The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  He dropped his hand from his neck. “It’s obvious to me that you are not going to commit to us and in fact, you’re going to work real hard to avoid it. Hey, no problem—I was the one who jumped off the high dive into this thing, not you. Oh well. Can’t win ‘em all.” He turned on his heel, started walking away.

  “Wait, wait!” she cried. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “I told you, Peanut—I’m done. You are now free to move about the country.”

  Panic. Sharp, choking panic. Jake really meant it—he really was going to walk out her door, for good. “Is that it?” she shouted angrily. “You come into my house and make love to me, and now you are leaving? Just like that?”

  He stopped at the door, studied it for a moment. “No, not just like that.”

  Hope trembled in her knees.

  “There is one last thing—I wish you well.”

  “You what?” she asked, confused.

  He turned to her once more, his gaze desolate. “I wish you well. I can’t offer you anything else, baby, so I wish you well. Don’t you get it? I wish you big soft beds with clean sheets. I wish you warm fires on cold blustery nights and hammocks for spring days. I wish you Christmas trees and homemade cookies and fat puppies and sweet-smelling babies to make you smile. I wish you ice cream and thick green grass beneath your bare feet. I wish you butterflies when you jog and moonbeams at night and dreams that reach the stars and . . . and I wish you peace.”

  Robin was unable to speak, unable to move; her hand fluttered helplessly to her throat.

  Jake smiled sadly, shook his head. “I wish you well.” He turned and walked out of her door without looking back.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jake spent that night on the inside of several beer cans, making a pile at the foot of his armchair of all those not hurled against the wall. He tried, he really tried to figure out why he had, after thirty-eight years, fallen so hard and so deep for a man-eating woman. He had known it the minute he had clapped eves on her that she would never settle for the likes of him. Just as he had known that he couldn’t go up against her without coming away scarred.

  But he hadn’t realized that Cole would come away scarred, too. “We’re not going fishing,” he said when Cole came bounding down the steps of his mom’s house.

  Cole had stopped almost mid-stride. “Why?” he asked.

  “Robin and I . . . it’s over, Cole.”

  “Over?” the kid had scoffed. “Why? What did you do? Why did you make her leave?”

  “I didn’t make her leave—look, it’s too complicated for you to understand—”

  “Can’t you buy her a present or something?” he had demanded. “Can’t you fix it?”

  “Look, Cole, I’m sorry, but we’re not going fishing.”

  “Well, how come we have to go with her? Why can’t we just go?”

  Jake had thought about that, but the truth was, he didn’t have the heart for it. “We just can’t. Maybe some other time.”

  Cole’s face had turned red with fury—he had thrown down his overnight bag and turned his rage on Jake. “Good! I don’t want to go with you! You keep trying to be my dad or something, but you’re not! You’re nobody!” he had shouted at him, then run inside before Jake could say another word.

  Man, Jake thought, this sucked. And it hurt like hell.

  In his maudlin state of inebriation, Jake barely heard the phone ring. He heard it ring several times before he could actually focus on it, stumbling across the room to get it, stubbing his bare toe in the process. “Yeah!” he barked, holding his toe, hopping precariously on one foot.

  “Jacob? What in the Sam Hill is the matter with you?”

  Great. Mom. “Nothing.” He put his foot down. “What’s up? Is Cole still moping about the trip?”

  “How would I know?” she said sharply. “He ain’t here to tell me.”

  Jake jabbed a finger in his eye, tried to clear his murky thoughts. “What do you mean, he’s not there?”

  “I mean, after you left, he didn’t come down when I called him. He’s run off again.”

  Shit. “All right, all right,” Jake said, grimacing at the weight of his head. “I’ll be over soon.” He hung up before his mom could say anything like, I told you so, and headed for the shower to sober up.

  When Evan arrived to pick Robin up the next morning, she was wearing her darkest Ray-Bans. As the driver took her bag, he peered at her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, walked past him to where the driver was holding the door open for her. The truth was she wasn’t all right at all, and in fact, was suffering from a killer hangover. Not the alcohol kind, more the pity—but the dream kind.

