Love Remains (24 page)

“So you kept seeing her?”

Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Since they lived over the mountain in Las Cruces, it was easier than if they’d lived on base. It was expected that soldiers would either go over into Las Cruces or down to El Paso or Juarez during off-hours. Zarah’s older sister, Phoebe, attended New Mexico State and lived on campus. Zarah had a car, and we would meet at Phoebe’s dorm so that Zarah didn’t have to lie to her father about where she was going when she left the house. She was so concerned about that—she hated the fact that she couldn’t be completely honest with her father about our relationship. So she did whatever she could to make sure she could be as honest as possible with him.”

The appetizers Bobby had managed to get down half an hour ago turned sour in his stomach. “Why she felt like she owed that horrible
excuse for a father anything…”

“Her father?”

“Yeah…she told me some of the things he said to her—privately, of course, never in public. The more kind things were that she was worthless and wouldn’t amount to anything.”

Chase breathed a sigh. “He said that? To her?”

Bobby nodded slowly. “Phoebe, the older daughter, could do no wrong, apparently. Zarah could do nothing right. She was so timid when I first met her, but after we’d been seeing each other a couple of months, she started coming out of her shell. She has a dry sense of humor that took me by surprise when she first started letting it show. I wanted to do everything I could to show her that everything her father said about her and to her was wrong, that she was smart and beautiful and very, very important. I think I was the first person who ever told her she was beautiful.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t have boys lined up.”

“With a father like hers? No, she was too shy and self-deprecating. High school boys don’t know how to deal with that.” Bobby arched his back, and it popped in a couple of places. “We started seeing each other secretly in December. In May, she was graduating from high school, the salutatorian of her class—she was going to give a speech at her graduation and would get physically ill whenever she thought about it.”

He smiled. “She practiced that speech so many times with me, I can still remember most of it—and I couldn’t even be there to hear her give it at the ceremony. I was on duty. She’d been offered a scholarship to several colleges, including Vanderbilt. She’d told me her grandparents—her mother’s parents—lived here in Nashville. I knew that if she could get away from her father, away from his verbal and emotional abuse, she’d continue growing into the person I saw the potential for. But I also didn’t want to take the chance of letting her move here without a guarantee that she wouldn’t go off and fall in love with someone else.”

“So you proposed?”

“I planned to. I scraped together enough money to buy an engagement ring with the smallest diamond in it you can possibly imagine, and planned, with her sister’s help, a special date for the night of her eighteenth birthday—the day after her high school graduation.”

That day—May 19—came into such clear focus in his mind’s eye that he could almost reach out and touch the general’s desk.

“So what happened?”

“That morning—of the day I was going to propose—the general ordered me into his office. He told me Zarah had confessed to him about our relationship because she wanted to get out of it, wanted to break up with me, but didn’t know how to. He said he’d sent her away for her own protection—for protection from me—and I was to have no further contact with her.”

“So how long did you wait until you saw her again?”

“Fourteen years. I didn’t see her again, didn’t have any contact with her, until a couple of weeks ago, right after I got back to town. I ran into her at a church-group party.” The memory of the expression of horrified astonishment on Zarah’s face even as the beans slopped over the side of the pan in her hands brought a guilty grimace to Bobby’s face.

“Don’t tell me you believed her father’s explanation.”

“At the time, I was so hurt and angry at the idea that she could have told her father about us, I hate to admit it, but I did believe him.” Bobby rubbed his thumb against the soft edge of Zarah’s picture.

“And now?”

“He had to have learned about us from someone else. We were discreet, but Las Cruces was a small city.”

“She’s still single after all these years?” Humor laced Chase’s deep voice.

“Yes—and apparently hasn’t really dated since…us.” But was that because she still carried a torch for him or because she’d been involved
with Forrester for the past ten years? Somehow, he just couldn’t see it. Not Zarah. Not with her boss.

“And you’re still in love with her.”

Bobby sat up straight. “That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“You carry her picture around with you fourteen years after you broke up. I’m just using deductive reasoning.” Chase shifted position. “She still goes to church?”

“Heavily involved in leadership of the singles’ group at the church I grew up in.” Bobby slid the photo into the pocket of his denim shirt.

“Does she wear a lot of expensive jewelry? Drive a fancy car? Live in a big house?”

Did she wear any jewelry? Just that long gold chain with the big pendant that she toyed with and looked at occasionally. No rings, no bracelets. Last Sunday, when she’d had her hair pulled up, she’d been wearing small diamond earrings. Very classy, but not overly expensive or in the least flashy.

Her car. That little Honda had to be at least ten years old…. He smiled over the memory of driving her home that first night. And he knew exactly how much she’d paid for that house—his condo cost almost twice what she’d gotten the house for.

“No, no, and no.”

Chase sighed. “Sounds to me like there’s a reason God has brought this woman back into your life. I believe it’s so you can prove her innocence and keep her from being brought down by whatever’s going on where she works.”

He stood, using Bobby’s shoulder to push himself up. “Look, Patterson. In a case like this, with the circumstantial evidence that points to her guilt, we would typically go after her with all guns blazing, hoping to get her to turn evidence on her boss—and if not, to at least convict her of something, even if we weren’t sure she’s guilty. You know how it goes—captain and director want cases closed and
people convicted. I truly believe this has all fallen in your lap because you’ve been sent here to protect her.”

Bobby turned sideways and looked up at his co-worker. “So I’m her guardian angel, is that it?”

“Something like that. Clear her name and then marry the poor girl. You’ve made her wait way too long already.”

The last few notes of “Seventy Six Trombones” echoed through the auditorium, nearly drowned out by the applause of the opening-night crowd.

