by Anne Stuart
“Don’t lie to me, Lou, and don’t lie to yourself,” Mary said with precocious sternness. “You don’t have any more time to waste.”
Ridley reached into the car, took her arm and hauled her out with surprising strength for such a small man. “No more delays, my girl. All our friends are in there, waiting for you.”
“I need to speak to Neddie,” she said desperately, trying to pull free from his iron grip. Mary had scrambled out of the car behind her and was already racing up the wide stone steps of St. Anne’s.
“You’ll have a lifetime to speak to Neddie. There’s nothing that can’t wait.”
She fought harder, fighting for her very life. “I can’t—”
He slapped her full across the face, the force of the blow shocking her into stunned silence.
“No more, Tallulah!” He was pale and sweating with stress and fury. “You’ll do your duty, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.” He began dragging her up the front steps of the church.
Her face burned with the imprint of his hand. She stumbled after him, numb, vaguely aware that there were no witnesses, only Mary standing by the entrance, watching with a stricken expression.
Ridley paused at the entrance of the church. The organ music drifted on toward “Oh Promise Me,” and Susan jerked her head upward in delayed fury. Tallulah’s father reached up and twitched the veil over her face.
“If anyone notices the mark on your face you can tell people you slipped,” he hissed.
“If anyone notices, they’ll just think Neddie did it,” Susan said bitterly.
“Come along,” Ridley snapped, shoving an immense, exotic bouquet in her numb, gloved hands. There were huge lilies, their scent overpowering, and she was reminded of death and funerals. He began to pull her into the shadowy church.
On cue the music switched to “Here Comes the Bride,” and the entire congregation rose. Ridley began pulling the reluctant bride down the aisle.
Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, instinctively moving in measured cadence to the sound of the wedding march. Neddie waited at the end of the aisle, a smug, portentous look on his ruddy face as he murmured something to his best man, and in front of her Mary stalled and dawdled as she dumped clumps of rose petals on the pale strip of carpet, Ridley’s grip on her arm was painful, and the beaming approval of the packed church passed her in a blur.
She knew the drill, she’d suffered through the rehearsal the previous night, and she’d been to enough weddings. With Father Thomas looking like a benevolent elf, she would be handed from Ridley’s manaclelike grip to Neddie’s iron fist, and short of some dramatic declaration like “I don’t!” she was well and truly trapped.
“Dearly beloved,” Father Thomas intoned.
In the end it was simple. At the “who gives this woman?” part, Ridley followed his sexist cue and handed her over like a sack of flour, and Susan looked up into Neddie’s florid face and simply, gracefully, collapsed in a spurious faint.
The shocked buzz of the congregation made it clear in this pretelevision generation that they hadn’t seen brides and grooms collapse on “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
“Give her some air,” Neddie thundered, making no effort to touch her. She kept her eyes closed, hoping the heavy veiling would obscure the fact that she’d never felt healthier or more energetic in her life.
Mary knelt down beside her, plucking the bouquet from her limps hands and tossing it to one side. She leaned over to lift the veil, her face white with panic, and Susan muttered beneath her breath, “Leave it.”
A moment later she was jerked to her feet, but she had the presence of mind to go limp against her fiancé, drooping affectingly. “She’ll be fine in a moment,” he announced in a loud voice that barely concealed his fury. “We’ll just get her some fresh air and then continue with the wedding.”
Mary was at her other side, helping her, and Susan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they made their slow way back down the aisle, tramping over the scattered rose petals. She had the sudden absurd thought that they ought to be playing the wedding march backward as they retraced their steps, and she had to stifle a semihysterical giggle as they came out into the bright, clear sunshine.
Neddie made the dire mistake of releasing her, shoving her away from him in petulant fury, but Mary still held on. A moment later Susan felt something hard and metallic pressed into her hand, and instinctively she knew what it was. Car keys. Car keys with a rabbit’s foot key ring, the kind that Todd Abbott had. And Todd’s convertible was parked across the street, waiting.
“What kind of game are you playing, Tallulah? I won’t be made a fool of.”
“You already are a fool, Neddie,” Mary said with devastating frankness, releasing Susan and confronting the ogre with unflinching courage. “She’s not going to marry you.”
“I’ll ruin your family. Your father will end up in jail....”
“If you have any sense at all you’ll come up with a believable excuse, if you don’t want to be the butt of jokes for the rest of your life,” Susan said, ripping the veil off her head and tossing it on the stone steps. The satin sleeves of her dress were too long, and she shoved them up to her elbows, ready to do battle. “And if you hurt my sister I’ll make you pay.”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” Neddie said with a smirk.
It was the last straw. She came up to him, eye to eye, poking him in the chest. “You should be, Neddie. I know things you couldn’t even begin to guess. I can see the future, and I have powers that would astonish you. And I have awful ways of taking revenge.”
“So you’re a witch, are you? It’s going to take more than that to convince me.”
“How about this?” The shoes were good for more than kicking Jack McGowan in the shins. They were also excellent for treading on the instep of unwanted fiancés. He let out a shriek of pain, she shoved him against the stone edifice, blew a kiss to Mary and took off, racing down the wide front steps, her wedding gown caught in her hands.
