Texas fury (11 page)

"I miss those days, Amelia," Cary said. "I miss you. We don't have any time together anymore."

"I know, darling. While we don't have quantity time, we do have quality time. Don't you think that's more important?"

He didn't think so at all. He felt like smashing something. Couldn't she see how much he wanted to be with her?

He felt like a fool, standing around begging for quantity time, for God's sake, like some yuppie's toddler. He could feel Amelia's uneasiness and knew she wanted him to leave. He was sorry now that he'd gone with her to one of those old people's homes. He'd let her see how appalled he was, how shocked. He was not ready to deal with mortality. Some of the nursing home residents were Amelia's age, as she'd been quick to point out to him, but it was hard to compare her to any of them. He'd never, ever, no matter what happened,

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commit her to such a place, no matter how good the care was.

She'd laughed when he said so. "Darling, if I lose control of my bodily functions and my mind goes, will you still take care of me? Life is for the living. What I'm trying to do is make sure these old folks get the best possible care. I want people to treat them gently and kindly, not like flotsam and jetsam. I can't explain it any better. I have to help."

"You can't do it alone, Amelia. It's... it's too awesome," he'd said.

"I'm going to try, and when I can't do it anymore, someone else will carry on. I refuse to believe I'm the only person out there who cares. I can see you're uncomfortable. I shouldn't have brought you. I'll drive you home and come back." Her voice had been firm and hard.

He'd gone, too, like a chastened schoolboy. He just couldn't bear the thought of Amelia ever being in a nursing home, being feeble. Who was he fooling? Amelia's heart attack had taken its toll on both of them. Was he being selfish? He was glad she was alive and happy, doing something she liked doing. Love, true love, was unselfish, wanting the other person to be happy.

"I guess I'll read the paper," he said quietly. "Can I get you some coffee?"

"I'd love a cup of tea, if you don't mind."

Mind? Jesus, he'd dig a well for the water if he had to. "Coming right up."

Amelia smiled to herself. She was floating in tea, but if it made Cary happy, doing something for her, she'd drink it. She smiled again when he returned, carrying a tray with two cups, two muffins, and a sprig of something green stuck into a mug. She pretended not to see the little granules of dirt that fell on the tray from the greenery. Poor darling, how lost he was.

"Darling, you go to New York. I can't bear to see you at loose ends while I'm so busy. Promise me you'll go even if I can't join you."

Cary nodded. "Was it like this for you when I was working twelve and fourteen hours a day?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "It was, I know it. I'm sorry for that, Amelia. We lost so much time. Hours, days, even years. My God, I'm so sorry."

"Cary, look at me and listen. I did miss you terribly and I wanted to be a part of it all. I lived for the time you came home at night, and then you'd be so tired you could hardly

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stand up. I understood, and I wouldn't do it differently if I had another chance. All I wanted was for you to be happy. If you're happy, I'm happy. I have no complaints, and just look at what you've accomplished. You've left your mark. I'm so proud of you." Her voice softened. "I love you so very much."

Cary could feel the tears gather in his eyes. He blinked. He wasn't the sort of man who was ashamed to show his feelings. "You always know just the right thing to say at the right time. What would I have done without you all these years?"

Amelia wiped at her own tears. "We found each other, so we don't have to speculate. Go along now and make your reservations for New York. Promise to bring me a present."

Cary leaned over to kiss his wife. Her perfume wafted about him. He squeezed her shoulder. "You're my reason for living; always remember that, Amelia. I love you so much I ache with the feeling." Amelia bit down on her lower lip and leaned into the crook of his arm. Their lives. Love.

UUUM CHAPTER FOUR >}>»»»

Cary didn't know if he loved or hated New York. He'd been walking aimlessly for hours now, gawking at street vendors selling cheap plastic belts and sunglasses, peering into shop windows, hoping the perfect gift for Amelia would beckon him inside. What the hell, he had nothing better to do. As far as he was concerned, he was out of the real estate deal with the high rollers. There was something wrong, and he didn't want to take the time to figure out what it was. It wasn't the big numbers that scared him, it was the nervousness of two of the investors, big-money men who shouldn't even blink at such a deal. He'd known, early in the meetings, that this project wasn't the right one for him, and he'd excused himself, saying he'd give them his decision in a day or so, which meant he had to kick around the city on his own.

