by T. E. Woods
“Church work? That it?”
“Yes. It’s an honor and I intend to serve in whatever way I can.”
Clay tried to set his anger aside long enough to get a good look at her. She was as lovely as ever. Even more beautiful as a nearly forty-year-old woman than she had been as a teenager. She wore a simple, though expensive-looking, outfit of black trousers and cream-colored turtleneck. Her hair was long and loose, brushed until it shimmered in the early morning light. Her full pink lips displayed the slight hint of a smile. Anyone looking at her would see a sophisticated angel, humbly determined to do God’s work.
But he knew better.
He reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out what was hers, and threw it at her feet. She raised her hand to her mouth for just a moment, as though she was embarrassed. Then she bent to retrieve what she’d left at his house on Christmas night.
“I got these in a little shop on the Ginza.” She slipped the red panties into her trouser pocket. “I love the way the silk feels against my skin. Thank you, Clay, for returning them to me.”
“You knew damned well they’d be discovered.”
“Discovered? You make it sound like I hid them.”
“Weren’t you hoping Sydney would find them?”
Miranda stepped back to the table and reached for her coffee cup. “I wasn’t aware your friend had visiting rights to your bedroom.”
“Don’t be glib.”
When she turned to face him, her eyes glistened with a veil of tears. “I wanted to be with you, Clay. We’d had a wonderful Christmas. I felt so close to you. To Steel. It felt right. I obviously misread your feelings about the day. You rushed me out of your home so quickly I dressed as fast as I could. You’d stormed off to barricade yourself in the bathroom. I was humiliated. I grabbed what I could, got myself dressed, and ran out of there.” She shuddered. When she spoke again her voice was choked with emotion. “You threatened to call the police! Forgive me for not plowing about to find a froth of silk in a darkened room.”
He stared at her. He’d seen that look on her face before. Two decades earlier, as she’d stood on his parents’ porch in the Montana twilight, seemingly terrified of what he might do next. Said she was sorry. Said she was pregnant. She had the same look now. In this moment, all the glamour and poise she’d somehow managed to learn in the years she’d been away vanished. She was once again that wounded country girl desperate for him to forgive her.
“Who would have thought a little scrap of fabric could cause so much trouble?” he asked.
She bit her lower lip. He remembered that habit, too. “I’m sorry, Clay. I didn’t mean to bring you any difficulty. Would it help if I spoke to Sydney? Told her I’d been a wanton round heel overcome by the magic of Christmas night? She might even get a smile out of my description of you dashing to the bathroom to save your virtue.”
He glared at her. Then he sighed. “No. She’s either going to believe me or not.”
“I see now why you want me to leave town.” She was silent for a moment. “I suppose I could talk to the bishop. Urge him to find another person to bless with the privilege of working so closely with him. Steel and I could fly out today for Ann Arbor.”
His entire body clenched. “I don’t want him to go.”
“I know. He does, too.” Her voice had turned soft and conciliatory. “But he sees the enormity of this opportunity. He could do so well in my business, Clay. It could be a chance for him to be still long enough to find himself. And, selfishly, I know, I could spend time with him. He wants that, Clay. He wants to know me.”
The door to Steel’s bedroom opened. Clay turned to see his son, towel tied around his slim hips, hair curling in damp ringlets against his forehead and cheeks.
“It is you,” Steel said. “It occurred to me I might have been dreaming you were here and sleepwalked into the shower.” He alternated glances between his mother and father. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, dear.” Miranda brushed a tear from her cheek. “Go on. Get dressed. Your dad wants to take you out for pancakes.”
“Sure, Dad. Just give me a minute.” Clay heard his son’s disappointment.
Clay shook his head. He unzipped his parka and shrugged it off. “Take your time, buddy. Your mom’s offered to order us some breakfast. We’ll eat when it gets here.”
* * *
—
Twenty minutes later two servers were at the door. They wheeled in a cart laden with platters of pancakes and breakfast meats. They put three pitchers of different syrups on the table before setting service for four. Miranda oversaw the delivery, fussing to make sure everything was just so before signing the bill.
“Sweetie,” she said to Steel after she closed the door behind the servers, “would you mind poking your head into Tawney’s room? Let her know breakfast is here. I want her to eat something while it’s still warm.”
Clay watched his son cross to the only door still closed. He was pleased Steel’s sheepish knock displayed no hint of ease at entering Tawney’s bedroom.
“She’s not here,” Steel announced when there was no reply.
“Is she in her bath?” Miranda asked.
“That door’s wide open. Empty.” Steel came back through the salon and settled himself at the table. “Maybe she got up early. Took herself out for breakfast.”
A cloud of worry crossed Miranda’s face. “I’ve been up since six. I had a phone call I needed to make to London. I’d have seen her.”
Steel shrugged and poured himself a glass of juice. “Don’t know what to tell ya. She’s not here.”
Miranda threw Clay an anxious look before sitting next to her son. “What time did you two go to bed last night?”
“I hit it just after midnight. Couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to finish the movie. Tawney promised to keep the volume down.”
