Maybe tonight he'd write Sawyer a letter, one of his newsy, flip old-buddy letters. But this time all the good stuff would be in there, if she cared to read between the lines.
Adam rolled the pickup truck to a stop in the Sunbridge courtyard. Riley's car and the Bronco were parked side by side.
"Yo," Adam called loudly. "Anyone home?" He looked at his watch. It was after eight.
Jonquil poked her head out the kitchen door. "Riley's upstairs, Mr. Jarvis. Go on up. How's that boy of yours?"
"Right now he's at the YMCA under the direct supervision of a wrestling coach. I don't have to pick him up till nine-thirty. That must have been some cooking lesson you gave him. I can't get him out of the kitchen." Adam laughed. "He keeps making the same thing, though. Do you have any other recipes?"
"I'll write some down and put them in an envelope. I'll leave it here on the counter for you. I hope you encourage the boy, Mr. Jarvis. All the great chefs in the world are men."
"Hey, that's okay with me. I could handle a political car-
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toonist and a chef in the family. The only thing is, I'm getting fat. I had to let my belt out."
"Encourage him," Jonquil called to Adam's retreating back. He waved to indicate he would.
Adam took the stairs two at a time. He glanced into Cole's room and then backed up a step. This was Cole's room, wasn't it? It looked like a spare bedroom.
"Yo, Riley, where the hell are you?" he called.
"Adam. I didn't hear your car."
"This place is a tomb. Where is everyone?"
"Cole moved out," Riley said curtly, "and I took Jonquil on full-time."
Adam's eyebrows shot upward. "Is this one of those things that's none of my business, or do you want to talk about it? I have an hour or so to kill before I have to pick Jeff up. You look like you could use a friend. I'm a real good listener, and I keep my mouth shut," Adam prompted.
Riley hesitated. "Sit down. D'ya care for a drink?" he said, pointing to a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"If you can spare it," Adam said snidely. "It looks to me like you're hell-bent on finishing the bottle yourself. I know you started with a full bottle, because the seal is there on your desk. I knew Cole could heft a few, but I didn't know you hit the sauce."
"There's a lot about me you don't know," Riley snarled.
"Obviously. There's a lot about me you don't know either."
"What the hell makes you think I'm interested in what makes you tick?"
"I won't take offense at that, Riley, because you're drunk and I'm stone-cold sober, and I have a kid to think about."
"I'm sorry, I had no right to come on to you like that. You've been a good friend to me when I needed one. Everything pretty much hit me today."
"Why's that?" Adam questioned.
"Shit! This came in the mail today." Riley grimaced as he handed Adam an envelope.
Adam leaned back in his chair. His eyes narrowed. "This says you are the sole owner of this spread. Cole gave you his half? Cole is generous, but not that generous. What aren't you telling me?"
Riley snorted. "We had a fight. A bad one. He said if we tangle again, one of us will be dead. He's a fucking son of a bitch."
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Adam drew in his breath. This was serious. Riley never cursed.
"He's a goddamn sneaking thief."
"You aren't computing, Riley. The guy just gives you— mind you, the key word here is 'give'—gives you his half of one of the richest spreads in the whole state of Texas, and you're calling him a thief?"
It took Riley thirty minutes to pour out his story. Adam blinked. He was glad he wasn't standing in Riley's shoes. And he thought he had problems.
Saying the wrong thing now could be disastrous. "I never understood the relationship you had with Lacey," he began. "It's not like you to pick up after Cole. What was it, some leftover childish rivalry? Did you know all along nothing was going to come of it? You said you didn't go to bed with her. What the hell were you waiting for? Were you afraid you'd come up short in the sex department? Afraid she'd compare you to Cole? I'm no more stupid than the next guy, but I don't get it."
He paused, but Riley said nothing. He was listening, though, so Adam pushed on.
