by Eve Gaddy
But how could she not? It was the moral thing to do. How could she stand by while all sorts of atrocities were committed, many of them by her own husband. What if she could help?
“What would I need to do?”
Rachel grasped her hand and squeezed. “I knew I could count on you.”
“I’ll try, but we can’t let a whisper of this get out to Victor.” To find his wife helping fugitive slaves and abolitionists. She didn’t want to imagine his reaction.
But she never had believed in the slave trade, never believed a person had the right to own another. No matter what Victor and his like said, the color of skin didn’t make a person an animal. And nothing could ever, in her opinion, make slavery right.
September Present Day
JONAS COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling that he knew Claire. Especially since their breakfast together. But try as he might, he couldn’t remember meeting her. That feeling sure as hell didn’t stop him from wanting to know her better. If anything, it made the desire more urgent. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. If he touched her again, if he kissed her, would he have another of those weird . . . well, shit. He didn’t even know what to call the thing that had happened at breakfast. A flashback? But he hadn’t been the one sitting there in the diner. And the girl—it hadn’t been Claire sitting across from him.
Okay, he’d had some sort of odd déjà vu—flashback thing. Even that bothered him to admit. He was a doctor. That sort of thing was for flaky people who believed in a bunch of psychic crap and the like. He was a scientist. A believer in what you could prove. Give him a scalpel, let him cut into a brain, and he was good. Sure, things happened that you couldn’t explain in medicine as well as life. Déjà vu? No fucking way.
He’d been dreaming a lot lately. Generally he remembered his dreams but these were just out of reach when he awakened. He’d wake up feeling disturbed with only flashes of memory about the dream. A young white girl. A young black boy. The teenagers from the diner. But that was all that stayed with him.
He’d never had strange dreams until recently. He didn’t care for it. Not one damn bit.
But none of that really pertained to his current dilemma. Claire Westbrook was married. Unhappily married, that was clear. God knows, he didn’t want to be involved with a married woman. He’d been there, done that once before. Leslie had sworn she was getting divorced, and he’d been fool enough to believe her. She hadn’t, of course. The whole affair had been an unmitigated disaster. One he sure as hell didn’t intend to repeat.
Therefore, until and unless her status changed, he needed to get Claire out of his mind. He knew just the way, and the woman, to do it.
GODDAMMIT, WAS nowhere safe?
Jonas stared at the trio of people headed toward his table. Claire, her husband, and some other man. Claire looked beautiful, as usual. In scrubs she was pretty. In street clothes, a sleek, sleeveless, short black number, she was a knockout. She looked as startled to see him as he was to see her.
This was carrying coincidence too far. Why did Claire and her husband have to choose the very restaurant Jonas had decided on in his quest to get the damned woman off his mind?
Claire said something to her husband, who shot Jonas an ugly glance before turning away. She came over to his table while her husband and the other man went to their own table.
“Hello, Jonas. No, don’t get up.”
Ignoring her, Jonas stood and introduced his date, Chamika. “Chamika Rollins, Dr. Claire Westbrook.”
The women shook hands, and Jonas continued to stand. “Do you eat here often?” he asked.
“No, Glenn’s client suggested it. He says it’s excellent.”
They chatted briefly. She smiled at Chamika and said, “I won’t keep you. Good to see you, Jonas.”
Jonas watched her go. What are the odds? he asked himself.
“It’s none of my business,” Chamika said when he sat down, “but did you two date? In the past?”
Surprised, Jonas turned to her. “No, we’re colleagues. I’ve only known her a few weeks. Why do you ask?”
Chamika shrugged an elegant shoulder. “It feels like there’s something going on between you two. Big-time vibes. I thought she might be an ex.”
They went on to talk of other things, and Jonas did his best to keep his attention on his date and off Dr. Claire Westbrook. For the most part, he succeeded.
“The restaurant was wonderful,” Chamika said when he took her home. “Is it new?”
“No, it’s been here a long time.” He parked at her apartment. Nine thirty, and it was still hot. It was fall, for Chrissake. Wouldn’t the heat ever end?
“Would you like to come in?” Chamika asked Jonas.
Code. They both knew what she meant. They had gone out a few times in Boston, but for one reason or another they’d never made it to the bedroom. He wasn’t sure why. At first, she’d been the one being cautious. Now he was. Unlike most of his single friends, he didn’t take every woman he dated to bed. Maybe most of them, but still. Chamika was a beautiful woman. Tall, black, gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to have her in his bed. She had brains to go with that beautiful body, too. She said she didn’t intend to stay a model forever and was socking away her earnings to start her own agency.
Why was he being even more cautious than usual? He liked Chamika. A lot. He’d decided nothing was going to happen with Claire, which left him free to take advantage of a relationship with a very desirable woman. He took Chamika’s hand and followed her inside. Kissed her at the door. And again as she led him toward her bedroom. He backed her up against the bedroom door, filled his hands with her breasts and looked into her eyes. Dark, beautiful, inviting.