She didn’t bother with the door to Todd’s car, she simply leaped over the side. She didn’t waste time looking back to see whether Neddie was following her, she simply let out the clutch, ground the gears, and took off into the bright morning sunshine, tearing down the road.
It was after two o’clock by the time she reached New York. On the one hand traffic was astonishingly nonexistent—on a Saturday in 1949 there were no commuters, and the comparatively few vehicles on a Merritt Parkway that had obviously never heard of road rage.
On the other hand, the roads were narrow, windy, two-way and slow. And Todd’s car, for all its hotrod appeal, couldn’t make it much past fifty-five.
She had absolutely no idea what she’d find at 37th and 12th. It might not even be an address. She could only hope she’d find Jack. What she’d say to him was another matter entirely, something she was leaving up to fate. She had taken it on faith that she needed to follow him. Somehow, sometime Susan Abbott had ceased to exist. She still remembered her own past, or was it the future. She still didn’t recognize or know Tallulah’s life.
But her heart and soul had become Lou. She was in love with Jack McGowan, and all she knew was she had to tell him.
He was meeting the mysterious Lizzie B. down by the docks. She should have realized that address would be on the Hudson River. She could see the ocean liners, the tramp steamers, the cargo ships lined up for what seemed like miles. She parked the car on the corner of 37th Street, scarcely wondering at the miracle of finding a parking spot in Manhattan with no trouble. She doubted life was idyllic enough to keep the roadster from being stolen, but that in itself might save her cousin’s life. Maybe if Todd didn’t own a car, he wouldn’t go off that bridge and die.
She climbed out of the car, her long skirts in her hands, and started towards the corner. She had no purse, no identification, no money, no clothes but the satin wedding dress, which was hardly appropriate dockside apparel. She didn’t care. She had put he
rself in the hands of fate, willing to take chances. She was Lou now, and Lou was brave and adventurous. Careful Susan Abbott was long gone.
There was no sign of anyone. It was almost three-thirty, the time of the appointed meeting, and the only people she saw were the crew of the steamer busily getting ready for departure. She looked up at it for a moment, curious. It was big, sturdy, a little raffish. Just like Jack McGowan.
And then she looked at the name of the ship, knowing what she’d find. The Lizzie B.
No one stopped her as she made her way up the gangplank, though she garnered a few strange looks in her wedding finery. They were all too busy getting ready to leave. She finally collared a busy young sailor on the deck.
“I’m looking for Jack McGowan.”
He did a double take, then grinned. “I can show you his cabin, but I don’t know where he is at the moment. What did he do, leave you at the altar?”
“No one leaves me anywhere,” she said in a mock stern voice. “I’m his going-away present.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” the young man said. “And are you a surprise?”
“Mmm-hmm. If you see him before we sail, don’t tell him I’m here.”
“You got it.”
She followed him into the shadowy companionway, down two flights of metal stairs, her long skirts dragging. His cabin was small, with a porthole overlooking the river and a single narrow bunk. Room enough, she decided cheerfully.
“Good luck,” the young man said cheerfully. “I’m Cafferty, by the way. Second mate. I expect I’ll be seeing you on the trip.”
“Unless he decides to throw me overboard.” She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bunk.
“I doubt it. He just might not feel like leaving the cabin once he sees you. I know I wouldn’t.”
She grinned at him. He seemed very young and charmingly innocent. “You’re very sweet. Let’s just hope McGowan feels the same way.”
“He will.”
He shut the door behind him, and she leaned back against the bulkhead. The mattress was decently padded, though she was going to need another pillow at least. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the crew rushing about, the rumble of the engines beneath her. She was still wearing the delicate gold watch, and she slipped it off, along with the ugly diamond ring. They were engagement presents from Neddie, and she wanted nothing more to do with him, ever. She opened the porthole and tossed them into the Hudson River.
Lizzie B. began moving promptly at three-thirty. Susan sat and watched as they moved past the old buildings, quelling her initial nervousness at unbidden memories of a few too many viewings of Titanic. Lou Abbott didn’t marry Neddie Marsden, and she didn’t die in a train wreck. She certainly wasn’t about to die in a shipwreck, either. Her future spread out before her, full of limitless possibilities.
She dozed off for a while, waiting for him. The fresh flowers in her hair wilted, the petals falling beneath her, and her thick mass of hair came loose. It was late, almost dark when the door of the cabin opened, and they’d been out at sea for hours.
For a moment he didn’t see her. She lay very still on the bunk, watching him, and he looked weary, angry, depressed. He’d shed his coat and tie, his shirt was rumpled, he needed a shave, and he was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen in her life. She wondered if there was any way she could convince him never to wear a suit again in his life.
And then he saw her. He froze, just inside the open cabin door, staring at her in disbelief.
“Surprise,” she said weakly. The moment of reckoning was at hand, and she was suddenly terrified. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life without the right man.
He closed the door behind him, locked it. That was a good sign. And then he came toward her, his expression unreadable. It was dusk in the cabin, but he hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, and he looked wary, hopeful. She saw that faint glimmer of hope in his dark eyes, and she knew with sudden certainty that everything would be all right.
