by Faver, JD
That’s where she longed to be, back in that safe, warm place where Jon loved her. She felt empty inside as though betraying Jon had drained her of everything that made her happy.
Max folded her duvet and spread it across the futon. Just a short time ago she’d been completely fulfilled with her painting. She’d been happy here in her loft with all her simple needs being met.
What had happened to that girl?
In the few short weeks since she’d met Jon Donnell, she’d become dependent upon him for her happiness. It had started with him telling her that he liked her paintings and that he admired her and then, that he loved her.
Was she so completely defined by this man that, if she never saw him again she would be broken?
Max thought of Cherise Gilman. Was this what happened to women who fell in love with Jon Donnell? Did they become bitter and empty, just waiting for him to come back and make them complete again?
Max grabbed a fistful of coins from her change jar and went down to the pay phone in the lobby. She blinked, trying to steady her hand as she dialed Jon’s number. She got the recording. The sound of his voice gave her a small morsel of comfort.
“Jon, it’s Max...I just wanted to say... I’m sorry and...I love you, no matter what you’ve done. Please give me a chance to apologize for lying to you.” Her voice had a painful little catch in it. She hung up before she sounded too pitiful.
~*~
J.C. Donnell was surprised when Jon showed up at the ranch unexpectedly Sunday evening. He took a closer look.
“Have you been fighting, son?” he asked.
Jon rubbed his fingers over his bruised jaw. “I did have a little disagreement with someone.” He brought a bag and a newspaper in from his car.
Carla reached up to embrace her son, her large brown eyes echoing the sadness she read in Jon’s.
“Let the boy get settled in, hon.” J.C. slipped his arm around Carla’s shoulders as he watched Jon trek upstairs.
“Something’s really wrong with him,” she whispered.
“Leave him alone. Jon’s a good boy. He’ll tell us in his own good time.”
She nodded and went into the kitchen to start preparing dinner for her men.
Anxiously, J.C. waited for Jon to come down. Whatever was bothering him, he’d brought it home with him like a big, black thundercloud hanging heavy over his head.
Jon came downstairs, looking tight-lipped and withdrawn.
J.C. took a moment to weigh his son’s emotional state before clapping his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Let’s go outside, son. You look like you need some fresh air.”
Jon followed him out to the patio. He took a deep breath and set his feet in a wide stance.
J.C. gripped Jon’s arm a moment and released him. He wished he could lift the weight from Jon’s broad shoulders and take it on his own.
“I’m okay, Dad,” Jon said quietly. “I needed to get out of Houston for a few days and cool off.”
“This is your home, son. You’re always welcome. If you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you, I’m here to listen. If not, I’m still here.”
“I know Dad.” Jon stood silently gazing out across the hills at the brilliant colors streaking the sky with the setting sun.
“You’re not having trouble with that little gal, Millie, are you? Your mom and I kinda thought we’d be seeing a lot more of her.”
Jon swallowed convulsively. “I’d rather not talk about her just now, if it’s all the same to you.” He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
J.C. raised his brows. That was the last thing he would have seen coming. He’d have sworn there was something real going on there.
“I hope you’re hungry, son. Your mama’s making meatloaf with tomato gravy. I know you like that.”
Jon nodded.
J.C. Donnell didn’t think anyone could bring his son down like this, but it seemed as if that pretty little city gal wasn’t as sweet as she’d first appeared.
~*~
Monday morning brought clear skies.
Max took a deep breath of the fresh-smelling air. She stood atop the rooftop of her building, enjoying the city view, sparkling after the rain.
She’d started the day with a simple glance out the bank of windows on the north side of her loft. Then she’d recalled the spectacular panorama she’d seen after Merrick and Sherman had repaired the fire escape.
She inhaled deeply. The rain had cleansed the city; washed away its impurities. It gave her a sense of hope, of a new beginning.
She sighed as a pang of sorrow shot through her.
The only trouble with new beginnings is that something else has to end.
She was going to give him another twenty-four...no, forty-eight hours to contact her and then she would forget all about Jon Claude Donnell. After all, she was willing to overlook the fact that she and Merrick had been arrested for consorting with him. And she still didn’t know what he’d been accused of.
And, speaking of mysteries, she didn’t know why Jon had attacked Merrick at the gallery Saturday night. What had changed him from the jovial man who’d greeted her with a kiss and introduced her to all his clients? Of course, he’d introduced her as ‘Millie’ but still he’d been proud to be in her company.
Max leaned on the edge of the building. She couldn’t blame Jon, when it was entirely her fault. If she’d been truthful with him from the start, she might have a leg to stand on. She heaved a deep sigh.
If Jon was so angry with her that he’d decided to dump her, so be it. She’d had her heart broken before. People lived through heartbreak. So would the artist, Max Foster.