Zarah once again found herself trying to move farther down the pew-style seat to keep Mr. Big-time Author from pressing his arm against hers. She wasn’t certain if it was his constant invasion of her personal space that bothered her or if it was the fact that Flannery had invited him to come tonight without warning her—or if she was overly sensitive to the situation because of the incident with Bobby and Todd this afternoon.

One thing was certain—she and Flannery would be having words.

The college’s small marching band struck up the song again as the players came out on stage for the curtain call. The minor characters first, in groups, then the more important characters.

Finally, when the audience was already in a near frenzy, Caylor and the actor portraying Harold Hill’s sidekick stepped forward. Zarah jumped to her feet with a whoop. Flannery stood and pressed her fingertips to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. More than half the audience stood and cheered and whistled for them, too.

The two students portraying Marian Paroo and Harold Hill made their bows, to a fully standing ovation.

“I think this is the best performance they’ve done yet,” Flannery yelled over the din.

“I think you’re right.”

After the directors came out and received flowers, Harold Hill jumped back up on stage and led the audience in singing “Seventy-Six Trombones.”

Zarah sang along at the top of her lungs, safe in the knowledge that between the band, the microphoned actors, and everyone else in the audience singing, no one could hear that she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Laughing, she and Flannery collapsed back onto their seats while the nearly full house dispersed, crowding the doorways.

One of the single moms from the Sunday school class leaned around Flannery and squeezed Zarah’s hand. “Great idea, Zarah. Thanks so much for suggesting it. The kids had a ball!”

“I’m so glad you could come.” Zarah squeezed the woman’s hand, happy in the secret pleasure of having paid for the three kids’ tickets herself instead of taking the money from the Sunday school class’s Fun Fund as she’d led her to believe had happened.

To Zarah’s left, Mr. Big-time Author pulled out a small notebook and scribbled something in it. “Story idea?”

He nodded. “They strike at the most unusual times.”

Like during one of Caylor’s best scenes, when he’d spent five minutes writing, the sound of his nubby pencil’s scratching on the paper rasping Zarah’s nerves like a cheese grater.

“Look.” He turned sideways on the pew and addressed both Zarah and Flannery. “I hope you don’t mind if I bug out on y’all tonight, but I’ve got some great ideas flowing and I really want to get home and get them written down before I lose them.”

“Sure, no problem—”

Flannery elbowed Zarah. “Oh, must you go so early?”

“ ’Fraid so. When the muse calls, I must obey.” He held his hand over his heart and bowed, which looked rather ridiculous from a seated position. He stood and tucked the small notebook into his shirt pocket.

Zarah stood and extended her right hand. “It was great to meet
you. Good luck with your book.”

He pressed her hand between his. “Luck has nothing to do with it, mademoiselle. ‘Tis blood, sweat, and tears.”

Zarah sat again, and he leaned over her to press his cheek to Flannery’s and give an air-kiss. “Lunch next week?”

“I’ll check my schedule tonight and shoot you a text.” Flannery watched him wend through the crowd until he disappeared, then turned narrowed eyes on Zarah. “You can’t possibly tell me you don’t like him.”

“Like him? I think my left arm is chafed from where he kept rubbing up against me.”

“Oh yeah. I should have forewarned you—he’s not really big into the idea of personal space. Sorry. But you’ll go out with him if he calls and asks, right?”

If it were a choice between him and Todd Warren, she’d choose Mr. No Personal Space. But she already had a date, of sorts, set up with the toothy senator. “I suppose so. If he calls and asks me out and I don’t already have plans.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Yeah, well, next time I’d appreciate a little forewarning before you show up with one of the guys off your list.”

Flannery grinned shamelessly. “But where’s the fun in that? You’d just say no.”

“I might surprise you and say yes.”

They discussed the highlights of the performance while the auditorium cleared.

“Think we can get to her now? They should still be out in the lobby area.” Flannery looked over her shoulder toward the doors.

“Yep. I don’t want to miss getting an opening-night picture of the three of us together with her still in her costume.” Zarah powered on her digital camera, already loaded with tons of pictures of the performance.

She followed Flannery into the lobby. The biggest crowds were
around the students who’d been in key roles. Only a few people stood around Caylor, who beamed and hopped up and down when she saw Zarah and Flannery. She excused herself and jogged toward them and threw her arms around both of them at the same time.

“Wasn’t it fantastic? Oh, I’m so glad you could come tonight. It was perfect. Only a couple of little errors, and I doubt anyone even noticed.” She babbled for a few more moments. “Did you bring your camera? We need a picture.”

“Yeah, so twenty years from now we can compare it to what you
actually
look like as a fifty-year-old woman.” Flannery looked pointedly at the special-effects makeup that gave Caylor an aged look and the streaks of silver in the big red Gibson-girl wig she wore.

Caylor called a student over to take the pictures. They took a few normally posed shots, then started acting silly—those were always the best shots, even though Zarah hated the attention that making faces and standing in silly positions drew.

“So really, how did it go? Really? Honestly, now.”

Zarah and Flannery exchanged a glance. Flannery winked. “Honestly? You were flat on both of your solos, and your fake Irish accent stinks.”

Caylor leaned so far back when she laughed that Zarah was afraid the wig might fall off. But it survived, and Caylor straightened, arms wrapped around her stomach. “Ouch. Laughing and corsets don’t go together.”

“You’re wearing a corset?” Zarah reached out to feel Caylor’s waist. Caylor had looked much slimmer than usual on stage, but the last couple of times she’d run into Caylor on campus or seen her at what was becoming their regular Sunday afternoon coffee, Caylor’s clothes had looked like they were hanging on her.