“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked in his low, measured voice.
“I left Neddie at the altar. You could have been a little more specific in that note you left. I thought Lizzie B. was another woman.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he spoke. “Why?”
Here was the hard part. The chance to be shot down, rejected, shamed. She drew her knees up beneath the satin gown and looked at him pensively. “Because I’m in love with you. I have been since I was twelve years old, and everybody knew it, including Jimmy.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”
“I did. I loved Jimmy—he was everything good and kind and decent. He was my best friend, and we would have been very happy together. But sometimes life doesn’t work that way. Since I can’t have a man who was good to me, good for me, then I might as well settle for you. Considering that I never got over you completely.”
She managed to get him to smile at that. “You think I’m bad for you.”
“And bad to me. But I expect a lot of that is just your natural curmudgeonly personality. The love of a good woman should mellow you.”
“And you’re that good woman?”
“No other. Don’t even think about it. You see, you’ve missed an essential point in all this.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re in love with me. You feel guilty because of Jimmy, you think you’re robbing the cradle, you think you don’t have the right to be happy. And I think you’re full of crap. If you thought about it, you’d know that nothing would make Jimmy happier than if we got married. And he’d be mad as hell if you dumped me.”
“You’re probably right,” he said lazily. “I didn’t know you were proposing. I thought you were my bon voyage present.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me. I’m yours, buster. And you’re mine.” She held her breath, waiting. She’d given it her best shot. They weren’t too far out to sea that he couldn’t manage to send her back if he were really determined. He loved her; she knew it. She just wasn’t sure if he did.
“You’re a formidable woman, Lou Abbott,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“I guess I don’t have much choice.”
It wasn’t exactly the declaration she was longing to hear. “Meaning?” she prompted, ready to throw something at him if he continued being obtuse.
“Meaning I can’t risk disappointing my little brother. Meaning I’m not as stupid as I sometimes act.”
He had long, beautiful hands, and he slid them through her hair, cupping her face, drawing it up to his. “Meaning I’m in love with you, which you’ve probably known longer than I have, and since you were kind enough to point it out to me, I’m not going to let you go.”
She could feel her face crumple into a smile of such blazing magnitude that it shook her to her soul. He put his mouth against hers, she slid her arms around his neck, and a second later she was gone.
Part Three—Susan Returns
Chapter Fifteen
The mattress beneath her was hard, much harder than the bed in Tallulah’s bedroom in Matchfield. She lay very still, the world whirling around her. She must be seasick. The pitch and roll of the bunk beneath her was powerful, and she gripped the sheet beneath her for some kind of ballast.
At least the cabin didn’t smell like cigarette smoke—that would have been the final straw to her churning stomach. For the first time in days she couldn’t smell stale smoke.
He was sitting by the window, as he had been when she first woke up, and she wondered what he’d do if she suddenly threw up. You could tell a real hero if he didn’t flinch from a woman becoming violently ill.
“You need me to get a bucket and hold your head?” His voice was odd in the darkness, both tender and amused, and Susan took a deep breath, trying to still her roiling stomach. It came as no surprise. She already knew she loved this man desperately.
“Jack?” she murmured, he
r voice odd, lighter, breathier.
The bunk beneath her stopped pitching. It was wider than a bunk, wider than the twin bed in Lou’s bedroom. She felt him cross the room, standing over her, and she was suddenly afraid to open her eyes.
“Jake,” he corrected her. “Jake Wyczynski, remember?”
Her eyes flew open. “Oh, my God,” she croaked.
His grin was crooked. “No, Jake Wyczynski,” he corrected her again. “How are you feeling? You’ve been dead to the world—Mary was wondering whether she was going to have to call off the wedding. Frankly, I think she would have been more than happy to do so.”
She looked up at him, dizzy and disoriented. It had been a dream. Of course it had—she’d known it all along, even while she was in the midst of it. Maybe.
“Where is my mother?” Her voice still felt strange to her, light and cool, not warm and husky.
“Alex convinced her to go out for dinner, and I promised I’d sit with you. It’s a good thing you decided to finally wake up—she was going to call the paramedics if you hadn’t surfaced by tonight.”
“Who’s Alex? And what day is it?”
Jake didn’t even blink, but Susan wasn’t so confused that she didn’t recognize the faint shifting expression. “It’s Friday night, kiddo. You’re marrying your true love at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
She pushed herself up in the bed, shaking her head slightly to clear it. No long dark tresses swinging around her face, and without thinking she grabbed her chest. Thirty-four-A once more. Damn.
Of course Jake didn’t miss a thing. “I didn’t touch you,” he drawled. “I like my woman awake and willing.”
She looked up at him. He towered over the bed, a tall man with a lean, rangy body. His hair was far too long, pushed back from his deeply tanned face, and lines fanned out around his light blue eyes. He was wearing old jeans and a khaki shirt, and for the first time she realized he was wearing a small gold hoop in one ear. He looked like a pirate. He looked like Jack McGowan.