A Season of Miracles (23 page)

He nodded. “Fishing, boating, snorkeling, swimming, whatever.”

“It will be fun. Different.”

“Nice to get away somewhere other than Connecticut,” he said, watching her closely.

Her smile slipped a little. “I love the house in Connecticut.”

Then she turned the conversation in another direction, and he let her, feeling there was nothing to be learned from her reaction, anyway, other than that, whether she would admit it or not, the weekend's events had made her uneasy.

When they left the restaurant, he asked her to go home with him.

She hesitated.

“Look, I'm not trying to push you—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I want to come.”

“Then…”

“I don't have any clothes or makeup or anything that I need at your place.”

He grinned, feeling vastly relieved. “You can't need that much makeup, but we could drive by your house—”

“Then I'd feel too…obvious going back out.”

“There's always a shop open somewhere in New York City.”

“You have a point there.”

So they shopped. They prowled a few clothing stores, then stopped by a deli, picking out fruit together for the morning, plus croissants and bagels. Finally they made their way to his place, where he lit the fire, and they sipped wine and talked and made love.

He was sleeping deeply later when she woke up screaming. Bloodcurdling shrieks sent him bolting from the bed, blinking furiously, looking around, then grasping her shoulders and shaking her. She was still asleep, he thought. She was dreaming. There was nothing—no one—in his bedroom. In a minute, she would wake everyone in the building. She would wake the damn dead.

“Jillian. Jillian!”

She stared at him, shivering fiercely. He could see the terror in her eyes.

“It's burning. The fire is burning. We've got to get out.”

“Jillian, there is no fire.”

“Out. We've got to get out. We've got to!”

“No.” He shook her slightly, trying to wake her. He was breathing raggedly himself, and his heart was thumping. He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back. “Jillian, please, listen to me. There is no fire.”

She stared at him. Swallowed. Looked around the room.

Her head fell, and she stared down at the sheets, smoothing them with her fingers. “I—I—God, I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“It's all right. You were dreaming. Of course, in a few minutes someone would have broken down my door and hauled me away for attempted murder—but hey, it's all right.”

“Robert…”

“Jillian, I'm joking. It's okay, honestly. You were dreaming. You had a nightmare about a fire, and you woke up screaming.” He put his arms around her, holding her close, then whispered against her ear, “Jillian, it's all right. It's over.”

They lay down together. He loved the way she curled against him, one hand on his chest, knuckles resting against his skin. Hair like a soft web around him. One long leg lightly cast over his. He loved the feel of her, flesh against flesh. He smoothed her hair, still soothing her.

“Everyone dreams,” he said softly. “Hell, I told you. I kept dreaming about Milo's ghost up in Connecticut.”

“How do you know he wasn't a real ghost?”

“Because—”

“Of course. You don't believe in ghosts.”

“Dreams come from the subconscious, Jillian. We talked a lot about Milo, so he appeared.”

“So you get to have discussions with Milo, and I get to dream about fire.”

“Did you ever burn yourself as a child?” he asked.

“No, Sigmund, I didn't,” she replied, laughing.

He smiled, his arm tightening around her. “See?” he asked softly. “You're feeling better already.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“I've had the dream before.”

“Before? Recently?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens in the dream?”

“Nothing. Just fire. I can smell it. Then I can feel it. It's very real, and then I start to scream.”

“But it
isn't
real,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You're safe,” he told her with soft vehemence. “You're with me.”

She didn't answer.

After a while, he heard her even breathing and decided she was sleeping.

In time, he slept himself.

 

Maybe there were such things as miracles. Little miracles, anyway, Robert thought, feeling the sun beat down on the bare skin of his chest, wet sand between his toes, and a pleasant breeze stirring the air around him.

Miami was having the perfect winter. Temperatures had softened from deadening heat to a majestic warmth. Skies were clear. Gloriously blue. In fact, it was almost impossible to tell where sea and sky met, the colors of each were so rich, so clear, so beautiful. The days here were simply magnificent. And at the moment, he had nothing to do but enjoy himself. No camera angles to check on, no marketing decisions to be made. He was leaving everything entirely to the others, while he enjoyed the small miracle of Miami and his new job as a male model.

In Connecticut, he had gotten to be the dark-haired guy in the tux.

Now he was getting to be the dark-haired guy in the bathing trunks.

They'd found the perfect location. A white sand beach, palm trees, glorious scenery. This early in the morning, the stretch of sand surrounding them was nearly deserted. It was too early for tourist season to have really gotten going—most snowbirds flocked south just before Christmas, or just after it. So they had paradise all to themselves.

Jillian looked spectacular. Despite the scantiness of her bathing attire, the romantic mood that Brad had so perfectly evoked in his drawings remained. The director they'd hired for the video was very funny, contorting himself every which way to show them how to be sexy and romantic. His antics amused Jillian, and the light in her eyes and the subtle smile that curved her lips each time Robert walked toward her on camera was better than anything any model could have achieved.

He knew, of course, that deep down, she was laughing at him, at herself, at the sheer amusement that, after everything, they were being taught how to be romantic, sensual, totally involved with one another.

