Читать книгу Journey Of The Heart - Elissa Ambrose - Страница 11

Morning was bright and crisp. Last night’s lusty wind had waned to a breeze, its cool breath lingering in the air. In the margins of the roads, sunlight streamed through the trees, exposing hints of autumn’s palette dappling the leaves. Summer was coming to an end.

Jake stood under the overhang outside the front door, pressing the bell. When no one answered, he tried the large brass knocker. He knew she was home. A Ford Taurus was parked in the driveway leading to the garage behind the house. On the rear bumper, a sticker indicated that it was a rental. “What normal person in New York City owns a car?” he imagined her saying.

He stepped back from under the overhang and glanced around. To Jake, the charming Colonial reproduction was a dignified testament to days gone by. He’d always been drawn to this style of architecture, with its direct outlines and sturdy proportions. Especially pleasing to his eye was the way the chimney jutted out from the center of the roof into the sky, majestically uniting hearth and heaven. He’d always believed there was beauty in this kind of design, and that in this kind of beauty lay truth.

Unfortunately, years of neglect had caused both aesthetic and structural damage. Alongside the house, pieces of clapboard had broken off, exposing wood studs. He looked at the broken fence and frowned. Laura hadn’t lived here in a long time, but the house still belonged to her, and she should have seen to its upkeep.

He walked down the pathway and rested his gaze on the window of Laura’s old bedroom. Was that where she was sleeping these nights? Or had she moved into one of the larger rooms? He couldn’t imagine her spending one hour, let alone one night, in her aunt’s room, even though it had once belonged to her parents.

He made his way around to the back of the house. The steeply pitched roof, which covered a lean-to and sloped down almost to the ground, was in need of repair. Several of the shingles had flipped over, and many were missing altogether. The yard here was as unkempt as it was out front. Weeds had overgrown any signs of healthy plant life, and the once trimmed bushes now resembled a forest. He vaguely remembered a garden, and for a moment he could have sworn he smelled roses. But the memory slipped away like a dream, and the scent was gone.

After completing a circle of the entire property, he found himself back at the front door. Where could she be at eight in the morning? Wanting to apologize for his outburst at the chapel, he’d come by early to make sure he’d catch her at home.

A movement at the living room window caught his eye. Suspended from a swag of faded green velvet, white lace curtains flapped in the breeze like laundry on a line. He cut across the lawn, crashing his way through the overgrown grass and weeds.

What was wrong with that woman? Maybe this wasn’t New York, but she just couldn’t go around leaving her windows open! He pushed aside the fabric and peeked inside. Why was there a light on? He knew she liked it bright, but drawing the curtains would have supplied all the light she needed. She must have left it on all night. His concern mushroomed, and he sprinted back to the front door to try the bell again.

This time if she doesn’t answer, he told himself, I’m going to climb in through the open window.

He knew he was being irrational—she could be asleep, or in the shower—but still, he had the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. It was that radar again, the radar she’d always said was between them. Normally he didn’t go in for all that psycho mumbo jumbo, but it was weird how she used to finish his sentences or tell him what was bothering him when he tried to keep it all inside. Maybe now the radar was working the other way. How else could he explain the nagging in his gut?

Maybe I can pick the lock, he thought, not thrilled with the prospect of climbing onto the splintered wood ledge of the living room window. He pulled out the Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. Rattling the knob to test its give, he was surprised when it turned in his hand. It didn’t make any sense. Laura had always been too trusting and a little naive, but she would never have left the door unlocked all night.

He entered the hallway and scrambled up the steep staircase, his footsteps thumping loudly on the threadbare carpet. “Laura!” he called, convinced she was lying unconscious somewhere in the house. “Laura!”