“She was still awake when you went to bed?” Miranda asked.
As though on cue, the front door to the suite opened. Clay’s protective instincts kicked into gear when he saw a woman, alarmingly thin and wearing loose-fitting jeans and a shirt with a dark stain on the front, stagger in. She blinked when she saw him, then ran a shaking hand through her snarled hair. Clay didn’t need his years of experience behind a bar to recognize the look in the woman’s eyes. She was high…and not from something served to her in a glass.
“Tawney!” Miranda rose from the table and hurried past Clay. “I was starting to worry…” She stopped midstep. “You’re drunk. My God, you can hardly stand!”
“I’m not drunk!” The girl’s protest was slurred. “You can smell my breath. Ignore the burrito.”
Miranda grabbed the girl’s right arm. She shoved the sleeve of Tawney’s filthy blouse up and examined the exposed skin before dropping it and grabbing her left arm. Though he stood three feet away, Clay could clearly see the distinctive needle tracks when Miranda pushed up the girl’s sleeve.
“You bring this here?” Miranda was shrieking now. “You stroll into this elegant suite after a night of shooting up? What in the world are you thinking?”
Clay was afraid the girl would swoon too far to one side or the other and collapse. But somehow, she remained standing.
“Not thinkin’ ’bout nothin’.” Her lips twisted into a sorry smile. “Floatin’, man. Just floatin’…”
Miranda drew back her own right hand and slapped the girl across the face. Hard.
“Miranda!” Clay warned.
She reared back and delivered another painful slap.
“Mom!” Steel rose from the table, stunned. “Stop it!”
Clay wondered if Miranda even realized they were in the room. If she heard Steel, she gave no sign of it. She grabbed the girl by the arm and tugged her into the salon. She tossed her onto the hardwood floor then stood, looming over her.
“That’s enough!” He held her tight as she struggled to twist free.
“Get out!” she shrieked. “You’re unworthy! Get out!”
The girl struggled to pull herself up onto her hands and knees. She slumped back to the floor. Steel ran to her, helping her to stand. He steered her toward the nearby sofa.
“Don’t!” Clay could feel the volume of Miranda’s yell tremble through her slender body. “Don’t you dare put that filthy creature on that fabric. She belongs in the gutter.”
“Mom! Please stop.” The boy’s face was drained of all color. His eyes pleaded along with his words. “Can’t you see she needs help?” Steel looked to his father. “She needs a doctor. Should we call an ambulance?”
“Nah!” Tawney sagged against Steel. “No…doctors…”
“Well, you’re not staying here.” Though her eyes still blazed with fury, Miranda seemed less violent. Clay wondered if Steel’s words had a softening effect on her. “I don’t waste my time on people who can’t see the value in what I offer. Get out!” Once more, she tried to twist free of Clay’s grip. “Let go of me, will you?”
“Do you promise not to hurt her again?”
Miranda huffed out a humorless laugh. “She’s too high to be hurt. I could drop her off that balcony and watch her fall twelve stories onto the concrete below. She’d simply roll over and crawl to wherever she could get her next fix.”
“I won’t let you go unless you promise to stand still.”
Miranda pulled herself to her full height and threw her shoulders back. “Let me go.”
Clay relaxed his grip. He was glad to see she didn’t make another move toward the girl.
“Get out,” Miranda spat. “I’ll give you five minutes to pack up and walk out the door.”
The girl strained to stand upright. Steel stood beside her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I…fucked up.”
“Don’t bring that language in here,” Miranda barked.
“I’m so sorry.” Her thin shoulders began to shake. “I don’t want to live this way. I can’t. I need your help. Please.”
“You had my help.” Miranda’s words might have been carved out of ice. “You could have had it all.”
“Please,” the girl pleaded. “I can’t do this on my own. Please…help me.”
“Mom. Come on. She knows she messed up. Let’s get her where she needs to be…”
“I don’t care where she goes,” Miranda snapped. “So long as she is out of my suite in four minutes. If she’s not, I’ll call security. I’m sure this hotel knows what to do with junkies.”
“Miranda!” Clay warned.
“Get out, Tawney! You don’t deserve to be here.” Miranda stepped away from Clay, but to his relief, she didn’t make a move toward the girl. Instead, she returned to the table and sat, taking a slow sip from her china coffee cup.
“Let’s get back to breakfast,” she said to Clay. Her voice was ice. “Come sit, Steel. Your pancakes won’t eat themselves.”
Tawney lowered herself to her knees, her hands folded in front of her as though in prayer. “Please, Miranda. I got nowhere to go.”
Again, Miranda glanced at the clock on the shelf. “Three minutes. Security can be here in a heartbeat. Want to see?”
Tawney looked up to Steel. Wordlessly, he offered her his hand. She shuffled off toward her room. Clay and Steel stood motionless until she emerged less than two minutes later, wearing a down parka and dragging a large duffel bag. She gave Steel a long, sorrowful look but didn’t say a word before she walked past him and Clay. She walked out of the suite without a backward glance.
