The last seemed to help Gregory. It did Alec no good whatsoever.
Yet, in those midnight hours when his defenses were down, his mind wandered to Laurel and the things she had said. Try as he might, he could not make his knowledge of her mesh with her callous dismissal of him. He could not believe she was that shallow or her affection so fleeting. Or perhaps it was only that he didn’t want to believe it.
One hot night in early July, he sat reading an old Zane Grey Western he had taken from Gran’s bookshelf, leaning back in the chair next to Gregory’s bed. His brother’s frail form hardly lifted the sheet. His painfully thin face lay in shadow, since the only light in the room was the small floor lamp beside the chair. The low hum of the window air conditioner drowned out the night noises. It made the air in the room more frigid than Alec liked, but he endured it because Gregory, fighting the fever that was slowly baking him, required the coolness.
He turned a page. The sound, faint as it was, caused a change in Gregory’s breathing. His brother turned his head on his pillow and lay staring at him for long moments. His eyes burned deep in their sockets, his lips were bloodless. His hands on the sheets were austerely elegant in their skeletal shaping.
“Did you need something?” Alec asked quietly.
Gregory began to shake his head, then stopped. “Yes, maybe I do. I need to tell you I was wrong.”
“About what?” Alec lowered his book to his knee, putting his hand flat on the page to hold his place.
“Your Laurel. She was stronger than I suspected.”
Alertness spread through Alec, though he moved not a single muscle or tendon, allowed nothing to show on his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but in what way?”
“She took all the stuff I told her about you and didn’t let it matter. Where most would have backpedaled like crazy, she kept asking for details, for reasons. The talk didn’t faze her. She made her own judgment, and it was a fair one. I was impressed. I was also jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Nobody ever looked at me as she looked at you. Nobody ever saw me as clearly. Nobody ever carved my face from memory the way she did yours. And I knew—know—that nobody ever will.”
“It didn’t mean anything.” The words were flat. Alec stretched his hand out over the double pages of the open book and pressed down until the ends of his fingers had no more feeling.
“I thought that at first. I thought she was one of those women who like to try something different, sort of like taking a strange dessert from a cart because it looks exotic. I didn’t want her sampling you just because she was older and might feel like a younger man made for a lighter choice—one that wouldn’t count.”
“Thank you very much,” Alec said with a notable lack of appreciation.
Gregory smoothed the sheet. “Yes, well, most relationships like that don’t last, you know. I mean, what’s there to talk about once you get out of bed? And people assume men aren’t looking for anything permanent, so women feel free to indulge. But that wasn’t good enough for you.”
“It didn’t occur to you that I might handle the problem myself?”
Gregory gave a hoarse laugh. “Not really. You’ve worked so hard for so long that you haven’t had much time for women of a certain sort. On top of that, you don’t take things lightly—never did, never could. You’re serious, you deal in forever. I knew your Laurel could hurt you without intending it, maybe without even knowing it.”
Alec leaned his dark head against the high chair-back, staring at the faded wallpaper on the far side of the bed. “I’ll give you credit for that much, at least.”
“Yeah, but as I said, I was wrong. Whatever the two of you had, it was special. I could see that every time you mentioned her name, every time you thought of her. Now I think something must have come between the two of you, something to do with the stuff going on at Ivywild. I don’t know what it is exactly, and I can see you’re not going to tell me, but it would be a shame if it turned out to be permanent.”
“You don’t know,” Alec said, the words barely above a whisper.
Gregory was silent, his eyes fixed on Alec’s face. Then a harsh laugh shook his painfully thin frame. “You think I had something to do with all that mess? Flattering, but that much hostility takes a lot of energy, and I don’t have it. Or the imagination. Besides which, it would be awfully hard for me to build up my snot-nosed kid brother as the devil incarnate.”
“I would ask you to swear it, scout’s honor, but neither of us was ever a Boy Scout.” Alec’s gaze was direct.
“True, and yet what reason do I have to lie?” Gregory watched him with the lamplight shining a sickly yellow on the perspiration that sheeted his face.
Alec wanted to believe him. It was only a small step from there to accepting what he said. He sighed and ran a tired hand over his eyes, then back through his hair. In implied apology, he said, “It was only a vague idea. But I wish I had some clue about who went to so much trouble to make sure Laurel and I didn’t stay together.”
“Find out why,” Gregory said. “Then it should be easy enough to make out who.”
“That’s the trouble—there’s no reason that makes sense. It’s all just spite and venom.”
“Nobody has anything to gain?”
“Not that I can tell. It isn’t as if me being around was going to affect anybody’s inheritance, as it did with Mrs. Chadwick. Laurel is young and healthy. She should live fifty years or more, even outlive me.”
“Then somebody must have something to lose.”
“Like what? We’ve ruled out money.”
“Power. Prestige. Social position. Secrets, maybe. That’s the kind of thing people kill for in this part of the country.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Alec said in slow consideration.
“Because you’ve been hung up on all the weird stuff. There’s nothing to that part. You know it, I know it. Whoever put it out there knows it. So that leaves the practical angle.”
