What the Heart Wants (19 page)

“Good to see you, Craig. Laurel, this is Craig Freiberg. He's been helping me set up some local operations.”

Freiberg nodded at her politely. “Mrs. Redlander.”

Laurel's heart jumped a beat, but she didn't correct him.

Jase didn't either, which made her heart beat double.

The maître d' approached the table again. One of Augustus's duties, Laurel remembered, was to discourage table-hopping.

“Mr. Freiberg, please return to your table. Your dinner will be served presently.”

Freiberg stood up. “Oops, guess I'd better get back where I belong. Jase, I'll check in with you tomorrow.” He pushed his chair back under the table and nodded at Laurel, all his teeth gleaming. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Redlander.”

Laurel watched him hurry back across the room. Craig Freiberg was one of those people who seemed to have speed built into their DNA.

Jase lifted her left hand and touched her ring finger. “Mrs. Redlander,” he repeated. “It sounded good. Maybe we should consider it.”

“Maybe,” Laurel echoed, smiling at him, all the time knowing it was impossible. Their relationship was living on borrowed time. If only things were different, if she weren't her father's daughter, she'd marry Jase in an instant, leave Bosque Bend behind, and start a new life. But that wasn't about to happen. If Jase did actually want to “make it legal,” she'd have to tell him everything, which she absolutely could not do. Not only would it destroy their relationship, but it would destroy him. He'd built his life on Daddy.

No, better to let this affair run its course and have Jase ride off into the sunset when it was over.

In the far corner of the room, the pianist serenaded the diners with a random mix of slow, soulful blues. Sometimes Mrs. Atherton, who'd been Laurel's piano teacher from when Laurel was four till when she went off to college, would present a whole program of ragtime, but tonight was apparently one of her more contemplative evenings.

After Jase gave their dinner orders to the waiter, he led Laurel from the table to join another couple on the small parquet dance square. The club had always featured live music, but only in the past couple of years, since the year before Daddy's fall from grace, had a few tables been cleared for dancing. The Baptists and Church of Christers had protested, of course, so out of respect for his fellow clergy, Daddy had asked Laurel to limit her dancing to other venues, but she figured his death made her promise moot.

She laid her head against Jase's shoulder and closed her eyes. It didn't matter whether he was a good dancer or not. All she wanted was an excuse to be close to him. And, with her head buried in his shoulder, no one would recognize her.

At some point Augustus discreetly informed them that their dinner was served, and they returned to their table. For all Laurel knew, she could have eaten meatloaf—she was with Jase, and that was all that mattered. Afterward they meandered back into yet another one of the club rooms, this one decorated in oyster and aqua, and Grover brought them coffee.

A wave of crazy exhilaration swept through her.
Wow!
Nobody had said anything about Daddy—not Art Sawyer, not even Ray Espinoza. Everything would be okay after all. Just a few minutes more and they'd be out of here. What had she gotten herself so worked up about?

“Ready to go back to the house?” Jase asked, running his hand lightly down her arm. “I think I've signed for everything, and we're free to go.”

She gave him a radiant smile and started to rise, then sat back down again as Craig Freiberg burst into the room with two older men in his wake.

“Jase! I hoped you hadn't left yet! Here are some guys you really need to meet!”

Laurel cowered back into the sofa and willed the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

No, not now, when all her defenses were down—Uncle Larry and Uncle Ricky. They weren't her uncles by blood, but that's what she had grown up calling them.

Freiberg presented his finds like a proud parent. “Richard Simcek has a finger in every pie in town, and Larry Traylor is our mayor.”

Laurel suppressed a shudder. Uncle Larry, a member of her father's congregation, had refused to let Daddy remove his personal mementoes from the church office. Uncle Ricky had turned his back on Mama in the produce section of Piggly Wiggly three days before she killed herself.

Larry Traylor stretched his face into a jolly-fatman smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he stepped forward with his hand outstretched toward Jase.

No one had noticed her yet, Laurel realized. All their attention was focused on Jase, who was in fine form, pumping hands and introducing himself as “Jason Redlander, Redlander Properties out of Dallas.”

