The Sea of Aaron (14 page)

Aunt Marilyn clinked her spoon in her teacup. “Surely you can't be serious. You're much too young to retire.”

And at that point, Valerie informed her aunt that she was married. Aunt Marilyn reacted with surprise, of course, but she had learned that she couldn't control her own daughter, let alone her niece, who'd always had a sound mind and usually knew what she was doing. She told Valerie that Aaron sounded like a real catch and that she was happy for her and couldn't wait to meet him.

After leaving her aunt, she went to the nursing home to visit her mother, insuring that she and Aaron would have the whole evening uninterrupted.

As she got out of the car, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck against the arctic air, she had the strange feeling that she was being watched. Puzzled, she looked around, but nothing seemed unusual. She shrugged off the feeling and entered the building through the wide-swinging automatic doors.

Once on the third floor—the one she referred to as
The Twilight Zone—
she settled down for another dead-end conversation with Ruth Ann, who wasn't knitting this time but sitting in the solarium with two other women. One was muttering to herself, and the other seemed to be staring in a stupor at the large screen TV where a talk show host was cheerfully introducing her next guest.

Valerie had been sitting there for almost an hour when there was a tap on the open door. Expecting to see an aide, she gave a start when she saw Aaron framed in the doorway. Dressed in a belted black leather jacket and black pants, he appeared as tall and impressive as ever.

“Aaron,” she exclaimed, the shrill timbre of her own voice surprising her as she rose immediately and went to him. They embraced, she without reserve and he in his cool way. She sensed by his quick release that her husband was not too keen on public displays of affection.

“Mother, this is Aaron, my—”

Valerie stopped in mid-sentence because her mother had turned away from the TV and was actually getting out of her chair. Not only was she getting out of the chair, but also her eyes were alive and gleaming. “Joel!” she cried. “Joel, where have you been?”

“
Mother
,” Valerie said, mortified at what was transpiring. Until now, her mother had never, ever mistaken any male visitor for her husband. In fact, since she'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she had never even mentioned his name. “Mother, that's not Joel, that's my husband, Aaron.”

“I've got so much to tell you,” Ruth Ann blabbered on obliviously, addressing Aaron as though Valerie were invisible. “Come talk to me.”

“Valerie,” Aaron said patting her shoulder, his voice tight and controlled, “it's all right.” He embraced her mother quickly. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Redmond,” he said, and then guided her carefully back to her chair as one would a toddling child. When she was seated, he knelt to her level.

“My name is Aaron. Valerie and I were married two weeks ago.”

“I have to tell you about Valree,” Ruth Ann said. “You must talk to her. She's liking this white boy, and you know she's way too young and that boy doesn't care about her. He's only going to make a fool out of her and throw her away.”

Valerie wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Never had she imagined that her mother would behave in such a way. She had expected the usual vacant expression and lethargic apathy, but this was a most humiliating and embarrassing first introduction.

“Aaron, please don't humor her. She's babbling. She's way back in the past and she thinks you're my father.”

“I know,” Aaron said quietly, but he didn't move from Ruth's side.

“I'll speak to Valerie about it,” he said. “I'll do everything in my power to protect her. Is there anything else?”

“Tell Greg not to be angry at me. Try to make him understand.”

“I'll tell him.” Aaron squeezed her hand lightly and stood up. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Please come back,” Ruth Ann said.

“I will. I promise.”

Aaron nodded at Valerie. “I'll wait for you in the lobby.”

“I didn't expect you until later,” Valerie said as they stood in the parking lot of the nursing home.

“I decided to catch an earlier flight. I was in Manhattan pretty much all morning.”

“And you didn't call me?”

“I had business to take care of. Anyway, I'm here now.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Aaron walked her slowly to her car. “Took a wild guess. I went to your place first, and when you weren't there, I assumed you'd probably be visiting your mother.”

Valerie flinched without even realizing it. “Welcome to Friedland Manor and Ruth Ann's world. I'm sorry for that display. Imagine her thinking that you're my dead father. You don't even look anything like him. If…”

“Stop apologizing. It's nothing to get upset about. You told me ahead of time what her condition was.”

“I know.” Valerie sighed. “I'm overreacting. I suppose I wasn't prepared for your first meeting with her to be like that.”

As he opened her car door, a slight twinkle appeared in his eyes—his dark eyes. He was wearing the black contact lenses again. “Are you going to tell me who the white boy was?”

“We were both twelve and that's not funny,” Valerie said, kissing him and then sliding into the driver's seat.

“I'm not letting you off the hook,” Aaron said, charming her with a rakish wink. “When we get to your apartment, you will tell me.”

“Or else?”

“Or else you'll be sleeping alone.”

“I've done that for the past ten or so years. Another day won't hurt.”

He stepped back as she closed the door. She didn't turn the key in the ignition, but watched him not just walk, but stalk to his car—a sleek, black Lexus. The man's movements were silent, swift, lethal, and sexy, and he was now in her territory, coming to her apartment. How cool was that? Smiling sappily, she was jolted from her hypnotic state when she realized that he was waiting for her to back her car out first.

When they finally stood at the doorway of her apartment, Valerie good-naturedly elbowed Aaron in the side. “Well, aren't you going to carry me over the threshold?”

“No. This isn't our home and that's a ridiculous tradition.”

She laughed. “In that case, maybe I should carry you, since I have nothing against ridiculous traditions.”

Apparently Aaron didn't find her remark particularly funny because he followed her inside with a blank expression on his face—blank perhaps to the eyes of someone who didn't know him. He was casing the surroundings and wasn't missing a thing, not even the dust mote settling on the end table.

After they hung up their coats, and she showed him around in what took roughly five seconds, he washed his hands, went to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator, selecting—no surprise at all—a bottle of beer.

