Second Harmony

by Barbara Bretton

  Her first instinct had been to blurt out everything about Michael and her mother and the growing sense of destiny surrounding her return to Long Island, but some other instinct, honed by time, had blessedly triumphed and kept her silent.

  Ed Gregory was prone to fits of "I'm-on-the-stairway-to-the-stars" hysteria, and his grandiose schemes were subject to quite a few false starts. She had no doubt he'd end up with that cushy position in Geneva someday; but she doubted it would be now.

  There was absolutely no point in jeopardizing her current position by refusing his offer at this stage of the game.

  Instead she fed him a few questions, and he filled her in on a Byzantine series of negotiations that left her speechless.

  "You're a devious man," she said over their second cup of coffee. "I'm glad we're on the same side."

  "So am I." He looked tremendously pleased with himself. "You can kiss this little backwater goodbye, Patterson. We're going to play with the big boys."

  Something must have shown on her face, because he leaned forward and looked deep into her eyes.

  "We are, aren't we, Sandra?"

  "This is your scenario," she said warily. "You tell me."

  "I've spent a lot of years preparing you for this. Don't disappoint me now."

  She got up to make another pot of coffee. "You act as if you've got your plane tickets in your back pocket."

  "And you act like you're not planning to go."

  "Let's take things one step at a time, Ed. Get the promotion first, then we'll talk."

  "It's that guy, isn't it?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  He waved toward the bedrooms upstairs. "That jock from your past. That's what this is all about."

  "That's none of your business."

  "The hell it's not. I've brought you along since you were fresh out of grad school. You don't go deserting me now because you've got the hots for some guy who pushes all your buttons."

  "I won't dignify that with an answer." What she wanted to dignify it with was a good right hook, but she knew that would be career suicide.

  "If I go, you go, Patterson. I've invested too much time and money in you to let you bury yourself here on Long Island."

  She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. The caffeine wasn't doing good things to her nerves, but she needed something to keep her hands occupied.

  "Five months ago you were telling me Long Island was the banking equivalent of Shangri-la."

  He dismissed her words with another wave of his hand. "That was five months ago. I would've told you anything to get you on my team."

  "Wonderful," she said, sitting back down opposite him. "Now I find out I was conned into taking the job."

  "You weren't conned. You know you wanted that promotion as much as I wanted you to have it."

  He spoke the truth. Five months ago her entire life had revolved around promotions and upward mobility. How quickly her focus had changed. Suddenly there seemed to be so much more to life than US-National was capable of offering her.

  "Well, now I have the promotion." She took a deep breath and willed herself to stay cool. "At the moment I'm very happy here."

  "You'll be happier in Geneva. Trust me."

  "We'll talk about that when it happens."

  "It's going to happen, Patterson. Don't think it won't."

  "Fine," she said. "We'll deal with it then."

  His face hardened, and he put his cup down on the coffee table with a bang. "I don't think you understand. If I go, I take your future with me."

  She stiffened. "Meaning?"

  "You want it straight?"

  She nodded.

  "I'm the key to your success. Without me behind you, you won't amount to anything here."

  A fine anger rose inside her, and she stood up. "Would you repeat that, Ed? I want to make certain I understand you."

  He stood and faced her, his hands jammed into the pockets of his grey flannel pants. "If I leave here, you can kiss your chances for advancement goodbye."

  "I resent that," she said as calmly as she could manage.

  "Doesn't matter, Patterson. It's the truth any way you slice it. Understand now?"

  "What I understand is that I have value of my own, Ed, and I don't need you to act as a human safety net."

  He listed the various positions that he'd intended to promote her to, one by one, on her way to the top. They didn't sound as appealing as they once had, but she felt a stab of anger and fear that what she'd assumed to be the result of hard work and talent was turning into the product of patronage.

  "Can you do that without me, Patterson?" Can you climb the ladder here without someone to give you a push?"

  She was about to answer him when she heard a sound from upstairs.

  Ed raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

  "Shh." She tilted her head to listen.

  David's voice, thin and shrill, flowed down the stairs. "Daddy! Daddy!"

  Her body galvanized into action and she turned for the stairs.

  Ed grabbed her arm. "Patterson! We're not finished yet."

  "David needs me."

  "He can wait a minute."

  She jerked her arm away. "The hell he can."

  "Give me an answer."

  "Not now," she said. Her heart was pounding so wildly that she was surprised she didn't collapse on the floor. Was this what professional suicide felt like? "I have to go to him."

  Ed stared at her as if she'd lost her marbles. "I may not be here when you come back downstairs."

  "That's your choice," she said. "Right now I have a little boy who needs me."

  "Sandra, I – "

  She turned and raced up the stairs before he could say another word.

  Before she could change her mind.

  ~~

  Chapter Twelve~~

  David was sitting up in bed when she reached the guestroom. Michael had brought over a cot from his place, and they'd fitted it out with the child's Spiderman sheets and pillowcase so he'd feel at home.

  From the look of terror on the little boy's face, they hadn't done enough.