Once inside her childhood bedroom, he allowed himself a moment to think. On the nightstand was a photograph in an expensive-looking frame. His eyes lingered on the couple in the picture. Laura looked exquisite, in a long black-pearl satin gown that slid off her right shoulder, her hair swept back into an elegant knot. The man standing next to her was dressed in full tux, his arm resting familiarly on her exposed shoulder. On the window behind them, a heavy brocaded green curtain served as a backdrop.

In a flash Jake recalled the green velvet swag in the living room. What if she hadn’t left the window open? What if someone had broken in? What if…?

He ran out of the room and down the stairs, taking them three at a time. But she wasn’t in the living room, or anywhere else, as far as he could see. And then, standing in the hallway, just outside the kitchen, he heard a faint, low moan coming from the pantry, no louder than the mew of a kitten.

He rushed into the small room and for a moment his heart stopped beating. She was lying on the floor, motionless. He bent low and nudged her gently.

She blinked her eyes open and stared at him blankly. “What are you doing here?” she sputtered, her blue-green eyes coming to life. “How did you get in?”

“The question is,” he began, “what are you doing here?” A small naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a haze of sunlight from the kitchen window provided the only light. Looking at the boxes, he tried to assess the situation. Dozens of photographs were piled in a heap, and in a far corner, a stool lay overturned. “Are you all right? When I saw you lying there, I was afraid…I thought…”

“Of course I’m all right!” She pulled herself to a sitting position. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t I look all right?”

“Don’t move. You may have a concussion, or a broken bone—”

“As I recall, we’re no longer married. I stopped taking orders from you years ago.”

“As I recall, you never took orders from anyone, least of all me.” He had intended his remark to be as caustic as hers, but the relief flooding through him had washed away the sting. She wasn’t hurt. A little irritable and a whole lot rumpled, but she was okay. He eyed her critically. She was still wearing the black linen suit she’d worn at the service, only now it was dusty and wrinkled. Her hair was a mass of stringy tangles, her complexion pale and pasty. Under reddened eyes were large puffy bags, a sure sign that she had been crying. “Actually, you don’t look so hot,” he said matter-of-factly. “What did you do, spend the night here?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and touched her cheek. “My God, you’re like ice! You did sleep here. Here, let me help you up.” He kneeled behind her and placed his arms around her belly, just above her hips.

“Why are you doing the Heimlich maneuver?” she snapped. “I’m not choking.” She tried to stand, but her legs gave way, and she fell back against him.

In one fluid motion, he was standing again, sweeping her into his arms.

“Who do you think you are, coming in here and manhandling me like this! Put me down!”

“I see you’re feeling better. Back to your old self again.” He rotated the front of her body into his chest, pinning her arms between them. “Still the same hell-bent ball of fire, all right. It’s good to know that some things in life don’t change.”

“You have some nerve,” she hissed, squirming in his arms. “Where are you taking me?”

“No need to thank me,” he said, releasing his grip and dumping her onto the living room couch. “I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself.” He felt her eyes burning on his back as he walked over to the window and banged it shut.

“Now what are you doing?” she called as he retreated into the hallway.

He returned with a bright red afghan. “To answer your question, I’m taking care of you. Apparently, you have forgotten how. Now, are you going to cover yourself or do I have that honor?”

“My fingers…” A look of pain flashed across her face, stripping away the veil of her defiance. “These pins and needles feel more like knives.”

He pulled the blanket over her legs and sat down at the foot of the couch. “Serves you right for leaving the door unlocked.” He reached over and began kneading the life back into her fingers. “It’s payback time. Instant karma.”

“Ouch! That hurts! I suppose you’re enjoying this.”

“Keep still.”

“I thought you didn’t go in for all that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Karma and all the other mystical forces of the universe. And for your information, karma is about ethical consequences, not stupid mistakes. And it’s never instant. Although sometimes I think that nothing ever changes, at least not in one lifetime. You even said so yourself. But don’t worry, maybe there’s truth to this reincarnation theory. Maybe next time around, you’ll finally get it right…. Am I babbling?”