“I’m going after her,” Steel announced. “She’s sick.”
“She’s strung out!” Miranda snarled. “Let her go. The sooner you learn where it’s wise to invest your resources, the better. Tawney’s made her decision. She chose the needle.”
Clay laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Grab your coat.”
Steel shot him a grateful look and went to his room. Clay turned to the woman who had broken his heart so many Montana summers ago.
“You’ve come a long way, Miranda. Sophisticated speech. Designer clothes. International business deals.” He paused. “It’s a pity it’s cost you your heart.”
Miranda seemed undisturbed. “There’s nothing wrong with my heart, Clay. It’s soft enough for any and all who deserve it. And it’s yours whenever you want it.”
Chapter 16
THREE YEARS AGO
“You look like you were born to be here.” Alden York stepped inside Miranda Greer’s new office. “Makes me think all the money we spent might have been worth it.”
Miranda got up from behind her desk, crossed the dove-gray carpet blanketing the expansive space, and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. “We were long past due for creating an executive floor. We’re growing, Alden. Sales have nearly tripled each of the last four years. The branches we opened in San Francisco and Miami have better space than we have here at headquarters.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to the hard work of everyone,” Miranda countered. “We’re going to be the largest import-export firm in the country within five years if my projections hold. And I don’t see why they won’t. We’d never be able to attract the kind of top-level management talent we need without this space.”
Alden turned around slowly, taking it all in. Miranda had overseen the construction herself. An entire floor had been added to the top of MidWest ImEx’s warehouse. Just shy of twenty thousand square feet of new office space. And although he’d suggested she use the services of an established firm, Miranda had convinced him to hire Everson Mallin, a relative newcomer to the field of industrial design.
“Everson understands what I’m looking for,” she’d told him. “Besides, he’s from Chicago. And that’s about as Midwest as it gets.”
Looking at the finished product, Alden had to admire Miranda’s choice. With both exterior and interior walls comprised entirely of tempered glass, the new executive floor added a touch of chic modernity to the century-old brick warehouse. It also gave whoever was fortunate enough to have an office there the impression they were floating on air.
“All the better to encourage them to reach for the sky,” Miranda told him when he first saw the design concept. “And to remind them how far they have to fall should they decide to give ImEx less than their best.”
Miranda’s furniture was sleek. Suedes and leathers in pale neutral colors. Quite a departure from the secondhand metal desk and government surplus file cabinets that had served Alden’s own office for nearly thirty years. He ran his hand over the top of the conference table. His throat choked with emotion as he touched the distressed wooden planks comprising the table’s surface. “So many tales these boards could tell.”
Miranda joined him, laying a soft hand on his shoulder. “Some of these packing crates go way back. The dirt and dust that was caked on them, too. They cleaned up nicely, didn’t they? The carpenter did a great job.”
“Quite a contrast to that, isn’t it?” Alden pointed to her desk.
“You no doubt can guess what inspired me.”
“No doubt.” He chuckled. “Oh! I remember the first time I took you to the bishop’s office! You should have seen your face when you saw that big glass desk of his! I thought you were going to beat feet out of there before either of us had a chance to properly introduce our philosophies.”
“If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed, I would have!” Miranda crossed over and sa
nk into her beige leather chair, smiling. “Every time I sit behind this desk, I can remind myself of the gift you gave me that day…both of you. I only hope I can inspire others the way the bishop did me.”
“What’s this now?” a voice called from Miranda’s office door. “Am I being talked about in my absence?”
Even though this was her domain, Miranda immediately stood when she heard Bishop Denton J. Fulcraft’s booming baritone. “Welcome!” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, Bishop. Come in. Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?”
Fulcraft strode in. Miranda remained standing.
“I’m fine, my dear. Your boss told me today was the first full work day in your new aerie. I’ve come to see it.” He turned to his old friend. “And I’m particularly interested in seeing your office, Alden. Glamour and elegance I’ve come to expect from our Miranda. Has she been able to pull you, kicking and screaming, out of your Stone Age cave and into the light?”
Alden chuckled. “I feel like I need to wash my hands, maybe brush the dust off my trousers, each time I walk in there. It’s going to take some getting used to.”
“I’d be happy to give you a tour, Bishop…” Miranda glanced at her watch. “I had an appointment, but I can reschedule…”
Bishop Fulcraft waved her off and walked directly to take his place at one of the four chairs situated opposite Miranda’s desk. He ran his hand over the soft fabric. “Muted tones suit you, Miranda. It allows your beauty to shine.”
A heat flushed over her. A memory tugged. She recalled her first impression of the bishop all those years ago. He’d been about the age she was now. Funny how much older he’d seemed to her then. And now, even though she knew he would turn sixty on his next birthday, she couldn’t help but see his shoulders were as broad, his stomach as flat, and his skin as smooth as they were nearly twenty years earlier.
“Come sit, Alden.” The bishop pointed to the chair next to his while keeping his attention on Miranda. “Your appointment, my dear. It’s with Daniel Lorruci, correct?”