Authors: Fern Michaels
Sara's Song (8 page)
“Oh jeez, oh jeez. Hey, Dallas, wake up. Look how white his face is, Adam. We have to do something.”
Adam leaned down and pressed his ear to his brother's chest the way he'd seen actors do in the movies.
“His heart's beating.”
“I gotta go home,” Billy Sweet said. “You said his heart is beating, so that means he ain't gonna die.”
“Some friend you are, Billy Sweet.”
“You shoulda climbed up and brung him down. You're his brother, so you're supposed to take care of him. Pour some water over him. I gotta go, Adam.”
“Then go. If Dallas dies, I won't even tell you. You don't even care if he dies. I'm gonna remember this, Billy Sweet. You see if I don't.”
Adam hunkered down next to his brother. Should he call his aunt Millie or not? She wasn't much good for anything if she spent the afternoon drinking wine. By the time his uncle Charlie came home he'd be liquored up, too. “Wake up, Dallas. I don't want you to die. If you die, I won't have anyone left. Soon as I'm old enough, we're lighting out of here. I'll get some kind of job and take care of you. Wake up, Dallas. I'll get you that present I promised. I swear I will.” A tear splashed down on his brother's face. Adam wiped at it with his finger.
When darkness settled he heard his brother moan. “You okay, Dallas? Can you move your arms and legs and stuff?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You fell out of the tree.”
“How come it's dark?”
“Cause it's night, that's why.”
“My head feels funny. You look funny.”
“Maybe you should lay still for a while.” Adam's heart pounded in his chest. “What do you mean when you say your head feels funny and I look funny?”
“I can't see good. You have a whole bunch of eyes. Am I gonna die, Adam?”
“Nah. You just whacked your head good. As long as your heart beats, that means you're okay. You scared me, Dallas. Why didn't you listen to me? You were lucky this time. You swear to me right now, right this minute, that you will always listen to me. That means forever and ever. If you swear, then I swear I will always take care of you. I won't forget about the present either.”
“I never got any presents, did I, Adam?”
“This is going to be the first one. It's going to be the best.” His heart still thundering in his chest, Adam said, “Do I still look like I have a bunch of eyes?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I should take you to the doctor's, Dallas. I could pull you in the wagon. We don't have any money to pay, though.”
“Maybe if I take a nap for a little bit, your eyes will go away. Will you stay here with me?”
“Sure. I'm your brother. That shit-ass Billy hightailed it home. What kind of friend is that?”
“Stay here with me, Adam. I'm going to sleep now.
“Okay, Dallas. I won't move.”
It was almost light when Dallas finally woke. He pinched Adam, who jerked to wakefulness. “Whasamatter?” he asked groggily.
“I woke up. My back hurts, and I have to pee.”
“Wait a minute. How many eyes do I have?”
“Two. Boy, that's a stupid question.”
“That's good. That means you're okay.”
“Thanks for staying with me, Adam.”
“I'm your brother, Dallas. We have to look out for each other.”
Adam rolled over, his legs fighting with the coverlet. His head pounded, and he was drenched with sweat. The dream was so real, so vivid, it was as though it had happened yesterday instead of thirty-one years ago.
His head in his hands, Adam fought the sobs that tore at his throat. “I should have taken him to the doctors. Why didn't I? Because I was ten years old and stupid, that's why.”
Dallas had never been the same after his fall. Even Billy noticed the change, but he kept his thoughts to himself. The teachers at school said Dallas had a learning disability, but they didn't say that until Dallas was in the seventh grade. Charlie and Millie just shrugged., That was when Adam learned to wheel and deal, so Dallas could get through school. Even with all the deals he cut with other kids to do Dallas's homework, whisper answers to him on verbal quizzes, and switch test papers, Dallas managed to graduate from high school last in his class. The only thing Dallas excelled in was music. As one music instructor put it, Dallas had the beat.
Adam never begrudged the hard life or his responsibilities to Dallas, even when he went to college and worked a full-time job. Academics came easy to him, and Dallas did his best to carry his own weight by singing and playing his harmonica in bars and sleazy supper clubs with Billy Sweet taking up the slack when it was time for midterms and final exams. By the time Adam graduated from law school, he was so far in debt he didn't know where to turn. It was Dallas's idea to start up the Canyon River Band with a new sound he said would rock the music world. When Dallas asked him to manage the band and put his career on hold, he'd agreed, within two years Dallas Lord and the Canyon River Band had taken off like the proverbial rocket to land at the coveted number one spot on the charts. The rest was history.
Damn, he was wide-awake now. He reached out for the phone. Twenty-four-hour room service was something he was used to. He ordered a large pot of coffee and two sticky buns.
When the coffee arrived he gulped at it, his eyes on the television, the volume turned low so the sound wouldn't carry to the guest in the next room. He thought about his own life. How much longer could he manage the conglomerate that was the result of Dallas and the band? More to the point, did he even want to continue? He was sick of slick promoters trying to put one over on him, sick of the travel, sick of the hotels and living out of a suitcase. Where were his roots, his stability? He was almost forty-two years old. He should be married with a house, kids, and a couple of dogs. Hell, he didn't even have a girlfriend.
Maybe it was time to take Dallas seriously and cut him loose. They could go out while they were still on top. Neither he nor Dallas would have to worry about money for the rest of their lives. With his expert management they could live luxurious lives. Most of the band, those members who had turned their investments over to him, were in the same financial situation. Several of the guys had taken over their own portfolios. It had been a slap in the face at the time, but he had agreed. He neither knew nor cared how well their investments performed.