"You say Cole tried to talk to you, to explain. Evidently his story and Lacey's are identical, but instead of laying the blame where it belongs, you dumped on Cole. Believe it or not, that guy is the best friend you'll ever have. Except for me and Sawyer. C'mon, Riley, let's talk man to man here. It was just a fuck. Once that little jigger goes up and there's a willing body, anything goes. The fact that Lacey took off should prove to you that there is no interest on Cole's part." Another pause; still no response from Riley. "You said you tried to break it off with Lacey," Adam said. "Cole's probably eating himself alive over this. From where I'm sitting, it looks to me like you fucked up. If my feeling this way is going to harm our friendship, say so now."
Riley shook his head miserably. "You're entitled to your opinion."
"You took everything out on Cole. It all came to a head— the business, Coots, your grandmother, Sawyer, and, of course, your grandfather. You made Cole the scapegoat. No one expects more from you than you can give, Riley. You also cannot be all things to all people. You didn't ask for my advice, but I'm going to give you some anyway. Get your priorities straight, and don't do it when your snoot is in a bottle,
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either. If there's anything I can do, I'm here for you."
Riley nodded. "How's Jeff?"
"You aren't going to believe this, but ever since Jonquil showed him how to cook a few things, he's a different kid. He's still surly and snotty, but it's almost like it's an effort to be that way. I dumped him at the Y and told Ed Yeager to work him over. I think I have a handle on it, at least for now. Jonquil said she'd give me some more recipes, so we'll see what happens. Listen, the main reason I came over here was to ask if I could borrow your old mopeds. I figure Jeff and I could ride them together out on those trails you and Cole cut on the old south forty."
"They're in the garage, but there's no gas in either of them. They were drained a long time ago. The maintenance booklets should be in the kitchen. I'll help you."
"That's real kind of you, Riley. I guess you noticed that I have a bad back from cutting all that wood. Thanks for your concern."
"Asshole." Riley grinned.
"Takes one to know one. Have you heard from Sawyer lately?"
"Still carrying the torch five years, one wife and kid later, huh? She flew in and out a few weeks ago, but she stuck to the East Coast."
"If there's no love, the rest doesn't mean anything. So you see, when I hand out advice, I draw from personal experience. What are you going to do with this place now that you're king of all we survey? Sole owner of Sunbridge! That should make the front page the day the deed is filed. I hope you can handle the notoriety." Adam slapped Riley on the shoulder as they headed for the garage.
Riley stood for a long time watching Adam's red taillights. It was a clear night, crisp and cool. Millions of tiny stars winked down on him. It was early morning in Japan now.
On the ride to the airport Amelia had to fight with herself to keep her chatter light and a smile on her face. Cary was really going to Hawaii. Sure, it was a legitimate business deal, but one couldn't conduct business twenty-four hours a day. Cary would have lots of time to explore the islands, to socialize. If she wanted to, she could call Billie and find out where Julie was staying in Hawaii and the approximate distance to
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Maggie's house. For that matter, she could probably look at a map and figure it out herself. If she wanted to.
She'd always felt envy, but not the malicious kind, when Billie and Thad spoke of the house in Hawaii. Rand and Maggie talked about it as though it were the only house in the world for lovers. Maybe, just maybe, she'd get a crack at that wonderful paradise with Cary. She would pray tonight that if Cary sought Julie out, he wouldn't t
ake her there, to that magic house. She wondered how she'd be able to tell if he had or hadn't.
She'd encouraged this trip of Cary's. If her approval could make him smile, if her encouragement could make his eyes light up like hundred-watt bulbs, then she was doing the right thing. She hadn't known she could be so unselfish. But then, she'd never been in this position before. She was learning so many things about herself these days. Her priorities were straight now, thank God.
"I'm glad we decided to come by limo," she said, smiling at Cary. "This way I can come in and stay with you till it's time to board."
"Let's have coffee, okay?" Cary said warmly as he scrunched closer to her in the backseat.
"I could use a cup." God, he was so up, so happy. She'd do anything—absolutely anything — to keep this smile on her husband's face.
