Читать книгу Unfinished Business: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down - Нора Робертс - Страница 8

Vanessa had slept only in snatches. There had been pain. But she was used to pain. She masked it by coating her stomach with liquid antacids, by downing the pills that had been prescribed for her occasional blinding headaches. But most of all, she masked it by using her will to ignore.

Twice she had nearly walked down the hall to her mother’s room. A third time she had gotten as far as her mother’s door, with her hand raised to knock, before she had retreated to her own room and her own thoughts.

She had no right to resent the fact that her mother had a relationship with another man. Yet she did. In all the years Vanessa had spent with her father, he had never turned to another woman. Or, if he had, he had been much too discreet for her to notice.

And what did it matter? she asked herself as she dressed the next morning. They had always lived their own lives, separate, despite the fact that they shared a house.

But it did matter. It mattered that her mother had been content all these years to live in this same house without contact with her only child. It mattered that she had been able to start a life, a new life, that had no place for her own daughter.

It was time, Vanessa told herself. It was time to ask why.

She caught the scent of coffee and fragrant bread as she reached the bottom landing. In the kitchen she saw her mother standing by the sink, rinsing a cup. Loretta was dressed in a pretty blue suit, pearls at her ears and around her throat. The radio was on low, and she was humming even as she turned and saw her daughter.

“Oh, you’re up.” Loretta smiled, hoping it didn’t look forced. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you this morning before I left.”

“Left?”

“I have to go to work. There’re some muffins, and the coffee’s still hot.”

“To work?” Vanessa repeated. “Where?”

“At the shop.” To busy her nervous hands, she poured Vanessa a cup of coffee. “The antique shop. I bought it about six years ago. The Hopkinses’ place, you might remember. I went to work for them when—some time ago. When they decided to retire, I bought them out.”

Vanessa shook her head to clear it of the grogginess. “You run an antique shop?”

“Just a small one.” She set the coffee on the table. The moment they were free, her hands began to tug at her pearl necklace. “I call it Loretta’s Attic. Silly, I suppose, but it does nicely. I closed it for a couple of days, but… I can keep it closed another day or so if you’d like.”

Vanessa studied her mother thoughtfully, trying to imagine her owning a business, worrying about inventory and book-keeping. Antiques? Had she ever mentioned an interest in them?

“No.” It seemed that talk would have to wait. “Go ahead.”

“If you like, you can run down later and take a look.” Loretta began to fiddle with a button on her jacket. “It’s small, but I have a lot of interesting pieces.”

“We’ll see.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right here alone?”

“I’ve been all right alone for a long time.”

Loretta’s gaze dropped. Her hands fell to her sides. “Yes, of course you have. I’m usually home by six-thirty.”

“All right. I’ll see you this evening, then.” She walked to the sink to turn on the faucet. She wanted water, cold and clear.

“Van.”

“Yes?”

“I know I have years to make up for.” Loretta was standing in the doorway when Vanessa turned. “I hope you’ll give me a chance.”

“I want to.” She spread her hands. “I don’t know where either of us is supposed to start.”

“Neither do I.” Loretta’s smile was hesitant, but less strained. “Maybe that’s its own start. I love you. I’ll be happy if I can make you believe that.” She turned quickly and left.

“Oh, Mom,” Vanessa said to the empty house. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Mrs. Driscoll.” Brady patted the eighty-three-year-old matron on her knobby knee. “You’ve got the heart of a twenty-year-old gymnast.”

She cackled, as he’d known she would. “It’s not my heart I’m worried about, Brady. It’s my bones. They ache like the devil.”

“Maybe if you’d let one of your great-grandchildren weed that garden of yours.”

“I’ve been doing my own patch for sixty years—”

“And you’ll do it another sixty,” he finished for her, setting the blood pressure cuff aside. “Nobody in the county grows better tomatoes, but if you don’t ease up, your bones are going to ache.” He picked up her hands. Her fingers were wiry, not yet touched by arthritis. But it was in her shoulders, in her knees, and there was little he could do to stop its march.

He completed the exam, listening to her tell stories about her family. She’d been his second-grade teacher, and he’d thought then she was the oldest woman alive. After nearly twenty-five years, the gap had closed considerably. Though he knew she still considered him the little troublemaker who had knocked over the goldfish bowl just to see the fish flop on the floor.

“I saw you coming out of the post office a couple of days ago, Mrs. Driscoll.” He made a notation on her chart. “You weren’t using your cane.”

She snorted. “Canes are for old people.”

He lowered the chart, lifted a brow. “It’s my considered medical opinion, Mrs. Driscoll, that you are old.”

She cackled and batted a hand at him. “You always had a smart mouth, Brady Tucker.”

