by Pat Warren
Briana shrugged. “I suppose we have. But certainly not close enough that he would affect my decision to go or stay. The fact is that right now, I’m having a great time redoing this house.” She glanced over her shoulder through the open door into the living room at a pile of large books and design sketches. “Those are carpet samples and drapery swatches. I think I’ve finally settled on the right selection. I never realized how exciting it can be to all but gut a house and redo it from the ground up. And do it my way.”
Irma raised a penciled brow. “In all the times you moved, you never redecorated a place?”
“Oh, sure, some. New curtains, a paint job, my own furniture. But here, I kept only a few special mementos of my grandparents and the rest I gave away. When I finish, whether I use this house as a vacation home or a permanent residence, it’ll be just as I want it. I even had them take down a wall in back so I could enlarge the bathroom. I’m having a sunken tub installed with Jacuzzi jets. How’s that for decadence?”
“I love it!” Irma declared. “It’s so good to see you smiling, Briana. And I do believe you’ve picked up a bit of the weight you lost.”
“Probably.” Working alongside Slade over the past couple of weeks, he’d insisted they stop regularly and often for meals. “It’s Slade’s fault. The man’s appetite is huge.”
“Is that a fact?” Irma’s expression turned speculative. “Personally, I’ve always preferred men with huge appetites.”
Her friend had chosen to deliberately shift the meaning of her words, Briana thought, and they both knew it. But she smiled nonetheless. “You’re terrible, and for your information, I wouldn’t know about his other appetites, but he sure likes to eat.”
“How about the drinking?” Irma asked. Her second husband had been altogether too fond of alcohol, which had hastened his demise. She’d hate to see Briana, who’d had more than her share of problems, get involved with a drinker.
“I haven’t seen signs of it since those first few days. I think he was out of sorts, suddenly finding himself here in an unfamiliar place where he knew no one, not even the father who’d left him everything. He tried drinking his troubles away and quickly discovered that was no answer.”
Although Slade’s estrangement from his father and his unsettling upbringing were problems enough, Briana felt there was something more, some incident or event that happened to him, likely connected to his work as a firefighter, that was the true basis of his melancholy mood swings. She couldn’t forget his words the night they’d kissed by Mayberry House. I’m not a very nice man. I’ve done things, things I’m not proud of. What could he have meant? She’d tried to segue into a discussion on those disturbing statements several times over the past couple of weeks, but Slade had danced around the topic. She had no choice but to bide her time.
“We had beer together once and shared some wine at dinner, but that’s the extent of his drinking these days.”
Irma tipped her head, her large gold hoop earrings grazing her shoulders. “It takes a good woman to show a man the error of his ways.”
Briana shook her head. “I doubt I’m in any shape to influence anyone these days. Besides, Slade’s very much his own person.”
Reading between the lines of what her friend was saying, Irma wasn’t so sure Briana was seeing everything clearly. She’d heard so many conflicting stories around town about Jeremy’s son. There were those who said he was rude, tactless, and arrogant. Jimmy Kendall, who was sort of a liaison for the firemen, said he wouldn’t have the man on his team on a bet.
Others felt Slade had lightened up, actually chatting with shopkeepers in a friendly way, even smiling and being polite now and then. And Irma’s friend, Dottie, who worked with abused women and children, had told Irma at bridge last Friday that Slade had not only donated several truckloads of furniture to the shelter, but had spent two days doing badly needed repairs. The word in some quarters was, the man had gone from surly and reclusive to helpful and accommodating in less than a month. If that was so, something had to have motivated him, and Irma felt sure she was looking at the reason. “Do you like him, Briana?” she asked finally, blunt as always.
Taken aback, Briana frowned. She should be used to her elderly friend’s ways, yet she hadn’t been prepared for the question. “Yes, I like him. He’s had his problems, like most of us.” Some, told to her in confidence, she wouldn’t repeat, while others were common knowledge around town. “He’s trying to get past that, as we all are. He’s a hard worker—I don’t know how I’d have managed all this renovating without him.” And he’s softhearted when it comes to little girls and stranded kittens, she thought, and much bigger girls who have a tendency to indulge in crying jags.
