Читать книгу Confessions Bundle - Jo Leigh - Страница 17

THE PAPERS ON THE DESK in front of him were just as he’d left them. Same issues. Same unanswered questions. Same requests.

There was security in that.

Filled with what felt like a healthy dose of determination, Blake sat behind his desk Saturday afternoon, feeling better equipped to face what was to come. It was the first time he’d been to the office since the arraignment. He’d intended to come the day before, to carry on as though it were business as usual—partially to convince himself it was. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to make himself do it.

He’d called Lee Anne to let her know he’d be in on Saturday afternoon and to ask her to leave anything that needed his immediate attention on his desk. He’d spent Friday at the ocean instead. Running on the beach, strolling along the water’s edge with the seagulls, letting the waves wash over his bare feet, sitting in the sand watching the tide roll in, skipping rocks. He’d even bought a ticket for one of the tourist cruises and had dinner with a boatful of strangers out on the water.

Mourning the family he’d never had, he’d never felt lonelier in his life.

Today, Blake was back, in jeans and a polo shirt instead of a suit. Working on a weekend when most of his employees were off. It was a start.

There had been several messages for him at home the night before, from people who knew him well enough to have the unlisted number. They’d heard about the arraignment on the news and, he was certain, had questions.

He’d answer all of them. He owed them that. But he owed himself this time to toughen up first. Having those he trusted doubting his trustworthiness was one of the worst things he could imagine—other than going to prison.

There were more calls on his office line. He listened to them, but didn’t return any. Just like the others, he’d deal with them later.

He went through the mail. Pretty much standard fare, as the postal service didn’t move as quickly as telephone technology. There was a thank-you note from Amunet’s adoptive parents for his help with her service. Apparently Amunet had spoken highly of him when she’d finally come home to New York.

Had that been before or after she’d decided to take her life?

There was an invitation to give an address at the 61st Annual International Builders’ Convention and Exposition in Orlando the following January. It was easily the world’s largest annual construction trade show, for home as well as commercial builders—and under normal circumstances, Blake would have accepted the honor proudly.

But could he? They needed a response by early next month.

He dropped the invitation in the teakwood box on a corner of his desk to look at again in another week or two. Not that he’d have any better idea than he did now whether he’d be a free man in January of next year.

Blake’s computer beckoned. While he had a staff of talented architects, there were some design jobs he still took himself. It was the part of the business he loved best.

And that library project had been calling to him all week. This afternoon, all distractions aside, he intended to lose himself in trusses and structure and yet-to-be developed aesthetics. If he could sustain the drive, if the work could keep the demons at bay, he’d work all night.

But first, there would be e-mail. Since he did far more communicating electronically than by phone or post these days, he expected there’d be a lot.

He pushed the power button and waited while the machine booted up. It never ceased to amaze him that no matter how much he invested in computers, how much faster each new version worked, it never seemed fast enough for long.

That, he supposed, was why the leaders in the computer industry were so rich.

A noise sounded in the outer office. Blake glanced over, on edge. Expecting to be there alone, he hadn’t shut his door.

If it was a reporter, come to hound him…

“Sir?” He recognized Lee Anne’s voice just outside his door.

“Yeah, Lee, come on in,” he called, relieved and yet not. Lee Anne had a family to feed single-handedly. Could she afford to wait around to see whether or not she still had a job after July?

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ramsden,” she said, coming in a little hesitantly. He’d never seen her in jeans before. A sundress once, at a company picnic the previous summer. But never jeans. They made her look younger.

“I just wanted to bring you this.”

She placed a decorated gift bag on his desk. “See you Monday, sir.”

“Thank you,” Blake called to her retreating back. And then he realized that he had no idea if there was anything to be thanking her for.

Still, in all his travels and studies and experience, he’d never heard of anyone quitting with a gift bag.

Curious, he pulled it closer, surprised by its weight. Underneath a wealth of white tissue paper, he found a triangular frosted glass paperweight. Inscribed in the center of it was his favorite quote from nineteenth-century author, songwriter and motivator M. H. McKee: Integrity is one of several paths. It distinguishes itself from the others because it is the right path, and the only one upon which you will never get lost.

Blake stared for a long time and then placed the paperweight in the center of his desk, where he would see it every time he looked up.

The ocean-scene screen saver he’d chosen was scrolling through scenes. Tapping an arrow key to stop it, Blake settled in to work. He opened his e-mail software but before it could download his messages, there was another sound from outside his door.

Stu Walters, his chief accountant, stood on the threshold. “Just had to leave this,” he said. Walking in, he set a small wooden box on Blake’s desk, and left. Blake glanced down and inscribed on the lid he read, The man who fears no truths has nothing to fear from lies. Sir Frances Bacon.