  His dark eyes were huge as she raced into the room. He looked past her to the doorway, and when he didn't see his father bringing up the rear, he burst into loud, heartbreaking tears.

  "I want my daddy! Where's Daddy?"

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. Harvard Business School hadn't touched on anything like this and she felt woefully inadequate.

  "Don't you remember, David? Your daddy had to go to Florida to see your grandpa."

  David rubbed at his eyes and looked at her with suspicion. At least he wasn't sobbing any more and she took that as a good sign.

  "You and Pepper came to spend the night with me at my house. I took you to the school pageant."

  "Oh." His sniffles eased up. "Pepper bit you when you tried to take him out of his cage."

  She made a face and rubbed her index finger. "Pepper's a monster," she said. "And all I was trying to do was give him a slice of pizza."

  "He doesn't know you yet," David said sagely. "When I tell him you're nice, he'll be good."

  She leaned back against the wall and cuddled the little boy in her arms.

  "Pepper's a flying monster," she said, making him giggle. "I think he wants to put me in the cage."

  The child's giggle turned into a laugh. "You're too big to put in the cage."

  "Too big!" She feigned outrage. "I could so fit in the birdcage."

  "Could not."

  "Could."

  David launched into a detailed description of the limbs that would be left dangling outside the monster's cage, and she was about to defend her honor as an adult when she heard the sound of her front door slamming shut.

  "What was that?" David asked, suddenly wide-eyed and very much a little boy.

  "My boss was just leaving," she said.

  "He slammed the door. Daddy yells at me when I do that."

  "Well, I yelled at Ed," she said. "I guess he's getting e
ven."

  David yawned and burrowed more deeply beneath the covers. She arranged the blanket and rested her hand on his shoulder. He was so small, so fragile, so vulnerable.

  He yawned again, and she saw the spaces where his second teeth would soon pop up.

  "You ready to go back to sleep, honey?"

  "Mmm." He opened one eye. "Will you stay with me?"

  She nodded. "I'll stay with you, David."

  "Promise?"

  She crossed her heart. "Promise."

  He smiled, and in moments his breathing was soft and even and the room was filled with the sweet smell of a sleeping child.

  "Sorry, Ed," she whispered.

  Geneva didn't even come close.

  #

  As usual, flights into JFK were delayed, and Michael shifted in the narrow seat and looked out at an unappetizing view of New York as seen from fifteen thousand feet. The pilot was performing one of those lazy, time-consuming circles that kept the jet at a constant angle and usually turned Michael's stomach inside-out.

  Today, however, he was too preoccupied to notice.

  Art Bentley's threat had lingered with him all the way up the coastline from Florida, his last words repeating themselves over and over again like some insane litany.

  "You can live in the dirt, boy, but I won't let my grandson live there with you. If you don't have the decency to shield my daughter's child from your sex life, then Margaret and I will."

  He drained the rest of the Scotch in front of him and barely managed to keep from asking the flight attendant for another.

  That bastard ex-father-in-law of his had had him tailed by a private eye who'd compiled a dossier on his habits, with special attention paid to his sexual proclivities. His one and only slip from celibate grace, and now this . . .

  "Son of a bitch," he muttered, ignoring the look of concern from the man next to him and stared out the window. He'd lived like a monk for the last year, devoting his time and energy and love to the son who needed him.

  When he'd turned to Sandra it had been out of love, not only lust. And now that bastard Bentley was going to twist the facts into something ugly and sordid.

  Something a judge just might take seriously.

  The plane banked sharply and began the final descent into JFK. In a little while he'd be back at work. In a few hours Sandra and David would be at the Cathedral for the Blessing of the Animals in honor of the Feast of St. Francis.

  Waiting any longer was ridiculous.

  The only thing waiting could do was add fuel to Art Bentley's fire. It couldn't make what he and Sandra had together any stronger than it already was.

  This sixty-day courtship had already progressed far beyond the boundaries of moonlight and romance. In their hearts, he and Sandra had been married since the first day they met.

  He wanted to tie all the ties there were to bind. He wanted their vows signed, sealed and delivered. He wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind that what he felt for her – what he'd always felt for her – was the real thing.

  His son deserved nothing less.

  And, damn it, neither did he.

  #

  It wasn't an argument, exactly.

  But whatever it was, it followed Sandra and Michael and David all the way from the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Divine to the McKay house on Harvest Drive.

  The low-grade bickering stopped while he got his son ready for bed, but by the time she found where he hid his coffee maker and had a pot brewed for them, it was in full swing again.

  "What are we waiting for, Sandy?" he said, straddling a kitchen chair. "What the hell is the point to it?"

  She fumbled around for a reason to delay something they both wanted. "We've only been back together a few weeks. Let's enjoy what we've got before taking the next step."

  "You're admitting there'll be a next step?"

  She threw her teaspoon into the sink, and it landed with a satisfying metallic clang. "You've been hanging around too many lawyers. I feel like I'm on the witness stand." She leaned against the refrigerator. "What on earth happened in Florida? You're wound up tighter than a mainspring."

  "Nothing happened in Florida," he said, looking away. "Bentley started throwing his weight around again, and I got damned tired of being his whipping boy. It's an old story, and I'm sick of it."

