For All of Her Life (13 page)

He broodingly looked up from his flute. Though he sat in the darkness, the street lights from his busy Boston suburb filtered in enough light to create some vision, some shadow. The hutch at the far wall of the porch held a large mirror, and he could see himself as he sat in his wicker rocker, next to the wicker table on which he had rested his flute, where his fingers still played idly over his favorite instrument. He hadn’t changed. In the darkness, he might have been the same man. Medium height, medium build. Freckled face, hazel eyes, headful of red hair. By the light of day, there was some gray interwoven with the red, but now, in this sweet, dim shadow, he looked just the same as he had the day he had met Jordan, Keith, and Kathy; the day they had graduated from Juilliard, the day they had finally hit the charts with their first Blue Heron single.

He smiled suddenly. He didn’t miss the notoriety of the band. He and Kathy had always been the shyest, okay on stage, moving to the background when fans came too close or the media converged. What a strange group they’d been. He and Kathy the peacemakers, Jordan the undisputed leader, Keith the undisputed genius. Shelley always ready to tear into anyone over Keith, Judy the one with the complaints. Derrick obedient to his wife, Larry impatient with them all.

And all of them with their secrets. Strange little secrets. Like dominos, one secret bared and the whole row begins to topple.

He didn’t miss the wild applause in a concert hall. He liked what he did now, loved it, in fact. He was with a small group of players calling themselves The Molly Maguires, and they worked well and frequently in Boston and the surrounding areas. They had a set gig at Tim O’Malley’s Fine Dining and Pub from Thursdays to Sundays, but they were also able to play special performances elsewhere because O’Malley—who really did own his “fine dining and pub”—was willing to give newcomers a chance to fill in for The Molly Maguires.

Miles was also going to be able to leave for Florida because The Molly Maguires was a group of six and they could all fill in for one another when the occasion arose.

And oddly enough, as much as he dreaded it, he was anxious to go back. He wanted to play with Jordan again. Miles’s mother being Brenda O’Casey of the O’Caseys of Cork, he did love his Irish music. But with Jordan, he could play anything. They were the two who had always loved the flute and guitar above all else, the two who had most enjoyed adding elements of Gaelic, classical, folk, and other musical forms to their rock. He did miss playing with Jordan. Missed talking with him and Kathy. Missed... Shelley.

How strange. He had been in love with Shelley all of his life. She hadn’t been in love with him. Or maybe she had, just a little bit, at the end. It hadn’t mattered. She had always been his best friend. Strange, though, once they’d left Blue Heron for the last time, they’d never seen one another again. Never called.

Because there were just too many damned secrets among those who had been in Blue Heron. And one knew just who knew whose secrets...

He looked out into the shadows of his tree-lined yard and closed his eyes. He should go in to bed. If Megan woke, she would worry. He didn’t want that. Megan played with The Molly Maguires as well. She was a flutist, and had a beautiful, soft, pure soprano. Perfect for their work. He’d lived with her for a little more than five years now. He cared for her a great deal; she was one of the nicest, sweetest, most compassionate women he had ever known. She had just turned forty last May, and though she never said a word to him, he knew that she wanted marriage and a chance at a family before it became too late even with today’s reproductive capabilities. He wanted to fall in love with her, wanted to marry her, wanted to make her happy.

But always held back.

Because of the secrets that still haunted Blue Heron? Because of Shelley?

He didn’t know. Life could seem so insane. People lost people, people went on. As they all had. He loved Megan.

Jordan had acquired a succession of lovers.

Shelley had always had a succession of lovers.

He had Megan, and Kathy, well... Kathy had always been quiet and discreet, the best keeper of secrets.

Was Jordan pulling Blue Heron back together again to attempt to retrieve his lost wife? If rumor had it right, he was involved with a glamorous young model/actress, more model than actress, but then Clint Eastwood hadn’t started off an Olivier.

Jordan was an unusual man. His thoughts—feelings, ideas, emotions, music—were passionate and deep. Maybe he was still in love with Kathy. Just as Miles had been in love with a distant ghost, Shelley Thompson, all these years.

What did it matter? They were going back. Miles, too. He couldn’t have refused if he’d wanted to. He felt like a lead slug being pulled by a magnet.

