slid the phone into her pocket, left the spade where it lay, and stepped onto the path. She needed to settle her spirit, sink into the place she hoped to find answers and peace.

  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, then studied the path a moment before moving in, counting her strides as a rhythmic measurement to later plug into the mathematical calculations. The rhythm of the labyrinth worked on a subconscious level, like a sacred dance, especially when traveled with meditational intention. She always strove to make the journey as fruitful as possible.

  As she neared the center, she slowed, finding a block inside her. She searched it intuitively, but it didn’t take much self-realization to attribute it to her resentment toward Smith. To progress past, she would have to forgive the fresh wound he’d caused and surrender her anger. Her steps halted. A true block, then. Would she have to turn back without the fulfillment of reaching the center?

  She needed divine insight, needed divine comfort. Was the anger worth losing that? Yes, if it protected her from the hurt! She clenched her hands. No. It wasn’t. Anger would debilitate. If she allowed a block now, how would she find the purity to re-create what had been laid in reverence?

  She probed the block, realized with some surprise that it stemmed more from the fact that she had enjoyed and desired the kiss than from Smith’s action alone. That was enough, she decided with relief, to break through the block. She would share the blame and, in seeking forgiveness, forgive.

  Tears prickled, tears of gratitude and awe. She had done what she needed in order to complete the path into the center. But as she stood there in silence, only a hollow opened inside her. She sighed and lowered her chin. There was no point forcing it.

  She’d learned long ago that the only constant in her life was disappointment. Maybe she’d accomplished all she needed on the path to the center, and what she’d bring out was the insight she’d gained at the point of blockage. She’d forgiven Smith for last night, forgiven herself for wanting it to be real. Maybe God had no part in something so insignificant.

  She drew herself up and scrutinized the vines clogging the center, vines she recognized with dismay. Maybe it was time to bring in a Bobcat and do a little earthmoving. With a phone call, she arrang
ed for that, then walked the path out, striving at least to leave the disappointment where she’d found it.

  At the exit, she crouched down and lifted the end of the heavy gate. With the Land Rover, she could deliver it to a metal repair shop. The sooner she got it out of the elements the better. But Bair and Smith had taken the Rover.

  Getting a firm grip, she lifted and carried it a few steps, then set the corner down. It was too heavy. The corrosion smeared her hands and thighs. Though the morning had started cool, the muggy air clung to her skin. She rubbed an arm over her forehead and saw Smith coming her way.

  Lunch hadn’t lasted long, or else she’d wrestled with the block longer even than it had seemed. The knot that found her stomach suggested she had maybe not accomplished as much as she’d thought. She laid the gate back down on the ground and braced herself. “I thought you were getting food.”

  “I was. But Rumer phoned. He wants to fly us to Nevada to meet with him and Petra.”

  “Us?”

  “She’s insisting on the foursome you suggested.”

  She had offered to meet, not fly across the country with Smith. “Why Nevada?”

  “He’s opening a new casino in Laughlin.”

  “Can’t the discussion wait until he can come here?”

  Smith looked away. “He’s been here, seen it, described what he wants. He expects us to convince Petra she wants it too.”

  “What?”

  He turned back, his gaze probing hers. “He wants no division in the ranks.”

  “So it’s three against one?”

  Smith spread his hands. “He hopes I . . . we . . . can describe and illustrate the project’s entirety in a manner that will intrigue Petra and help her let go of some ideas that don’t fit.”

  “It will be her house too, Smith.”

  “I know. As I told her, I wouldn’t mind incorporating things she wants, but she and Gaston need to come together on this.”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t want to come together. He wants us to do a hard sell on his fiancée. No wonder she tried to schmooze you instead.”

  “Thank you. I’m obviously a pushover.”

  She rubbed the tarnish on her hands. “I didn’t say that. I just understand now why she came out here by herself with her ideas. She’s marrying a manse lord.”