by Arlene James
“Have you seen any changes in her lately?” he asked, halting the usually taciturn nurse. She turned slowly, hands folded tightly over her rounded middle.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I think she might have known when her pa and brother come. She didn’t make no noise or nothing, but it was like she wanted to, you know? It’s like she’s in there trying to get out.”
“But no eye contact?” he clarified. “No overt movements, and no words?”
“That’s right. Not while I’m here. But I ain’t with her ever’ minute, ’course.”
“She’s not likely to make responses without stimulus,” he said dismissively.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Brown murmured with a last look at the bed before lumbering off toward her own room.
Brodie moved to the bed and lowered himself to sit on the side, looking at that pretty face. He felt a great rush of sadness, not just because of the accident but for everything. What a wasted life! Seeking to make some kind of meaningful contact, he picked up her delicate hand, cradling it in his.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in to see you lately,” he began. “Seth and the house and the business…” He felt a twinge of guilt at the lie and a deeper, more poignant emotion beneath it. “Actually, it’s more than that,” he admitted softly. “I doubt you’d be happy to hear it, but somehow I need to say it and you seem to be the only one I can say it to just now. How odd is that?” He shook his head wryly. “The point is, I’ve met someone, and I’ve fallen in love with her.” He couldn’t be certain, but for an instant he thought he felt movement in Janey’s hand. He gripped it more tightly, studying her face. “Janey? Can you hear me? Can you speak to me, open your eyes?”
Her eyes rolled beneath her eyelids, but he’d seen that many times. The doctors insisted that these little jerks and eye flutters were involuntary; yet, it sometimes seemed to him that it was just as Brown claimed, that Janey was in there somewhere and responding as well as she could to what was being said and done around her. He tilted his head, thinking that if the old Janey still existed, this sort of talk was exactly what it might take to reach her.
“Perhaps you’d like to hear about her,” he said conversationally. “You’ve met her, sort of. Her name is Chey Simmons, and she’s a delectable little blonde with six brothers and three sisters. The fact is, I love her, and I intend to marry her.” Someday. Maybe.
This time, he could not mistake the way Janey’s fingers curled against his. The pressure, though brief, sent a bolt of shock through him. He leaned close, took her face in his hands.
“Janey? If you can hear me, if you understand, open your eyes. You can come back, Janey. It’s not too late. You’re a beautiful, charming woman. You can have such a good life.”
Nothing, nothing at all. He tried one more time.
“The money is still there, Janey, every cent, just waiting for you. That’s reason enough to wake up, isn’t it, all that lovely money?” But apparently it wasn’t, for the woman on the bed slept on, oblivious. Comatose.
He stared down at her for a long time, then he tenderly smoothed her hair around her face and gave up. Shaking his head, he sat for a moment longer, the hope draining out of him. The relief he held resolutely at bay. He wouldn’t let himself be glad that all the old problems slept on with her. Nothing was worth the living death that held her in its grip. Nothing. He stood, bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Rest now,” he said with a sad smile, “then wake up, if you please, and get on with your life, because I’m certainly getting on with mine.”
He walked smoothly across the room, thinking that he had accomplished one thing, at least. He had crystallized for once and all what he wanted from Chey Simmons. Nothing short of always, and he meant to do everything in his power to have it.
It was the christening, the first dinner party, however informal, in the newly renovated dining room, and Chey was pleased to be included, if a little apprehensive. Something in Brodie’s manner of late told her that the easy days were behind her. It was as if he had abandoned the facade of friendship and was actively courting her again, employing a deadly charm underlaid with steely determination. And to her dismay it was working. She saw herself being coaxed closer and closer to a place she’d sworn she’d never go and wondering if the destination could be as sweet as the journey.
Brodie had invited Georges to dinner, as well. It was their moment of glory, though the house was not finished yet. Much, in fact, remained to be done, especially with the family rooms, which had been assigned a lower priority after the situation with the Legantine representatives had heated up. Nevertheless, Brodie seemed eager to begin enjoying the benefits of their labors and to express his appreciation.