Plus, when he kissed her, she forgot her own name.
Briana felt the heat rise in her face. She stood, walking to the doorway, presumably to check on the kitchen’s progress, and attempted to change the subject with her back turned while her skin cooled. “I sure hope they finish today. The tile people are scheduled to do the floor in there tomorrow.”
Irma’s shrewd gaze stayed on the back of her head for long minutes, then she decided to plunge in. After all, what were friends for if not to meddle in their lives? “Briana, you’re not getting seriously involved with Slade, are you?”
Swiveling about, Briana frowned. “That sounds very much like a warning. Is there something I don’t know about him that worries you?”
Irma waved a bony hand. “Not specifically. I’ve only had two conversations with him. It’s his eyes more than anything. Even when he smiles, there’s a dangerous cast to his eyes. Perhaps you should have a chat with Medea.”
Briana shook her head, dismissing the suggestion of talking with Irma’s fortune-teller friend. “I think I’ll pass. But you can stop worrying about me. I’m hardly the impetuous type.”
“Mmm, I wonder if all women aren’t impetuous around certain men.” She studied her young friend. Though Briana had said she didn’t know about Slade’s “other appetites,” Irma wasn’t convinced. “Tell me, are you sleeping with him?”
Briana’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s blunt enough. Honestly, Irma!”
Irma waved a manicured hand. “At my age, I don’t have time to beat around the bush. I know you’ve lived alone for several years, and that’s not healthy. I ought to know, I’ve been alone for twenty years. It’s not natural. So, are you?”
Briana knew if she didn’t answer, Irma would just keep it up. “No, I’m not.”
“Maybe you should. You can learn a great deal from pillow talk. A little healthy sex wouldn’t do you any harm, either.” Rising, she adjusted her tiny granny glasses. “Well, I’ve got to run along. They’re having a sale at Bonaventures that I don’t want to miss.”
Brushing back her hair, Briana wondered if there wasn’t some truth to Irma’s observation. “Are you looking for something in particular or just a new fall wardrobe?” Bonaventures was a shop specializing in women’s clothes.
Irma went down the steps carefully. “They’ve got these great new padded bras. Imported. They have this plastic insert in each cup and it comes with a strawlike gizmo. You blow in as much air as you wish, then seal it like an inner tube. With some outfits, you know, you need a little more chest, and with others, less. They’re wonderful and you can’t always find them.”
“I’ll bet not,” Briana commented, standing at the picket fence with her. She leaned to hug the older woman, her smile in place. “I’m so glad you stopped in.”
“Me, too, darlin’. You know I only meddle because I love you, don’t you?”
“I love you, too.” She watched Irma start back the one-block walk to her house, her pace belying her age. She was definitely one of the world’s wonders, Briana thought as she turned back. But before she reached her steps, she caught sight of a familiar figure riding a bicycle heading her way, a bulky package anchored behind the seat.
Pulling up alongside her fence, Slade braked. “Like my new bike?�
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“Pretty sharp.” She examined the bike, noting it was built for speed. “When did you get it?”
“Bought it this morning. I used to have a Harley in California, but I’ve never had a speed bike, so I thought I’d indulge myself.” He glanced toward her garage. “I noticed there’s a girl’s bike in there. Maybe we can go riding one day. Good exercise.”
“Mmm hmm.” She sniffed the air, wondering at the source of the familiar smell as she leaned closer to the package wrapped in white paper. “You’ve been shopping.”
“Yeah. I rode my bike into town and decided to get us a couple of lobsters for dinner.” Scooting to the back edge of his seat, he raised the front wheel off the ground, then let it drop down with a bounce before grinning at her. “Neat, eh?”