“If you’re going to quote me, do it right. My exact phrase was ‘Some things in life don’t change.’ And yeah, you’re babbling.”

“All better,” she said, pulling her hands away. “You missed your calling, Jake. You should have been a doctor. Tell me, Dr. Logan, will I be able to play the piano now that you’ve saved my hands?”

On the coffee table, several charcoal pencils were neatly lined up next to a sketchbook. He leaned forward and picked up the book. “And they’re such talented hands,” he said, leafing through her drawings. “I see you haven’t given up your art.”

“I did give it up, when we got married. I started again after the divorce. Remember my dream? To make a living from my painting? I never gave that up.”

The way she talked, you’d think their marriage had been one long exercise in sacrifice—on her part. He picked up one of the pencils and rotated it in his fingers. Laura had always been quick to delegate blame. That, apparently, hadn’t changed. He studied her carefully. Maybe some things in life never changed, but some things sure as hell did. This new Laura, well, he hadn’t completely figured her out yet, but something was different. She was still headstrong and stubborn, with a quick, hot temper, but he saw something else, something he’d never seen before. The old Laura wouldn’t have wasted a minute feeling sorry for herself, as her puffy red eyes and the splotches on her cheeks clearly indicated.

He lowered his gaze. Even though she lay curled under the blanket, he could picture the curves of her shapely legs. He couldn’t erase from his mind the sight of her when he’d dropped her onto the couch. Her rumpled black skirt had been pushed up high above her knees, exposing the smooth, creamy flesh of her thighs. It had always amazed him how quickly she could arouse him with just a turn of her leg, a flash of her eyes—that was another thing that hadn’t changed.

He thought back to the night he had proposed, when she had come to him so eagerly, so ready. They had always been friends, good friends, and Cory had adored her. It was only natural that they would drift closer and eventually marry. He would have been content with just companionship, and Cory needed a mother, but what she brought to the marriage was an added bonus.

No, they’d never had problems in that department.

In the hallway, the grandfather clock rang out four short chimes, indicating that it was a quarter past the hour. “Doesn’t that thing bother you?” he asked, replacing the pencil in its ordered, straight row. “It would drive me crazy, ringing out like that every fifteen minutes.”

“You get used to it. A person can get used to anything…. Jake?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know you were only trying to help. It was a stupid thing to do, falling asleep in the pantry. Cassie was here, and after she left, I forgot to lock the front door. I was so tired, and it was such a long day—”

“Forget it. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

She sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Jake?”

“What?”

“Do you remember this afghan?”

He grinned. She must be a mind reader. Once again, he recalled the night he had proposed, when he had said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, when he had said he wanted her to be a mother to Cory. They had taken the blanket out to Freeman’s Pond and lain under the stars, talking, dreaming, planning. “Yeah, I remember.”

“We had some good times, didn’t we?” she asked, her eyes meeting his. “I mean, they weren’t all bad, were they?” Without warning, two plump tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Laura…”

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she said, her lips twisting down. “Ever since I’ve been back, I’ve been crazy. Maybe it’s remembering how my aunt treated me. Maybe it’s just being here in Middlewood after so many years. Either I’m laughing or crying, or doing both at the same time.”

He pulled her toward him, closing the distance between them. Stifling a sob, she slipped into his arms and buried her face against his neck. Her tears flowed easily. He held her in his embrace, feeling the last of her defenses melting away like a late-spring snow. The scent of her natural perfume floated in the air, and he inhaled deeply. And then, ever so slowly, his hands traveled a wavy path down to the small of her back.

“Oh, no.” She stiffened in his arms. “I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do what?” he asked, feigning ignorance. He knew what she was thinking. Was it his fault she had misinterpreted his intentions? “Let someone take care of you? You act as if it were a sign of weakness.”

She wriggled out of his hold. “What do you want from me? Why did you come here?”

