She couldn’t speak for a moment; she felt honored.
They went in and got the pizza. Back in the car on the way home, Kellan was still tingling with brightness that he trusted her with this knowledge. But now she wanted to know everything about him.
He pulled the visor down to block the western sun, displaying a picture.
It was of an infant. “Is that your baby?
He shook his head. “Of course not. It’s my sister’s.”
“Oh.” She reached over and took it, feeling vastly relieved. “He’s adorable. How old?” She liked his smile.
“Six weeks. And both sides of the family are so excited, they can’t see him enough. Nancy and her husband hardly have time to be alone with him. His name is Jacob, but they’re calling him Jake.”
“That’s great.” He took the picture from her and tucked it back into the visor. “Your sister? Was she tested?”
He nodded. “But they’re not telling that around.”
Kellan nodded. “Does this mean—she can’t get ALS?”
Gregory shrugged. “She has the same chance as you, I guess.”
“Do they know what causes it?”
He shook his head.
“How to prevent it?”
Again, another shake.
“Well, since you have this . . . defective gene, does this mean you definitely will get it?”
“A better than average shot, I’d say.”
“Meaning a less than average shot you won’t get it?”
He shrugged.
“Are you doing anything alternatively for it? I mean, anecdotal stuff?”
“Not really. I work out, eat healthy, I’m insured to the hilt in case anything happens, and I try not to think about it.”
That all sounded reasonable, but she didn’t share his concerns for his future. “Research is exploding. I’m sure they’ll come up with something long before you need it.”
His lips tightened. “Yes, that’s what they told my uncle.”
“You’re not your uncle.”
He made no response.
She decided to change the subject—she wanted to know more about him, not his future possibilities. “Where do your parents live, Gregory?”
“Fairport. About ten miles from here, but it’s only my mom now. She and my father retired there about five years ago, on the Great Wicomico River. As soon as they moved here, he was diagnosed with a rare form of vascular disease that attacked his lungs. Within a month he was dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Kellan paused, absorbing all this. “How is your mother; is she doing all right?”
He shrugged. “She stays busy, she volunteers at the hospital. Now there’s the new baby, so Mom’s often up in Baltimore visiting them.”
“That must be hard, to retire and lose your husband,” Kellan said softly, thinking about her parents. They were both alive—yet in a way lost and apart. She started asking him about college and work.
She found it fascinating he had a dual degree in horticulture and business from Virginia Tech, and he, along with three partners, had created a booming business. Not only were they a full landscaping service for burgeoning planned communities, they also catered to the corporate communities, inside the buildings and outside on the surrounding grounds. The more he spoke, the more she was attracted.
They were nearing the driveway when she asked, “This rare form of vascular disease your father had—is it hereditary?”
She saw his quick look of surprise. “Um, well, I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He put the car in park and turned off the ignition.
“But you’re not sure,” she prodded. He shook his head, his face suddenly white.
“So you could possibly end up dying from that rather than ALS. Isn’t that possible?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, obviously stunned by what she had just asked. His thoughts were weaving into a tangle while his heart raced. Could what happened to his father happen to him? Would it?
He finally looked up. “God knows,” he murmured.
He almost jumped when he felt her hand on his arm while she waited for him to look at her. “My point exactly. Only God knows—so stop deciding your future when you only have this moment in which to live. You may get hit by a truck going home tonight—”
“Now that’s cheery thought,” he said with a weak grin.
“So don’t project into what may happen and what might be, because you’re going to lose the here and now—and that would be the real shame, the real loss. For everybody.” She watched as a myriad of emotions chased across his face and saw the moment he finally relaxed. She started to pull her hand away when his covered it. She swallowed hard.
“Have you ever thought about going into psychology?”
He watched her bright eyes sparkle, her lips start creasing into a mischievous smile. “As a matter of fact,” she drawled sweetly, waiting for his eyes to come back to hers before uttering a succinct, “No!”
They burst into laughter and it was healing and oddly bonding. A connection was being forged, whether or not it was wanted or desired.
“Let’s get this pizza in before it gets too cold,” she suggested and they were inside within minutes, where Elizabeth had set out the salad. Ice water and a bottle of red wine were also on the table along with garlic bread, which was giving off a mouth-watering aroma. It was a feast.
When they were finished, Gregory insisted on washing and Kellan insisted on drying. “I love a man who’s domestic,” she cooed, elbowing him at the sink.
“And I love a woman who is respectful of her elders,” he mocked, snapping a wet dishrag at her.
“Children, children,” Elizabeth murmured, smiling as she put the leftover salad away. Then she excused herself and went to watch the evening news.
“Do you want to take a walk on the beach?” Kellan suggested, putting away the last glass. She looked up, her eyes suddenly focused on his lips. They were strong and full. He was ringing out the wet dishrag and wasn’t looking at her. Kellan blinked. Get a grip, she admonished herself.
“It’ll have to be a short walk; I’ve got to get home,” he said, struggling to be casual. A nice short walk, maintaining a friendly banter would be all right. “Do you want to ask Elizabeth to join us?”
Kellan shot him a wry look. “In case you haven’t noticed, my mother doesn’t just take walks anymore.”
“Oh.” He felt like an idiot. He had completely forgotten, but it was hard to remember anything when her glances dissolved all his good intentions. “I guess you’re right.”