Maybe he wanted a life when it was over. Maybe he wanted to exorcise Shelley, marry Megan.

Yet...

What if
all
the secrets were to come out?

One thing was certain.

Once again there would be an explosion.

And they would, each man and woman, survive.

Or they would burn.

P
ACKING TO GO TO
Star Island was strange.

Even getting on the plane Friday night was a bit rough. Though she wasn’t afraid of flying, Kathy found herself gripping her seat from the second she sat down.

Her mother wasn’t coming down until Sunday or Monday, the girls had gone ahead to Florida on Wednesday night. Alex, though still in college, made her summer income by independent means. She’d never hesitated in attempting to sell her photographs to newspapers and magazines, and she already had a few major credits behind her. She was a lot like her father in that. Jordan had always known what he wanted and had gone straight for it. Bren wasn’t quite as assertive or as certain about her future, but she had talked about taking a summer job. Kathy assumed that meant the others had known about this reunion a long time ago.

“You are tense!” Jeremy told her. He seemed as happy as could be. He loved the size of the seat, and the fact that he’d been plied with champagne since they’d boarded the plane. Jordan had sent them two first-class round-trip tickets despite her assurance that she’d come on her own. It was a business expense, he had told her, all wrapped up in the benefit performance.

Though Jeremy was relaxed, as the flight came closer to Miami, Kathy’s apprehension grew. This was a mistake. She had flown away nearly a decade ago. She had lived with her decision, hadn’t ever tried to come back, because she hadn’t dared take a closer look at what she had done.

She was flying straight into ten days of torture which would be sure to leave her miserable for the rest of her life.

Dinner came and went. She felt fingers curl over hers on the plush chair and she turned to Jeremy. His eyes were warm, concerned. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“I promise.”

“I’m crazy. No woman in her right mind would do this.”

“In my opinion, no woman in her right mind would work the hours you do, so we’re certainly agreed you’re halfway crazy at least.”

She tried to smile. The champagne should have helped, but she still felt frozen. As if she couldn’t talk or smile, move her head to the right or the left.

The plane landed. She had forgotten how much she hated Miami International Airport. And it had gotten worse. On a Friday night, the place was a mad pool of people speaking various languages, bustling about, rudely brushing by one another, all in a hurry. Still, she had barely stepped from the plane and into the Friday-night melee when a handsome young man stepped up to her. “Kathy? Er... Ms. Connoly?”

She knew him... and didn’t know him. She paused, half-smiling, staring at him. “Angel!” she gasped suddenly. She dropped her overnight case on the floor with surprise, hugging the man who smiled broadly, hugging her back with enthusiasm. Finally she pulled back, studying the boy. He had been twelve years old when she had seen him last. All dark eyes and floppy black hair. Now he was tall, lean, trim, and exceedingly handsome, with a very Latin flair despite his mother’s English background.

“Ms. Connoly, it’s great to have you back,” Angel said.

“Thank you. It’s wonderful to see you. My God, you’ve grown!”

“Well, I should hope so, Ms. Connoly,” he said, flushing slightly.

“Angel, you always called me Kathy. Please don’t stop now. And, of course, you’ve grown. I’m sorry, I—Jeremy, Angel Garcia. His folks run the Star Island estate. Angel, Jeremy Hunt, a very good friend.”

The two shook hands. Angel reached for Kathy’s overnight bag. “Jordan had planned on coming to the airport himself, but there’s been a sudden surge in the press interest in all of this, and he’s trying to keep a low profile until the benefit. You know, he wants to keep his daughter’s birthday party as private as possible, and naturally he doesn’t want the media around while you all practice for the performance.”

“Ummm. He didn’t leave much practice time, did he?” Kathy queried. “Think the media should hear us even when they’re supposed to?”

Angel laughed. “I think you’ll all be great. It will be like riding a bicycle. One jam session together and you’ll be in perfect harmony.”

“You really think so?”

“Well, if not, I do think you’ll be ready by Saturday night!” he grinned.

“Let’s hope.”

“People will come out of curiosity and because it’s a benefit performance for a good cause.”

Kathy smiled wryly. “Yes, but we were
good!
We have our pride to maintain, you know.”

