"And miss hearing about your evening? I'd have waited up till—" she was about to say sunrise and thought better of it "—till at least eleven."
"I stopped in the bar for a nightcap. The Celtics were going at it, so I watched a while. Did you have a nice day?"
His voice is too flat, Amelia thought. But she didn't let on. "I had a busy, productive, boring day, if you know what I mean. I'm pleased with what I've accomplished. Now, tell me about your evening with Julie. Did she like the bracelet?"
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"She said she did."
"Cary, what exactly did she say? I want to hear."
"She said she wasn't good at receiving presents, that she was better at giving them. Something to that effect."
Amelia's eyes snapped shut. "How wonderful of her to admit something like that. You see, you two had something in common after all."
"The dinner was good and she admired the rock. She liked the cake, too. She took it home."
Amelia had never heard such flatness in his voice. "To put under her pillow to make a wish on, a birthday wish," she said brightly. "I hope she gets what she wishes for."
"I do, too. She's a nice person. She adores you, Amelia."
My darling, please don't sound so offended, Amelia wanted to say. "And I adore her. I just knew you'd have a pleasant evening. What did you order?"
"I had ham in raisin sauce, and Julie had calf's liver with bacon and onions."
"How brave of her to eat onions." Amelia almost giggled.
"Yes, I suppose it was." Now that he thought about it, it was probably Julie's declaration to him that it was a dinner and nothing more. "I'm kind of tired, Amelia. Too much wine at dinner and then a nightcap sort of did me in. If you don't mind, darling, I'll say good night. I'll see you about two tomorrow. Will you be home when I get there?"
"I'll do my best, darling. Have a safe flight and dream pleasant dreams."
The connection was broken. He hadn't said he loved her. She didn't have time to tell him she loved him. He'd simply hung up the phone.
Amelia crawled beneath the covers. Falling asleep was going to be difficult unless she relaxed. Part of her almost wished now that Cary hadn't called. The other part wanted to know everything, all the things Cary hadn't said.
Her body was statue-still as she forced herself to take long, deep breaths the way the doctor had instructed. But, like everything else, there was a trick to relaxing. You had to make your mind blank, and concentrate, and will your body to respond to the relaxation techniques, all at the same time. Over and over she repeated the words: I now release all my fears and worries; I now relax completely. Minutes later she drifted into an unrestful sleep full of scattered dreams.
She knew she was dreaming when her mother entered her
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dream with arms outstretched, beckoning Amelia to come closer. "Not now; it can't be time for me to join you," she'd cried. "I'm not ready, Mam." She wasn't beckoning to her, she was pointing. But where? "What, Mam, what is it you want?" They were in a mist, a cloud of fog. "I don't understand what you want, Mam. I'm dreaming Mam; is that why you won't speak to me?" Again, the arm pointed. She was running now, trying to get closer to her mother. Her feet seemed to be moving, but she was standing still. Jessica remained where she was, a serene, happy smile on her face as she continued to point toward something Amelia couldn't see. Over and over she kept saying, "What, what is it, what are you trying to tell me?" A sound catapulted out of nowhere. A giant balled fist followed on the heels of the sound. Thunder echoed from somewhere. Seth her father! His face was menacing and hateful. "You should have been drowned when you were born!" "Mam, wait!" The fist came closer and closer. "No!" she screamed. "Get away from me. No!"
Amelia woke, her body bathed in wetness. She lay in the big bed, gasping for breath. Her heart fluttered frighteningly. Once again she drew deep breaths and forced herself to calm down. It was only a dream, a bad dream.
Sleep was out of the question now, so she might as well get up. Nobody does anything constructive at three in the morning, she told herself as she turned up the thermostat. Television, then; there must be something on the tube that would lull her to sleep.
Gooseflesh dotted her thin arms as she reached far back into her closet for the ratty, old flannel robe left over from her England winters. It was like an old friend when she slipped into it. She looked down at the frayed sleeves and smiled. She supposed she should have tossed it out years ago, but it was a reminder of those war-torn days when heat was a luxury. She never wore it when Cary was home, only when she was alone, like now. Cary preferred satin and bows and frills.