Cary walked on, oblivious to the admiring glances he was getting. The wind tousled his hair. He gave up trying to smooth it down and jammed his hands into his pockets. He

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stopped at a vendor and bought a wind-up toy of two bears, one riding piggyback on the other. Farther on he bought Car-rera sunglasses in their minicase along with a god-awful lime-green leather belt big enough to go around a horse's belly. Amelia would laugh. On another street he bought a fold-up umbrella with lace on the scalloped edges and a scarf splattered with chartreuse and purple flowers, to match the belt. He laughed at the look of outrage on the black boy's face when he asked for a bag. It was a deep, delighted sound of humor, and people around him smiled. He nodded slightly to two young girls admiring the brilliant scarf. He looked around to get his bearings and decided to walk to Bloomingdale's for a shopping bag. For fifty cents he could dump all his purchases in one bag. Maybe he should get two shopping bags. The decision to spend a dollar for two shopping bags made him laugh again. Two hours ago he could have made a decision to commit seven million dollars to a fancy hexagonal, copper-colored high rise. Amelia would laugh and say, "Penny-wise and pound foolish," whatever that meant.

The colorful Bloomie's bag felt good in his hand, as if he'd accomplished something. The second bag was folded neatly inside the first for anticipated purchases.

A sweet-smelling clerk motioned him to the Chanel counter and held out a sample of perfume. Cary looked at the little vial, wrinkled his nose to show he approved of the scent. Coco, the girl called it. Her name tag said she was Betsy Gill, and she wore a yellow flower in the buttonhole of her suit jacket. Cary ordered a large bottle, dusting powder, and some fragrant soap. He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills from his money clip and pocketed the few dollars change. Amelia was going to love this. He hoped she wouldn't stint when she sprayed the sheets. He decided to get a second bottle. Betsy smiled and said she wished she were the recipient of such a lavish gift. Cary smiled shyly. "It's for my wife," he said.

A flock of women descended on the perfume counter. He moved out of the way, but not before he heard a vaguely familiar voice ask for a sample of Coco. He tried to peer into the group of women but couldn't see anyone he recognized. Annoyed with himself, he headed for the men's department, not that he needed anything, but at least he could tell Amelia he had checked out New York male fashion. He plunked down $480 for a cashmere sweater, knowing she would be de-

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lighted. It was perfect for lounging around in. Casual but elegant, as she would put it.

It was past his lunchtime and his stomach growled. A New York deli pickle would go great right now, he thought, along with a pastrami on rye and gobs of spicy brown mustard. An ice-cold beer to top it off would make him delirious. He marched out onto Third Avenue in search of a deli.

The deli was crowded with shoppers and businessmen. Standing inside the brass rail to wait for a table, he heard a voice ask for a pastrami and corned beef on rye with plenty of mustard. "A diet Coke," the voice added. The same voice he'd heard in Bloomingdale's.

Two ladies got up from their table and Cary sprinted for it. As he slid into his seat he noticed a woman emerge from the crowd at the counter. Now he knew who "the voice" was.

"Julie! Julie Kingsley!" he called, jumping to his feet.

"Mr. Assante! What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are. Join me. Let me help you. On second thought, I can either hold this table or help you." He'd noticed two men eyeing the situation. They wore three-piece look-alike suits. Madison Avenue. Something else to report at home: all the men still dressed alike!

"Hold the table," Julie called in her sparkly voice. "You have to take the offensive in New York during lunch hour. It pays to carry an umbrella with a long point at the end. Survival, it's called."

Cary held Julie's chair and then seated himself.

"Mr. Assante, what are you doing in New York? Is Amelia with you?"

"I thought we settled that 'Mr. Assante' business back in Austin. Why do you call me 'mister' and my wife by her first name?"

Julie blushed."I really got to know Amelia, maybe because I felt like I knew her even before I met her. Thad and Billie speak of her on a daily basis. I adore your wife . . . Cary. Billie and Amelia are two of the finest people I've ever met."

"I'll agree with that. But from now on, it's Cary, and you're Julie, okay? Now, what are you doing here?"

