Talk of the Town (25 page)

Rebecca stood up gingerly, and the room tilted a little to the left. Moving at the proverbial snail’s pace, she managed to struggle into her robe. It felt too heavy on her weakened muscles. With great effort, she shrugged it off.

She decided she’d have to greet Gilda Parlinski wearing just her “If All the World’s a Stage, I Want Better Lighting!” sleep shirt.

She made it to the living room and collapsed on the couch, resting until the doorbell rang.

When it did, the sound pierced her throbbing head like someone was sticking it with big, thick needles.

By the time she unbolted the door and pulled it open, she could hardly stand. “I surrender.
Please
come in.”

Miss Gilda Parlinski had an ageless face and fair- colored hair and was dressed from head to foot in white. In Rebecca’s weakened state she looked like an angel.

“Hello, Miss Covington. I’m Gilda. Mr. Sumner called in a message for you. I wrote it down.”

Leaning against the mirrored wall, Rebecca read it: “Don’t argue. For a change let someone take care of you. I’ll be in touch. David.”

She clutched the note to her bosom like it was a love letter instead of orders.
He cares.
There was simply no way she could talk herself out of the truth.

“Time to go back to your bed, Miss Covington. Rest is what you need. I’m unhooking the phone in your bedroom.”

Meekly, Rebecca followed Gilda’s orders, too.

She slept until three p.m., when Gilda brought in homemade chicken soup from groceries she’d ordered from Whole Foods and Malcolm had picked up.

After consuming half the soup, Rebecca fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes. The next time she opened them, the clock said two a.m. There was a fresh box of Kleenex on her bedside table beside a pitcher of ice water and a glass.

When she woke at five a.m., she felt well enough to stagger to the tub for a quick bath. It made her feel cleaner but weak as a noodle. Wrapped in a dry bath towel, she fell back into bed.

When she heard the door open, she lifted her heavy eyelids and quickly let them drift shut. “I shouldn’t have taken that hot bath. I’m so weak I’m hallucinating. You look just like David.”

“I’ve been called many things, but never a hallucination.” David’s voice was unmistakable.

She groaned and covered her head with a pillow. “I told you not to come.”

“I would have been here last night, but the airport was socked in. We couldn’t land the jet until two this morning.”

She felt the mattress give as he sat on the side of the bed.

“Take that pillow off your face before you suffocate. I’ve seen you without makeup. You’re adorable.”

Too weak to resist, she pushed it aside and stared up at him. “Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?” Rebecca asked in a small voice because her throat hurt again. This time it wasn’t the flu but happy tears pooling there.

“If I get sick, you take care of me. Deal?”

Afraid to open her mouth for fear she’d start crying, she nodded.

“Glad that’s settled.” His eyes swept across her feverish face as he gently pushed her limp hair off her forehead. “Now eat the breakfast I made you.”

Only then did Rebecca pay attention to the tray on the table. “Did you cook this yourself?” she croaked.

“I did.” He moved the tray to the bed and handed her the juice. “Don’t talk. You need to eat to keep up your strength.”

She tried to remember if anyone had ever taken such tender care of her. Feelings she was too terrified to name swelled in her chest, making it hard to swallow the tiny bits of food David fed her.

Afraid she couldn’t hold back her feelings another second, she shook her head. “I can’t eat any more. I’m too tired,” she whispered.

“Sleep.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be in the other room until I have to leave at midnight.”

Blinking back tears, she watched him close the door. Only then did she shut her eyes and cry herself to sleep, because deep inside she knew happiness like this couldn’t last forever.

Every fifteen minutes David walked carefully into Rebecca’s bedroom to check on her. She looked comfortable to him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes closed.

He brushed her hair off her forehead, pleased she felt cooler. He pulled the comforter higher, tucking it around her shoulders, before backing out of the room.

Shortly before midnight, he rose from the couch where he’d been working and headed toward her bedroom again. Gilda Parlinski’s chuckle stopped him.

“Don’t worry so, Mr. Sumner. Miss Covington only has the flu. Nothing life-threatening.”

