Words Unspoken (28 page)
The truth was simple: it had been a pleasure, a great pleasure for Katy Lynn too.
________
“Ready, kids?” Katy Lynn called up to Sandy and Luke.
Janelle smiled to herself, hearing their enthusiastic “Yeessss!” as they came bounding down the steps. Sandy was wearing her favorite white lace blouse and bright pink jeans, and Luke had actually combed his hair and tucked his blue polo shirt into a pair of clean jeans.
“This is a big compliment to you, Katy Lynn. They’re dressing up for their date with their aunt.”
“You kids look great,” Katy Lynn cooed. “Now let’s get out of here!”
Janelle merely stared in wonder as they left the house with Katy Lynn saying, “Okay, I’m giving you each two bus tickets. You hang on to them, you hear?”
She shut the front door and leaned against it and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Lord. For little gifts. Lots of little gifts.” She played out the wonderful afternoon with her sister in her mind. Then she remembered with a tinge of delight the astonished faces of her children when she had picked them up from school.
“Oh, Mommy! You look so, so beautiful! You are a princess!” Sandy had squealed.
Janelle had always heard that if you really wanted to know the truth, ask a six-year-old. Sandy had volunteered the compliment with absolutely no prodding. Even Luke had stopped, looked at her for a long moment, and smiled sheepishly before stuffing his mouth with bread and chocolate.
And now Katy Lynn insisted on taking the kids to the McDonald’s that was housed in a beautiful eighteenth-century building on
Place de la Comedie
and then, after dinner, to see the newest Disney movie. The kids were beside themselves.
Janelle hoped her beet-red face had not scared the children when Katy Lynn whispered before leaving, “You and Brian need a night at home alone to celebrate his homecoming and your makeover. And you better wear the lingerie—at least for a few minutes! Promise?”
She went upstairs, checking her watch. Brian was due home in an hour. She showered quickly, then covered her body in lotion. Wiping the fog from the small bathroom mirror, Janelle tried to apply the makeup as the lady had shown her. Her hands were trembling. Obediently, she donned the beautiful lace lingerie and then pulled on a new pair of jeans and the blouse. She felt like a girl on her first date. Terrified. What if Brian didn’t like her haircut?
She turned on the cassette player, listening to Amy Grant’s new album as she prepared supper. She set the table with the linen place mats from Katy Lynn and the stoneware they’d inherited from other missionaries who returned to the States. She even opened a bottle of wine and lit several candles.
When she heard the car engine in the driveway, her heart started thumping ridiculously. Brian opened the front door, and she met him there. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
It took him several seconds to take in her new appearance. “Wow! Honey! Look at you.”
“Am I okay?”
“Okay?” He shut the door. “You look like a twenty-year-old model. You’re gorgeous.” He set down his briefcase and gave her a long kiss. Then he noticed the soft music, the candles, the table set for two. “Where are the others?”
“Katy Lynn took the kids. She wanted us to have a night alone. She’s the one who insisted on everything—paid for my haircut and new clothes and … other things.” She looked up at Brian and lifted her eyebrows; his eyes registered surprise and complicity.
“Your sister? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just fixed her some tea, and she opened up and started sharing. It was hard, and good. Very good.”
Brian took her in his arms and held her close for a long time. “Never underestimate the power of my wife and a good cup of tea! You’re amazing.”
The evening was a roaring success. Brian approved of everything, especially the French lingerie, which now lay on the floor beside the bed as she lay in his arms.
________
By Friday morning Ted could tell that his heavy trading in the Kaufman account was working, but not really fast enough.
Okay, this is truly against my principles, but I don’t have a choice.
He’d simply move to the next logical step—doing a lot of trading in things the doctor had not authorized.
Be careful with the junk bonds
.
He shut out Jerry’s voice. If he didn’t make the club, his difficult marriage was going to take a bigger downturn than the stock market. He knew the adage
Put your family first
, and he intended to do it. Junk bonds, it had to be. An adjustment, a bit of illegal trading in the account. The end would justify the means, Ted assured himself as he wrote out the orders for those three high-risk bonds and several other very speculative stocks for Dr. Kaufman. He believed in himself and the market. This downward swing was going to be followed by an upward spike. He’d been right before.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 17
Silvano put on his best suit, slicked back his hair, splashed the Ralph Lauren aftershave on his face, observed himself in the mirror, and felt satisfied. He’d made it through the week with Eddy Clouse watching his every move. The boss didn’t have a clue.
Let him snoop and stare. I’ve covered my bases. He won’t find me out.
Buono!
Now he could enjoy a date with the girl in the bookstore— “bright with a tragic past,” as Evan had put it—who knew Latin and Rome and books. Evan trusted him—Silvano was like a son to the old shopkeeper. So when he prodded about Lissa’s background, Evan shared the information that her Latin teacher had revealed to him on Saturday. “Bad accident, mother killed. The kid isn’t going to college, although she should. She should be at Emory or Harvard. I tell you, she has a lot of potential… .”
Potential. Now that was a word Silvano liked. A girl with potential; a relationship with potential. All to help him reach his goals, to push him along in his quest for money and family honor. He mentally listed Lissa Randall’s name beside that of Edmond Clouse, Ted Draper, and of course S. A. Green. Adding up all that potential spelled the word he liked best of all:
success
.
________
Lissa felt like dressing up for the first time in eighteen months. The last time she’d worn a dress was at the funeral, a black dress that she had stuffed in the back of the closet. But before that, she had worn dresses and enjoyed feeling feminine. Her girlfriend Jill had said long ago, “You look sexy in anything—riding pants, tight jeans, or an evening gown.”