Bailey Warren, a talented young architect who’d been with Blake since college, was next. He brought a glass letter opener inscribed with words from someone named Jim Stovall. Integrity is doing the right thing, even if nobody is watching.

Melinda Nelson arrived just as Bailey was leaving. She was from Contracts. She left a water globe of a boat on the ocean with an inscription on a gold plaque attached to the block of wood that held it. From Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Our own heart and not other men’s opinions form our true honor.

His full-time construction attorney, Fred Manning, gave him a promise of full support and a plaque that read: Virtue, morality, and religion. This is the armor, my friend, and this alone that renders us invincible. Patrick Henry.

An hour later, Blake was sitting there completely bemused, speechless and dangerously close to blubbering like an idiot. He’d seen more than twenty of his hundred employees, many bringing gifts from groups of others. On the desk in front of him was seemingly every size, shape and design of plaque, wall hanging, paperweight, letter opener, caddy or other office gift, every single one of them inscribed with messages about integrity.

Character is the accumulated confidence that individual men and women acquire from years of doing the right thing, over and over again, even when they don’t feel like it. Alan Keyes.

Blake had never heard of Alan Keyes, but he felt a great fondness for him.

As he sat there, taking it all in, a quote from Molière caught his eye. If everyone were clothed with integrity, if every heart were just, frank, kindly, the other virtues would be well-nigh useless, since their chief purpose is to make us bear with patience the injustice of our fellows.

And there was the one he came to again and again, given to him by the group in the mailroom. A Chinese proverb. If you stand straight, do not fear a crooked shadow.

They forgot just one.

I am a very lucky man. Blake Ramsden.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, when Juliet and Mary Jane would ordinarily have been taking Marcie to the airport for her flight back to San Francisco and the drive to Maple Grove, Marcie and Juliet took Mary Jane, a blanket and a picnic outside to the beach, instead.

The day was deceptively perfect, a balmy seventy degrees, sun shining brightly.

“How come you don’t have to go back today, Aunt Marcie?” the girl half called over her shoulder, skipping along in the sand in front of them. It was a private stretch of beach, open only to the home owners in the area. This afternoon, no one else was outside. Several of the cottages near them were summer and vacation getaways and frequently vacant.

“I called Tammy and asked her to take my clients tomorrow,” Marcie said softly, sharing a worried glance with Juliet, a worry the pure blue sky overhead couldn’t assuage.

Juliet wanted to tell her sister that everything would be just fine. She tried to convey that with her eyes and her smile. But she couldn’t really. Because she was worried, too, about their futures—and, at the moment, about Mary Jane’s reaction to the upcoming conversation.

At least one of the things they had to tell the little girl wasn’t going to go well. Juliet was certain of that. Just as certain as she was that she had to tell her.

Wearing denim shorts with a long-sleeved pink T-shirt, Mary Jane bounced on ahead of them, their self-appointed spot picker.

Juliet was happy to let her go. She and Marcie had talked long into the night and both were pretty sure about what had to be done. For all of them. It just wasn’t going to be easy.

“Right here,” Mary Jane said, choosing a spot in the center of the private beach, some distance from their cottage. It was just like her, always wanting to be in the middle of things.

Seagulls hopped down by the water. The waves were calm, a steady flow back and forth, bringing in little treasures—and taking some with them.

“I’m going to look for shells,” Mary Jane announced, kicking off her flip-flops.

“No, you’re not,” Juliet told her. She used Mary Jane’s shoes to weigh down two corners of the blanket, kicking off her own sandals to get the other two corners. “Have a seat.”

Marcie pulled bottles of water out of the canvas bag they’d packed. There was fruit, bread, cheese and cookies as well, but it was still too early to eat.

With a pinched face, Mary Jane sat on top of one of her sandals. “What’s wrong?” she asked, passing a frightened look between her mother and her aunt. “Is this about me?”

“No,” Marcie said with a surface grin as she kicked off her backless tennis shoes, pulled up the legs of her navy running suit and joined her niece. “Not everything in the world is about you, Squirt.”

“I know that.”

Moving the bag to one edge of the blanket, Juliet finally had nothing left to do but join the other two. Sitting cross-legged, she formed the third point of the McNeil family triangle.

“Sweetie, your aunt Marcie and I have a couple of things to tell you.”

Mary Jane’s green eyes widened. “Two of them?” Though she was picking at a yarn tie on the quilt, her gaze met Juliet’s.

“Yep.”

“Big things?”

“Uh-huh.” Juliet nodded. She was still wearing the black Lycra pants and white Hollywood T-shirt she’d put on to in-line skate that morning. She and Marcie had come down to the beach with coffee, instead, to keep talking.

“Am I in trouble?” Mary Jane’s timid voice pulled at Juliet.