"I work here. I just love New York. I decided to move down here, start the New Year off right, and it was a job offer I couldn't refuse. I'm adjusting nicely. I just wish New Yorkers were a little more friendly."

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"I know what you mean. Do you work far from here?"

"A couple of blocks. What are you doing here without Amelia?"

"Business. Amelia couldn't make it. I've been shopping for her—I love to buy presents."

Julie laughed. "I do, too. I spend hours and hours looking for just the right gift. I don't care how much it costs as long as I know the person is going to like it. I so enjoy the look of surprise and pleasure when they open it."

"You sound like you don't receive too many presents. A beautiful girl like you should be getting baubles by the basket."

Julie smiled. "Girl? I'm thirty-eight, thirty-nine in two days. I think that takes me out of the 'girl' class."

"All women are girls to me," Cary said. He grinned. "Amelia loves it when I call her a broad. I just do it for fun," he added hastily. He liked the way she bit deep into the thick sandwich. Good appetite. He'd always heard that New York women starved themselves to model slimness or didn't eat so they could afford the sky-high rents. Julie was chewing industriously, savoring the spicy sandwich. A man's sandwich.

"You're staring," Julie said. "Do I have mustard on my chin?"

Her wide grin exposed square, perfectly aligned teeth that had never seen an orthodontist. He didn't remember them being so white. Of course, he'd spent only a half hour with her over a cup of cocoa in the Sunbridge kitchen, and the light had been dim. He'd been on a self-made high that night and into his own success. He'd missed the parade of light freckles on her cheekbones. He liked freckles. Amelia had "freckles" —large brown spots on her arms and hands, some on her neck, too. "Not at all. You're a neat eater, Julie."

Julie's eyes crinkled up at the corners. "At least you didn't say I was a big eater, which I am. I love food."

"That makes two of us. Have you ever had a gyro?"

"I'd kill for one of those. I prefer it to pizza or even a deli sandwich. There aren't too many places that serve them. I'll find one, though; count on it." She leaned over the table. "What I don't understand is how people can give up meat and become vegetarians. I guess I'm basically carnivorous."

"Me, too." How comfortable he was, sitting here with Julie, just talking about food.

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"Shame prevents me from marching back through the line for another sandwich," Julie giggled. She leaned back against the cane chair. "Now for my one and only really bad vice, a cigarette. I allow myself seven a day. I don't recall if you smoke or not. Do you?"

"Unfortunately, I do. I don't usually smoke in restaurants, but it seems to be okay here. It's a touchy subject these days."

Julie drew deeply on the cigarette. She blew a perfect smoke ring. Cary applauded as he lighted his own Camel. "Can you imagine having sex and not smoking afterward?"

Cary choked as he attempted to match her smoke ring. A warning bell signaled something in his head that he totally ignored. "I can't imagine that at all." No virgin here, and why should she be one? Not that it was any of his business. Sex made the world go round... and round, and round. No small talk about asking him if he was shocked at her words. No young-girl games. Straight from the shoulder. He did like her.

"How long will you be in New York, Cary?"

"A few days. Business. I'll be here through your birthday. If you don't have other plans, I can celebrate with you. My gift to you. Amelia would kill me if I left you alone on your birthday. You're kind of like family."

"I'd like that, Cary. I live on East Seventy-ninth Street." She took a slip of paper from her purse and wrote out the address for him. "I get home about six-thirty and I can be ready by seven-thirty. If I appear eager, it's because I am— you'll be my first date. I mean, I haven't met any men that I want to spend an evening with yet."

She liked him enough to want to spend an evening with him. Her birthday. "Listen," he said impulsively, "we don't have to wait till your birthday. How about having dinner with me this evening? I'm going to have to eat alone, and evidently, you are too. What do you say?" Cary held his breath waiting for her answer. He wasn't sure what he expected, but her words startled him.

Julie made a production out of closing her flip-top cigarette box and nestling it into her bag. She liked Cary Assante. She adored Amelia Assante. She'd liked all the Colemans. She'd enjoyed that late-night cup of cocoa and knew even then that he was someone she'd like to get to know better. Damn, why were the good ones always taken? Dinner was harmless, and so was a birthday. There had to be a rule about something like