Valerie wished Aaron would make some comment about her humble but cozy little apartment, yet she did not feel miffed that he didn't. She had adjusted enough to his persona to realize that she would be foolish to take offense with a man who always used words sparingly and mostly reserved those few for important issues, not gentility and social etiquette.

“Supper will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she told him. “I hope you haven't eaten already.”

“No. I haven't.”

He didn't even bother to ask what she was serving. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat, picking up a newspaper that she'd abandoned there. She shrugged and busied herself attending to the microwave while at the same time inhaling the subtle, wonderful scent of his cologne, which reminded her of something far more sensual than food.
This is so bizarre
, she thought. Yes, she had gotten used to him in Belize, but here in this tiny kitchen in her own familiar environment, his presence seemed so foreign, exotic, and surreal.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noting that he was much cleaner shaven than she'd been accustomed to and that he wore a black crew-necked sweater, black slacks, black shoes. Was that the only color in his wardrobe?

The microwave pinged and she painstakingly filled two plates and set one before him, resisting the urge to laugh because Aaron barely looked at it. He shoved the paper to the side as she handed him a knife and a fork. After seating herself, she conspicuously made a show of saying a quick blessing over the food, ignoring his shark-eyed stare. Then they ate in silence.

Well, he's eating.
And he's not complaining, so I guess my cooking isn't too appalling.
She'd never been much of a gourmet, but it was a relief to know that she wasn't the worst cook around. Still, it would have been nice to hear a compliment.

“Anything interesting happen since you've been back?” Aaron asked, still focusing on what was left of the meal.

“No. Things are pretty much the same.” She suddenly remembered the phone call from Martha Cates. “Actually, something did happen.”

“Tell me.”

Of course she had his undivided attention now as she told him the whole story about the midnight caller and the fate of Carolyn Allard.

“Why didn't you call and tell me this last night?” he asked, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

“It was late and you're hard to reach,” she said, sounding defensive and feeling slightly stupid.

“You should have called me anyway. Did you get back to Cates?”

“No, I didn't. I kind of had mixed feelings about it.” She stopped. “Aaron, you don't seem very surprised to hear about Carolyn's suicide.”

“I'm not.” He pushed his empty plate aside. “And I'm glad you didn't return that call. Don't. I'll check out the Cates woman tomorrow.”

“Are you saying you knew what happened to Carolyn before I got the—” she started, but was interrupted because he stood up and reached for her hand, bringing her to her feet. His arms entwined around her waist, their lips met, her heart pounded, and she was a goner.

Nearly two hours later, she lay in bed with her head against his chest, his arm looped around her. “I'm sorry about earlier,” Aaron whispered, his voice like a rumble in her ear. “I should have answered you.”

“You're forgiven this time,” Valerie said, toying with the dog tag around his neck. “What I want to know is who told you about Carolyn, and why I have the feeling that you're worried that someone might still be pursuing me because of that stupid money?”

“A contact told me about Carolyn,” he answered. “And I'm 95 percent positive that you're not in any danger.”

“Uh-oh. I know 95 percent isn't good enough for you.” She traced her finger carefully over his scar.

“You don't have anything to worry about,” Aaron said, brushing her hand lightly aside.

Gathering the blankets around her, Valerie sat up straight. The finality in his voice hinted that the discussion was over and this irked her. She was not about to be placated as if she were a completely helpless child convinced that Daddy could protect her from everything—like her mother, who had always looked to her husband as if he were God Himself.

“I'm the one who will decide what I have to worry about.” She clutched the blankets tighter. “Do you think Martha Cates is dangerous?”

“No. But she was the last and only person to visit Carolyn in prison. I don't want you to do anything with the information she gave you. At least not until everything about her checks out.”

Valerie sighed. His logic couldn't be refuted. It definitely made sense, and it certainly wasn't that she was thrilled about getting back to the woman anyway. She glanced at Aaron, whose expression in the darkened room seemed unreadable

“But if Cates is clean, are you planning to call her at some point?” he asked.

“I don't want to.” She slid closer to him again. “But at the same time, I don't feel right about keeping the money. I've never felt right about it, and in some ways I'd be happy to give it away.”

“Gordon Allard wanted you to have it,” Aaron said.

“Yes, but that's going on the assumption that he didn't know he had a grandson.”

“Suppose he really was a bigot and deliberately shut the kid out?”

Valerie sighed for the hundredth time. “And then turned around and gave the inheritance to an unrelated black woman? Look, I know that there are some things you can never really know about another person, but I honestly don't believe he would do such a thing. If his granddaughter believed him to be a racist, it was probably due to her disagreements with him over some of the seamy characters she associated with. What parent would have nice things to say about their child associating with criminals, no matter what race they were?”

Aaron said nothing. He had moved over on his side with his back to her, and as she leaned over to look, she noticed his eyes were closed. She nudged him.

“Aaron Weiss, you better not be sleeping when I'm talking to you.”

She could see that the corner of his mouth was turned up ever so slightly, prompting her to tickle him under the chin because she knew he hated that gesture. He responded by slapping her hand away.

She laughed and suddenly remembered her odd feeling earlier in the day. “Just one more question and I promise I'll let you sleep. Before you got here, did you by any chance have someone watching me, playing bodyguard?”

“Do you think I did?” He sounded amused.

“I wouldn't put it past you. And this morning I had the strangest feeling that I was being followed.”

“Valerie, you worry entirely too much. Not only that, but you're getting paranoid.”

“What? How dare you of all people, Mr. Cloak and Dagger, call
me
paranoid.” She seized her pillow and whumped him on the side of the face.

He laughed and her own laughter quickly blended with his. He then turned around and took her in his arms again.

“Now what? I thought you were tired.”

“How could I possibly be tired? The night is still young and my wife is still beautiful.”