He looked at her coolly. “You know what your problem is? You don’t need anyone. You like playing the martyr.” He teased her lips with his fingers. “Tell me, doesn’t it get lonely up there, alone in your ivory tower?”

“Stop it,” she said, recoiling from his touch. “Answer me, Jake. Why are you here?”

He leaned back into one of the sofa pillows and sighed heavily. “You probably won’t believe me, but I came to apologize.”

“You, apologize? For what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“For yesterday. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. You had your reasons for walking out of the marriage, even if I don’t agree with them.”

“So, we’re back to that again. Your apology makes me sound like the bad guy.”

“Come on, Laura. This isn’t easy for me. Don’t make me grovel.”

“Now that would be interesting.” She stared at him, and then shrugged. “Apology accepted. I’m still not sure what you’re up to, but I have to admit, humility becomes you.”

This was the Laura he remembered, all right, all spit and vinegar. But he was willing to overlook her attitude. For the sake of peace, he told himself. It had nothing to do with how her lips had felt under his touch, as soft as a whisper. “Truce?”

“Truce.” She picked up a stray goose feather and blew it into the air. It spiraled to the floor, landing in the same spot where it had been lying. “Last night Cassie had a fight with a pillow—the pillow lost. I should probably clean up these feathers before I start tracking them through the house.”

He made a motion to rise. “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, leave it. Given the condition of this place, getting rid of a few feathers would be a drop in the bucket. Cassie says I should renovate before I put it on the market, but I think I should just clean it up as best I can and sell it the way it is.”

“So that’s it? You’ve decided to sell?” Although he hadn’t spent much time in the house, he felt a sense of loss. It had been his father’s first restoration project, long before Jake was born.

Dotted with old Colonial-style homes, Middlewood had once been a sleepy little New England town. Charles Logan, Jake’s father, was going to restore these old homes to their original beauty and make his fortune in the doing, but the business had never become the success he had envisioned. Eventually Jake’s parents grew tired of the harsh northeast winters and retired to Florida, leaving the business to Jake. Under his adept management, restoration gradually gave way to construction, and the business flourished.

“I haven’t decided anything,” Laura said. “I’ve even been considering keeping the house, but the thought of living here, in these conditions…”

Jake looked around with a keen eye, but it didn’t take someone in construction to see that the interior had gone downhill. The wallpaper was peeling, its pattern of white roses now yellow with age. All the baseboards were scuffed and splintered, and on the far wall, the window panes were cracked, their wooden frames damaged by water. But the builder in Jake knew that it would take more than cosmetic repairs to whip the house into shape. “You should probably open the place up,” he said. “Maybe knock down that wall in the hallway.”

“That costs money. If I do decide to keep it, I’m going to do only what’s absolutely necessary. The rest can wait. Not that I’d move back permanently, but it might be nice to have a hideaway. A home away from home.” A frown crossed her brow.

“And the problem is…?”

“You know what my childhood was like. This house doesn’t exactly evoke pleasant memories.”

In spite of her gloomy expression, he grinned. “They can’t all be bad. What about all those get-togethers you had, the ones you didn’t invite me to? What did you girls do at those hen parties, anyway? Besides man bashing, or at our age, boy bashing.”

“Correction. I did invite you, and a lot of other boys from school, but Aunt Tess wouldn’t let any of you into the house.” She sighed. “But I suppose this place will always feel like home, regardless of its condition or Aunt Tess. And you’re right. I did have some good times here, with Cass and Ellen…and Cynthia.” She averted her eyes when she spoke his first wife’s name. “But I feel my aunt’s presence everywhere. Home or not, this place can be downright eerie.”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” he said, trying to appear serious.

“This from the man who defines paranormal as ‘indefinable hogwash’? Am I to believe that your definition of reality now includes ghosts?”

“That’s why I’m in this line of work,” he joked. “I enjoy digging up ancient burial grounds for new homes, and all that sort of thing.”

Even though her eyes were laughing, she looked at him reprovingly. “Speaking of work, don’t you have a job to go to?”