Angel shrugged. “You’ll be good,” he said with assurance. “Jordan has never stopped playing. He’ll whip everyone together.”

“He always did,” Kathy said lightly.

Angel grinned. “Let me get you both out of this madhouse. Mom and Dad can’t wait to see you, Kathy.”

“I’ve missed them,” she said, but once again she thought she was insane to do this. It was going to be too painful. She should never have agreed to come.

But the drive from the airport to Star Island was somehow good. She had loved the city of Miami at night. Night hid the blemishes, the homeless sleeping beneath the bridges downtown, the graffiti that marred most major cities, and the inevitable trash of such a large metropolis. Night brought out the beauty of light on water, the balmy breezes. Starlight made the Miami River shimmer; the moonglow on the bay let each tiny whitecap glitter as if a spray of diamonds rested over the seas. Bridges arched and rose, the skyscrapers of downtown created their own glow in the night. It was the right time for the city. And oddly enough, as much as she dreaded arriving at the house, she was comfortable in the night in the city, back where she loved to be.

They left downtown behind, heading on the expressway across to the bridge toward the beach, turning off onto the bridge to the island. She was vaguely aware when they passed through the guard gate and moved onto Star Island. She loved the island as well. Granted, it could have a brash quality to it. It was often a haven for the rich—and nouveaux riches. But it was a haven for intriguing and interesting nouveaux riches. Gangsters had made their homes here in the thirties; an Arabian prince had sent real estate skyrocketing here when he had borrowed millions to redo his mansion... before defaulting on all the loans. Actors, actresses, rock stars had often come here, along with bankers, newspaper moguls, old-time money, Jews, Gentiles, Canadians, the Irish, founding fathers, Middle Easterners.

A deep U-shaped driveway ran from the front of the house to the street, heavy iron gates breaking the barrier of the coral rock wall. Parts of the house itself were built of coral rock, along with thick concrete, cement block, and stucco. The front was flanked by a glassed-in patio surrounded by high archways decorated with gargoyles. The driveway led to seven tile steps and the canopied archway before the front door.

When they’d bought the place, it had needed paint badly. The little gargoyles had been sad indeed.

Now, everything was pristine, Kathy noted. And when she stepped out of the car to start up the steps, a trembling began inside her, attacking her limbs, fingers, and feet. She clutched her purse and overnight bag more tightly, felt Jeremy’s fingers wind supportively around her arm.

She had been insane. This was her house. She should never have come back to it. She wouldn’t be able to nod and be dignified when Tara Hughes smiled good night, clutched Jordan’s arm, and walked up to Kathy’s bedroom. She couldn’t be a guest here, she couldn’t be polite, unchurlish. No one could expect her to. She had to go back. She had—

“Kathy!”

The door had opened, and Jordan was coming down the steps, the girls behind him. He was genuinely pleased, taking her hand, turning to Jeremy as the girls hugged her, both talking away a mile a minute.

Maybe they had been afraid that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t come.

But she was here. And now, with a child on either side of her and Jordan asking Jeremy about their flight, she could not run. She was being led up the steps.

“Kathryn, Kathryn, oh, it is so good to see you!” Peggy Garcia said, greeting her as she stepped through the arched entry doors and into the foyer. Peggy looped her arms around Kathy, holding her tight, then backing away. “My Lord, you haven’t changed, you don’t look a day older than when you left here. Thin... you’re thinner. What have you been doing? Too much organic food?”

Kathy laughed, looking Peggy over at the same time. She was skinny as a rail herself and always had been. She had a touch of an English accent remaining, which sometimes sounded a bit odd, because after all her years of marriage to Joe, she interspersed her English now and then with Spanish words and Cuban expressions.

“Peggy, leave her be! Calling her skinny! That’s the pot calling the kettle black, eh,
chica?”
Garcia said to Kathy. Tall and lean himself, with distinguishedly graying hair and coal dark eyes; he stepped up next to his wife, offering Kathy a warm hug. Again, it was sweet. Again, it was painful. She had left so much behind.

“Joe, you are as devilishly handsome as ever,” she assured him, touching his cheek and looking back to Peggy who was still smiling, still warm, and still watching her with something like grave concern. “Peggy, I have missed you so much. And your son is all grown up, I didn’t even recognize him!”