by Lisa Jackson
“Well, that’s water under the bridge,” Eugenia said frostily, and Alex scowled.
“Right.”
Nick shoved his plate aside; looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room as the tense seconds ticked by. Marla set down her spoon and decided this was as good a time as any to make her request. “As soon as the wires are off, I’d like to visit my dad,” she announced.
Eugenia was pronging some potato with her fork. She didn’t flinch, but Alex’s head snapped up. His gaze narrowed on her. “Conrad? Why?”
“He’s my father for one thing. And it might help. For me to remember. I—I understand he’s very ill.”
“That’s true and I’d love to take the family over to Tiburon to see him. Especially the baby. But I have to think of the poor guy.” Alex shoved his plate aside, leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin upon his knuckles. “What would it do to him, to see you this way?”
She caught a glimpse of her image in the cut glass over the sideboard, but she didn’t cringe. She was healing. The bruises were fading, the swelling diminishing, her hair neat in the candlelight. “I think . . . I think he would be relieved to see that I was all right.”
Eugenia washed down a small piece of prime rib with a swallow of wine. “I guess I could run over to Tiburon. Not this week, I’m afraid. I’ve got errands and meetings but maybe next . . .”
“I could probably go on my own,” Marla said, sick of being treated like an invalid. She was beginning to think of this house as some kind of glamorous prison, which, of course, was ridiculous. But she wanted to see her father alone, without the trappings of the family.
“You can’t drive,” Alex reminded her.
“Why not?”
“The Porsche’s in the shop for one thing and you’ve been in a coma—”
“And I’m not anymore. There’s no reason to bother your mother with my errands. Or for you to make a special trip with me. He is, after all, my father.” It was all Marla could do to hang on to her patience. Beneath the veneer of civility, the soft music, flickering candles and polished silver in this huge looming house, there was a thick, inescapable tension, secrets hidden in the dark corners. “And if driving is the issue, then Lars could take me.” That thought wasn’t particularly pleasant but she didn’t care. And she felt the need to see her father and she needed to see him alone.
“It’s no bother,” her mother-in-law assured her with the patient smile that was beginning to grate on Marla’s nerves.
Since subtlety wasn’t working, she decided to be more direct. “Look, I need answers. I want to be well so that I can remember . . . all of you . . . everything and it’s time I became independent. I’d like to see my friends, go to the club, and as soon as the wires are off, out to lunch.” She watched for a reaction and Eugenia, cutting her prime rib, only elevated her eyebrows a fraction over her glasses. Alex tossed his napkin onto the table.
“Of course you do. As soon as Phil gives his okay, then you can do whatever you want. Besides, didn’t Joanna come by and visit the other day?”
“Yes, but I didn’t remember her.” Marla looked from one face to another as Cissy reached for her water glass again and Nick didn’t say a word. “Now, wait a minute. Am I under some doctor’s orders to remain housebound?”
Eugenia sighed and adjusted her fork and knife on the edge of her plate. “Dr. Robertson just wants to make sure that you’re up to any activities. And then there’s your memory loss to consider—”
“I’ve considered it and I’m sick to death of it,” she said, surprised at her own vehemence. “I think seeing other people, getting out of the house, reacquainting myself with some of my usual haunts, finding some stimulation might just trigger something, and I might remember.” More than anything, she wanted to know more about herself. Her life. Her family. Why did she feel like such an outsider?
“I’ll talk to Phil tomorrow,” Alex promised as if that were the end of it.
She nearly shot to her feet. Instead she grabbed the edge of the table and forced her voice to remain calm. “No, I’ll talk to him. I think it’s time I did some things for myself.”
There was a moment of tense silence, then Alex laughed. “Bravo!” he mocked with sarcastic enthusiasm. He clapped his hands as if he were at a tennis match. “That’s the spirit! Now that’s the Marla I remember!”
Eugenia frowned. Nick leaned back in his chair. Cissy rolled her eyes expressively.
“Why don’t you call him in the morning?” Alex suggested.