Amelia padded into the kitchen. Noise, she needed noise. The radio went on, and so did the small portable television on the kitchen counter. She paid little mind to the jumble of sound as she set about making tea.
Back in the living room with her feet curled under her, she sipped at the blackberry tea. Her thoughts were as jumbled as the sounds in the kitchen. For days now she'd been thinking about her mother and father and about her childhood. Last
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week she'd dreamed of her mother three times, and again tonight. Always when she woke, as she had tonight, she had the feeling Jessie had been trying to tell her something, something she couldn't grasp. And then her father would appear, his face angry and spiteful. He'd mouth hateful names and repeat what he'd said hundreds of times over the years; "You should have been drowned the day you were born." In the dream she'd try to go to her mother, but every time she took a step, Seth beat her back with a hard slap to the face.
God, how she hated the old bastard. Even now, at this stage of her life, her hatred was alive and pulsating. Old Seth had been dead for seventeen years, but she knew she'd carry her hatred to her grave.
Why hadn't she mellowed with age and forgiven her father? "Because," she said through clenched teeth, "he made my life and Mam's a veritable hell, and he doesn't deserve forgiveness." Her mind whirled back over the years as she recalled the hurts, the slurs, and the hatred, climaxing with the memory of the time she'd purchased her mother's childhood home after her death and renovated and refurbished it, only to burn it to the ground the day it was finished, trying to exorcise the ghosts. "Lord, why am I thinking about things like this in the middle of the night?" She sighed wearily as she carried her cup back to the kitchen.
Back in the living room she let her eyes go to the mantel and all the family pictures. Mam in the garden with a bouquet of daisies. Her brother, Moss, and Billie. A shot of Maggie, Susan, and Riley: Moss and Billie's children. A mug shot of her two nephews, Cole and Riley. One of Maggie and her husband, Rand, with the spangled Pacific behind them. The last picture in the long line of photographs was of her and Cary on their wedding day. There was no picture of her father. She wanted no reminders of old Seth.
She slapped at the side of her head. Reminders. . . memories. Of course. There might not be any pictures of Seth in the apartment, but in the last bedroom off the hallway, all his business records were stored in boxes on the shelf. She couldn't even remember now how they had come into her possession. Somehow, she and Cary had ended up with them.
Cary had muttered something once about boxes of records, and the fact that he was storing them in the back bedroom, but she'd been so busy with the decorators that she'd just waved her hand at him. She'd forgotten about the boxes until she was
(H2(
looking for something one day and came across them. She'd wanted to destroy them right then and there, but Cary had said he would take them back to Sunbridge and store them in the basement. But he hadn't. Well, by God, now was as good a time as any to drag the lest vestiges of her father to the front door. Never mind taking them back to Sunbridge. They'd go into the incinerator first thing in the morning.
Amelia stomped down the long hallway to the back bedroom, her face a mask of fury.
Angrily, she yanked and pulled at the heavy boxes until they toppled off the shelf. Ledgers, notebooks large
and small, scattered across the pearl-gray carpeting. She tugged again and stepped out of the way as a third box tumbled to the floor. Letters, loose bills, memos, and all manner of notes, some scrawled, some typed, spilled about her feet. "Oh, shit," she wailed.
Clean it up or leave it ... If she left it, it would stay with her, a reminder of how much she hated the old man. Clean it up, her mind shrieked; drag the boxes to the door and boot them out to the hall. You'll never have to look at them again. Get rid of it all. Now!
Amelia looked down at the boxes. Her father's life rested at her feet. Garbage. She laughed as she kicked at one of the ledgers. Shreds of yellowed paper slid from the leather covers. She laughed again.