It was easy to see the intelligence in the ravaged face, easier still to regret, in impotent rage, its useless loss. There was also affection buried deep in the hollow eyes, along with a lingering shred of doubt. “I should have talked to you sooner,” Alec said. “You seem to have noticed a lot that I missed.”
“It was as much my fault as yours that you didn’t,” Gregory answered. “I was too wrapped up in myself to be of any use.”
“While my thoughts were on other things entirely,” Alec agreed with irony.
“It’s about time. Lovely things they were, too. If they hadn’t been, I would have had no reason to envy you.”
“You wanted Laurel.” The words were simple, without heat because there was no need for it now, nor would there ever be.
“Who wouldn’t?” Gregory said and tried to smile, though it was a poor effort.
Alec put his book aside, then reached to take his brother’s hand. “Then we’re more alike than anyone would have thought.”
The contrast between their hands, one pale and emaciated, the other strong and brown, was so marked that any comparison could only be a mockery. Still, Gregory returned the gentle pressure of Alec’s clasp. “Yes,” he said, his lips curving in a tremulous smile. “I think we may be.”
The minutes blipped past on the digital face of the clock on the table. Alec thought Gregory slept. He was mistaken, for after a while his brother stirred. Voice hesitant, he said, “I don’t think I made any difference, do you? I mean, by talking to Laurel? I didn’t have anything to do with whatever is wrong between you?”
Alec met his brother’s gaze, his own steadfast and as firm as his handclasp. His voice was even, though perhaps a little husky, as he said, “No, not a thing. Don’t let it worry you anymore.”
Gregory closed his eyes as if he could no longer hold them open. “I’m glad.”
After a time, Gregory’s breathing grew a little deeper, and he seemed to sleep. The lines of pain and illness eased from his fa
ce, and he looked younger than he had in some time. Later, in the hour just before dawn, he sighed in his sleep, and finally let go of Alec’s hand, which he still held. His breathing stopped, leaving the room quiet, so quiet, and far, far too cool.
Alec rose and stood there for long seconds, his hand lying on his brother’s face. Then he lifted it, turned away. Crossing the room with quiet, steady treads, he switched off the air conditioner.
People came to the funeral chapel for the service who had not shown their faces in Grannie Callie’s house while Gregory was alive. Not that the numbers were great, even then. Most were Gran’s friends. The older they were, the more comfortable with death—or so it seemed to Alec—and the greater their respect for its rituals. Whether it was a matter of obsolete childhood training or of simple familiarity was impossible to say.
Alec sat on one side of his grandmother in the front pew reserved for family mourners, with Mita on the other. One or two distant cousins occupied the pew behind them. The other attendees sat well back, leaving them in isolation.
They also talked. The sound of whispers and low comments reverberated against the walls in waves like ocean surf. Alec could sense the stares boring into the back of his head, feel the concentration of fixed gazes like a weight on his shoulders. A miasma of morbid curiosity hung in the air. Alec refused to let it matter. With an arm around the narrow shoulders of his grandmother, he focused fiercely on the silver-gray metal of Gregory’s closed casket with its blanket of red and white roses. All he wanted was for the formalities to begin so that they could be over at last.
It was the rising tone of the whispers, like a disturbance in a beehive, that alerted him. He glanced around, following the line of sight made by turning heads.
A soft curse feathered across his lips. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. She was still there.
It was Laurel. Laurel—thin, pale, regal in black, and incredibly, gloriously beautiful with her hair coiled like a shining crown on top of her head. She paused for a moment in the doorway, taking in the situation. Her face seemed to turn whiter, if such a thing were possible. Then, looking neither right nor left, she walked down the aisle of the chapel to the front pew where he sat.
She hesitated, her gaze dark blue with trepidation. She was shaking, the fine tremors running over her in endless sequence. His heart twisted in his chest as he realized the effort it had taken for her to be here, to walk to where he sat. He reached out his hand.
She stepped toward him, stumbling a little but recovering with grace. Her fingers were icy as she grasped his and held on tight. Then she seated herself beside him and stared straight ahead.
God, but he was an idiot.
Alec could no longer remember the things she had said or how he had felt. All he could think about was taking her in his arms and warming her, wiping away the stricken look in her eyes, making her smile.
What was she doing here? Why in holy hell would she stay hidden for weeks, then show herself on the one day and in the one place that was sure to start tongues clacking even louder than before?
He could think of only one reason. It was for him, only for him. She had come because she didn’t want him to face everyone virtually alone. She still had some concern for him, even if nothing else. But thinking wasn’t knowing, and he didn’t dare trust his instincts.
Nor did he dare look at her, smile at her, touch her beyond holding her cold hand. He should let that go, too, and would as soon as he could force himself. The last thing she needed was more talk about her.
Now, when he would have liked a longer time with Laurel beside him, the ceremony began without further delay and rushed along toward its end. The prayers, the eulogy, the words from the preacher sped by. The empty ceremony of the mourners filing past the sealed casket went forward and was quickly done. Then they were all outside, standing in that awkward moment while the casket was loaded into the hearse. His grandmother was crying, and he comforted her for a moment. Then, taking his sister’s arm, he turned with Mita to introduce her to Laurel.
