Brass Ring
Page 43
“First batch of cookies.” Randy stood up. “I couldn’t wait for Cary.”
She watched him leave the room and listened as he walked down the stairs. She opened the drawer again and rested the sweatshirt on top of the others. Then she folded Margot’s letter in fourths and tucked it back where she’d found it. She would leave it there, in case Randy ever needed to remind himself of his sister’s advice. She doubted he would have to, though. He had embraced her counsel well enough the first time.
55
HARPERS FERRY, WEST VIRGINIA
JANUARY 1994
OUTSIDE THE HIGH WATER Hotel in Harpers Ferry, the snow fell softly, steadily, while inside, the annual conference of the Washington Area Rehabilitation Association was winding down. Everyone was joking about the fact that for the second year in a row, the hotel had conjured up a snowstorm to prevent the attendees from leaving, forcing them to keep their rooms an extra night. No one minded, though. The hotel was warm and cozy, and the setting was beautiful, high above the dueling rivers. No one minded at all.
The fire raged in the stone fireplace of the lobby, where Claire and Jon sat with a group of their colleagues. They’d called Susan over an hour ago to let her know they wouldn’t be coming home tonight. Susan, home for the holidays, would be returning to William and Mary the following day and, like last year, Claire and Jon would be unable to see their daughter before she left. Yet they hadn’t even considered driving in the storm. Claire had simply extended their reservation at the hotel, and Jon had simply expected that of her. The roads were treacherous tonight.
Claire looked across the circle of her friends to try to catch Jon’s eye. He was already looking at her, though, looking and smiling, and he nodded in the direction of the elevators.
She returned the nod and stood up, and they made their way through the crowded room, saying good-night to the people they passed, wishing them pleasant dreams.
Mary Drake stopped them at the elevator, grabbing Claire’s hand. “I admire you two so much,” she said. “Your workshop yesterday was the best you’ve ever done.”
“We enjoyed yours, too,” Jon said.
“Come on,” Mary chided him. “You know what I mean. Before, when you two talked, you were great and an inspiration and all, but everyone always thought, well Jon and Claire can make it work because they don’t have any problems.”
Claire laughed and rested her hand on Jon’s shoulder.
Mary shook her head. “I have to admit you shook me up a little when you started speaking so candidly about what this year’s been like for you. But it was terrific. You gave everyone a different perspective and a different kind of hope.”
“Thanks, Mary,” Claire said sincerely. They’d been hearing much the same message from other attendees since their workshop the day before. The truth was, she and Jon knew no other way to handle their presentation than with absolute honesty.
They took the elevator to the top floor. They were in the same spacious turret room they’d had the year before. The queen-sized bed was cradled in the circle of windows. All the shades were raised, and the sky outside was black, the falling snow barely visible.
Jon wheeled into the bathroom while Claire tried to reach Vanessa one more time on the phone. Vanessa was to have arrived in D.C. earlier that day, with Brian and two-month-old Catherine in tow. Claire had called her sister’s hotel a half-dozen times, but apparently the weather had caused some delays at the airport. This time, though, the hotel staff put her call through to Vanessa’s room, and her sister answered almost immediately.
“We’re still in Harpers Ferry, Van,” Claire said. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it back in time for the meeting tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” Vanessa said. “There was a message for me here at the hotel saying the meeting’s been postponed till Wednesday. The weather’s horrendous. Nobody’s going to make it in tomorrow.”
They’d set up this meeting over a month ago with Senator Christine Warrick, the feisty new sponsor of a revamped Aid to Adult Survivors Bill. With a little luck, the bill would make it through this year. It had lost its chance the year before. Zed Patterson’s grim-faced admission of “a problem” and his subsequent entry into a treatment program for pedophiles had ironically stolen the focus of attention from the bill he’d sponsored. But the three wary women and two frightened children who came forward with their own stories of abuse at Patterson’s hands left Claire and Vanessa no doubt at all that they had done the right thing. Jon had promised Vanessa that the foundation would keep her AMC program afloat until a more appropriate source of funding came through.
She and Vanessa spoke on the phone awhile longer, mainly about Catherine, who was proving to be a good-natured traveler in the face of adversity.
“I can’t wait to see her,” Claire said.
“She looks like you, Claire.”
“Like me?”
“Yes. Honestly, she does. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but Brian noticed it too. It’s great. I feel like I’ve got you with me all the time.”
Claire smiled to herself. “You do, you know.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa said, “I know.”
Jon was already in bed by the time she got off the phone. She told him about Vanessa’s side of the conversation while she put away her clothes. Jon listened, his back propped up against the pillows, and Claire saw the smiling impatience in his eyes as she folded her sweater and hung up her skirt.
“Come to bed, Claire,” he said.
She closed the closet door, then walked over to her side of the bed and turned off the lamp on the night table. The room was plunged into darkness, and as she stood between the bed and the curved wall of windows, she felt her eyes drawn outside. With the light off in the room, she could see the steady fall of snow, thick and gray above the icy rivers. And she could see, far in the distance, the haze-covered lights of the bridge over the Shenandoah. For a moment, she was caught in a trance. She was not in the room at all, but out there on that bridge, shivering against the cold and snow, suspended high above the river.
“I’m waiting for you, Harte.” Jon’s voice came softly through the darkness, and she drew in a breath and slowly turned away from the windows, away from the distant string of lights. And as she slipped into bed next to her husband, she offered a silent prayer of thanks to Margot St. Pierre.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One of the greatest pleasures in writing a novel is the opportunity to talk with people who know things I don’t and who are more than willing to help me create my fictional world. For their information and advice, I am indebted to Darlene Atkins, Rita Hagler, Sharon Lieblich, Maureen Lynch, Ken McLaughlin, Dottie and Bill Perry, and Katherine Young.
I’m also grateful to Joann Churchill, Elizabeth Hain, David Heagy, Mary Kirk, Peter Porosky, Suzanne Schmidt, and Laura Schmitz for reading various drafts of Brass Ring along the road to completion.
And for their enthusiasm, trust, and candor, I owe special thanks to B.J. Campbell and Bruce Scott.
Other Books by Diane Chamberlain
All of my in-print books are available as both print books and e-books and I’m gradually making my backlist available as well. You can keep up with availability on my website, where I maintain a printable booklist on the “Books” page. Visit me at:
www.dianechamberlain.com
www.dianechamberlain.com/blog
In Print Titles
(also available as e-books)
The Shadow Wife (originally published as Cypress Point)
The Lies We Told
Secrets She Left Behind
Before the Storm
The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes
The Bay at Midnight
The Courage Tree
Summer’s Child
Breaking the Silence
Keeper of the Light
Kiss River
Her Mother’s Shadow
Backlist Titles
Secret Lives
/> The Escape Artist
Reflection
Brass Ring
Fire and Rain
Private Relations
Lovers and Strangers