  That was because what little fits of sleep she had been able to get had been tortured by dreams of Jake, dreams of Jake leaving, of Jake hating her, of Jake running from her. All of them too vague to be remembered with any clarity, but brutal just the same. Robin had sobbed in her sleep, had wept huge, invisible tears until she could barely open her eyes this morning.

  And then, because she didn’t feel sufficiently tortured, she debated calling him, had picked up the phone twice, only to put it down again. After all, what could she say? He was right, of course—she was afraid of commitment, afraid of failing, afraid of losing. Afraid to feel. Jesus, Dr. Phil would think he had died and gone to heaven with a head case like her. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea because Robin sure as hell couldn’t figure herself out. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that she was sick with grief.

  With Evan sitting uncomfortably close, the limo pulled out onto the boulevard and headed west. Evan put his hand on her knee. “What’s wrong, Robbie? Don’t you feel well?”

  “I’m okay.” Liar. Not okay, not even close to okay—too screwed up to ever be okay.

  “You look pale.”

  Robin looked away from Evan, stared out the window, blind to the mansions, the greenbelt, the tennis courts rolling past, blind to everything but her stupid mistake. “I’m okay. Just tired,” she lied again. God, she really had screwed this up, hadn’t she? That thing she had been searching for had been found, right there in Jake, and she had acted like it didn’t matter, wasn’t important. I wish you soft beds with clean sheets. . . .

  Robin closed her eyes, squeezed back the burn in her eyes. Those heartfelt words, so simple, worth so much more than anything she could ever own. It was like opening a door to the morning sun, a sensation so beautiful that it was almost blinding at times.

  “I spoke to Michael last night. He just got back from Toronto and said there was a great little Italian restaurant there with the best food he’s had in a long time. We were talking about flying up in a couple of weeks.”

  Whatever.

  “Think you could make it?”

  God, was he insane? No, actually, he was just like she was a scant five million years ago. Robin glanced at Evan from the corner of her eye. “No. I can’t.”

  Evan shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask. But I think I’ll wait until you’ve had a cup of coffee before I ask anything else.”

  If he thought she would object, he was wrong. They rode in silence until they turned onto a major thoroughfare that led to Hobby Airport. “Almost there,” Evan said and patted her knee, and Robin suddenly felt like a child. He really had a knack for making her feel that way, didn’t he?

  The limo came to a stop at the terminal; the driver opened Robin’s door and she made herself get out. Evan grabbed her bag before she could reach it, but Robin stubbornly took it from him. “I can do it,” she said icily and hoisted it over her shoulder. Small victories with Evan were everything.

  “I know, I know,” Evan said with a smirk and a roll of his eyes, and with his hand riding possessively on the small of her back, he began to navigate their way through the crowded terminal, dodging children and grandparents and business passengers who weren’t lucky enough to have their own plane.

  “They ought to have another entrance or so
mething,” Evan groused impatiently.

  Oh right, that’s what the two of them needed—yet another cutoff from the world at large, another secret entrance into their special little universe. When Robin didn’t readily agree, Evan sighed loudly. “Look, Robin, you really don’t have to go if you are that miserable. I can wrap the deal up with Lou.”

  Oh, hell no—he wasn’t going to take that away from her. She would have her acquisition if it killed her, would prove once—

  Wait.

  Robin stopped, mid-stride. Evan stopped, too, looked down at her with one brow cocked in question. “Wrap the deal up?” she repeated.

  “Watch out,” Evan said, nodding at an approaching, full courtesy cart. “Come on—”

  “No.” Robin instinctively slapped at his hand as he tried to take her arm. “Why did you say ‘wrap the deal up with Lou’?”

  “Because, sweetheart,” he said, furtively glancing around, “that is what we are doing—wrapping the deal up with Lou. I told you.”

