Texas fury (45 page)

"You're always here for us, aren't you, Mam?"

"I try, Maggie. Come along, we'll have to make up the bedroom for you and Rand."

"Thad," Billie called, "show Rand the videotape of Amelia. Thad made six tapes, one for everyone. Amelia was so wonderful. She really did what she set out to do. I cried when I watched it. Some of those austere congressmen were crying, I could tell."

"And some of the senators, too," Thad said quietly.

Rand had never felt such devastation. It seemed that the world and everyone in it was ganging up on him. First his daughter turned her back on him, and now his stepmother lay critically ill. Except he never thought of Amelia as a stepmother. From the time he was five years old, when his father was killed and Amelia took over his care, he'd never once thought of her as a stepmother. She was his very own mother; his father had said so when he was barely old enough to understand. She said so, too—and still did, every once in a while.

Amelia had never failed him, even once. No matter where she was, no matter what she was involved in, she'd stop what

{296}

she was doing and come to his aid, saying, "What can I do, son?"

What could he do now, for her? Pray for her recovery? Wish for her recovery? He wondered if he'd been a good son, or could he have been better? He flashed back over his life and decided he'd been the best he was capable of being. He had no regrets. He mustn't get maudlin over Chesney or his mother. Amelia would hate it. She'd come down hard on him for what she would call his 'feeling sorry for himself attitude', and she'd tell him to pull up his socks and get on with his life. Everything before the present, she'd say, is history. If you look back, you see only ghosts and shadows, and pretty soon they start to chase you, and then you're forced to run. Live life for the present and the future; the past is gone. Maybe she wouldn't actually say those things to him, but she'd be thinking them.

What would his life be like without his mother in it? Amelia would say you look it square in the face and you deal with it. Death is final, so you have to handle it. No choices, no options.

He wondered about that final moment when the casket was lowered into the ground and the first handful of dirt was thrown in. Could he handle that? He shuddered violently. There was something barbaric about funerals, something ritualistic. Maybe it was better to be cremated and cast to the wind. But then there'd be no special place to go to visit, to talk, to hope that a spirit hovered about to hear one's anguished words.

Rand wept for his impending loss, and for the others who would grieve for his mother. He spread his hands out, palms upward, turning his mother's life into Other hands.

{<{{{«{{ CHAPTER SIXTEEN »))»»>

Warm trade winds rustled the silky, sheer bedroom curtains, wafting in the heady, hypnotic scent of plumeria. Early-morning sunshine crept into the room along with the scent from the fragrant blossoms. The warmth from the sun created lacy pat-

{297}

terns on Cary's bare legs. He inhaled deeply and then smiled. Heaven? Paradise?

Cary scrunched the two oversize pillows into a ball. He propped himself up and leaned back. This, he decided, was something he could get used to. No wonder Rand and Maggie were so happy here.

What a golden day it was! From his nest in the pillows he could catch glimpses of the Pacific each time the curtains billowed apart. It made him want to get up—almost.

A dip in the ocean, a tepid shower, clean clothes, and breakfast out on Kam Highway would be a great way to start the day. A day that was to be all his. The only decision he had to make now was what to do with the rest of his time in Hawaii since Amelia wasn't going to join him. Alan and Marty had left on the evening plane, their briefcases bulging with canned macadamia nuts, chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, and macadamia nuts in the shell. He hated to see them leave, but life in the legal fast track demanded they return to New York's cold, blustery weather. Alan had grinned when they stopped at one of the airport kiosks to buy leis. He'd winced when Cary kissed him on both cheeks as he draped the garland around his neck. Marty bought two extra ones for his wife and daughter, but danced nimbly away when Cary tried to buss him on the cheek. When he waved to them for the last time, Cary knew his business interests were in good hands. His and Rand's, that is.

He didn't know if he was annoyed or angry that Amelia wasn't going to join him. Until this morning, he'd barely given her a thought. If Thad hadn't called and said she was tied up in D.C., he probably would have forgotten to call her. Now that he had free time, he could think about her broken promise. He realized he wasn't just annoyed, he was pissed off—big time. He'd be damned if he'd leave early to go to Washington. This was the first real vacation he'd had in five years, and he was going to enjoy every goddamn minute of it. If Amelia's affairs were more important than he was, let her attend to them.