They sat in the airport coffee shop drinking coffee and holding hands across the table. "I appreciate you coming to see me off, babe. I know you have a busy schedule," Cary said.
"Darling, if you were just taking a bus across Miranda, I'd still see you off. You have your St. Christopher medal on now, don't you?"
Like a kid, Cary fished around his neck and pulled out a dull, worn silver medal on a chain.
"I think they're starting to board, darling," Amelia said, almost in a whisper.
"Amelia, please don't look so sad."
"I wish I was going. Don't have too good a time till I get there, okay?"
Cary kissed Amelia soundly. "Three weeks at the most, babe. I'm going to wrap up this deal so tight, even Rand won't believe it. Should I look for a house for us to buy or rent while I'm there?"
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"If it feels right, go for it," Amelia said happily.
"I want you to promise you'll meet me as soon as you can. Swear to me, Amelia. Swear nothing will stand in the way. I want you there with me."
Amelia looked for some sign that Cary was mouthing words with no meaning. Satisfied, she nodded. "Two weeks."
"1*11 call you every day, your time."
"You're sure you have everything now, Cary? The key to the house, the map, your tickets and car rental reservation?"
"Right here in my briefcase."
"Do good, darling. Make me proud." Amelia smiled.
"That's what it's all about, babe. You just make sure you're on that plane in two weeks."
"You make sure you're at the airport to meet me."
"I'll be the guy in the flowered shirt carrying a lei. Try and miss me a little, okay?"
"How about a lot. This is the last boarding call, Cary."
I trust you, Cary, I really do, Amelia said silently.
At thirty thousand feet, Cary fished around his pockets for a cigarette. He undid his seat belt and tilted his seat backward. Now he was comfortable. These past weeks he felt like he'd been walking on winged feet. His and Amelia's life was wonderful. The phone calls back and forth to Hawaii and England had been hourly for a few days. Everything was going swimmingly with the refinery deal. Maggie and Rand insisted that he and Amelia use the house. Family was so wonderful. You could always count on family to come through for you.
He hadn't called Julie again after hearing her message. He'd been a fool, temporarily out of his mind. Now he had purpose, direction—and Amelia. All his energies were properly focused. It was coincidence that he would be in Hawaii at the same time as Julie. He was going to be on the North Shore, and Julie would be in Waikiki. He'd checked the map—a good hour to an hour and a half apart by car. He'd be spending a lot of time in meetings and on the different islands. They'd never run into each other.
He was going to the most romantic house in the world, according to Billie and Maggie. For years he'd heard tales about that house. A house for lovers, Billie said. Maggie said it was a house that opened its arms to you and then embraced you. Amelia, she said, would love it. Thad called it Paradise. They told him the story of Ester Kamali and how she and Billie had become friends. When she finally made the decision
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to sell the house, Billie was the first person she called, and Billie called Maggie. Maggie left Sunbridge behind, with all its ghosts and memories, and embarked on her new life with Rand in the house meant for lovers. Now he and Amelia were going to have a chance to live in the same wonderful house for a little while. If things worked out right, he and Amelia might be the Nelsons' neighbors. He knew Amelia would like that.
Julie was only a memory. Sometimes, though, he wondered what she thought when he stopped calling. Had she guessed that her message had scared the hell out of him? Whatever you sow, you reap, or so Amelia said. He hadn't been fair to Julie, though. Somewhere along the way he was going to be called on to answer for it. What goes around comes around. But Waikiki was a long way from the North Shore.
The view from the penthouse balcony was awesome, Cole decided. The Coleman apartment had a ten-mile view in all directions. Nothing but the best. He shrugged. He could get along with a lot less than the best. Hell, he could probably hack driving a truck overland. He could do anything he set his mind to. He could be a commercial pilot if that was what he wanted to do. It wasn't. He didn't want to drive a truck either.
He rubbed at his arms, tugging at the heavy gunmetal-gray sweater. It was cold out here. But he didn't want to go inside to the heat of the apartment. Out here, up high like he was, he could think better.