“Yeah, but now I’ve got a medical degree to go with it.” He took her hand to help her off the examining table. “And I want you to use that cane—even if it’s only to give John Hardesty a good rap when he flirts with you.”

“The old goat,” she muttered. “And I’d look like an old goat, too, hobbling around on a cane.”

“Isn’t vanity one of the seven deadly sins?”

“It’s not worth sinning if it isn’t deadly. Get out of here, boy, so I can dress.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He left her, shaking his head. He could hound her from here to the moon and she wouldn’t use that damn cane. She was one of the few patients he couldn’t bully or intimidate.

After two more hours of morning appointments, he spent his lunch hour driving to Washington County Hospital to check on two patients. An apple and a handful of peanut butter crackers got him through the afternoon. More than one of his patients mentioned the fact that Vanessa Sexton was back in town. This information was usually accompanied by smirks, winks and leers. He’d had his stomach gouged several times by teasing elbows.

Small towns, he thought as he took five minutes in his office between appointments. The people in them knew everything about everyone. And they remembered it. Forever. Vanessa and he had been together, briefly, twelve years before, but it might as well have been written in concrete, not just carved in one of the trees in Hyattown Park.

He’d forgotten about her—almost. Except when he’d seen her name or picture in the paper. Or when he’d listened to one of her albums, which he’d bought strictly for old times’ sake. Or when he’d seen a woman tilt her head to the side and smile in a way similar to the way Van had smiled.

But when he had remembered, they’d been memories of childhood. Those were the sweetest and most poignant. They had been little more than children, rushing toward adulthood with a reckless and terrifying speed. But what had happened between them had remained beautifully innocent. Long, slow kisses in the shadows, passionate promises, a few forbidden caresses.

Thinking of them now, of her, shouldn’t make him ache. And yet he rubbed a hand over his heart.

It had seemed too intense at the time, because they had faced such total opposition from her father. The more Julius Sexton had railed against their blossoming relationship, the closer they had become. That was the way of youth, Brady thought now. And he had played the angry young man to perfection, he remembered with a smirk. Defying her father, giving his own a lifetime of headaches. Making threats and promises as only an eighteen-year-old could.

If the road had run smoothly, they would probably have forgotten each other within weeks.

Liar, he thought with a laugh. He had never been so in love as he had been that year with Vanessa. That heady, frantic year, when he had turned eighteen and anything and everything had seemed possible.

They had never made love. He had bitterly regretted that after she had been swept out of his life. Now, with the gift of hindsight, he realized that it had been for the best. If they had been lovers, how much more difficult it would be for them to be friends as adults.

That was what he wanted, all he wanted, he assured himself. He had no intention of breaking his heart over her a second time.

Maybe for a moment, when he had first seen her at the piano, his breath had backed up in his lungs and his pulse had scrambled. That was a natural enough reaction. She was a beautiful woman, and she had once been his. And if he had felt a yearning the night before, as they had sat on the glider in the growing dusk, well, he was human. But he wasn’t stupid.

Vanessa Sexton wasn’t his girl anymore. And he didn’t want her for his woman.

“Dr. Tucker.” One of the nurses poked a head in the door. “Your next patient is here.”

“Be right there.”

“Oh, and your father said to stop by before you leave for the day.”

“Thanks.” Brady headed for examining room 2, wondering if Vanessa would be sitting out on the glider that evening.

Vanessa knocked on the door of the Tucker house and waited. She’d always liked the Main Street feeling of the home, with its painted porch and its window boxes. There were geraniums in them now, already blooming hardily. The screens were in the open windows. As a girl, she had often seen Brady and his father removing the storms and putting in the screens—a sure sign that winter was over.

There were two rockers sitting on the porch. She knew Dr. Tucker would often sit there on a summer evening. People strolling by would stop to pass the time or to relay a list of symptoms and complaints.

And every year, over the Memorial Day weekend, the Tuckers would throw a backyard barbecue. Everyone in town came by to eat hamburgers and potato salad, to sit under the shade of the big walnut tree, to play croquet.

He was a generous man, Dr. Tucker, Vanessa remembered. With his time, with his skill. She could still remember his laugh, full and rich, and how gentle his hands were during an examination.

But what could she say to him now? This man who had been such a larger-than-life figure during her childhood? This man who had once comforted her when she’d wept over her parents’ crumbling marriage? This man who was now involved with her mother?

He opened the door himself, and stood there studying her. He was tall, as she remembered. Like Brady, he had a wiry, athletic build. Though his dark hair had turned a steely gray, he looked no older to her. There were lines fanning out around his dark blue eyes. They deepened as he smiled.