“No, you’re not.”

The eight-year-old’s shoulders relaxed slightly as some of the tension eased out of her small frame. Before she’d had Mary Jane, Juliet had never guessed how much another person’s happiness and peace could mean to her. How much she’d give to have every single pain Mary Jane would ever feel come to her instead.

“Should I go first?” Marcie asked, looking from one to the other.

Juliet nodded. It might be better if she told Mary Jane about Blake first, and then followed up with Marcie’s less threatening news, but if Marcie was going to offer even this small reprieve, she was willing to take it. Maybe some magical way to present things would occur to her in the meantime. Because as it was, she had no idea what she was going to say to her daughter.

“What’s wrong, Aunt Marcie?” Mary Jane asked, frowning at her aunt with concern. “Are you going to marry Hank?”

“Nooo!” Marcie half chuckled, half choked. “You know neither one of us wants to get married. But if I was, I’d hardly call that something being wrong!”

“Wellll.” The child drew out the word. “It would mean that you’re staying in Maple Grove forever and you always say you don’t want to do that.”

Marcie and Juliet exchanged another glance. Out of the mouths of babes.

“No, I’m not marrying Hank,” Marcie said, knees up to her chin, holding her toes. “Actually, things are going to change a lot. I’d like to move in with you and your mom,” she said, and then, before the girl could respond, continued. “Your mom already said it was fine with her, when I asked her, but it has to be okay with you, too, since it means you’d have to give up your playroom for good instead of just the times I visit.”

“I don’t play in there anyway.” Mary Jane’s face was straight.

“But?”

The little girl shrugged. “Just…sometimes…Mom and me…but when you’re here…”

“You love having Aunt Marcie here,” Juliet said, confused and feeling slightly protective of her twin, who looked as if she might cry again. Juliet hadn’t expected any resistance at all from Mary Jane on this issue, which didn’t bode well for what was to come. “You can’t wait for her to visit.”

“I know,” Mary Jane said. “But…”

“What?” Juliet felt lost.

Mary Jane looked at her aunt, and then back at Juliet. “It’s just that, when you guys are together, you’re the pair. And then I’m…”

Understanding hit. “Oh, Mary Jane, come here,” she said, dragging her daughter across the blanket and onto her lap. “You and I will always be a pair. No matter who else is around or in our lives.”

Mary Jane stared up at her, the brown flecks in her eyes glistening.

“You’re going to grow up someday and maybe get married, and have kids, and the special love you and I share will still be right there. Unchanging. Do you understand?”

The little girl nodded, her sweet dark curls jostling against her cheeks.

“You are my daughter, flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart. And nothing, not even death, will change that. Ever. Got it?”

“Yes.” Mary Jane was still subdued.

“And we’ll always have our time, just you and me,” Juliet continued, finding words from someplace. “While Aunt Marcie lives with us, you can pick a night of the week, or a weekend day, or both, and it’ll be just the two of us.”

Looking over the child’s head, Juliet caught an expression of longing—and fear—on her twin’s face. Was Marcie imagining a similar moment, with her child in her lap needing assurance and love?

“And you and Aunt Marcie can have a day, too, if you’d like,” she said, still watching her sister. Marcie smiled, nodded, and still appeared on the verge of tears.

“Okay,” Mary Jane said. “Because, you know, Mom, Aunt Marcie likes to look for sand crabs and go to museums and you don’t.”

Juliet turned the child so she could look her straight in the face. “So, you’re okay with her moving in with us?”

Mary Jane’s nod was enthusiastic. “When are you coming?” she asked her aunt, sliding back down to the quilt. “Today? Does Hank know? And what about your shop and people?”

“I don’t know how soon,” Marcie said, her blond hair shadowing her face as she smiled down at the child. “Maybe next week if I can get the arrangements made. And no, Hank doesn’t know yet and I’m going to ask Tammy if she wants to buy out my half of the business. She’ll have to hire someone to take over my clients, or I can try to find someone for her.”

Mary Jane nodded. “Hank’ll sure be surprised.”

“Yeah.” Marcie frowned. “But if we really loved each other, we would have wanted to get married a long time ago,” she said. “And since neither of us has ever wanted that, I think we probably don’t.”

“So if he doesn’t love you that much, Hank pro’bly’ll get over it pretty quick,” Mary Jane said, her forehead creased in a frown.

“Probably.”

“Man, he’s dumb!” the child said.

Marcie’s answering smile faded quickly. And then the conversation faltered. Remembering back nine years, to her own feelings of panic and uncertainty, Juliet tapped her daughter on the knee.

“There’s a reason Aunt Marcie is moving in with us, sweetie,” Juliet said.

“Because she’s going to work at a studio?”

“No. Because she’s going to have a baby.”