  “You said he had a new twist we needed to consider. You did not say ‘wrap the deal up with Lou.’”

  “Well, then you misunderstood me,” he said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her aside. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

  “I didn’t misunderstand, Evan,” she interrupted him. “Tell me what you mean by that.”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” he exploded. “Let me spell it out for you—for all intents and purposes, I have made an offer to Lou, contingent upon this last bit of information.”

  Somewhere, a plane took off; the floor beneath Robin shifted as it lumbered skyward. She stared at Evan, trying to comprehend. “You made an offer?” she asked weakly, her mind slowly coming to grips with the truth.

  “Yes, a very good one, too. If he can show me the numbers I want on the hazmat containers, we’ve got a deal.”

  It was all beginning to make sense. All crystal clear now. His phone calls to Girt, to Lou . . . the papers in the file duplicating everything she had done. Evan had cut this deal behind her back. He’d been negotiating all the while and humoring her attempts to do what he had already done. Robin felt suddenly and ridiculously small and inconsequential. And stupid. Naïve. “You cut a deal,” she echoed incredulously, the betrayal sinking even deeper. “What about Girt?”

  Evan smiled in that condescending way of his that twisted Robin’s gut. “Girt got an offer from American Motorfreight, remember?”

  She jerked her arm up and away, out of Evan’s grip. “Yes, I remember. They lowballed her, Evan. It’s not enough for what she needs to care for David—”

  “Robin, don’t be absurd!” he said hotly. “We don’t do business on the basis of who needs day care. Christ, you can be such a child!”

  In that moment, Robin had never despised anyone as much as she did Evan. She thought of Girt, of David. Thought of Jake, his distrust of this bastard before her, his warnings that she had refused to hear or heed. He had known Evan was a snake, had tried to tell her, but she had to be bit to believe it. Robin felt her heart constrict in her chest and stepped back, away from Evan, disgusted. “Is that all you care about, Evan? The best deal? We could have offered Girt what she needed and still made a very good deal. And I suppose it was okay to cut Lou Harvey’s offer to the bone, too, because he needs the cash, right? Whatever works for you, it doesn’t matter if it’s fair or decent or—”

  “Spare me your bourgeoisie working-man crap,” Evan hotly interjected. “You lost your mind the moment you ever took up with the handyman.” He reached for her arm again, but Robin stepped back, out of his reach, shaking her head.

  “You asshole,” she breathed. “What about me?”

  Evan’s face colored; he glared at her, now oblivious to the milling crowd and the few heads turned in their direction. “What about you? Aaron is right about you, you know that? You don’t know what you are doing—you’re a spoiled little girl playing at grown-up games. Well, go back to your Ken, Barbie doll. I don’t need the aggravation and neither does LTI.”

  “I get it,” she said in wonderment. “I finally get it.” It was a clarion moment in which everything suddenly fell into place. She took another step back, oblivious to the people stepping around her. “Guess what, Evan? You can have LTI! I don’t want it—I quit.”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “Stop pouting—”

  “Oh no, I’m not pouting!” She laughed. “For once, I know what I am doing!” She laughed again, turned around, and started walking.

  “Robin!” Evan called after her. “Stop acting so childish! We have a plane to catch!”

  She paused, looked back at Evan, and shook her head. “Uh-uh, not me! I don’t want anything to do with a company that will undercut small businesses just to make a buck. You and Dad can have it, Evan. It’s all yours!”

  Evan’s façade slipped; he stared at her as if she finally had gone completely bonkers, right there in Houston-Hobby Airport. But Robin had never felt freer in her life. With a smile, she gave him a cheerful little wave, and began striding down the corridor, her mind suddenly full of Jake, only Jake, and the need to see him, touch him, tell him he was right. I wish you dreams that reach the stars and I wish you peace. . . .

  And then she was running, pushing through, darting in and around the crowd, pausing only to take her shoes from her feet, then running again, bursting through the glass doors outside to the taxi stand.