Memories stirred and his heart ached. At first the doctors thought Ellen’s leukemia was a lingering flu.

He nodded at the nurse but still opened the door and entered Rebecca’s bedroom.

He sank onto the side of the bed, and his eyes roamed over her, lingering on her mouth. He smiled, thinking of how she curled her lips when she was happy and how she thrust up her chin when defying him. Rebecca was clever and beautiful and special, and he cared about her too much.

Here with her, it was easy to forget the world outside and the promises he’d made himself.

He ruthlessly tried to push aside his feelings. He was too raw, too vulnerable to the pain of loss. He hadn’t forgotten how it felt to lose the person he loved most in the world.

What if something happened to Rebecca? Fear seared through him. He’d come so far, he wasn’t sure if he could back away from her.

He stood, watching her sleep, the even rise and fall of her breasts under the covers. He had to leave her now, for a short while. It would be good to put some space between them. Give him time to think.

He pressed one more kiss on her warm cheek and backed out of the room.

She slept until the next morning, when Gilda came in carrying another breakfast tray and her phone. The instant it was turned on, it rang.

Gilda left when Rebecca answered it. “Hello.” Today she sounded only slightly husky.

“Excellent. You sound much better,” David said softly.

“David.” Rebecca swallowed the aching lump in her throat. “I’m sorry I slept through your visit. You shouldn’t have come and done so much.”

“I did what needed to be done. I wish I was still there, but Gilda comes highly recommended.”

I wish you were here. Too much.
“She’s a treasure, but I’m sending her home tomorrow morning. I feel much better, so don’t argue,” she said, using his own words.

“I’m too far away to argue successfully, and I don’t like to lose. I hope to be back in Chicago sometime next week. I’m eager to check on you and our rosebushes. How are they doing?”

“Still enjoying themselves.”

By the way he chuckled, she knew he’d understood her unspoken message.

“I’m making sure they get all the TLC they need. You, too. Don’t go back to work until you’re a hundred percent. We’ll talk soon.”

After he rang off, she realized it had been a very long time since she’d thought about David in connection with the
Daily Mail.
She’d started out thinking she could change his mind about her job and the paper in general, but
he’d
changed her. Now the thought of business intruding on her feelings for him left a bad taste in her mouth.

She snuggled down in her covers, thinking of David sharing this bed with her. She smiled, remembering all the playful “Ask Becky” moments. She got out her scrapbooks of old “Ask Becky” columns and read through them, laughing at how young she sounded, yet surprisingly wise at times. Unfortunately, she didn’t come across any advice that might remotely help her with her dangerous feelings for David. How to protect herself from the inevitable ending to all this joy.

On Wednesday, Gilda refused any money whatsoever, saying Mr. Sumner had already been more than generous.

On Thursday, the same two burly men wearing “The Farmer’s Market Nursery” T-shirts who had brought the rosebushes arrived to administer TLC on David’s behalf.

Rebecca, dressed for the first time in days, put a coat on over her cashmere Juicy Couture sweat suit to stand on the terrace to watch them prepare the bushes for winter.

They placed a quilted blanket like movers use to wrap furniture around the planters.

“Aren’t you supposed to put a house over the rose-bushes? That conelike thing I’ve seen?”

The taller man looked up at her. “Nope. We found out when it gets warmer the house causes mildew inside the cone. It’s bad for the roses.”

When they pulled out clippers, fear clutched at her heart. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna cut ’em back to eight and one-half inches. Then we mulch over the top,” the shorter one said and snipped the first bush.

“They’ll grow again. In the spring when the conditions are right,” the taller, kinder one promised when he saw her face.

Once they were gone, she looked at the rosebushes. Thanks to David they were tucked up safe and snug for the harsh winter. Thanks to David she felt swaddled in a warm glow of care herself.

She was so far past merely
enjoying herself
and dangerously, terrifyingly close to
falling in love with him. Not
that she’d allow such feelings to flourish, because then she’d lose control and open the door to pain. Yet
something wonderful
was happening between them, and she was bursting to share it with someone.

She knew the only safe place to do it.