It had been a great trip so far. The plane had taken off on time—another small miracle. They had landed, gone to the hotel, then headed out by ten-thirty, which was, by Miami standards, just when things were beginning to heat up. They went to several of the dance clubs, where salsa and the tango were hot. He wasn't much of a dancer himself, but the Llewellyns had all taken lessons while they were growing up, so they were very good. He stood back, watching while Griff and Jillian tore up the floor and all but brought down the house. Later both Jillian and Eileen tried to teach him steps, though to very little avail. Griff was popular, teaching Gracie what he could and making Connie look good when he took her out on the floor, though Connie told Robert she had never been able to dance the way Jillian could.

“I can out-swim her, though,” Connie had told him with a grin. “I'll show you—I think we get some beach time tomorrow.”

They did. Daniel had scheduled the filming and photo shoots through two. After that, they were free. They had planned on steaks that night at a steak house right on South Beach, and after that, they were going to go dancing again, then sit at an outdoor café and people watch—something Eileen was dying to do.

They had finished with the stills about two hours ago, and even with the camera setups, the angles, and all the chefs back in the kitchen, they had nearly wrapped up the video. Jillian and he had gotten things down to a rhythm by now. At the moment, she was leaning against a coconut palm, a fan lightly lifting her hair in imitation of an island breeze. She was wearing a crimson print bikini with a flowing serape skirt that caught the breeze and made her look more beautiful than ever. He walked up to her with the locket and she said the line; then they did it again and it was his turn to speak.

The director called for background, places, and then started the countdown. “Five, four, three—” with the “two” and the “one” being silent.

Robert started walking toward Jillian, just as he had done several times already.

“Watch out!” someone suddenly shouted.

“What the hell?” the cameraman protested.

Robert heard a strange cracking sound. Then he saw that a huge palm branch with a cluster of coconuts was coming down—straight for Jillian. He bounded into action.

Jillian heard the sound, but didn't see the danger. She was looking around, tense, ready to run, but uncertain of which way. The others were shouting, starting to surge forward en masse, but they would never make it; he was the only one with a chance, and a slim chance at that.

Seconds…split seconds. He flew toward Jillian, yet it seemed as if she was thrust out of the way even before he reached her and could throw himself against her to push her out of the way.

The branch fell with a whoosh, then hit the sand like thunder.

Sand spewed over the two of them. After a second he lifted his head and looked at Jillian. She was staring up at him with wide eyes, unable to speak for shock.

The others massed around them, everyone talking, hands reaching out to them. Daniel brushed past them, his eyes on Jillian, reaching for her hands to help her up. “Jillian, are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Thanks to Robert.”

Daniel blinked and looked at Robert, who was just getting to his feet. He gripped his hand, shook it. “Thank you, man. Here we are again…in your debt.”

“No one is in my debt,” Robert said tersely, breaking through the throng. He went stalking over to the downed branch, hunkered low and reached for it, fingering the break.

“Robert?” Jillian was at his side, shaking his shoulder. “Robert, what is the matter with you? It's a broken branch. No one did anything,” she added in an urgent whisper. “The wind, maybe. Gravity.”

He swore beneath his breath. It looked like a natural break. The branch didn't look cut. It had fallen from fairly high up. Someone would have to have known exactly where they were going to film, where Jillian was going to stand, to have tampered with the tree. And even then, reaching the branch would have been one hell of a feat.

Of course, lots of people had known where they would be filming. It hadn't been a secret. They had permits, they had booked crews, they even had off-duty police to cordon off the area.

The cop hired to watch the traffic was at their side now. “Sometimes storms weaken the branches,” he said. “You two all right?” He was an older officer, who spoke quietly, with certainty.

Robert met the cop's eyes. If he persisted with his angry suspicions at the moment, he would find himself locked up—or worse. Jillian would retreat from him, angry that he was casting aspersions on her precious family again. He was tempted to tell her that it was her own grandfather who'd first been suspicious of them.

He didn't say anything, simply nodded at the officer, rising stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure you're right.”

“You sure you two are all right?” the officer persisted.

“We're fine,” Jillian insisted.

“Good thing Grandfather decided to stay at the hotel this morning,” Eileen said. “This might have given him a heart attack.”

“It almost gave
me
a heart attack,” Theo insisted.

“Let's get this cleared up,” Joe Murphy suggested. He paused, looking back at Daniel. “That is, if you want to go on. We can probably get permission to continue tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah. I think we should stop,” Daniel said.

“Wait,” Griff protested. “I have a date tonight after dinner—a late date. Jilly's a trooper. She isn't going to let a little near-death experience stop her from working—right, Jillian?”

“I'm perfectly fine, and more than willing to go on,” Jillian said. “That is…Robert, if you are.”

He felt like telling them all to stop and get serious—something sure as hell was going on. But they would all just look at him as if he were crazy, and when he needed his credibility, really needed it, he wouldn't have any.

“Sure. Sure, Jillian. If that's what you want.”

“So, Daniel, do we continue the shoot?” Gracie asked, turning over her page of notes.

“Yes, Gracie, we're going ahead,” Connie said, sounding irritated. She was by Jillian's side by then, dusting sand from her. “Stand still, it's not so bad.”

“Hey, Brad, you're the artist,” Daniel called. “Help me smooth out this sand.”

Brad, who had seemed frozen, his eyes only on Jillian, sprang to life.

The makeup artist had come over to Robert and Jillian, as well. She dusted sand from Robert while she waited for Connie to finish with Jillian, then started on her hair. Joe, Griff, Theo and some of the crew cleared the filming area until there was no sign of the branch or the coconuts.