Chey dressed with care in a simple black, sleeveless sheath and flat sandals. Shiny black clips held up the sides of her hair in two simple twists, leaving the back to flow freely over her shoulders and down her back. Georges had chosen a grass-green sport coat to offset his monochromatic ensemble of navy blue slacks, shirt and tie. Brodie answered the door in dark gray slacks and a light gray, collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His wide smile did nothing to disguise his amusement at Georges or the heat in his eyes for her. A slow burn ignited in her blood stream at the sight of him.
“Drinks in the garden room,” he told them, snagging her hand. “It’s warm, but Grandmama insisted. Anyway, Marcel says dinner is only a quarter-hour off. I hope you like mint juleps.”
“Mint juleps! Fabulous!” Georges said, rubbing his hands together and starting off down the hall.
Chey shared a smile with Brodie as they followed, her hand firmly clasped in his. “Speaking of fabulous,” he said silkily, “I’m glad you left your hair down.”
She smiled, the heat in her blood spiking several degrees. “Thank you.”
As soon as they entered the room, Georges went straight to one of four wide, rolled-arm, antique rattan chairs, which Chey had discovered in South Carolina via an Internet search, and made an elaborate display of kissing Viola’s hand. Seth, who occupied Viola’s lap, giggled while Brodie placed Chey in the chair next to Viola, then sat down, leaving the last chair for Georges. Viola sent Seth to his father, then sat up and pulled around a wheeled drinks table containing the ingredients for her brew.
She began by pouring a little ice water into a silver cup, then added a portion of confectioners sugar and a large sprig of mint, which she mashed together with a small wooden spoon. Next she filled the cup with crushed ice, stuck in another sprig of mint and poured good Kentucky bourbon to the rim. A small straw jammed straight to the bottom was the final touch. Viola passed the cup to Chey and began filling the next while Chey sipped the burning sweet mixture judiciously. Both cold and hot, the sweetened bourbon took her breath away while the mint seemed to fill her nasal cavities. Within minutes the room was uncomfortably warm and Chey was very relaxed. She was feeling lovely by the time Marcel announced that dinner was on the table.
The rare Thomas Sheraton mechanical expanding mahogany table that she’d had shipped all the way from England had been expanded to its full twelve feet beneath a pair of exquisite brass chandeliers, but they were eating family-style, so places for only seven had been set near one end. Viola had fashioned a beautiful centerpiece with ivies and flowers from her garden in an enormous silver-and-china epergne from Chey’s shop. A perfectly gorgeous salad in a shell-shaped crystal bowl the size of a small fish pond immediately caught Chey’s eye, but the mingled aromas rising from a silver basket of freshly baked Italian bread and a china platter of spaghetti covered with Portobello mushroom caps and a mound of chopped vegetables in a delicate sauce literally made her mouth water.
Dinner was a leisurely, relaxed ninety minutes of fabulous food, conversation and laughter. Marcel and Kate joined them at the table, but Brown had declined her invitation. No one missed her, as Brodie, Marcel and Georges set about entertaining the ladies. Seth laughed, kicked the chair in which his booster seat ha
d been placed, and managed to smear food on his clothes, hands and face, but he sat as still as a child could be expected to and eventually got as much food in him as he wanted. He did not seem to mind being the only child in a room full of adults, nor did he appear bored, but he did begin to droop sleepily before the end of the meal and even refused the airy, chocolate-filled cream puffs that Marcel had made for dessert. Just as soon as Viola had done justice to her own confection, she got up and prepared to take the child up to bed.
Georges volunteered to carry him up the stairs. She cleaned the boy’s face without the least protest from him, then had Georges carry him to his father, for a sleepy goodnight kiss and hug. Marcel and Kate got air kisses, but Chey received an exuberant hug. As Georges carried the boy away, Viola right behind them, Marcel and Kate got up to clear the table.
Brodie reached for Chey’s hand, saying, “Let’s take a walk outside.”
“After that meal, I could use a little exercise,” she said, rising to her feet and allowing him to lead her from the room. “Marcel continues to outdo himself,” she commented as they left the house.