“That,” he said, “is one of the perks in running your own business. I make my own priorities.” If only that were true. Although it was still early, he knew that his secretary would be frantic. Mary liked knowing where to reach him in case of an emergency. “And my first priority today is making sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine, really.” She lay back and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “I’m just a little cold.”

“Do you want me to make a fire? What about some brandy?”

“A fire in September? As for the brandy, it’s not even eight-thirty! I have to meet the lawyer today, and that’s all I need, for him to think I’m some kind of lush. Not that there’s any brandy in the house, anyway. You know how Aunt Tess felt about alcohol. But seriously, I would think you have something more important to do than baby-sit me. In the old days nothing could have torn you away from your work.”

“Well, the old days are gone,” he said.

His words hung in the air like fog, and an uncomfortable silence fell. The only thing that could be heard was the tick, tick of the seven-foot grandfather clock in the hallway, which had marked time for over a century, punctuating the lives of previous generations.

Jake rose from the couch. “Like I told you,” he said with forced brightness, “I get to set my own priorities. And right now, I intend to get something hot into you.” He headed off to the kitchen before she could even think about responding to what sounded like a double entendre. If she had never been married to him, she might have blushed.

“Do you still take cream?” he called from the kitchen.

“Yes!” she called back. “But I don’t have any!”

“What about sugar?”

“No sugar!”

“Where’s the coffeemaker?”

“There isn’t one! Make instant!”

“Where are the mugs?”

“In the cabinet next to the sink!”

Good grief, she thought, if he calls out one more time, I’m getting off this couch and taking over. She smiled to herself. He’d always been such a klutz in the kitchen. Like the time she’d been confined to bed with the flu and he’d insisted on making dinner. At first she’d protested, saying she couldn’t eat a thing, and that he should order a pizza for himself. No, he was going to take care of her, he said. A half hour later he returned to the bedroom, carrying a bowl filled with what looked suspiciously like canned soup. “Ta-da!” his voice rang out. The next morning when she ventured into the kitchen, she found pots and pans, bowls and dishes, knives, forks and spoons all over counter, in the sink and on the stove.

In spite of being sick, in spite of having to clean up the mess, she’d seen this as one of the good times. It was one of those rare times when he’d been there for her. And here he was again, fussing about in the kitchen, when she was feeling under the weather.

Here he was again, telling her what to do.

The phone rang on the side table next to the sofa. “Don’t move!” he called from the kitchen. “I’ll get it!”

“No, I’ve got it!… Edward! How are you?… I don’t know, at least another few days, maybe a week…. I have three weeks’ vacation, remember? Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time for a honeymoon. My vacation time starts all over in January…. What do you mean I’m a bum! You’re just jealous because you can’t take that much time off, as if you could tear yourself away from your practice for even a week…. Look, I’m a little busy at the moment. Why don’t I call you tonight?… Yes, the meeting with the lawyer, and afterward, lunch with Cassandra…. No, I haven’t forgotten the hospital dinner next Saturday. I’ll be back before then, Friday at the latest…. Yes, I know it’s a whole week away, but you’ll just have to survive without me for a little while longer. I’ve got to go now, darling. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone.

“The guy in the picture, I presume,” Jake said formally, standing under the archway. He was carrying a tray with two cups of black coffee. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“And I presume you didn’t mean to snoop, either,” she replied tersely. “What were you doing, snooping around in my bedroom? You had no right to go in there.”

“I was looking for your body,” he answered dryly. He set the tray onto the coffee table, next to the sketchbook. “It’s ready, darling. But there was no cream, darling. You’ll have to take it black, darling. Where do you think you are? In a 1940s movie? When did Cassie become Cassandra?”

Good grief, he was acting like a jealous lover. It was almost comical—and ironic. He had always been so sure of her; it had never been the other way around.

