Country Roads (24 page)

It sounded plausible to her, but she could tell Paul wasn’t buying it. He continued to search her face, his gaze seeming to bore into her brain in search of the truth she was hiding from him. For a moment she was tempted to confess, but she thought
of how that would change their relationship, how he would think of her as someone
less
. She almost shook her head in a refusal to suffer that. Instead she tried to inject a limpid sincerity into her expression as she met his eyes.

His frown deepened, but he let her get away with it. “You have to break some eggs to make an omelet,” he said, but she sensed the platitude concealed his skepticism and his questing mind was going to keep at the problem until he solved it…or she left town. If she could keep him at bay until then, it would be enough.

There was a burst of laughter from the reception room, and Julia stood up, bringing Paul with her. “The natives are getting restless.”

He stepped around the table and pulled her into his arms. “The natives can wait until I’m sure you’re all right,” he said, using his thumbs to tilt her head back so he could see her face.

The worry in his eyes nearly undid her. She reached up to cup his cheek.

“I’ll call you tonight,” he said, turning to kiss her palm with a heat that made promises about what they’d do after he called.

“And send me your bill,” she said, dashing out of the office before he could respond.

“Lunch,” Verna said, pointing to a brown paper bag on her desk as Paul said good-bye to his last morning client.

“What did you surprise me with today?” he asked.

“Tammy’s steak salad with truffle-oil dressing and a side of sweet potato fries.”

“Since when did Tammy get so fancy she uses truffle oil?” Paul asked, as he peered into the bag.

“She said a customer brought it to her as a gift and she’s gotten real fond of it. Can’t abide the stuff myself, but I figured you’d like it.” Verna stopped typing. “That little artist girl seems right sweet.”

He thought of Julia sprawled on the counter of Plants ’N Pages. “
Sweet
might not be quite the word, but she’s a good person. Talented too.”

“She likes you.”

“And I like her.”

“Then why was she about ready to cry when she came out of your office?”

“She has some legal issues involving her family. It upsets her.”

Verna eyed him sternly. “That had better be the only reason.”

“Jesus, Verna, have I ever—”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” She raised a hand to silence any further objections. “No, you treat women real good, but that one’s got a sensitive skin, so you need to be extra careful. You don’t understand the effect you might have.”

“Why do I feel like that isn’t a compliment?” Paul swiped the bag off the desk and headed for his office.

“Oh, it’s a compliment, hon. You are one heck of a charmer, but I get the feeling she hasn’t met up with many of those in her life.”

Paul closed the door and frowned across the room. Verna didn’t usually comment on the women in his life, and he didn’t fool himself into thinking she didn’t know about them.

He sat down at his desk and took out the food containers, opening them automatically as he remembered Julia’s comment about the chains of fear. The emotion behind it had been too raw for him to believe her vague explanation. Yet her previous denial of any physical fear of her uncle had been genuine. He would bet on that. So she was hiding something else.

He speared a slice of steak out of the salad and put it in his mouth. “Nice work, Tammy,” he murmured as the smoky flavor of the truffle oil glided over his tongue. He went after another slice and chewed it as he considered how hard he should push Julia to reveal her secret.

She was his client, so he owed her his best advice, and he needed full disclosure to give that. She was his lover, so he wanted to help her, and he couldn’t without knowing what the problem was. However, she didn’t want to share it with him, so maybe he should leave it alone. After all, their relationship had a short expiration date. But if she left without resolving whatever she feared, he wouldn’t be able to offer any assistance.

He put down his fork. The thought of her absence ruined the exotic savor of the truffles. In fact, the sunlight streaming in through the window seemed to turn gray. Hell, they couldn’t even have a long-distance relationship, because he worked all week and couldn’t leave his brother on the weekends without breaking the promise Terri had asked of him: to keep Jimmy sober and away from her house. And with a mental apology to Claire, he knew there was no way someone of Julia’s caliber would stay in the artistic backwater of Sanctuary.

As the realities of his situation landed on him like a ton of bricks, he decided he might as well call Ben Serra and turn down the directorship of the Pro Bono Project. Better to kill the hope all at once, so he could settle back into his rut without thinking about the might-have-beens.

He pushed his lunch aside and scrolled through his e-mails, hunting for Serra’s telephone number.

His intercom buzzed. “Your brother’s on the line,” Verna said. “Says he’ll keep it short.”

Paul groaned. The last person he wanted to talk to right now was Jimmy. He picked up the telephone receiver. “Hey, Jimbo. What’s up?”

“Paulie, I’m real sorry about Saturday night.” Jimmy’s voice was pitched low, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear him. “I should have called Adam, not you.”

Paul wasn’t in the mood to pull punches. “It’s not who you called, it’s when you called. Next time, call one of us
before
you start drinking.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just I got thinking about how I kept you from taking that job, and it made me feel like a worthless shit.”

Paul tried to rub the oncoming headache away. “You’re not worthless, and I can tell you how I know that. Eric. You’ve got a great kid there, bro.”

“Not because of me.”

“I see you with him, and you are one hell of a good dad.”

“I don’t know.” Despite the demurral, Jimmy’s voice held a lilt of hope. “Maybe I’ve gotten better at the parenting thing.”

“You were never bad at it, Jimbo. You just had a big problem you let get in the way.”