“I have to work hard to keep off evidence of his expertise,” Brodie said, as he opened the gate so they could walk around the pool, protected from mosquitoes by the flickering citronella torches.
“You don’t work hard at anything,” she told him archly as they skirted the narrow end of the pool.
“Not true,” he disagreed good-naturedly, turning the corner with her to stroll the length of the pool gate. “I work very hard at enjoying life. And lately I’ve been working very hard at something else.” Suddenly the sensual tension earlier dispelled by mint juleps, good company and delicious food erupted anew. Glancing up and away, Chey caught a flicker of movement on the upper gallery. Her immediate impression was that it was Brown, but she didn’t give it another thought. She was more concerned about the man who now drew her to a halt beside him. “I can’t be just your friend, Chey. It’s gone far beyond that for me.”
She had to swallow down her drumming heart in order to whisper, “I know.”
“You aren’t running,” he said softly, drawing her toward him.
“I’m not running,” she confirmed, catching her breath as his mouth covered hers.
One part of her was enthralled while another was horrified. Then all of her was afire. Her arms lifted and wound about his neck, her body bending into his as he crushed her against him. She wondered dimly how she could fight this and then why it was that she should. With his mouth and hands and his own need, he created a maelstrom of sensation and desire that so captured her she did not hear the shouts until he lifted his head and half-turned toward the house.
“Mr. Brodie! Come quick!” It was Brown, pounding toward them in ungainly haste.
Brodie frowned, muttering, “What the hell?”
Brown drew up at the pool fence, her hands gripping the pointed ends of the wrought iron pickets. “It’s happened!” she gasped. “You’ve got to come and see for yourself!”
“See what?”
“Janey, she’s awake!” With that stunning news, she whirled and began running back toward the house, crying, “Come on! Hurry!”
For an instant, Brodie seemed as stunned as Chey. Then suddenly he grabbed her hand and lurched toward the house, exclaiming, “Sweet God!” He literally dragged her along in his wake, sprinting across the grass. She finally jerked her hand free, unable to keep up, and attempted to catch her breath. He paused halfway across the garden room and looked back at her.
“Go on. I’m right behind you.” He twisted back and forth in obvious turmoil, so she pushed off again, insisting, “Go on!”
He turned and ran for the hall and the stairs, catching Brown as she pounded on. Chey was mere yards behind them. Over and over the thought echoed inside her head, She’s awake, she’s awake, she’s awake. His ex-wife, the mother of his son, was suddenly, inexplicably awake from her long coma. She made the top of the stairs just in time to watch Brodie sprint down the hallway, Brown huffing painfully behind him. When she swung through Janey’s open doorway, only a step behind Brown, he was standing frozen.
Janey sat on the edge of the bed dressed in a pink silk nightgown, the brush she had been pulling through her long, pale red, fluffy hair paused in midair. “It’s true!” Chey heard Brodie gasp over Brown’s wheezing beside her. Then, he laughed and exclaimed, “You’re awake!” At his exclamation, Janey’s angelic face lit with a smile and she dropped the brush, holding out her hands to him.
“Brodie!”
Chey knew her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn’t seem to close it. She became aware, only as Brodie slowly crossed the floor, that the room was crowded with people. Indeed, Brown and everyone who’d been at the dinner table, with the exception of Seth, were standing there gaping at the awakened beauty, who, in turn, had eyes only for Brodie.
“You’ve grown a beard,” Janey chortled. “I love it.”
Brodie was shaking his head. “When…how…?”
Suddenly she hopped off the bed, stumbled slightly, and then literally threw herself at him, crying, “I’m back, darling! And, oh, I love you!”
Chey watched with cold, stinging detachment as Janey wrapped her arms around Brodie’s neck and shoved her body up against his, going up on tiptoe to kiss him. Brodie’s hands went to her waist, but he seemed too stunned to actually kiss her back. Janey sank down, collapsing against him weakly.
“I’d better go back to bed,” she declared apologetically. “Brown says I’ve been asleep a long time and I’m weak because of it, but when I saw my handsome husband standing here, I felt positively supercharged.”