Dear God, her gentle, considerate lover had automatically gone into shark-hunter mode.

The men's wives were surging forward now too.

“My wife, Betsy,” Uncle Ricky said, presenting her to Jase.

“So nice to meet you.” She gave Jase her hand and, as usual, glanced at her husband to make sure she'd said the right thing.

Aunt Betsy had aged a lot in three years, Laurel noted. Had Uncle Ricky been playing around on her again?

As soon as Betsy Simcek backed off, standing beside her husband again but keeping anxious eyes focused on Jase, Uncle Larry's wife stepped forward to introduce herself.

“I'm Isabelle Traylor, but everyone calls me ‘Izzy.' Just plain ol' Izzy, that's me.” She tossed her mink stole behind her shoulders for emphasis.

In contrast to Betsy Simcek, Aunt Izzy didn't seem to have changed in the least—still pleasantly plump, still wearing her purple-tinted hair in rolls and puffs, still jovial. At least on the surface. Everyone in town knew her as a hard-boiled businesswoman whose money sense was the only thing that, time after time, had saved her showboating husband from financial disaster.

Suddenly Laurel realized Jase was tugging on her hand. When she tried to resist, he exerted even more pressure, forcing her to stand up.

“And this is Mrs. Redlander,” Craig announced.

Jase corrected him with an easy smile. “Not quite yet, but we're working on it.” He dropped his arm around her shoulders. “I think you all know Laurel Harlow. I understand her father was one of the founders of the club.”

Laurel tried to smile, but could feel the room closing in on her. The foursome's faces looked like he had just introduced them to Lady Dracula.

Uncle Ricky and Uncle Larry were the first to recover, closing their jaws and blinking their eyes back into their heads simultaneously. She'd seen them in action before—nothing caught those two by surprise for very long.

A drawing of the lips that passed for a smile spread across the mayor's face. “Well, isn't that just great!” he said in a hearty tone. “Jase Redlander and little Laurel Harlow. How about a congratulatory kiss for your ol' Uncle Larry?”

Advancing on Laurel, he enclosed her in a hearty hug, then planted a smacking buss on her cheek. Laurel smiled stiffly and lifted an arm as if to welcome his embrace. Maybe they could all play this off, and she could hurry Jase out to the car.

Uncle Ricky took over where Uncle Larry left off. In his day, he'd been quite handsome, and she'd had a short-lived crush on him in her early teens. That was when she learned about his tendency to grope, which had been going on for so long that she doubted if he was even conscious of it anymore. Sure enough, one of his hands managed to brush her hip as he gave her a quick hug.

Jase frowned as he watched the men greet Laurel. This was awkward. What the hell was going on? Something was wrong. Traylor and Simcek wanted to reject Laurel, just like Rebecca Diaz had, but they had to accept her because she was with him. Their wives were still hanging back, though.

Then the big one, Izzy Traylor, lifted the slack sides of her mouth into a beaming smile, and stepped forward to grasp Laurel's hand, murmuring how nice it was to see her again.

But Simcek's wife was a different kettle of fish. She shook off her husband's grip and backed off from Laurel. “No, no, Ricky! I won't shake hands with her! You can't make me!”

Her jaw sawed back and forth in indignation, and her eyes were rolling with rage and anger. “I won't do it, no matter what! Not after what Ed did! Maybe you don't remember, Ricky, but I do! My own nephew too! Maybe it didn't come to court, but it should have! That dirty old man—and he bought his way out of it!”

Jase's jaw dropped. What was she talking about? Reverend Ed, a dirty old man? Was the woman insane? And, of course, everyone in the place was coming into the room to check out the train wreck.

Fuck, he didn't need this.

He took Laurel's arm. “I think we'd better leave.” Maneuvering her through the gathering crowd, he headed down the wide hall to the entryway.

The doorman, ignorant of the commotion within, tipped his hat politely as they left and wished them a good night.