That was before the accident, before food had completely lost its taste, and she had lost her curves. She was too thin. But never mind. It felt good to want to dress up. She had no doubt that Silvano would be dressed nicely. Her friends used to laugh that he wore a suit to study at The Sixth Declension
.
She washed her hair, blew it dry, and let it fall loosely on her shoulders, surprised to notice its healthy shine and natural red highlights. She recalled Jill’s advice from a few years back: “You’ve got gorgeous eyes and long lashes. Add a little mascara when you really want to attract attention. And don’t forget the lipstick—soft pink is best for your complexion.” She searched in several drawers before she found the makeup and applied it.
Opening her walk-in closet door, she went in and studied her choices. Nothing too tight—that made her look emaciated. At the back of her closet she found a long-sleeved, off-white dress, the one she had worn to the fall banquet her senior year. It certainly had enhanced her figure back then. She pulled it over her head, then found an oversized belt and buckled it around her waist. Next came the brown leather boots and a cable-knit cardigan with great fall colors—red and orange and green. A gold necklace and earrings completed her outfit. Staring in the mirror, several words flashed in her mind:
attractive, pretty, classy.
What nice words to be hearing!
Last, she grabbed a jacket and skipped down the steps.
Her father was watching the news on TV in the den. He glanced up at her, then back at the TV and again at her. “Lissa, you look great, sweets. What’s up?”
She tried to sound nonchalant. “I told you I ran into an old friend when I went to Atlanta. He’s taking me to dinner.”
“An old friend?”
“Yeah. He was an Emory student—he hung out at The Sixth Declension, and I got to know him a little when I went there to get books.”
Her father nodded and turned back to the television program. Lissa wished he would leave. She didn’t relish the idea of introducing the two men, as if she were fourteen and on her first date.
Silvano arrived on time and was dressed, as she had imagined, with impeccable taste.
“Daddy, this is Silvano Rossi. Silvano, my father, Gary Randall.”
Silvano stuck out his hand and looked her father right in the eyes. His manner was confident and smooth. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Randall. Lissa tells me you work for Brock Candy.”
She didn’t recall giving him this information, searching in her memory so that she missed a little of their introduction.
“Yes, sure I know them. I see your ads all the time. As well known in Chattanooga as Gucci or Armani or Dior.”
“Are you in sales or fashion?” her father inquired.
“No, no. I’m in publishing. I’m an editor with Youngblood in Atlanta. But I’ve been around fashion all my life. I’m Italian. Grew up in the shade of the Vatican. I worked for some of the top designers as a young teen before I came to the States. I occasionally do an ad for them when I go back in the summers.”
They talked advertising, publishing, and fashion for thirty minutes, with her father offering Silvano a martini—which he accepted—as she sipped on a glass of Coke. Silvano seemed to know everyone. She was thankful when they escaped her house and headed to the restaurant where surely they could discuss Rome. Ancient Rome.
________
Silvano could hardly believe his luck. The girl lived in a mansion! A white mansion perched on the side of Lookout Mountain with a breathtaking view into the valley below. Sliding glass doors encompassed the whole back walls of their living room and dining area. Standing there at sunset, Silvano congratulated himself on having such fine taste not only in clothes and food but in women too.
“Lissa, you look absolutely ravishing. You’re a princess,” he complimented her as he held out his hand in the driveway. When she took it, blushing, he twirled her around. “Lovely.”
And in fact she was. Perhaps Lissa Randall would become more than just a friend. In any case, Evan was right. She had potential.
Silvano made a split-second decision. With this much at stake, the family restaurant he had planned to take her to would not do. Fortunately, he knew of a pricey little Italian restaurant with great atmosphere and live music in downtown Chattanooga. He could afford to spend the money, he reasoned. This was an investment.
Buono!
MONDAY, OCTOBER 19
Ev read through Janelle’s aerogram for the third time, his thoughts darting back and forth like frightened squirrels in the street.
Unbelievable.
That was his first thought. Katy Lynn was in Montpellier, staying with Janelle and Brian. The estranged daughter would not drive an hour and a half to visit them in Fort Oglethorpe, but she had flown across the ocean on a whim to be with her sister.
Disastrous
. That thought came next. From Janelle’s letter, it sounded like a battle on the scale of Chickamauga was brewing.
The other thought, the one that made his jaw sag, had everything to do with Janelle’s sentence:
She shared things of the past that I had no knowledge of.
Normally he would have received the prospect of his daughter coming to spend a month with them as a delightful blessing. But this felt more like a curse. He and Annie were going to have to face the past with her: their wealthy lifestyle, the separation, what it did to Katy Lynn, Tate, his depression.
Depression. Oh, how well he knew depression. He had seen the signs in Janelle long before tragedy struck, and he had cursed himself for passing down those genes. So often in the past he had used a “battle plan” to rid himself of those horrible lies, the whispers in the mind, the accusations that screamed self-hatred, that drowned-out hope. Now those old memories were threatening him again.
The phone rang and he reached for it, knocking a bottle of whiskey off the table.
“Son.”
Even in his stupor, he recognized his father’s stricken voice.
“Son, there’s been an accident.”
Without knowing quite how he got there, he was standing by the crumpled car, watching the ambulance’s blinking red light carry away his crumpled sister.
Two days later, after the other mourners had left, he sat beside her fresh grave, reaching out to her and sobbing until, completely exhausted, he lay down beside the dirt mound, whispering over and over again, “Tate.”
“Tate!” He said it out loud, pronounced the name with the same anguish in his voice as when he had lain by her grave in 1952, tears streaming down his face. Death was always just around the bend or visible out the rearview mirror. Who could escape it?