He closed his eyes for a moment and saw another woman’s eyes. One green eye, one half-green, half-blue. Claire’s eyes. Damn it!
His beeper went off, meaning the hospital wanted something. He’d much rather answer to a pager than phone calls. Instead of being pissed, he had an overwhelming feeling of relief. He dropped his hands and backed away. “Sorry,” he muttered and checked the number.
“Is that the hospital? I thought you weren’t working tonight?” She hadn’t bothered to adjust her clothes. She looked gorgeous, and sexily rumpled. Oddly enough, it wasn’t doing a thing for him.
“I’m back-up call. Dr. Zekial must have caught a case.” He could probably take care of things with a phone call, but Chamika didn’t know that. “Sorry. I have to go in.”
Chamika didn’t pout. She was too classy for that. Besides, she probably didn’t realize that their relationship was going nowhere.
But he did. And Claire Westbrook was the reason why.
GOD, CLAIRE HAD thought dinner would never end. Glenn’s client had spent the night not so subtly hitting on her. Glenn hadn’t even noticed, or if he had, it hadn’t bothered him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d had to spend the evening trying not to watch Jonas with his date. Chamika was a very beautiful woman who had to be a model. Normal women didn’t look that good. Claire wondered if they were serious.
Not your concern, she told herself.
She changed into her pajamas, a T-shirt and soft, baggy pants, then went to the kitchen, trying to decide between a cup of Sleepytime tea or something stronger. She sighed and reached for the tea. Another glass of wine would only give her a headache.
“Since when are you best buddies with a black man?”
She turned around to see her husband standing behind her. He’d had several drinks tonight and looked it. He’d ripped off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression peevish.
“Excuse me?”
He gestured with the drink he must have poured when they got home. “It doesn’t look right.”
“What doesn’t look right?” She was truly b
affled.
“You’re married. And white. It doesn’t look good to have you cozying up to a black man.”
“You mean Jonas? Jonas Clark?”
“Yeah, that’s him. The black son of a bitch I met in the hospital.”
“I wasn’t cozying up to him,” Claire said. “He’s one of my colleagues and I merely stopped to speak to him. Besides, I hardly think a conversation with a man and his date in a restaurant constitutes cozying up.”
“You’re my wife,” Glenn said pompously and took a slug of his drink. “As such your behavior should be exemplary. Harold Brimmer is an important client. A married white woman hanging around a black man is not something I want my clients to see.”
“Are you kidding me? Did you seriously just say that?”
“I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you behave with some decorum. You are my wife.”
“Not for long if you continue in this vein.”
His eyes flashed, and he took a step toward her. “Don’t push me, Claire. Why do you think my client was hitting on you?”
“So you did notice that. I assumed because Harold Brimmer is an ass. And because you, my husband, didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. Or even try to discourage him.”
“He thinks you’re a slut. I’m beginning to wonder as well.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You’ve lost your mind. All this because I talked to a man in a restaurant?”
“It was the way you did it. To make matters worse, you stared at that black bastard like a lovesick whore through the rest of dinner. Jesus, I could have killed you.” He slammed his empty glass down on the kitchen table.
“Are you channeling your father? When did you become such a bigot? This conversation is absurd, not to mention, extremely offensive to me.”
He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Goddamn it, I won’t have it. You’re my wife and you should show me some respect.”
“Let go of me right now.” He’d never laid a hand on her before, but for the first time she wondered if he would hurt her.
His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened. “Let go,” she repeated softly. “Unless you want me to see a divorce attorney tomorrow.”
He dropped his hands, slowly. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Claire.” He left the room.
Claire drew in a shaky breath. She’d never before mentioned divorce, but Glenn had never before behaved like a jealous fool. What in the hell had come over him? Acting as if talking to a man was a crime. He’d witnessed two conversations between her and Jonas. Two very brief, very public conversations. He had no idea of the breakfast she’d shared with Jonas, or of the connection she felt to the man. No idea how attracted she was to Jonas Clark.
To all outward appearances, they were colleagues, nothing more.
She was married to an irrational bigot. And she was so clueless, it had taken her six years of marriage to realize that fact.
Chapter Six
AS SOON AS HE left Chamika, Jonas called the hospital and took care of his page. As he’d thought, he didn’t need to go in. He went home, turned on the TV, and thought about Claire. Damn, why did she intrigue him so much? What was it about her? He lay down on the couch and since the movie was boring, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
September 1968
“THERE’S A LAKE I found one time when I was hiding from my father,” Bella said. They’d met in one of their usual places, a small park where he could leave his truck and drive around with Bella. Or just stay in her car and talk, which is what they were doing now.
“What lake? Eagle Mountain?”
“No, it’s small. Not much more than a pond, but I call it Dream Lake. It’s not far from here. Near the Trinity River, not far from downtown.”
“Do you run away from your old man often?”
“All the time. When I was little I wanted his attention. Now I wish he’d go back to ignoring me.”