Laurel was wooden with fear. Now Jase would have to know. Had she thought she could keep it from him forever?
You knew it wouldn't last. Just be grateful for what time you had with him and let him go.

Neither of them spoke as they returned to the house. He parked under the porte cochere again and helped her out of the car. They let themselves in by the same side entrance they'd left from a century earlier in the day.

He walked her into the front room. They took seats across from each other.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

These were the words she had been anticipating and dreading all the way home, and she still didn't know what to say. How could she explain about Daddy? But she was tired of running and hiding and pretending everything was all right, so she just blurted it all out.

“My father sexually molested six of the boys who came to him for counseling.” She'd never said the words aloud before, and could feel a flush rising in her cheeks. “Betsy Simcek's nephew was one of them. Apparently it had been going on for a couple of years.”

Jase stared at her as if he hadn't heard her right. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Jase shook his head in denial. “I don't understand.”

Laurel sighed, closed her eyes for a second, and tried to remember how her father had explained himself. “Daddy said he'd always had…an attraction…to teenage boys, but he was able to keep it in check. Apparently as he got older, his control…slipped. At first it was inappropriate touching, but when it escalated, Daddy turned himself in to Mr. Bridges, who worked out a way to protect my mother and me by keeping it out of the courts. Daddy promised to pay damages to all the families and for psychotherapy for all the boys like—like Betsy Simcek's nephew and…and Ray's brother, Carlos. After Daddy died, Mama and I inherited his financial obligations—and the town's ill will. People felt deceived, I think, because they'd thought Daddy was so perfect, but he wasn't. Mama—Mama couldn't take it and…committed suicide…about a year ago, so now I'm the only one left to hate.”

She didn't cry. She was long past that, and it had never helped. Anyway, she was merely peripheral damage, not one of the real victims. Those boys, even Betsy Simcek's smarmy nephew—they were the ones who deserved the sympathy.

Jase drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Is that why Carson divorced you?”

“Yes. He didn't think he could get anywhere anymore in Bosque Bend if he was connected with my family.” Her neck felt so tight. She rolled it on the back of the chair.
No more questions, please.

“And that's why you didn't want to go the club tonight?”

“Yes, yes,” she answered, impatient with him now. She had a headache and she wanted to go to bed. She needed to sleep. To sleep and forget.

“And that's why you were worried about me talking to Sarah, because you were afraid she would tell me about Reverend Ed?”

“Yes, everything you say! I didn't want you to know!” She knew she was getting snappish, but she couldn't help it.

He pierced her with his eyes. “Don't you think it would have been better to warn me? To level with me beforehand?”

“Yes—no—I don't know.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I've never talked about it to anyone before. I didn't know how to tell you, what to say. And…I guess I was protecting myself too, because then I'd have to admit…the reality.”

He stared at her with cold, dark eyes. “I despise sexual predators.” His voice sounded like God's judgment.

“I know.”

“I despise adults who seduce children under the guise of helping them. I think they should be shot on sight.”

She nodded, weary of it all, but understanding she'd have to hear him out.

He stood up and walked the room, then smacked his fist into his hand.

“God! How could he do it! I respected him more than anyone else in the world! He was the only one who stood by me!” He turned on Laurel. “He even gave me money. Did he expect some kind of return on it?”

Laurel sat there with her head down, trying to ward off his voice. She knew all the questions. She'd wondered about some of them herself.

Jase started pacing again. She could almost see the energy pouring off him.

“What a sham! Edward Harlow, the
Reverend
Edward Harlow—” he repeated. “I've built my life around a sham! Ever since I was sixteen, I've tried to live up to the standards he taught me—to work hard, to live honestly, to look forward rather than backward, to respect other people! And all the time he was…”

He looked toward the office door and shook his head in disbelief.

Laurel continued to sit silently, helplessly, waiting for the final blow to fall.

“This is too much. I'm sorry, Laurel, but I can't handle it. I've got to get out of here.” He reached for his jacket. Something fell out of a pocket and rolled across the floor, but he snatched it up and stuffed it back in his pants pocket before she could see what it was.