“I will,” she said, wondering why she’d thought even for a second that her husband was trying to somehow hide her from the world. No, not hide her, but coddle her, treat her like some kind of porcelain doll that he thought might break. Or crack. As if she were fragile.
“Do we really have to talk about all this stuff?” Cissy demanded, and Marla cringed inwardly. “I mean, all this memory stuff, it’s all so weird.”
Eugenia tossed Marla an I-tried-to-warn-you look.
“Cissy’s right, this isn’t the place,” Alex said, a note of warning evident in his voice.
“Then after dinner,” Marla insisted.
Carmen appeared as if on cue.
“But, really, there’s no reason,” Eugenia said, shaking her head and scooting her chair back. “I think I’ll have my coffee in the sitting room,” she said to Carmen who quickly disappeared again.
Nick leaned forward. “If Marla wants to discuss this, she should,” he said. “It’s her memory.”
“Oh, God,” Cissy mumbled.
Marla plowed on, grateful for some support, even if it came from Nick. “And I want to go to the ranch and see you ride,” she said to her daughter.
Cissy rolled her eyes. “Oh, pulleeez, when have you ever cared about riding?”
“I told you before,” Marla insisted and all eyes turned her direction. “I remember riding. It’s just a hazy little image, but I know I used to ride horseback. I thought maybe you and I . . . at the ranch . . .” her voice nearly failed her at the censure in Cissy’s gaze. “Maybe we used to ride together.”
“Are you kidding?” Cissy shook her head and she almost laughed. “Now you’re really jumping off the deep end! Mom, you’re afraid of horses. Something about being thrown off as a kid. Right?” Cissy implored her father with a searching look.
“That’s right honey,” he agreed, and her heart sank. “A nasty spill. No broken bones, but you’ve been deathly afraid of horses ever since.”
Could she have been so wrong about herself? Were those flashes of memory nothing but . . . what? Dreams? False images? No! She was certain. “I can’t explain it, but I feel like . . .” Her voice fell away as everyone had stopped eating and was staring at her, as if expecting her to say something. “I think . . . I think I liked to ride.” She looked at her daughter. “With you.”
“Give me a break. Don’t you even remember your phobias? God, Mom, this is really pathetic and weird and—”
“Cissy, that’s enough!” Alex interjected angrily, his voice commanding and harsh over the quiet strains of classical music.
“No, she’s right.” Marla met her daughter’s worried gaze. “It is weird and pathetic and scary and I wish it would just go away. But it’s going to take some time, so please, just be patient with me, okay?”
“May I be excused?” Cissy asked, tears forming in her eyes, then without waiting for an answer shoved her chair back so hard the legs scraped against the floor. She was up in an instant, her napkin falling as she dashed from the room.
“You’ve upset her,” Alex charged, staring at his wife.
“And you’ve upset me,” Marla flung back, her fingers curling in frustration. “I can’t stand this anymore. This not knowing. I’m not going to hide up in my room until I look presentable enough to go out and I’m damned well not going to shun my friends who want to see me, nor am I going to ignore my father and brother or Cherise and her preacher of a husband or anyone else. I’m going to get well,
come hell or high water.”
“You’ll have to be patient,” Eugenia said.
“I’m sick of being patient, okay? Now, I think I will start remembering if I get out of this house and start doing some of the things I did before the accident.”
“I think she’s right,” Nick agreed.
“Won’t you be embarrassed?” Eugenia asked. “I mean your friends are . . . well, socially prominent women and—”
“And they must be snobs or idiots or a bunch of phonies if they can’t accept me for what I am. Joanna Lindquist didn’t run away and cower at the sight of me, did she?”
“This is ridiculous,” Eugenia muttered, standing, yet lingering at the table.
Alex was staring at Marla. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Maybe you should get out. I . . . I’ve just been worried about you.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You know we always host a party the week after Thanksgiving at Cahill House. This year I figured you’d want to pass, but maybe that’s not such a good idea. We still have what two, nearly three weeks? Maybe you and Mother can see to it.”