Amelia dropped to her knees. Angrily, she gathered the loose papers and bills together, shoving them into one of the boxes any old way. The last of the loose papers was a packet of letters with a rubber band around them. When she picked it up, the band crumbled and fell away. The return address on the envelopes made Amelia blink. United States Government, Washington, D.C. Gingerly, she separated the envelopes and withdrew the two thin sheets of paper in the top envelope. She grimaced. An order for beef. Tons of beef. Stapled to the order was a Coleman bill of lading. Down in the right corner in her father's handwriting were the words "Not Paid," and they were circled in red. Curiously, Amelia opened the other envelopes. They were all the same, orders from the government for beef, planes, electronic equipment, and horses. And stapled to each was a Coleman bill of lading, and the words "Not Paid," circled in red.
Amelia sat back on her heels. What did it mean? Didn't the government pay its bills? Most businessmen would kill to
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supply the government because it was like money in the bank. Money in the bank. . . Her father had been a barracuda when it came to business. He'd never let something like this slide unless .. . unless he had a reason.
Amelia's hands shook as she emptied the box where she'd been stuffing the loose papers. Bundles of letters bearing the return address of the United States Government stared up at her. These bundles were different. They were orders for the same thing, and bills of lading attached—four, sometimes six copies of bills. The only difference was the words circled in black, "Paid in Full." There were bundles and bundles, at least a hundred or so. Carefully, Amelia went through each bundle. When she returned the last letter to its bundle, there was a smile on her face. "You goddamn foxy old buzzard!"
Night was bleeding into the dawn when Amelia made her way to the kitchen to put on the coffee. She was still smiling when she washed her hands at the kitchen sink. She hummed along with Fleetwood Mac and "Little Lies" on the radio. She waited until the song was over to turn it off. She pressed the off button on the television, and the kitchen was in silence. She continued to smile.
Coffee cup in hand, she retraced her steps to the back bedroom. She sat on the bedroom chair, her coffee next to her, and the first bundle of letters in her lap. It was when she was turning the letters over that she saw the message her father had scrawled on the back of the last envelope. It was written to Agnes, Billie's mother, who had taken over the office work when she and Billie came to live at Sunbridge. The message was simple and self-explanatory:
Aggie, mail one bill, no more. Send it registered and hang on to the receipt. This will cover our asses if we ever fall on hard times. This is just between me and you, Aggie, so keep your lip zipped.
A large S was scrawled for a signature.
Amelia could almost hear her father's raspy explanation to Agnes Ames. "The first rule in business, Aggie, is you cover your own ass. Everyone knows a passel of jackasses runs Washington, so it ain't too hard to stay one jump ahead of them. I been dealing with the government for a long time, Aggie, and they don't never pay their bills first crack off the bat. If we don't send reminder notices, these here bills will get
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lost in the shuffle. The longer they stay lost, the more interest they build. A man never knows when he might fall on hard times. It's an ace in the hole, Aggie. I'm on top now, and I plan to stay there. These here bills will make that possible. I guess you could call it a stick in the eye. Back there in Phil-a-del-phia, you fancy blue bloods would call it.. . leverage.
"Let me tell you something else, Aggie. Those same jackasses I'm talking about will think they put one over on this old okeydokey Texan who don't know shit form Shinola, and don't go pursing up those lips of yours, Aggie. A man says what he has to say to get his point across. Jackasses, Aggie, is another name for ring-tailed bastards. I cozy up and jerk their strings, and they think they're the ones doing the jerking. It's how I do business, like it or lump it."
Amelia had heard Seth talk like this many, many times. Now—decades later—his words rang clear and true. And she knew just what they meant.
Amelia threw her head back and roared with laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She gasped. "Well, Pap, it's my ass that's going to get covered. As Clint Eastwood would say, you made my day."
It was seven-thirty when Amelia dialed her sister-in-law's number in Washington. Her voice was calm for the thirty minutes or so that she kept Billie on the line.
Billie herself was laughing. "I say go for it! Seth was your father, and I see no problem."
"What about the others? Coleman Oil is in such difficulty. ..."
"The others will agree, but if you want, I'll call them and get back to you. Coleman Oil is not your problem. Do it, Amelia! Wait, call Valentine Mitchell and get her over there as soon as possible. Old Dudley, too. I think you're going to need a few sharks on this one. Lord, I can't wait to tell Thad. Good luck, Amelia. I'll get back to you later in the day, but I know I'm only going to have good things to report."