There was silence. Paul waited to see if his brother would explode or just whine in self-justification. For once, Jimmy did neither. “You think I was a good dad back then?”

“When you were sober, yeah, I do.” It was true. From the day Eric was born, Jimmy had been crazy about his son, changing diapers, getting up for middle-of-the-night feedings, and beaming as he carried his baby around on his chest at social gatherings. Until he and his wife started having problems, and Jimmy tried to hide from them in a bottle.

Paul didn’t hold it against Terri that she’d given up on his brother; she’d just been too young and inexperienced to deal with an alcoholic husband and a young child at the same time. She’d made the best choice she could for herself and Eric. The familiar guilt washed over him; he might have been able to help all three of them if he’d been around.

“I’d do anything for Eric,” his brother said.

Except stay sober.
Paul scrabbled in his drawer for Tylenol. He knew alcoholism was a disease and his brother was trying to fight it, but right now his sympathy was in short supply. The headache was tightening its grip on his skull.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you Saturday night won’t happen again. I’m going to all my AA meetings from now on. I won’t miss a one.”

“That’s good to hear.” Paul meant it.

“Shit, my boss is coming,” Jimmy muttered. “Anyway, I called to say I’m sorry. About Saturday. About the job. I gotta go.”

The connection went dead.

Paul put the phone down and shifted some papers to get at the pill bottle. As he did, he spotted a drawing Eric had given him last week, a skunk holding a bag of chips. It reminded him of the stencils on Eric’s bedroom walls, and he pulled it out and centered it on the desk in front of him.

Jimmy had surprised him twice now. First with the stencils. Now with the phone call. Usually his brother would wait a few days before he cracked a joke about falling off the wagon, and that would be the extent of his acknowledgment of the incident. His apology was something new.

After swallowing two Tylenol, he dialed Adam Bosch’s number. Maybe Jimmy’s AA sponsor could shed some light on this.

Paul steered the Corvette past the soaring glass entrance to the Aerie and onto the private driveway leading to Adam Bosch’s well-hidden home. It was strange to see the restaurant’s normally packed parking lot empty, although it allowed him to admire the elegant simplicity of the building Adam had designed and built.

The sound of the ’Vette’s big engine was muffled by the dense rhododendron thickets and tall pines lining the curving drive.
As he rounded the last turn, the trees seemed to draw back to reveal a modern house reflecting the same sensibility as the restaurant. It was the first time he’d seen it, since Adam guarded his privacy vigilantly. Paul felt a certain sympathy. Running a famous restaurant was similar to being mayor of a small town: people felt they had the right to your attention 24-7. He had been surprised the man would take on sponsoring Jimmy at AA on top of his business demands.

He parked the car on the sweep of river-stone paving and jogged up the wide front steps. The door opened as soon as he reached it, and Adam Bosch held out his hand. “Nice to see you, Paul. Come in.”

“Appreciate your taking the time to see me on your day off,” Paul said, shaking hands and noting the chef was dressed entirely in black, as always.

Adam waved him inside. “I always have time for Jimmy’s family.”

Following Adam out of the foyer and into a high-ceilinged living room, Paul got the impression of clean-lined modern furniture melded with antique art and richly colored rugs. One whole wall was glass and offered a view as spectacular as the one at Claire and Tim’s house. Adam led the way to a couple of leather armchairs ranged on either side of a low table. A tray of cheese and fruit, a basket of steaming bread, a pitcher of water, and two glasses waited for them there. “Have a seat. Help yourself,” Adam said, as he sat. “It’s an occupational hazard, wanting to feed people.” Adam filled the two glasses and handed one to Paul. “From the spring behind my house.”

Paul took a sip. The water was icy and pure. “Delicious.” He drank deeply before setting the glass down.

The chef nodded and waited, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Tell me if I’m asking something you can’t answer,” Paul said, leaning forward. “I’ll understand if there are issues of confidentiality.”

“As Jimmy’s AA sponsor, I have a certain amount of leeway when sharing information with his family, so I’ll give you as much as I can.”

Paul locked his fingers together between his knees. “I know Jimmy had a setback on Saturday, because I picked him up at the bar.”

Adam’s brows drew together. “He didn’t call me.”

“He used the excuse about Saturday being your busiest night, but he wouldn’t have called you anyway. The message was for me.”

“What message?”

“That I shouldn’t consider accepting an out-of-town job.”

The other man cut a chunk of cheese and laid it on a slice of apple. “Try this. The cheese is an Époisses.”

Paul didn’t want the food, but he couldn’t see any polite way to refuse it. So he tossed it in his mouth and chewed. The sheer deliciousness distracted him for a moment. “This is good.”

Adam sat back, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled. “Were you considering the job or was Jimmy overreacting?”

Paul stared out the window. Something about Adam’s question demanded honesty. He looked back to meet the other man’s gaze. “I want the job but I wasn’t going to accept it.”

“Because of Jimmy.”

“And Eric.”

Adam nodded. “So what do you want to ask me?”

Paul took a deep breath. “Despite his performance on Saturday night, I think Jimmy is making progress. This may sound trivial, but he took a lot of time and trouble to stencil pictures of Eric’s favorite things on his bedroom walls. It took patience and discipline and concentration over a period of weeks. That’s a side of my brother I’ve never seen before. And today he apologized for Saturday night’s lapse. Another first. He even swore not to miss another AA meeting.”