  "Well, don't take it out on me," she snapped, suddenly fighting back tears. "I'm not your enemy, Michael." She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to regulate her breathing. "A new location, a new job and a new family are a bit much to handle all at once. I need more time."

  His expression softened. "I know I'm pushing you, but you got away from me once. You can't blame me if I'm running scared."

  "Don't run," she whispered, moving toward him. "I'm yours. I always have been."

  "Then marry me now," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Let's tell the world to go to hell."

  She said nothing, and he took her silence as encouragement.

  "You don't have to let US-National push you around. I earn a damned good living. I can take care of us."

  During dinner she'd told him about her argument with Ed Gregory and the uneasy truce they'd been working under.

  Now she regretted it.

  "I can take care of myself," she said, thinking of her mother's medical bills and what they would do to his dreams. "I'm a worker. I can't change that."

  "I'm not asking you to stop working. I'm just saying you don't have to be bound to that bank if you don't want to be. You can tell Gregory to go to hell and find another job."

  Oh God, she thought. You just don't understand.

  But then, how could he be? Her promise to her mother was forcing her to keep the man she loved in the dark.

  Quitting US-National was an impossible dream. She needed the security of her job in order to do the things that mattered. The idea of pounding the pavement in search of new employment made her physically ill. Unfortunately, sophisticated medical technology didn't come cheap. Her savings would be eaten up in a matter of weeks, and Elinor would lose whatever small amount of freedom she now enjoyed.

  "My job's important to me," she said finally. "I shouldn't have to explain that to you, any more than you should have to explain your responsibilities to me."

  "Are you talking about David?"

  "Yes. No. Damn, I don't know what I mean." She pulled away from him and tried to recover her equilibrium. "All I know is you're pushing me hard, Michael, and I don't understand why."

  "I love you," he said. "I can't see why we should wait any longer."

  "Do it for me," she said, meeting his eyes. "If you love me, give me a little more time."

  He didn't say a thing. He simply nodded and turned away, and Sandra wondered if he'd ever know how much her words had cost her.

  #

  The feeling of desperation Sandra felt when Michael turned away from her didn't leave, and two days later, she found herself doing the unthinkable.

  She called in sick, and then drove up to Fair oaks in an attempt to speak with her mother.

  She and Michael had been polite and friendly and civilized, but the wonderful joyous spark between them had dimmed. He wanted a commitment and he wanted it now, and that commitment was the one thing she couldn't give him.

  Not until she made Elinor see things her way.

  "Sandra!" Lucie looked up from her knitting as Sandra bent to kiss her cheek. "I thought you said you'd call this afternoon."

  "I had a few free hours," she lied, trying not to think about the bad time Ed was bound to give her. "I decided to say hello to Mom. It's been weeks since I've seen her."

  She was about to head for her mother's door when Lucie cried out. "Wait!"

  Sandra turned as Lucie leaped to her feet. Her knitting slid to the floor unnoticed.

  "Is something wrong?" Sandra asked.

  "Elinor's not in there."

  "That's okay. I'll catch up with her in the PT room."

  Lucie plucked the half-f
inished sweater from the floor and brushed it off with the heel of her hand. "She's not in there, either, lovey. She's – umm, she's with Dr. Gardstein."

  Sandra felt a distant chilling of her blood. "Has there been another setback?" Lately it seemed as if Elinor's life was one setback after another.

  Lucie reddened, and Sandra feared the worst.

  "Tell me, Lucie. I'm her daughter. I have the right to know."

  Lucie looked absolutely miserable. "It's just tests. He's just running a battery of tests. She'll be busy with him all day."

  "She was well enough for tests? That's a good sign."

  Lucie fiddled with her knitting needles, trying to make the stitches lie flat. "Everything she's doing is necessary," she said. "She was sure you'd understand."

  "Understand?" Sandra was puzzled. "Is she worried about the money?"

  Lucie, looking relieved now that Sandra realized the problem, nodded. "She's worried about your working so hard."

  "That's not important," Sandra said "You tell her that. There's more than enough money to make sure she gets the help she needs."

  Lucie gave her a bone-crushing hug. "You're a good daughter, lovey. She's a lucky woman."

  Sandra laughed and straightened the hem of her jacket. "You're certainly in a strange mood today, Lucie. Is there something I should know?"

  It had been the longest uninterrupted relapse Elinor had experienced since the onset of her disease, and the anxiety was beginning to take its toll on Sandra. And on Lucie, too, if her nervous attitude were any indication.

  "Things are no worse."

  "Honestly?"

  "Honestly."

  "You'll call me when Mother is up to visitors?"

  Lucie crossed her heart with a #9 knitting needle. "Scout's honor."

  Sandra toyed with the idea of hanging around the hospital for a while on the off-chance Elinor would return from the tests early and be well enough at least to listen to her side of things, but decided that the time would be better spent trying to defuse Ed's firecracker temper.

  Better to get on the road before the lunch crowd and get a few things done around the office. That steady paycheck seemed more important than ever before.