He sat down beside her. “Look, I was worried about you. I thought you’d been hurt. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have snooped. And I’m glad you’ve found someone, really I am. It’s time you got on with your life. It’s time you forgave yourself.”

A warning bell went off in her head. “Excuse me?”

He held out his hand as if to ward her off. “Hear me out. I’m trying to bury the hatchet.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Go on…”

“Sometimes when I think about the past, I still get angry. I know it’ll take me a while before I can get to where you are now, but I want you to know, I forgive you.”

Their three years together came hurtling back, resurrecting resentment. “You forgive me? Just who do you think you are? If you got down on your hands and knees, I wouldn’t forgive you.” She took a deep, slow breath. “Tell me something, were we ever really married? Where were you all that time? I don’t mean physically. You were always there physically, that is, when you weren’t working—which was most of the time. But when you were home, it was as if you were looking right through me. The only time I ever had your attention was when you were telling me what to do and how to run my life.”

His gaze slid from her face, downward. “You have my attention now,” he replied, his eyes raking her boldly. “My full attention.”

Laura knew that there was something about her when she got angry, something that either sent his libido into overdrive or made him want to throttle her. His libido, so it seemed, had won.

He reached across the couch, encircling her with his arms. Every instinct told her to push him away, every nerve in her body screaming, Run, Laura, run! She let out a gasp as he pressed his mouth on her throat, his breath warm and moist on her skin, his scent reminding her of timber and grass. “Jake, no,” she whispered into the air, not sure if she’d even said the words aloud. He ran his tongue along the side of her neck, up to the coil of her ear, sending little shivers down her spine. Her pulse throbbed wildly.

She jerked herself free. “I said no.”

“Could have fooled me.” His voice was dripping with mockery. “Like I said, some things in life don’t change.”

In an instant she was on her feet, her face hot with humiliation. She wanted to lash out, yell, throw something. On his lips he wore that awful, smug smile, but it was his cool, knowing eyes that sobered her. “In case you haven’t noticed,” she spoke in a dull, flat voice, “I’m not your plaything anymore. That’s all you ever wanted, anyway. A plaything for you, and a nanny for Cory. Poor, sweet Cory. I wish he had been mine. I wish to God I could have taken him with me. Not that you would have noticed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Something in her snapped. Words she’d kept locked up for years started pouring out in a furious torrent, and she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried. “Tell me something, did you ever really see him? Did you ever really see me? Well, I’ve got news for you. Some things do change. I have a full life now, which includes an attentive, caring man who knows I exist. And let me tell you something else, Mr. Macho, you made the same mistake with Cyn you made with me.”

“Be careful, Laura….”

She ignored his warning and continued her tirade. “Did she ever tell you she gave up going to college to become your wife? Ever since we were kids, she’d wanted to study design. Do you have any idea of the sacrifice she made? And speaking of Cynthia, it would have been nice if once in a blue moon, you hadn’t taken her to bed with us. I’m not talking about sex, lover-boy. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just wish that you had remembered it was me you were sleeping next to. Just once I wish you had known I was even there.”

Afraid her legs would buckle under her, she stepped back to lean against the credenza. “I loved her, too,” she said in a tired voice. “She was my best friend. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of her. But she’s dead, Jake. She’s gone.”

He gave her a hostile glare. “What are you talking about? What does Cynthia have to do with us? Let me remind you that you were the one who left me. Where do you get off thinking you were blameless?”

“Go home,” she said without expression. “I have a life to get on with.”

He stared past her for a long moment and finally stood up. With hands clenched stiffly at his sides, he turned on his heels and left the room.

She slumped down on the couch, listening to his footsteps thundering in the hallway. The front door opened with a creak, then slammed shut. From the living room she could hear the squeal of his tires as he pulled out of her driveway.

In the hallway the grandfather clock erupted in a series of chimes. She sat in the living room a little while longer, and when she finally reached for her coffee, she wasn’t surprised to find that it had grown cold.