He could feel his anger start to build. If he didn't watch it, his whole day would be ruined. He wasn't going to call today, either. Every time he thought about calling, it was either too late or too early. The last two times he'd called, Billie said Amelia was out. Since the Nelsons didn't have an answering machine, he didn't know if Amelia had called while he was

{298}

out. Someone had been calling, seven or eight times in the past few days, but so far he hadn't managed to get to the phone before it stopped ringing.

He punched at the fluffy pillows, settling them more comfortably behind his head. Normally, he never smoked before he brushed his teeth or had breakfast, but now he lit a cigarette—defiantly. He watched a perfect smoke ring circle its way across the room and out the open French doors.

Julie. He'd given up on Julie. If it was meant to be, he'd have been able to make contact by now, probably sooner if he'd left a message.

He had four days and three nights left. He could laze in the sun, or he could take a tour around the islands. Or he could go to the Waikiki Beach Tower and camp out till Julie turned up.

He donned his swim trunks. There was something bothering him, but he couldn't quiet figure out what it was. He trotted down to the beach, his eyes on the brilliant blue of the water. He dropped his towel and hit the surf at a dead run. The shock of the cool, bracing water washed away all lingering signs of sleep. On the way back to the house, he heard the phone ringing. This time he wasn't going to bother to run to answer it. Whoever it was would hang up just as he picked up the receiver. After he dried off, maybe he'd call Amelia. Amelia would laugh about the way they kept missing each other.

He'd seen Amelia on the eleven o'clock news. He thought he was going to burst with pride. From bypass surgery and recovery to the one hundredth Congress. A coup if ever there was one. But the pride was short-lived, replaced now with anger.

Cary felt a twinge of envy at his wife's accomplishment. Not many people could do what she'd done. His inner city seemed dull now in comparison to Amelia reaching Congress, presenting a truly important issue. The sugarcane deal was just another deal. He'd never make the noonday news, much less the eleven o'clock news. And he hadn't been there to share her victory the way she'd shared the grand opening of Miranda with him. The rest of her family was there, though, sharing her big moment. Rand, Maggie—Billie and Thad. Amelia's family. Suddenly he felt like an outsider.

Cary slipped into jeans, a pullover of soft sky-blue knit, and deck shoes.

On the drive to the restaurant, and while he ate, Cary's

{299}

mind clicked. Amelia had been so insistent that he come here. He could have sworn she meant to join him, because Amelia never said things she didn't mean. He'd looked forward to showing her around the islands so he could see and appreciate them through her eyes. Could it be that she really didn't want him with her in Washington? That she didn't want him there for her big, grand moment? She hadn't even called to tell him how nervous she was. She hadn't called to tell him what it was like to speak before Congress and to see herself on the national news. She hadn't wanted to share that with him, but she was sharing it with Thad and Billie, Maggie and Rand. She'd handpicked her audience.

Cary looked down at the eggs and pancakes he'd been devouring. He pushed the plate away. Even the coffee tasted rancid now.

In the parking lot, Cary sat in the car for a long time before he started the engine. From the day they were married, he'd shared everything with Amelia. All his hopes, his dreams, his failures. He'd left nothing out. Once he'd even cried in her arms and been comforted. He'd shared his vulnerability with her. She was such a rock, always saying the right thing at the right time. He wondered now how many times she'd hidden her own hurt and frustration from him. He'd never wondered about that before. One of the greatest moments of her life, and she hadn't wanted to share it with him! "Don't let this fester, Cary," an inner voice warned. "Stop now at the next place you see with a phone. Call."

The golden arches of McDonald's beckoned him: he figured it was about five miles down the road. When he got there, he changed a five-dollar bill for silver.

The phone in the Georgetown house rang fifteen times before Cary hung up. It was three o'clock in the afternoon in DC. He searched his billfold for Thad's private number in Washington. He was told that Senator Kingsley was visiting a sick friend and could be reached at his home after six. Cary hung up in disgust.