Things were bad in the oil industry, prices at rock bottom. Somehow, someway, Riley would save Coleman Oil—for the family. Riley was so obsessed, so dedicated, Cole thought. Compared to his cousin, he was a slouch. No one would ever pin a family business medal on him. Shit, he'd never even get the gold watch on retirement, because he wouldn't be around that long. Riley's watch would be platinum and studded with diamonds. It would be engraved and probably say something corny, like he was a savior or ... He hated it now when his thoughts returned to Riley.
It was weeks now since he had stormed out of Sunbridge, and he was still smarting. He'd done nothing but dwell on the situation since it happened. He was comfortable here at As-sante Towers, in the Coleman condo reserved for visiting businessmen, but it didn't feel like home, and he wasn't
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conducting any business, and he was sick of feeling like a houseguest in a hotel.
Cole paced the white carpeting, the soft strains of a Billy Joel tune wafting about the apartment. His Nike tennis shoes left deep imprints in the thick pile. He was worried. It now looked as though Coleman Enterprises could go completely down the tube. What would the Colemans do if the good life came to an end? He grimaced. He'd pack up his old kit bag and trundle off into the sunset, he supposed; the decision would be made for him. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
He'd done a lot of soul-searching these past weeks. He and Riley were the only ones left, besides Sawyer, who could run the family's affairs. If Sawyer got married and decided to have a family, that would cut her out. Sawyer only did one thing at a time.
He'd winced when he'd gone over the ledgers. Riley had spent millions and millions by listening to Coots Buckalew. They were in over their heads, like everyone else. Sawyer didn't have any magic this time around, and Riley was so trenched in, he couldn't see beyond the end of his nose. Where does that leave you, Cole? Between a rock and a hard place, teetering over a yawning abyss, he answered himself. Now, in retrospect, he realized Coots had very little to do with the way things were. Lacey had nothing to do with Riley's decision making, either. The bottom line was the single-digit price of oil.
The only options the Colemans had at this point were Riley's EOR operation and to wait out OPEC. When there was no other alternative, you opted for the long shot and hoped for the best. That's what he had to put in a letter to Riley's grandfather, and he had to do it now. Ever since he'd started corresponding with the old Japanese, he'd written once a week. He couldn't even remember now how it had all come about. The old man had written first, that much he did remember. He found himself looking forward to the letters and eve
n to writing the replies. He knew it was the old man's way of keeping in touch with Riley without actually doing it. He didn't mind; he liked Riley's grandfather, always had. He'd even confessed to the old man, in his second or third letter, that his and Riley's youthful rivalries stemmed from his own refusal to acknowledge that the Colemans needed help, and the Japanese branch of the family had come through for them.
Cole had set up a home office in one of the bedrooms. His
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files, his personal correspondence, along with his portable typewriter and an Apple II, were ready for him when he wanted to work at home, the way he'd done at Sunbridge.
There was no time like the present to do the letter he'd been putting off. The paper rolled into the portable with a snap. The margins were set. All he had to do was let his fingers pick out the words he wanted. First he had to read Hasegawa's letter again so he knew exactly what he was responding to.
Coleman san,
It is this old one's wish that this letter finds you and your family well.
Japan is cold now, just as I imagine Texas is cold. Your mother is a very wise woman to have moved to a warm climate where the sun shines every day. I long for sunshine so I can walk in my garden. If one can free one's mind of troubles, the garden is peaceful. Sometimes I think of it as a sanctuary. Do you understand that, Coleman san?
I particularly enjoyed your last letter. It was three days before anyone could tell me what "overload" meant. You must not tire your spirit, only your body. I did enjoy the phrase "We all march to a different drummer." Once I understood it, I practiced it on my doctor, my attorneys, and some members of my family. They don't understand that I no longer want to be pushed and prodded. They mean well, and I try to be patient with them.
I understood what you meant when you said each of us must be free to sing our song. Understanding and accepting it is difficult for this old Japanese. Old ways die hard. Each day I try. I cannot say I am successful.
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