She climbed down the fire escape and prepared to step in through her window. She bumped her head on the birdfeeder Jon had given her. Steadying the swinging feeder, Max realized it was empty. If it was empty, that meant that some bird had been dining there. She climbed in and reached for the bag of seed.
Max refilled the cup and closed the window. She felt a tiny molecule of satisfaction in knowing that she was capable of providing nurturance for something.
She heard a knock at her door and her heart lifted. Max glanced in the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair.
Opening the door, her spirits sank when she saw the two delivery men from Claremont Designs. Several crates were stacked in the hallway between them.
“What’s all this?” she asked.
“Mr. Donnell arranged for the delivery, Ma’am.”
“Mr. Donnell?” Max’s spirits jumped back on the roller coaster ride, soaring high again. She opened her door wider and stepped aside.
She felt like dancing as she followed the men into her loft. They set the crates in an empty area and handed her a clipboard to sign. Max was given a copy of the delivery slip.
“Mr. Donnell sent this, too.” The deliveryman handed her an envelope with the name ‘Millie’ handwritten on the outside.
Max clutched the envelope, leaving the door ajar after the men were gone. She felt dizzy, a fluttering sensation in her chest, like butterfly wings beating against her ribs.
Jon wrote me a letter and he sent me a present. He can’t be through with me!
Her hands were shaking as she curled up on the futon. Tears ran, unchecked down her cheeks.
That’s how Willa found her.
“Max! Max! What’s wrong?” Willa shook her shoulders to get her attention.
“He...he wrote me a letter.” Max held up the crinkled, damp envelope.
Willa pried it from her fingers. “How do you know it’s a letter? It could be a bill for services rendered.”
“Oh, Willa, you’re so crazy.” Max grinned through her tears.
Willa examined the envelope thoughtfully before handing it back to her.
“Open it up, Max. You’ve been waiting for him to communicate with you.”
Max exhaled heavily and nodded. She carefully peeled the envelope open. With shaking hands she extracted one slim piece of paper.
; Her eyes focused on the broad strokes of Jon’s handwriting as she took in his words.
My Dearest Millie,
If I designed my dream woman, she
would be you. Please accept these
gifts as my simple way of making
your dreams come true.
Love, Jon
“What gifts?” Willa asked. “Did Jon get you a present?”
Max pointed to the crates standing under the bank of windows.
“Omigod,” Willa said. “Jon Donnell sure knows how to give a girl a present.”
“What do you think is in there?” Max asked.
Willa grinned at her. “Silly girl! You have to open them up. We need a screwdriver. These crates are substantial.”
“I have a screwdriver.” Max searched among her art supplies and produced several tools including a hammer, several screwdrivers and a small pry bar.
The two friends attacked the smallest crate. Removing one side, they were able to slide the contents out.
“It’s a light fixture!” Max clasped her hands together in delight.
“No, it’s a chandelier.” Willa started unwrapping the delicate, multi-faceted crystals.
“It’s the same as in Jon’s design.” She scrambled to her feet and returned, waving Jon’s renderings depicting a crystal chandelier hanging over her claw foot bathtub.
“What’s all this?” Sherman came in through the open doorway. “Are you ladies planning to make some changes?”
“Sherman,” Max called. “Come help us open these crates.”
“Sure thing, babe.” He sauntered across the loft, stopping with his hand on the largest crate. “What’s in there?”
“I don’t have any idea. They’re presents from Jon.”
“Jon, the guy I met at your show? The one who didn’t even know your name?”
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
Sherman gave her a skeptical look. “The one the cops were after?”
Willa gave him a frown and shake of her head.
“Do you need the wood?” he asked. “I can use it in my work.”
“Take it,” Max said.
Sherman picked up the pry bar and started removing the sides of the largest crate. He let out a low whistle. “This guy gave you a big wooden bird.” He pulled the headboard of the swan bed from the packing material.
Max stood with her hands covering her mouth. “It’s the bed from Jon’s design.”
Willa held out Jon’s rendering showing the bed placed under the skylight. “It looks like he is trying to make your dreams come true.”
“Let’s put this thing together,” Sherman said. He started dragging the headboard from the crate.
“Please be careful,” Max said. “That’s a five-thousand dollar bed frame.”
Willa’s eyes opened wide and she made a moaning sound. “He must love you a lot.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Max asked. “He wouldn’t give me such an extravagant present if he was dumping me.”
Willa gave a noncommittal shrug and turned her attentions to the bed.
With Sherman’s help they assembled the bed and shoved a very expensive pillow-top mattress into the swan’s back.
Max climbed onto it with Sherman and Willa joining her.
Melodic baritone laughter rumbled up from deep within Sherman’s chest. “I never thought I’d be lying on a five-thousand dollar bed with a beautiful blonde and a gorgeous redhead.” Sherman stretched his arms over his head. “America is truly a wonderful country.”