"Billie, I've been dreaming about Mam this past week. The dreams were all jumbled up, and Pap kept interfering, but I had the feeling she was trying to tell me something.... This must be it. ... Do you believe in things like this? Like when Maggie said she heard the angels sing when Sawyer had her operation ... that kind of thing.... Billie?"
"Of course I do," Billie said quietly. "You were meant to find those things. You said God gave you a reprieve after your
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surgery so you could do what you're doing. I'd say His hand is right there next to yours."
Amelia's breath came out in a long sigh. "That's how I feel, too. Thank you, Billie, for agreeing. I needed to hear the words. Call me," she said happily.
Amelia held the packet of bills close to her chest, as though it were her mother's Bible. She raised her eyes. "This doesn't quite even up the score, but for now it will do. You hear me, Pap?"
Valentine Mitchell, the Colemans' lawyer, looked as gorgeous and as professional as she had the day so many years ago when she walked through the doors at Sunbridge to save Cole and Riley from the trumped-up rape charge brought against them by the handyman's daughter.
She grinned at Amelia. "You got 'em, Amelia. I'll take all of this to Dudley and the others and let them look it over. We'll get back to you tomorrow. And may I say, well done!"
"As my Pap would say—we got those suckers by the balls, and now we can squeeze."
Valentine laughed. "How about crush?"
"How about it?" Amelia grinned.
"I'll see myself out. Nice seeing you again, Amelia."
"Give Dudley my regards."
"You bet."
"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou," Amelia whispered.
On her way to the bathroom Amelia reached for her mother's picture on the mantel and carried it with her. "There are some things you don't ever tell anyone because they'd think you were loony. Billie understands, Mam. I knew you were trying to tell me something in those dreams. This was it. Oh, Mam, you must know what I'm going to do. What I don't understand is how you knew. Pap said only he and Aggie knew. I guess up there you know everything. If by some chance Pap is there with you, tell him I said thanks." She blew a kiss in the direction of the picture before she climbed into the shower. She di
dn't feel foolish at all. Life was full of wonderful, unexplained things.
Cary tossed and turned all night. He wasn't sick, that much he knew. Finally, at four o'clock, he got out of bed and
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switched on the television. Strange feelings were rushing through him. Feelings he wanted to explore. There were things he wanted to say aloud.
At five o'clock he stood under the shower. The hard-on he'd had since coming back to the hotel finally disappeared. He felt drained. At six o'clock he was the first customer in the coffee shop. He ordered the Number Three breakfast special with an extra glass of orange juice, but when the plate arrived, he realized he wasn't hungry. He drained the coffee cup and smoked four cigarettes. He was back in his room at seven-twenty. He packed his bag, checked his briefcase. He walked around the suite of rooms to be sure nothing was forgotten.
At 7:31 he walked to the telephone and called Julie's number.
"Hi," she said in her unused morning voice. "You sound wide-awake this morning, Cary. I do want to thank you for a wonderful evening."
"It was my pleasure. The reason I'm wide-awake is I didn't sleep all night."
His candor was frightening. "I didn't sleep very well myself. I did put a piece of cake under my pillow, though, and made my wish."
"I wanted to say good-bye."
"We said good-bye last night."
"I know, but I wanted to say it again. I don't like goodbyes."
Julie drew a deep breath. "Cary, this is no good. The only thing in this whole world that you can't count on are your emotions, and right now mine are at an all-time high. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want you to be hurt, and I certainly don't want Amelia to be hurt. There's the family, and Cary, I'm not good at sneaking around. I'm an up-front person. Now, I have to get to work or I ... Go home, Cary, where you belong."
"Julie, please don't hang—" He cursed at the sound of the broken connection. He wanted to call her back, more than anything in the world. Maybe he could explain that... explain what? That he was married? That he had the hots for her? She knows that, he told himself. She has more sense than you do, Cary. Go home, back to Amelia and your life in Texas. Amelia is your life.
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