“What does he want you to do?”
She laughed. “Be a good girl, marry a suitable boy, and raise little Cantrells.”
“They wouldn’t be Cantrells, though, would they?”
“To him they would. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past him to pay my future husband to change his name to Cantrell. But I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s go to the lake, Calvin.”
Alone with Bella at the lake. Yeah, that sounded like trouble. But tempting. God, so tempting. He shouldn’t, but he found himself wavering. “When do you have to be home?”
“I told him I was spending the night at Gail’s. But her parents are gone so I can get there whenever I want.”
“Does Gail know about us? Does she know we’re dating?”
“She knows. She thinks it’s exciting.”
“She doesn’t care that I’m black?”
“Gail isn’t prejudiced. She says she has abolitionists in her heritage, and they’d rise from the dead if she was prejudiced.”
“Have you thought about what will happen when your old man finds out?” He didn’t think the old man would kill him, but he couldn’t be completely sure.
“Calvin, don’t you want to be with me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then stop questioning everything. Stop worrying so much. We’ll work it out.” She took his hand, then glanced around, though the park was deserted at this hour. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
He was lost. God, how could it feel so good, so different with Bella than with any other girl? Why did she seem so familiar? Like he’d held her before, kissed her before. And more.
“Do you ever have déjà vu?” he asked her when the kiss ended.
“You mean when we kiss?”
“Yeah.”
“Every time. Funny, isn’t it? I didn’t know you felt it too. I was afraid to say anything. Afraid you’d think I was silly.”
“If you are so am I.” He kissed her again. Slid into her mouth like in a dream. Like coming home.
“I have a blanket in my trunk.”
“I don’t know, Bella. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Sometimes I think you’re scared of me, Calvin. Not just of my dad, but of me.”
He couldn’t argue. She terrified him. It scared him that because of her he’d ignore his opportunities. That he’d never get out of this place, unless he did it by way of ‘Nam. And he wasn’t going there. Slowly, he said, “The way you make me feel . . . I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Neither have I.” She looked at him and smiled. “Maybe it’s fate. Do you believe in fate, Calvin?”
October Present Day
SOMETIME DURING the night, Jonas exchanged the couch for his bed. He woke with the same feeling he had nearly every morning now. Knowing he’d dreamed but not remembering what the dreams were about. What the hell was going on? He was a man who liked to be in control, and nothing about these dreams was controllable, including whether he remembered them or not.
They’re just weird dreams, he told himself. No reason to get bent out of shape over a dream he couldn’t even remember.
TWO DAYS LATER, Lanie had a party.
Jonas hadn’t intended to go, and in fact, wasn’t sure why he’d come. Probably because Lanie, part bulldog if he’d ever known one, had twisted his arm until he’d agreed. Not that he minded parties, he just hadn’t been sure that a roomful of people he worked with was exactly what he needed on his night off. Although, he’d met Lanie’s boyfriend, Joe Montlake, an orthopedist who worked independently out of Shady Grove as well as another hospital. He seemed like a decent enough guy, for a Mavericks fan.
But mostly he’d gone because he knew Claire would be there.
“Hi, Jonas. Glad you made it. Lanie wasn’t sure you would.”
Speak of the devil.
He turned to look at Cla
ire. She was wearing a short skirt and a silky blue top that hugged her breasts and emphasized the odd colors of her eyes. It was a good thing she wore scrubs most of the times he saw her, because she was dangerously hot in non-work clothes.
“She threatened dire things if I didn’t come.”
“Really. Like what?” She took a sip of her wine and smiled, waiting for his answer.
“She didn’t specify. Just promised I’d be sorry.”
Claire laughed. “Knowing Lanie, you probably would.”
“Is your husband with you?” His brief encounter with Glenn Westbrook the other day hadn’t impressed Jonas, but he gave the man the benefit of the doubt. Lawrence Westbrook was another subject. Jonas could do without seeing him again. The older man had touched a nerve, though Jonas had come up against bigots before. The most disturbing thing about that meeting had been the feeling that he knew him. Lawrence, not Glenn. Absurd, but there it was.
He brushed the thought aside as Claire responded to his question.
“No. Glenn and Lanie can’t stand each other. They’re rarely in the same room voluntarily.”
“Wasn’t she his father’s orthopedist?”
“Yes. Much to their mutual irritation. Glenn nearly had a cow until he figured out he had no choice.”
“Are you and Lanie close?”
“Very. She’s my best friend.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That must be tough to have your best friend and husband dislike each other so much.”
She shrugged. “Glenn’s not big on socializing with my friends anyway. He’s a real estate attorney and he often works evenings.” She looked over at the table, teeming with food. “Have you had some of the shrimp? It’s great.”
“I was about to go over there.”
“If I can have everyone’s attention, we have an announcement,” Lanie’s boyfriend, Joe, said.
Joe took Lanie’s hand and smiled at her. “Lanie has agreed to marry me.”