  At home, she quickly changed into Levi’s and a T-shirt, sat cross-legged in the middle of her bedroom floor and went through the acquisition file to assure herself she wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t. And now, looking at it with different eyes, it amazed her how clear it was—the time Evan had spent with her was really just about his pursuit of her. And it wasn’t because he adored her—she was sure what feelings he’d had for her ended the night she’d told him she’d slept with him by mistake. After that, he’d played the game, because she was the better deal. He stood to gain everything her father had worked for if he married her. This was all about LTI, not her.

  Robin closed the file, bit her lip as she stared at the phone, finally picking it up to call Girt. It was the hardest thing she had ever done—telling Girt that she had no out for her and David, and in fact, apparently never did. Girt took it like a champ, though. Robin apologized profusely, told her she would help her in any way possible.

  “I’ll figure it out,” Girt said, upbeat.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You know what, you could help me figure out what I need to say to American Motorfreight. Think I can get them to come up on their offer?”

  “We can try,” Robin said hopefully.

  “Ain’t got nothing to lose, I suppose,” she said and paused to exhale smoke from her lungs. “You know, the truth is, I should have trusted my instincts. I never liked his skinny ass to begin with.”

  “Me, either,” Robin said softly, knowing she should have trusted her instincts, too, way back when. She promised Girt to come first thing Monday to see if they could salvage anything with American Motorfreight, apologized again, and hung up. Then, wondering what in God’s name she would say, she dialed Jake.

  No answer.

  She tried his cell phone, too, but got nothing there, either.

  Throughout the day she tried several times more, but to no avail. She reasoned he had gone to the coast with Cole without her, and even thought about driving down to look for him, but had no idea where they might be staying. By Friday evening, Robin was resigned to waiting until Sunday.

  She spent a miserable evening in her empty, finished house. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of Jake. She tried to read, but her thoughts were too full of Jake, of pink flamingos, motorcycles, and wildflowers . . .

  When Mia called Saturday morning, Robin let the answering machine take it. Saturday afternoon, she was so stir-crazy that she drove across town to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Grandma almost fell over in a cold faint when she answered the door and saw Robin standing there. Little wonder—Robin ne
ver came to see them, content to let them come to her. “What a wonderful surprise!” Grandma exclaimed after her initial shock, opening her arms and smothering Robin in a tight embrace.

  She finally let go, bustled on to find Grandpa, who, as it turned out, was in the backyard with his garden. He came shuffling inside in bright new, mighty-white Easy Spirits, holding a couple of tomatoes for her inspection. “Robbie-girl, what a surprise! Say, what do you think ol’ Jake will say to these?” he asked, obviously pleased with the size of his tomatoes. “He thinks an awful lot of Raymond’s tomatoes, you know. So does Raymond, for that matter.”

  “Jake will be very impressed and Raymond will be jealous,” she proclaimed honestly.

  “Oh, you think so? Then wait ‘til they see this squash I got out back,” he said, hurrying off to find one to show her.

  Robin wandered into the kitchen where Grandma was already busily mixing flour and butter. “I’m making chocolate chip cookies,” she announced before Robin could ask. “Remember when you girls were little how I’d make these when you were sick? Then when you got older, I’d make ‘em when you were feeling down? You’re feeling a little down now, aren’t you, honey?”

  Reluctantly, Robin nodded and glanced down so Grandma wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

  But the old gal was far too perceptive for that ruse. “Hand me that bag of chocolate chips,” she instructed, and as she began to mix the cookie dough, she said, “Your grandpa, I’ll swear. He’s eat up with this tomato business, just has to grow one bigger than Raymond so Jake will be impressed. He’s really taken with that young man.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Robin sniffed.

  “That’s because your grandpa knows a good man when he sees one, and Jake, he’s a good man. What he doesn’t have in wealth, he makes up for in integrity. Hard to find a man like that these days.”

  Boy, that was the understatement of the year. Robin sniffed again, dipped her finger into the cookie dough, swiped a huge dab.