Some of Marla’s bravado slipped. Her stomach soured at the thought of dozens of guests, all expecting her to be hostess. And yet, she had a staff to help her, surely she could do something. “I’m not sure that I’m up for a huge party.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Eugenia said, glaring at her first-born. “That’s way too much for you. You can skip it this year. Everyone will understand.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say no, I said I wasn’t sure.” But the idea was beginning to grow on her and she wasn’t about to play the poor little invalid and know that because of her condition, family traditions and social gatherings were being sacrificed. Already her daughter thought she was nuts. Besides, she needed to meet the people who were her friends. “Okay,” she finally said, nodding to herself. “I’ll do it.”
Eugenia opened her mouth as if to protest, then sat down in her chair again.
Was there a bit of trepidation in Alex’s smile? Or was it just her imagination working overtime? “Wonderful,” he said with a trace of sarcasm.
Marla second-guessed herself. Maybe she was being rash. Suddenly she felt ill.
“Now,” Alex said, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting downtown. Drinks at the Marriott. Japanese businessmen interested in investing. This could be the shot in the arm we need.” He walked around the table and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “You’ll stick around a while, won’t you, Nick? Entertain the women?”
Nick seemed uncomfortable but lifted a shoulder in halfhearted agreement. “For a while.”
“Thanks.” Obviously relieved, Alex checked his watch and strode out of the room.
“I don’t need entertaining,” Marla clarified as she pushed her chair out and stood.
“Well, I do.” Eugenia arched a commanding eyebrow.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d better go up to see if Cissy’s all right.”
“She’s just being a teenager,” Eugenia said.
“I think she needs to talk to me.” Not only did she want to straighten things out with her daughter, but she needed to get away from her mother-in-law and Nick—the outlaw, the man who made her question her marriage, her emotions, her convictions. She should avoid him like the plague, for she sensed, deep in the darkest parts of her soul, that he was a temptation she couldn’t resist. She didn’t need the undercurrents of emotion she caught in his glance, didn’t want to speculate what it felt like to kiss him or make love to him or . . . She cleared her throat. “And then I think I’ll rest.”
“Are you certain you don’t want a little tea or coffee?”
“I’m sure,” she said firmly.
“Then Nick will be glad to help you upstairs, won’t you dear?” Eugenia asked, and Marla had to press her lips together not to argue.
Nick sent his mother a guarded look. “Why not?”
“Afterwards come down and have coffee with me,” Eugenia invited. “I’m sure the cook can rustle up some cobbler or cheesecake or something.”
“Coffee’ll do,” he said, but walked with Marla to the elevator. Her head began to ache again, her stomach was uneasy and it was all she could do not to sag against the elevator car’s rail.
As the door closed, Nick pushed the button for the third floor then leaned against the side of the car. Again they were alone. In a cramped, far too intimate space. She tried not to notice his rugged good looks and irreverent damnably sexy attitude. He was tougher than Alex, perhaps more sinister. He wore his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude as if it were a badge. And, damn it, it intrigued her. While her husband was polished and Ivy-league educated, a successful businessman who entertained clients from all over the world, she guessed Nick was a loner, a man who could do just as well in a crowd or by himself. “Why’re you here?” she asked as they reached the third floor. “I mean . . . not here in the house, but here in San Francisco.”
“I thought you knew. Alex thinks the corporation needs some help.” His jaw slid to one side. “At least that’s what he says.”
“But you don’t believe him?” she asked as she walked into the hall surrounding the staircase. Music blared from behind the closed door to Cissy’s room, and when she tapped and stuck her head inside, the girl, a telephone receiver to one ear, scowled.
“What do you want?” Cissy demanded.
“To talk.”
The girl bit her lip. Looked as if she wanted to scurry into a corner and hide. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she managed a bored expression. “Can it be later? I’ve got homework.”