CHICAGO DAILY MAIL WEDNESDAY FOOD

OYSTER AND COCKTAIL

Oysters on the half shell

1 cup ketchup

2 heaping tablespoons of horseradish, very fresh; adjust to taste

Dash of Tabasco

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon tarragon

Mix and serve with oysters, shrimp, or crab.

A Note from Rebecca Covington

Darlings, that’s not snow in the air, it’s love! I know I’ve been sharing stories about men getting it
so wrong
in the romance department. Now I’m thrilled to tell you about a divine husband who got it
so right
I wept when I heard the story.

This enlightened male knew how much his wife of fifteen years was dreading her fortieth birthday, so he planned a party for two at their favorite restaurant.

First came the oysters on the half shell, in which she found two-carat diamond studs.

Second came the filet mignon, wrapped with a diamond bracelet.

Third came the crème brûlée, with a diamond necklace sparkling on the rim of the cup instead of sugar.

The pièce de résistance was the small birthday cake on a plate sprinkled liberally with tiny pieces of what looked like confetti but was actually their prenup, which he had torn up out of overpowering love for her.

Finally a man who knows the definition of true romance.

Sigh.

Good luck in finding your own Prince Charming. These oysters might help.

Enjoy!

Xo Rebecca

Chapter 19

O
n Wednesday, Rebecca closed her office door and sat in her favorite chair, waiting for the clock to finally reach the bewitching hour when David always called. She felt overheated, flushed by her ever-present excitement.

At the stroke of twelve, the phone rang. To prove she still retained some control over her feelings, she forced herself to wait for three rings before picking it up slowly.

“Rebecca, it’s David.”

“Hi.” Happiness bubbled through her, but she tried very hard to keep it out of her voice. “What part of your far-flung empire are you ruling today?”

“Iowa.” She’d learned to recognize the amusement in his voice. “I’m acquiring two small local TV affiliates. I read your column today.”

She smiled at his change of subject. “Yes?”

“I’m pleased you wrote something positive about men. Did I have anything to do with your change of heart?”

David
knew,
but she couldn’t help sparring with him. It was too much fun. “My god, your ego is as big as Lake Michigan!” She laughed through the pleasure burning in her stomach.

“That’s my Rebecca. Back to normal.”

“Yes. Thanks to you and Gilda.” She took a strengthening breath to say what she thought she should. “All better. So you don’t need to check on me every day.”

“Evidently I enjoy it. Do you?”

“Evidently.” The word came out soft and fluttery because she’d been holding her breath.

“Then I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Basking in the tingling, pulse-racing afterglow of David’s daily call, Rebecca knew she was in a new “life stage.” The consulting firms’ latest buzzword for baby boomers could now be applied to her.

Since she was ten, she’d feared people deserting her, or even worse, that she might desert someone who needed her. But when she’d finally let her guard down, Peter’s betrayal had reinforced why she needed to protect herself, and that launched her into the commitment-phobic years.
Don’t love ’em, just have fun and leave ’em
.

Rebecca wasn’t sure what label to place on her newly evolved stage. Maybe it should be called the “I want to take a chance on happiness stage” or, probably closer to the mark, “I’m being a complete fool stage.”

Whichever it turned out to be, it was fraught with so many contradictions it made her head spin. Like now.

At the heart of the contradictions was David, whom she had thought she could charm into giving her column back. Instead he made her understand how cleanly and completely one’s personal and professional life c
ould
be separated. There was nothing left of the silly idea of David being “dough” in her hands, as she’d so long ago bragged to Harry.

David had changed everything. He made her hope “as long as you and I are both enjoying it” would last forever. She knew she should be terrified of these feelings. She knew David would leave her. He’d been honest from the beginning. But like a moth to the flame, she couldn’t pull back from this.

Maybe it was her recent birthday and the fact everyone knew she was smack in the middle of her forties, not just past her thirty-ninth birthday or even fortyish. Maybe the fact she’d never felt better made her believe she could handle the end of their affair. She was already building up her defenses against it. Just as she was building up her courage to leave the
Daily Mail
at the right time and accept Charlie Bartholomew’s offer.