Willa cleared her throat. “Excuse me but, my hair is strawberry blonde.”
“Whatever,” Sherman said.
“I have to buy some sheets,” Max said. “I have to find Jon and thank him.”
“Whatever,” Sherman said.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
On Monday morning, Jon got around to reading his Sunday newspaper. In the Arts and Entertainment section, he saw the picture of himself with his arm around the young woman clearly identified in the caption as the artist Max Foster. She looked incredibly beautiful standing in his embrace.
He set the section aside and read the rest of the paper. When he opened the society section and found the photo of the artist Max Foster with her brother and Willa, he read the names aloud several times.
He really was her brother. That might account for the horseplay he’d witnessed in the parking lot. It wasn’t a flirtation among lovers, but rather, a brother and sister teasing each other.
Willa was listed as Merrick Foster’s fiancée. That explained why they were making out in Cherise’s office.
Jon groaned aloud.
He’d made a fool of himself yet again when he’d thought ‘Max’ was cheating on ‘Millie’. His desire to pound on the guy probably wasn’t motivated by that so much as the fact that he’d thought ‘Millie’ was in love with him.
What a complete idiot!
She must be laughing her head off by now. They’d probably all compared notes and had a good laugh.
He threw the paper in the trash and paced around the room. He was furious with all of them for lying to him.
Jon cursed and retrieved the paper from the trash. He set aside the photos with Max Foster in them. He stared at her face and let out a heavy sigh.
As angry as he felt, he was also relieved that Merrick was her brother. At least she hadn’t lied about being involved with him. One truth and one lie. Why did she lie about her name? Why did her brother pretend to be Max Foster?
The lies and half-truths swirled around in Jon’s head, leaving him even more depressed and confused. Whatever the reason, he’d been played for a fool.
~*~
Willa was glad to see Merrick. Max’s tenuous reprieve from her pit of misery and despair was hard to handle alone. Like a pendulum that had swung too far in one direction, she was bound to return to her state of desolation.
Merrick arrived at Max’s loft just after Sherman had departed. He admired the swan bed and installed the chandelier for her.
Max seemed to be elated over the gifts. She read and re-read the note Jon had written.
Willa drew him aside, out of Max’s hearing. “I can tell something’s wrong,” she whispered. “You better let me in on it.”
He handed her the front page of the Monday Houston Chronicle. The lead story told about the burglaries.
Max came to join them. “What’s going on?”
Willa swallowed the bad taste in her mouth; tried to sound matter-of-fact. “It looks like your one-man show made the papers again.”
They read how some of the affluent guests invited to the art show were targeted by a group of seasoned burglars. The story detailed how the Alonso brothers had obtained the guest list from designer Jon Claude Donnell and researched their financial standings to select their victims. Using the parking valet service to acquire house keys and the delivery van from Claremont Designs, they were able to infiltrate several River Oakes mansions. When one home owner returned early, discovered the crime in progress, and alerted the police, the criminals were apprehended.
The story also mentioned that Jon Claude Donnell, Merrick Foster and Max Foster were questioned and released.
“Oh, great. You’re famous for being associated with criminals.” Willa furrowed her brow. “This isn’t the kind of publicity I had in mind.”
“I’m sure that Jon didn’t know what was going on,” Max protested. “He kept looking for Dean Alonso, the guy who did the catering. He wanted me to meet his fraternity brother, but he wasn’t at the show. He disappeared after setting up the food.”
Merrick speared her with a disbelieving glare. “You’re telling me that Jon wasn’t involved with the burglars?” Merrick made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.
Max drew herself up haughtily. “The police wouldn’t have released him if they thought he was guilty.”
Merrick spread his hands. “So, where is he? Why isn’t he here?”
Her lips twitched, as tho
ugh she might cry. “I don’t know, but he sent the bed and chandelier,” She straightened the crumpled paper she’d held tight in her fist. “And he wrote me this letter. He wouldn’t have said I was his dream woman if he hated me.”
“Max, look at this delivery slip.” Willa handed it to her. “It was ordered on Friday before the show. When Jon wrote the note he still thought you were Millie.”
~*~
Jon maneuvered the four-wheel drive truck over a hill and down into a pasture. His dad had asked him to help reinforce a section of barbed wire fence. He suspected J.C. was making busy work for him, but he didn’t mind. He was glad to be of use and glad to take his mind off the subject that haunted his waking hours. The enigmatic woman who had ripped a hole in his heart.
The first few days of his self-imposed exile, he’d spent slumped on the couch, channel surfing.
The fourth morning, his dad had beat on his bedroom door before sunrise. “Saddle up, cowboy. There are chores to be done.”