She wasn’t there. She was gone, had slipped away as silently as she had come. The stabbing ache inside him was a warning of how much it mattered. It was also an incentive—one he vowed with grim purpose to act on as soon as he was able.
He was held up by family obligations and decorum until nightfall. Even then, he had to escape while the others were clearing the kitchen or taking their baths. Still, he felt more himself as he discarded his suit and tie for his jeans and straddled his bike. The rush of the soft night air helped clear his head, leaving him single-minded and purposeful for the first time in days.
The long hours sitting with Gregory had given him time to think and to remember. He didn’t have all the answers, but he thought he had some idea of the right questions to ask. It was time to find out.
Laurel heard the bike long before it pulled up outside the front gate. She wasn’t really surprised Alec had come, but hadn’t expected him so soon. She had thought tomorrow afternoon, perhaps, since she knew too well the thousands of details that had to be settled after a death in the family. Then there was his sister here from the West Coast who would want to spend time with him. No, Laurel had not expected him tonight. Yet, she was ready.
With nothing else to do during the long afternoon, she had straightened the house, dusted furniture that had not seen a dust cloth in some time, vacuumed and mopped in a frenzy of effort. Then she had taken a bath and put on a jumpsuit with full, skirtlike legs in pale yellow printed with aqua and burgundy. She had even swept the veranda before flipping off the ceiling light above the front door and sitting down in the swing to enjoy the scents and sounds of the front garden. She had also figured out what she was going to say—how she was going to explain showing up for the funeral after having told Alec she never wanted to see him again.
She met him at the foot of the steps, not so far from where she had seen him the first night he’d come to Ivywild. In the light slanting from inside the house, he looked much the same as then. He was just as broad and strong, just as starkly handsome, just as intent behind his indolence. Yet, deeper lines had been carved around his eyes and mouth, and there was a grim set to his shoulders that had not been there before. He looked like a man who had discovered what he wanted and who intended to get it one way or the other. A shiver ran over her, then died away to stillness.
He wasted no time on preliminaries. Coming to a stop in front of her with his hands braced on his hipbones, he asked, “Why?”
“Duty,” she replied on a choked half laugh. She had understood him well enough to know exactly what he would say. “Why else do people go to funerals except for duty and pure dumb fellow feeling?”
“I thought there might be something else.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed. “Maybe because I owed you something for what you tried to do for me, even if the experiment turned out less than successful.”
“Oh, I succeeded,” he said. “You just undid it again with your own two hands.”
The T-shirt he had on, faded black with silver lettering advertising a long-defunct rock band, covered his dragon completely. That was a pity. But the soft, dark material was so shrink-wrapped to the hard musculature of his chest that it made her fingertips tingle with the need to touch. Turning away from him a little desperately, she said, “Would you like to come inside? I could get you something to drink.”
He remained where he was. “What I would like are answers.”
“I don’t have any for you!” she retorted, swinging back in sudden anger so that the wide legs of her jumpsuit flared around her. “I’m sorry if you thought that my showing up today meant something special. It didn’t. Call it an impulse. Call it a gesture for Miss Callie. Call it pity, if you prefer, but don’t make it into something it’s not.”
“You’re the one who made something of it, Laurel,” he said in compressed certainty.
“No.”
“First you shut yourself up in this place like a n
un, not seeing a soul. When you leave it, finally, you march into the Hillsboro funeral chapel and sit down beside me as if you belong there. You did that in spite of all the things you said. You did it regardless of what I might think. You did it even though you were literally shaking with fear of the consequences. So I ask you again—why?”
“For me,” she said, lifting her chin. “I did it for me.”
His thick brows meshed above his nose. “I think you’ll have to explain that.”
Indecision and despair chased themselves across her face, then vanished. “Maybe you did a fair job of making sure I was alive, after all, because I found out I couldn’t stand being shut up again. I hated having nothing to do except mope. I despised letting all your work go to waste. And I purely hated the feeling that I had been defeated without ever beginning to fight.”
Some of the tension eased from his face. As she stopped, closing her lips in a tight line, he said, “So you decided not to stand for it.”
“You could put it that way. After Zelda called to tell me about Gregory, the walls began to close in on me. I felt that whoever had put me back where I was before was standing somewhere watching and laughing up their sleeve, gloating because of everything they had taken from me. It made me mad.”
His smile began at one corner of his mouth and spread across it before rising to his eyes in a shimmer of pure pleasure. He shook his head. “And I thought I would have to do that.”
A trace of her annoyance remained as she guessed at his meaning. “Make me mad?”
“Furious. At me. Or whoever. At the world. Whatever it took to wake you up. If that failed, I was ready for more drastic measures.”
“Such as?”
He stepped toward her with sure, heated purpose. It was then that a shadow edged forward, coming toward them along the path that led from the back past the cistern and lily pool and around the curved end of the house. Alec saw it first and caught Laurel’s arm to drag her behind him. There was no time for more. The shadow became a square figure in a stylish dress and resolved itself into Zelda, with a sly smile on her lips, which were painted the red-black color of rum raisins. She moved forward with less care, her high heels clacking on the sidewalk.
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