The little girl’s mouth dropped, her eyes wide. “You are?” She stared at her aunt.

With a tremulous smile, Marcie nodded.

The sound of waves lapping against the sand was comforting in its unchanging routine. Juliet concentrated on it.

Mary Jane glanced at Marcie’s slim belly, and then back up. “A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet,” Marcie said. “It’s too soon to tell stuff like that.”

Looking down again, Mary Jane asked, “But you’re sure it’s in there, right?”

“Positive.”

“Well, then, we’re going to have to get the crib out of the attic.”

And that was that.

Juliet hoped the second topic of conversation would go even a quarter that well.

MARY JANE INSISTED the baby was going to be a girl—to make them two pairs. She spent the next twenty minutes, as they unwrapped the cheese and bread and fruit, trying out different names. So far she’d settled on six of them. She ate enough, steadily, so the food was disappearing, although her mother and aunt had done no more than eat a grape or two.

Juliet shifted her weight, the sand hard beneath her.

“So what was the second thing to talk about?” Mary Jane asked, chocolate-chip cookie crumbs on her lips as she chewed. Clearly, she thought she’d heard the worst of it.

“I…” Juliet started. Stopped. Looked out at the ocean. “I…”

“Your mother has a new client,” Marcie said. “And you’re not going to like who it is and you’re probably going to think there’s more to it than there is, but there isn’t, and you’re just going to have to trust us on that one.”

“Huh?”

“Blake Ramsden’s been charged with fraud and he’s asked me to represent him.” It wasn’t how she’d wanted to break the news, but other words failed her.

Mary Jane’s mouth froze. The cookie in her hand crumbled. And her eyes creased, their depth lit with sheer panic in the bright sunlight.

“And you told him no, right?” the child asked as though warding off a blow.

Juliet was aware of Marcie next to her, watching them, but she kept her gaze focused strictly on her daughter. “Is that what you’d want me to do, Mary Jane?”

“Yes.”

On one hand, Juliet completely understood—had expected this, even—but another part of her was disappointed.

“She’s only eight years old,” Marcie’s voice came softly beside her. Juliet listened for the waves—for reassurance—and for whatever voice inside was going to tell her what to do next.

“He’s a man I once knew, Mary Jane. Someone who was kind to me, made me laugh, gave me the greatest gift I will ever receive…”

The little girl stared, the expression in her eyes a mixture of belligerence, fear and a small hint of that peculiarly mature blend of tolerance and innocence with which she normally approached life.

“And I think someone might be framing him for a crime he didn’t commit,” Juliet continued. She’d always told Mary Jane the truth. In the end, it was the one thing the child could count on and Juliet wasn’t going to let her down. Their entire relationship was built on that trust. “If he doesn’t find a way to prove that, he could spend the rest of his life in jail.”

Juliet waited. Continued to watch her daughter’s bent head. The child was hugging one upraised knee, the remains of her chocolate-chip cookie still clutched in one hand. Little bits of melted chocolate oozed through her fingers.

“Why does it have to be you?”

She could hardly make out the mumbled words.

“Because I’m familiar with the case. Because he trusts me. And because I’m one of the best defense attorneys in the state.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I know, sweetie, and I thought about that,” Juliet said, hurting, as she watched her daughter struggle. “But there’s no reason this can’t work out just fine for all three of us.” She’d worried about finding the right words, but in the end, they just started to flow.

“How many times, in the past eight years, have you met any of my clients?”

Mary Jane glanced up. “None.”

“Okay, so percentages say you don’t have a whole lot to worry about there. If you’ve never met one of my clients, and they’ve never met you, why should this time be any different?”

“I guess…”

“Now,” she hurried on when Mary Jane took a breath as though preparing to argue. “Second, there’s me.” The little girl looked scared again. “For eight years, my life has been very, very blessed because of you. Sometimes I start to feel a little guilty about that.” The admission wasn’t easy. “Because Blake Ramsden doesn’t even know about you and has never had a chance to be happy knowing you.”

The girl’s face paled. “You said you weren’t going to tell him about me unless I—”

“I’m not planning to tell him about you,” Juliet interrupted. “But right now, his life isn’t happy or blessed at all, and if I can help him, if I can win him his freedom, then I’ve sort of paid him back. Do you see that?”

Mary Jane’s nose crinkled. She ground her chin against her knee. Marcie reached over, ran her fingers through Mary Jane’s curls. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of, sweetie.”

Mary Jane raised her head. “Kind of like a life for a life?” she asked Juliet, her tone a little less defensive.

“Kind of.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“You promise you won’t tell him about me?”

“Not without telling you first.”

Mary Jane didn’t look satisfied, but after staring intently for a long moment, she didn’t argue the point any further.