Unsure of herself, she started to offer him a hand. Before she could speak, she was caught up in a crushing bear hug. He smelled of Old Spice and peppermint, she thought, and nearly wept. Even that hadn’t changed.

“Little Vanessa.” His powerful voice rolled over her as he squeezed. “It’s good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home.” Held against him, she believed it. “I’ve missed you.” It came with a rush of feeling. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Let me have a look at you.” Still standing in the doorway, he held her at arm’s length. “My, my, my…” he murmured. “Emily always said you’d be a beauty.”

“Oh, Dr. Tucker, I’m so sorry about Mrs. Tucker.”

“We all were.” He rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “She always kept track of you in the papers and magazines, you know. Had her heart set on you for a daughter-in-law. More than once she said to me, ‘Ham, that’s the girl for Brady. She’ll straighten him out.’”

“It looks like he’s straightened himself out.”

“Mostly.” Draping an arm over her shoulder, he led her inside. “How about a nice cup of tea and a piece of pie?”

“I’d love it.”

She sat at the kitchen table while he brewed and served. The house hadn’t changed on the inside, either. It was still neat as a pin. It was polished and scrubbed, with Emily’s collection of knickknacks on every flat surface.

The sunny kitchen looked out over the backyard, with its big trees leafing and its spring bulbs blooming. To the right was the door that led to the offices. The only change she saw was the addition of a complicated phone and intercom system.

“Mrs. Leary still makes the best pies in town.” He cut thick slabs of chocolate meringue.

“And she still pays you in baked goods.”

“Worth their weight in gold.” With a contented sigh, he sat across from her. “I guess I don’t have to tell you how proud we all are of you.”

She shook her head. “I wish I could have gotten back sooner. I didn’t even know Joanie was married. And the baby.” She lifted her teacup, fully comfortable for the first time since her return. “Lara’s beautiful.”

“Smart, too.” He winked. “Of course, I might be a tad prejudiced, but I can’t remember a smarter child. And I’ve seen my share of them.”

“I hope to see a lot of her while I’m here. Of all of you.”

“We’re hoping you’ll stay a good long time.”

“I don’t know.” She looked down at her tea. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Your mother hasn’t been able to talk about anything else for weeks.”

Vanessa took a smidgen of the fluffy meringue. “She seems well.”

“She is well. Loretta’s a strong woman. She’s had to be.”

Vanessa looked up again. Because her stomach had begun to jump, she spoke carefully. “I know she’s running an antique shop. It’s hard to imagine her as a businesswoman.”

“It was hard for her to imagine, but she’s doing a good job of it. I know you lost your father a few months ago.”

“Cancer. It was very difficult for him.”

“And for you.”

She moved her shoulders. “There was little I could do…little he would allow me to do. Basically he refused to admit he was ill. He hated weaknesses.”

“I know.” He laid a hand on hers. “I hope you’ve learned to be more tolerant of them.”

He didn’t have to explain. “I don’t hate my mother,” she said with a sigh. “I just don’t know her.”

It was a good answer. One he appreciated. “I do. She’s had a hard life, Van. Any mistakes she made, she’s paid for more times than any one person should have to. She loves you. She always has.”

“Then why did she let me go?”

His heart went out to her, as it always had. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask her yourself. And one she needs to answer.”

With a little sigh, Vanessa sat back. “I always did come to cry on your shoulder.”

“That’s what shoulders are for. Mostly I was vain enough to think I had two daughters.”

“You did.” She blinked the tears away and took a soothing drink of tea. “Dr. Tucker, are you in love with my mother?”

“Yes. Does that upset you?”

“It shouldn’t.”

“But?”

“It’s just that it’s difficult for me to accept. I’ve always had such a clear picture of you and Mrs. Tucker as a set. It was one of my constants. My parents…as unhappy as they were together, for as long as I can remember…”

“Were your parents,” he said quietly. “Another permanent set.”

“Yes.” She relaxed a little, grateful that he understood. “I know that’s not reasonable. It’s not even reality. But…”

“It should be,” he finished for her. “My dear child, there is far too much in life that’s unfair. I had twenty-eight years with Emily, and had planned for twenty-eight more. It wasn’t to be. During the time I had with her, I loved her absolutely. We were lucky enough to grow into people each of us could continue to love. When she died, I thought that a part of my life was over. Your mother was Emily’s closest and dearest friend, and that was how I continued to look at Loretta, for several years. Then she became mine—my closest and dearest friend. I think Emily would have been pleased.”

“You make me feel like a child.”

“You’re always a child when it comes to your parents.” He glanced down at her plate. “Have you lost your sweet tooth?”

“No.” She laughed a little. “My appetite.”