Husband. The word seemed to reverberate around the room. It was whispered by several lips, even, Chey very much feared, her own. Brodie finally seemed to get himself in hand. He partly pushed, partly carried Janey back to the bed and eased her up onto it. When she was settled back against the pillows, he stepped away and brought his hands to his hips, asking, “What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” she said, huffing a little. “The last thing I remember is our baby’s first birthday, and then I wake up here in this strange place and Brown says it’s a miracle of some sort.” She smiled and lifted a hand toward him. “I was upset, but it’s all right now that you’re here. You always make everything all right.” She waved a hand, beckoning him closer, then whispered, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Should all these strangers be in here?”
Brodie stepped back from Janey and glanced around the room. “There aren’t any strangers here,” he said. “They’ve all been concerned about you in one way or another.”
When his gaze came to rest on Chey’s, she saw the question there—and the doubt. She knew suddenly that she was the one person who truly did not belong here, and that it was best if she left immediately, for everyone’s sake. What a fool she had been to think, even for a moment, that it might be otherwise! She turned blindly toward the door, but before she could step through it, she felt a hand close around her wrist.
“Chey! I haven’t introduced you.” He pulled her closer to the bed. Even though she shook her head imploringly, she found herself standing next to Viola, who slid a supportive arm about her waist. Brodie glanced around once more, his gaze coming back to Chey. Then he switched his attention to Janey.
“Let’s start with the occupants of the house,” he said, and laid a hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. “This is Grandmama, otherwise known as Viola. I’m sure I spoke of her many, many times, and she, of course, is why we’re all here.” He looked at Janey and explained, “Grandpapa died some months ago, and I decided it was time to gather what was left of the family in one place. Since removing Grandmama from New Orleans was unthinkable, we came here. She’s been an invaluable help with Seth.”
“Oh,” Janey said. “Well, yes, that makes perfect sense.” She smiled at Viola and said, “I did wonder.” Not one word about her son, Chey noticed.
Viola looked
at Brodie meaningfully. He just patted her shoulder and moved on to the couple standing together at the foot of the bed. “Kate looks after the house, somehow managing to keep it spotless despite all the remodeling that’s gone on, and Marcel feeds us all sublimely. Finding the two of them alone was worth the move to New Orleans.”
“You mean we have servants?” Janey asked, delight naked in her voice.
“No,” he answered flatly. “We’re all family here. I actually think of Kate and Marcel as the indispensable ones. I need them around here so badly that I’m actually willing to pay, and pay well, to keep them here. They are not servants.”
“Just like Brown,” Janey said, flashing a glance at her nurse.
He stared at Janey, then said carefully, “I suppose that’s a good analogy.” With that he moved back to Chey. Taking her hand in his, he said, warmly, “Chey Simmons is the genius who has transformed this big old house into a home of which we’re very proud. And Georges is her assistant.”
Janey’s bright blue gaze sharpened. “I guess that means you’re the decorator,” she said innocently. Then she glanced around the room, flapping an arm in helpless frankness. “I hope this isn’t what the rest of my house looks like. It might as well be a hospital!”
My house. Everyone in the room, with the exception of Janey and Brown, stiffened at the impact of those words, but it was left to Brodie to set her straight, which he did, though not in the way Chey might have chosen had she possessed any right to have made the choice.
“Chey had nothing to do with this part of the house,” he said firmly. “And it looks like a hospital room because it is. You’ve been very ill.”
“We’re all glad you’re better, Ms. Shelly,” Kate said then.
“Ms. Shelly?” Janey echoed. “What on earth do you mean by that? A married woman is known by her husband’s name. It’s Mrs. Todd and proudly so.”
Mrs. Todd. Chey’s heart plummeted straight to her toes. Obviously the woman couldn’t know that her husband had divorced her while she was ill. All the more reason, one Chey had allowed herself to forget, why she should not have allowed herself to become involved with this man. Brodie looked at Chey in helpless shock while Viola calmly said, “I think someone should call the doctor.”