What he did care about was Billy Sweet's family. Billy hadn't cared about things like financial security and health insurance. Adam had practically had to hog-tie him to go for the physical for the five-million-dollar life-insurance policy for his family. If Nancy invested wisely, the money would take care of her and the girls for the rest of their lives. Thank God he'd had the foresight to insist on a second policy when he found out about Billy's dad. Mr. Sweet would never want for anything. He lived in his own little cottage in an upscale retirement community with round-the-clock attendants. That would continue until the day Mr. Sweet joined his son.
Did he have regrets about giving up his life for Dallas? Once in a while, when Dallas went off on him the way he had last night.
Adam thought about the ten-million-dollar check in his briefcase. Was Dallas blowing smoke? Was he pushing his buttons out of frustration and grief? Was he afraid he couldn't carry on without Billy? Did Dallas have secret fears about his own abilities that he didn't care to share with his older brother?
Adam's head dropped into his hands when he remembered Dallas coming to him one day and asking why he couldn't function efficiently in the outside world. He'd point-blank asked him if he was retarded. Instead of answering his brother, he'd thrown the question back to him. “Do you think you're retarded?” Dallas had just stared at him and walked away. What the hell did retarded mean anyway? How could somebody with Dallas's gift be retarded? How could he write songs, record them, and then perform them on a live stage for millions of people if there was something wrong with his mind? And if there wasâand he didn't believe that for one minuteâthen it was because of falling out of that tree. It was Adam's fault for not taking him to a doctor. Son of a bitch!
Maybe he should take a step backward and give Dallas the freedom he wanted. Instead of going to Los Angeles, he could change his ticket and go to South Carolina. He could call ahead and have someone come in to get the fifteen-room house on Battery ready. He could spend the next two months doing whatever he wanted to do. He could sleep, read, watch stupid shows on television, putter in the walled garden, prepare for the holidays, throw a party. Hell, he might even get a Christmas tree, a real one that would smell up the whole house. He'd go to Harris Teeter and stock his pantry and refrigerator the way normal people did. He'd go to the post office, the bank, eat lunch out, stroll through the marketplace. Things he had promised himself he'd do when he bought and renovated the historical house. Ha! He hadn't been in the house in two years.
He'd spent over a million dollars renovating the house and the walled gardens with the hope that someday he'd move there and settle down. Maybe this was the someday he'd been waiting for.
But how was he going to cut Dallas out of his life? By. his own choice, he could never do it. If Dallas took matters into his own hands, there was nothing he could do but stand in the wings and be ready to pick up the pieces if he fell. If it meant calling it quits, then that's the way it would be.
Sweat beaded on Adam's brow. What would happen to Dallas if he broke up the band and married Sandi Sims? How long would it take her to realize he didn't have both paddles in the water? Would she go to the tabloids? Of course she would, and she'd get seven figures for her story. Dallas would be devastated and withdraw further from the real world. He was already on the edge because of Billy's death.
“I hate this business. I fucking hate it!” Adam hissed through his clenched teeth. Damage control. One always had to be prepared and be one step ahead of the ghouls. He needed a plan. A headache started to hammer behind his eyes. He closed his eyes tight to stop them from burning. Maybe he should try for sleep again. “Oh, no!” he muttered. If he went to sleep again with this headache, his other nightmare would take over. There was no way he was going to deal with a set of parents who had left him and his brother on the steps of the police station and never come back for them. He bolted for the shower, his personal demons thrashing at his heels.
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At eight-fifteen, Adam was airborne. He'd taken care of business as soon as it grew light. A cleaning service would have his house on the Charleston Battery aired and cleaned by noon. From his upstairs bedroom, he could see Fort Sumter off in the distance. He tried to look forward to getting there, but his thoughts continued to drift to the ominous things Dallas had said. The investigative team of Moody & Moody had been hired to do a comprehensive background check on one Sandi Sims. The $10,000,000 check had been deposited on his way to the airport via the night deposit slot. As far as he was concerned he was a free agent until January 2 or until his brother Dallas severed the tie that bound them together.
Adam stopped for lunch at Magnolias, ordering a third cup of coffee until he was certain the cleaning crew would be finished with his house. With no taxi in sight he opted to walk to the Battery, asking the hostess if she would hold his bags, he would pick them up later. A folded bill was pressed into her hand.
Adam sucked in his breath when he walked up the steps of his house. He looked around. It would have been so wonderful to grow up in a house like this, with a loving family. Now, nearly forty-two years old, he finally had a house, but no family of his own. He let himself in. The fresh scent of citrus assailed his nostrils. Everything sparkled. The heart of pine floor gleamed beneath the Persian rugs. He'd furnished the house himself, buying a piece here and there and having it shipped from every part of the world. Nothing matched, but he didn't care. The house looked as if someone actually lived in it. It was nothing like the sterile, institutional house Dallas lived in, and for that Adam was grateful.
The kitchen was his favorite room. It, too, had been restored to its original beauty. The old oak rocker that was big enough for two people sat next to the rebuilt cavernous fireplace. The old Charlestonian brick had been taken out, brick by brick, scraped clean and reused. It matched the brick floor to perfection. Double-hung windows over the stainless-steel sink overlooked his garden and the three-hundred-year-old angel oak that sat in the middle, its branches shading the entire garden like a giant umbrella. All he had to do was open his kitchen door, walk down two steps, and he would be in another world. The garden was the main reason he'd bought the place.
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