She had to smile at him. Like a little boy with a new toy, one he’d obviously missed out on in his teens. “Lobsters, did you say? Well, guess what? My cupboards should be in by day’s end, but my new stove won’t be delivered for another day or two. That means you’re the chef tonight.” They hadn’t eaten every meal together over the last couple of weeks since their beach picnic. But most of them.
“I’m planning on it.” He got off the bike and turned it around. “See you around six?”
“That’s good. Do you have a pot big enough?”
“I imagine so. I’ll poke around and find one.”
“How would it be if I bring the wine?”
“Nope. I’ve got it covered, Just bring yourself.” He walked the bike toward his garage.
Briana watched him go and wandered back up onto the porch. The weather was cooler since Labor Day had passed. There were fewer people on the beaches. Only a couple of diehards actually braved the chilly waters and already the days were getting shorter. But the rains had held off and for that she was grateful. Sunny days were cheerier and she needed all the mood elevators she could find.
But the best one of all was Slade.
By unspoken agreement, they’d behaved as friends—good and true friends, not as sweethearts, and certainly not as lovers—since that last soul-searching evening of the balloon incident. There’d been no unnecessary touching, not since that stunning kiss in the sand. Their conversations had centered around the projects they were working on together, her house and his, and rarely got personal, as it had that evening. They’d even managed to leave the past at rest for a while, both his situation with his father and hers with the loss of her son. It had been a healing respite for both of them, Briana felt. No touchy-feely stuff to cloud their minds and no mention of uncomfortable subjects, like his firefighting career.
They’d gotten to know each other better, through actions and deeds rather than words and confidences shared. It had been an experience like no other she’d ever had. If occasionally she recalled with longing the feelings he’d aroused in her by taking her in his arms, she’d managed to relegate those thoughts to the back of her mind. She was aware that Slade, too, remembered those moments, for she’d catch him looking at her when he didn’t think she noticed, and there’d be such heat in his eyes. But then he’d turn aside, putting his feelings on hold.
Civilized was what they were, Briana decided. While the approach gave her breathing room at a time when she needed it, she also wondered how long this unusual alliance could reasonably continue. An attraction so strong was bound to rear its head again, yet neither of them was willing to push the issue right now. Relationships, in order to survive and thrive, needed a great deal of time, attention, and nurturing. And they required two people who had their heads on straight and their emotions under control.
Briana doubted if either of them had those two prerequisites.
She heard her name called and turned to see one of the workmen in her kitchen signaling her. Time to stop daydreaming, she told herself as she went to see what he wanted.
It wasn’t a date, Briana reminded herself as she brushed out her hair. They’d shared many a meal together by now, so one more could hardly be called a date. It was just a lobster dinner for two friends.
Then why was her stomach all jittery?
Because she’d skipped lunch, since workmen had been all over her kitchen most of the day. Zippering up her yellow linen slacks, she turned in front of the full-length mirror, examining her image. Irma was right, she had picked up a few pounds. Not enough to make her slacks tight, but rather enough so her clothes were no longer so loose. She actually had a few curves again.
At the closet, Briana removed two sweaters, angling her head, trying to decide. Yes, the matching cotton sweater would be best. Slipping it on, she shook out her hair and finger-combed her bangs. She’d have to think about a haircut soon. Time was getting away from her.
Sliding her feet into leather flats, she stopped to review the finished product. A touch of makeup, which she so seldom wore, made her eyes seem larger and her mouth fuller. Not exactly a knockout, Briana decided, but she’d do. The last thing she did before leaving her bedroom was to dab on some cologne. Might as well go whole hog tonight.
Pocketing her key, she left the house and crossed over to Slade’s lawn, climbing onto his porch. Surprised that he hadn’t left the door ajar for her as he usually did, she gave two sharp raps and waited. No answering sounds from inside. She knocked again, then wandered across the porch to the window and peered inside. No sign of life.