Cary felt sick as he climbed back into the car. How could Amelia slap him in the face like this? All along he'd felt as though he belonged—been a part of the family. Had they been laughing at him behind his back? Had they poked at one another when Amelia picked out his clothes and gave him crash courses in Texas protocol? Had they only pretended to accept him because that was what Amelia wanted?

{300}

The siren behind Cary made him glance in the rearview mirror and then at his speedometer. He slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.

"I clocked you at ninety, sir. We don't drive that way in our state. If you're a visitor, you're expected to obey the speed laws, like everyone else. Take your license out of the billfold, sir."

Cary handed over the license and the car rental papers. He felt like shit. There was no defense, and he wasn't about to offer one. He signed his name carefully so that it was legible, pocketed his license, and drove off at a sedate fifty miles an hour.

The rental car seemed to have a mind of its own as it headed toward Waikiki.

To Julie.

Her reflection in the glaring fluorescent light of her bathroom dismayed Julie. She looked every day of her age and then some, she decided. No amount of makeup would cover the dark circles under her eyes, but it might at least cover the sunburn on her forehead and the tip of her nose. She wished she'd taken her sunglasses off when she was in the sun. Now she looked like a raccoon, with white-rimmed eyes and bright red nose. There was a tight line around her mouth, too, one she'd never had before this trip. She looked tired, unhappy, and disillusioned. Mirrors, like cameras, didn't lie. Before she checked out she was going to fill out the card on the desk that asked for suggestions. Rosy light bulbs in bedroom and bathroom.

Julie gingerly patted some aloe gel on her sunburn, hoping she wouldn't peel. She snapped off the offensive bathroom light in disgust.

She was in an awful mood, one that wasn't going to allow her to sleep. She popped a can of Bud Light and carried it to the balcony. The breeze was warm, drying the tears on her cheeks almost immediately. She gulped at the beer, knowing she'd have another and then another till the six-pack she'd purchased at the ABC store was gone.

Seeing Amelia on the late news had been a terrible shock. Amelia wasn't here, but Cary was. What did it mean? Maybe he'd gone home, and that's why there was no answer. She'd sat, bug-eyed, when Amelia was introduced to the Congress as Amelia Coleman Assante. She'd felt so proud to know her.

{301}

Amelia had been absolutely wonderful as she spoke about the problems of the aging, citing herself as one of the more fortunate oldsters. Based on Amelia's passionate voice, she'd have voted for anything Amelia was pleading for. Probably every other woman in America would have, too. Even the men, if they weren't fools. When the camera panned the crowd, she'd caught a glimpse of Thad, but no sign of Cary.

Julie's imagination ran away with her as she sucked on can after can of beer. Amelia and Cary had separated; otherwise Cary would have been at her side for something as important as an appearance before Congress. Cary had come here to find her because she was the most important thing in the world to him. Cary loved her and wanted to be with her, here in the islands, instead of in Washington with his wife. Cary didn't want to be reminded on national television about their age difference. Cary wouldn't want to be standing next to Amelia when she spoke to the reporters. Numbers. Her fantasies were rich and ripe; she pictured Cary knocking down her bedroom door and scooping her up in his arms.

The beer was gone, all six dead soldiers lined up on the glass-topped patio table. She didn't have the buzz she thought she'd have, nor was she sleepy. Instead, she was on overload, ready to erupt at any minute. She'd gone to the bathroom eleven times in the five hours she'd been sitting out here. The sun was up and it was going to be another glorious Hawaiian day.

Enough was enough! She showered, dressed, and gulped down a cup of instant coffee. While she sipped at the hated packaged coffee, she called down to the desk to order a rental car. She copied down the desk clerk's directions to the North Shore.

By nine-fifteen she was on Kam Highway, headed for Ha-leiwa. Twice she got lost, her nerves pinging in protest at the delay. She pulled over, backed up, and retraced her steps. Eventually she found her way back to Kam Highway. An hour later it was obvious she'd passed Maggie's house. She drove slowly, getting out three times to peer at the house numbers hidden behind glossy banyan leaves. Finally, a half mile down the road, she found the gates to the Nelsons' driveway.