“I didn’t want to sound like an old fogy and tell you you’re too thin. But you are, a bit. Loretta mentioned you weren’t eating well. Or sleeping well.”

Vanessa raised a brow. She hadn’t realized her mother had noticed. “I suppose I’m keyed up. The last couple of years have been pretty hectic.”

“When’s the last time you had a physical?”

Now she did laugh. “You sound like Brady. I’m fine, Dr. Tucker. Concert tours makes you tough. It’s just nerves.”

He nodded, but promised himself that he’d keep an eye on her. “I hope you’ll play for me soon.”

“I’m already breaking in the new piano. In fact, I should get back. I’ve been skimping on my practice time lately.”

As she rose, Brady came through the connecting door. It annoyed him to see her there. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d been in his head all day. Now she was in his kitchen. He nodded to her, then glanced down at the pie.

“The dependable Mrs. Leary.” He grinned at his father. “Were you going to leave any for me?”

“She’s my patient.”

“He always hoards the goodies,” Brady said to Vanessa, dipping a finger in the meringue on her plate. “You wanted to see me before I left?”

“You wanted me to look over the Crampton file.” Ham tapped a finger on a folder on the counter. “I made some notes.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got some things to tie up.” He took Vanessa by the shoulders and kissed her soundly. “Come back soon.”

“I will.” She’d never been able to stay away.

“The barbecue’s in two weeks. I expect you to be here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Brady,” he said as he left, “behave yourself with that girl.”

Brady grinned as the door closed. “He still figures I’m going to talk you into the back seat of my car.”

“You did talk me into the back seat of your car.”

“Yeah.” The memory made him restless. “Any coffee?”

“Tea,” she said. “With lemon verbena.”

With a grunt, he turned and took a carton of milk from the refrigerator. “I’m glad you stopped by to see him. He’s crazy about you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You going to eat that pie?”

“No, I was just—” he sat down and dug in “—leaving.”

“What’s your hurry?” he asked over a forkful.

“I’m not in a hurry, I just—”

“Sit down.” He poured an enormous glass of milk.

“Your appetite’s as healthy as ever, I see.”

“Clean living.”

She should go, really. But he looked so relaxed, and relaxing, sitting at the table shoveling in pie. Friends, he’d said. Maybe they could be friends. She leaned back against the counter.

“Where’s the dog?”

“Left him home. Dad caught him digging in the tulips yesterday, so he’s banished.”

“You don’t live here anymore?”

“No.” He looked up and nearly groaned. She was leaning on the counter in front of the window, the light in her hair. There was the faintest of smiles playing on that full, serious mouth of hers. The severe tailoring of her slacks and shirt made her seem that much softer and feminine. “I, ah…” He reached for the milk. “I bought some land outside of town. The house is going up slow, but it’s got a roof.”

“You’re building your own house?”

“I’m not doing that much. I can’t get away from here long enough to do much more than stick up a couple of two-by-fours. I’ve got a couple of guys hammering it together.” He looked at her again, considering. “I’ll drive you out some time so you can take a look.”

“Maybe.”

“How about now?” He rose to put his dishes in the sink.

“Oh, well…I really have to get back….”

“For what?”

“To practice.”

He turned. Their shoulders brushed. “Practice later.”

It was a challenge. They both knew it, both understood it. They were both determined to prove that they could be in each other’s company without stirring up old yearnings.

“All right. I’ll follow you out, though. That way you won’t have to come back into town.”

“Fine.” He took her arm and led her out the back door.

He’d had a secondhand Chevy sedan when she’d left town. Now he drove a sporty four-wheel drive. Three miles out of town, when they came to the steep, narrow lane, she saw the wisdom of it.

It would be all but impassable in the winter, she thought as her Mercedes jolted up the graveled incline. Though the leaves were little more than tender shoots, the woods were thick. She could see the wild dogwoods blooming white. She narrowly avoided a rut. Gravel spit out from under her wheels as she negotiated the last sweeping turn and came to a halt behind Brady.

The dog came racing, barking, his tail fanning in the breeze.

The shell of the house was up. He wasn’t contenting himself with a cabin in the woods, she noted. It was a huge, spreading two-story place. The windows that were in place were tall, with half-moon arches over them. What appeared to be the skeleton of a gable rose up from the second story. It would command a majestic view of the distant Blue Mountains.

The grounds, covered with the rubble of construction, sloped down to a murmuring creek. Rain would turn the site into a mud pit, she thought as she stepped from her car. But, oh, when it was terraced and planted, it would be spectacular.

“It’s fabulous.” She pushed back her hair as the early evening breeze stirred it. “What a perfect spot.”