Her heart stuttered for just a beat. Where could Slade be—was something wrong? When he didn’t appear after another minute, she tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Inside, she called out his name.
Briana heard a chair scrape back, the sound coming from the kitchen. Heading that way, she walked through the empty living room and on into the dining room with its table set for two. Slade was sitting at the small table by the window. Its entire glass top was covered with envelopes and letters in a state of disarray. A large blue ribbon had been carelessly tossed aside.
Slade looked up, his expression a little dazed, as if surprised at seeing her, and set down the letter he’d been holding.
Pausing in the archway, Briana glanced at a big pot on the floor by his feet, then at him. “Is something the matter, Slade?”
“I’m not sure.” His voice sounded rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. He glanced down at the pot, the scattered letters, then at Briana. “I was looking for a lobster pot and found this one up on the top shelf in the pantry. I was about to wash it when I found these letters inside.”
Briana sat down in the only other chair. “Jeremy’s letters?”
Gazing down at them, he fingered one or two, then nodded absently. “They’re all from my mother.” His expression changed, turning bleak. “My poor, sad, faithless mother.”
Briana had wondered if going through Jeremy’s papers would shatter even more of Slade’s illusions. It might have been less nerve-wracking to let things be, though there were those who preferred knowing the truth no matter the price.
“I take it she confessed to an affair and that’s why Jeremy left.”
He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Not just an affair, bad as that would have been. An affair that produced a child. Me.” Slade saw her eyes widen. “Yeah, that’s right. Jeremy wasn’t my real father. Small wonder he could no longer stomach the sight of me after he found out.”
This wasn’t the way he should be viewing this, not after all this time. “Slade, he could hardly blame you. You were an innocent child. Your mother may have hurt Jeremy with such a betrayal, but none of that was your fault.”
“Apparently that’s not how Jeremy saw it Punish the mother, punish the son.” He grabbed one of the letters, the first he’d read. “She sent him this one just six months after he left us, which was when the checks had begun arriving, when he’d settled here in Nantucket Probably that was when she first learned his address. She begs him in this letter to forgive her, but that if he can’t do that much, at least to not shut me out of his life. She goes on to say how much I missed him.”
Briana watch
ed him swallow a lump in his throat and knew how very much he was hurting.
“What did high-and-mighty Mr. Jeremy D. Slade do about her pleas? I ask you. Exactly nothing. Her next letter, and the next and the ones after that, all beg him to write to the son who’s too young to understand an adult situation. But he never did.” Viciously, Slade kicked the pot by his feet. “He never did.”
Briana understood his anger and wished she could do something to ease it. “How did he find out? I mean, you were already ten.”
“Before I got home from school that day, they must’ve had some sort of argument and she blurted out the truth. We’ll never know why. And the great man couldn’t handle it, could no longer accept the boy he’d once professed to love. Which translated means he never loved me at all.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Slade raised his head to look at her. “Not sure? Read these letters and you’ll be sure.”
But Briana remained unconvinced. “Slade, there had to be a reason Jeremy didn’t destroy these letters. He didn’t put them with his other papers, or in a lockbox or even a bank safe-deposit box. No, he tucked them away where you probably wouldn’t find them for a while. But eventually you would. I have a feeling he hoped by then you’d understand him a little.”
He kept staring at her, his brow wrinkled. “Just what is it I’m supposed to understand? That he was small and mean and petty? That he left a woman he knew to be weak to fend for herself, never once contacting her to see if she was alive or dead? That he turned his back on a boy who adored him because of wounded pride? Jesus, Briana! I’m glad none of his blood flows in my veins.”
No, he wasn’t, but right now, he surely thought so.
“Slade, your father could have destroyed these letters. You’d have come here at his death when his attorney contacted you, and never learned the truth. You’d go along believing a lie. But Jeremy hadn’t been able to live a lie, to pretend he still cared for your mother after such a serious betrayal, and he probably assumed you wouldn’t want to, either. So he made sure you found them.”