Marla glanced at the phone and stereo. There wasn’t a book in sight. But this wasn’t the time to start nagging. Not when there were more important issues between them. She met the challenge in her daughter’s rebellious gaze. “Okay. When?”
“I don’t know.” Cissy lifted a shoulder.
“But you’ll let me know.”
“Yeah,” she said shortly, adjusting the phone to her ear. “Mom, puhleez . . .”
“Okay, okay. Tomorrow,” Marla said, then closed the door and sighed. Nick was standing near enough to touch her. “I guess I’m going to have to sharpen my parenting skills.”
“Is that possible?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, wishing she felt any sense of kinship with her daughter. She checked on the baby, found him sleeping, then returned to the hall. Nick was waiting for her.
Rain bounced off the skylight far overhead and gurgled in the gutters. “I asked you if you believe Alex.”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said quickly, unable to face the mind-numbing truth that she didn’t trust her own husband.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze was dark. Stormy. “I’m not sure what to believe.”
“You don’t trust him,” she said as they reached the double doors to the suite. “Why?”
“That’s between him and me.”
“Yes, but I have this feeling that it has a lot to do with me,” she guessed, and saw a flicker of emotion in his gaze.
His gaze dropped to her lips for just a second, then returned to her eyes. “You always were an egomaniac, Marla.”
“Was I?” She managed a nervous laugh that seemed to ring hollowly. “Funny, I don’t remember that.” As she reached for the knob of the door, she shook her head. Exhaustion was taking its toll. She wanted to lie down, go to sleep, and when she woke up, hope this nightmare had vanished.
“What exactly do you remember?” he asked.
“Not enough, but . . . I get glimpses of the past, just tiny flashes, nothing concrete, nothing I can hold on to. Kind of like the spark in a lighter that’s running out of fuel. Just a quick glimmer and then it’s gone even though I try like hell to call it back.” Her gaze swept around the hall with its thick carpet, the dark rail of the stairs, brass light fixtures and porcelain pots of philodendron and ferns. “But I have a feeling that my memo
ry’s coming back,” she said, and tried not to notice the scent of his aftershave, or the dark promise she imagined she saw in his eyes.
“That’s good news.”
“The best.”
His look was intense. Heart-stopping. “I’m pulling for you.”
“Are you?”
He reached forward as if he intended to touch the curve of her face, then let his hand fall to his side. “You bet.”
She felt a sudden rush of unwanted tears but fought them back. What was it about him that when he offered a tiny hint of kindness, she wanted to fall apart like some foolish woman, the kind she disdained? Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she tried to lighten the mood. “That might not be such a good idea, because when I remember everything,” she added, opening the door and stepping through the crack, “everybody, including you, better watch out.”
“What’s gonna happen?”
A wry smile twisted her lips. “In your case, maybe I’ll finally recall what it is that makes you so defensive around me.”
He lifted a dark uncompromising eyebrow. “You know, Marla, some things are best left forgotten.”
“I don’t believe it and neither would you if you were me,” she argued. “Not knowing is pure hell. Pure hell.”
“I suppose.” Again he focused on her lips.
Her pulse jumped stupidly. “Anyway, who knows what I’ll remember? But it could be interesting, don’t you think?”
“That’s one word.”
“And another?”
“Damning.” His eyes searched hers. So blue. So intense. So knowing. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. What was it that bonded them so tightly, yet forced them apart? Staring at the slant of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw, she swallowed hard, felt her mouth turn dry as dust and hazarded a quick glance to eyes as seductive as they were condemning. Oh, God, this was so wrong. And yet . . . There was something, a secret, a deep, erotic secret that she sensed existed between them. Wayward, taboo thoughts of lovemaking crept unbidden through her brain and yet they were fantasies, not memories.
“Good night, Nick,” she said firmly, shutting the door quickly before she said or did anything rash, anything she might regret. This was crazy. Nuts! Nick was her brother-in-law and she was imagining what it would be like to touch him, to kiss him. She’d even gone so far as to tease him, flirt with him for crying out loud. As if it was second nature. What was it about him?