She led him through to the family room and told her mother what they were going to do. “It’s a beautiful evening; have a nice time,” she encouraged, smiling. “I’ll be going to bed soon, so if I don’t see you when you get back, Gregory, thank you again.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
The night was a canopy of black velvet, a perfect foil for the half-moon and a cascade of winking diamond stars. The moonlight draped an intimacy over the world. Kellan slipped her arm through his, the softness of the dark making her brave.
“Gregory?”
He stopped at the tension in her voice and she moved to face him. Moonlight framed her and he felt himself wanting, while trying hard to pull back. He took a deep breath and finally found his voice.
“Yes?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Kellan waited. She didn’t think he was involved, there were no subtle overtones that hinted he belonged to someone else, but she had to know.
He thought about lying, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Not anymore,” he finally said.
“What do you mean? What happened?” Because she was listening so carefully, she heard the pain so faint, so subtle he didn’t acknowledge it to himself.
“Last year I was engaged. Now I’m not.”
“What happened?” Her words were soft, hoping to gentle the answer from him.
“I told you. I’m defective.”
She caught her breath at the anger that ripped through her. “She broke up with you because of that?” Kellan was incredulous. What a shallow, worthless—the biting words and anger slammed to a halt and then veered into the opposite direction at his explanation.
“No, she didn’t break it off. I did. I told you, only three people, and now you, know. I never told her. I couldn’t let her marry into the kind of future I’m going to have.”
“What?” All the anger she had directed at the unknown fiancée was now aimed at him. “How dare you decide for her? How could you be so unfair?”
She heard the resignation. “I wasn’t unfair, Kellan. I know her. Believe me, if I had told her we certainly wouldn’t have gotten married. Melanie . . . is beautiful and wonderful, but she could never handle an illness like this. And I couldn’t allow her to make the choice anyway, so it’s moot.”
She grabbed both his arms and tried to shake him. “The choice wasn’t yours to make. You should have told her.”
“I disagree, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s the way I live my life now. No relationships.” Even he could hear the regret, but it didn’t matter.
“It’s not for you to decide.” Kellan was so adamant it puzzled him.
“Of course it is. It’s my life.”
“No, it’s not just your life. Not anymore,” she whispered with a certainty as strong as her arms growing around him, pulling his head down to hers.
Stunned, he felt her body imprinting his; startled arms reflexively wrapped around her waist and back and then he was participating in the sweetest, hottest kiss. Reality was suspended, like a balloon hovering.
Breathless and dazed, they finally broke apart, overwhelmed at the magic they had just created. Kellan felt her heart wrapped in a newly discovered joy, knowing there was no going back. Gregory felt his resistance draining and tried hard to keep it from slipping away entirely.
“Kellan,” he moaned, “you are probably making the biggest mistake of your life—”
“Our life,” she corrected, her mouth hovering over his. “And don’t you believe it.” Then their lips met again and again, as the music they were creating danced around them, their souls melding and soaring without boundaries, without limits.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Elizabeth checked her watch once again and knew that Michael and the lawyer would be pulling into the driveway very soon. She took one more moment to look out over her river and tried to pull some of its peace into her, willing herself to stay calm.
In the kitchen Mehalia bent over the oven, carefully placing a tin sheet filled with yeast bread bowls. She set the timer for precisely one hour, fifteen minutes, and proceeded onto the next project. Iced tea, with a special blend that was her own, then vegetable snacks and, of course, the crab bisque with sherry, simmering on the stovetop now, would fill those crusty bowls.
When she stood, she placed a floured hand on the pit of her back and stretched. The morning was still young, but she wasn’t; she had been up for hours. Some of Elizabeth’s jitters had become her own. In truth, she felt responsible for this whole mess, although no one knew. She and Adrienne had talked for a long while last night, each discovering things they needed to know. She would be glad when this day was over, but God Almighty, she didn’t even want it to start.
She thought about her granddaughter and what she might have done. Adrienne would be hauling out lots of questions, throwing them right at Serenity before this day was over.
Trying to shove back those scratchy thoughts, Mehalia decided on the spur of the moment to make her homemade chocolate éclairs. Mr. Michael liked them best of all.
Humming snatches of hymns from her Baptist church helped pass the time and keep bad thoughts out of her head . . . or at the very least from staying too long.
Michael had been dozing in his car, waiting for the lawyer. The plan was to meet at his office and he would drive her to see his wife. Kate Wilkins had family at the river who would pick her up later in the day. As was his nature, he had arrived early and had actually fallen asleep.
It seemed as if no time had passed at all when the sharp rap on the car window startled Michael Whittaker awake. As his eyes swung to the window, he took in the time on the car clock; he had been asleep for nearly an hour. Anger boiled up in him as his first thought exploded—inexcusable.
He motioned to the passenger door and unlocked it. Moments later an older gray-haired woman in a trim navy blue suit entered, placing a heavy leather briefcase on the floor in front of her. Before he could open his mouth, a stern voice devoid of apology informed him, “Your office gave me the wrong address. I took the precaution of being at the address given me thirty-five minutes early. I take being prompt very seriously. When no one showed up I finally found a service station and looked up your advertisement in the yellow pages and discovered the mistake. I’m Kate Wilkins. My son talked to you this past week.”
She held out a sturdy hand toward him and Michael had a premonition the day was bound to get worse. “Ms. Wilkins.”
“Please call me Kate. We will be working intensely this day, and Ms. Wilkins is simply too many syllables.”
“Kate, then. And I’m Michael. Are you ready to get started?” He saw the brief nod and started the car. She waited until they cleared the city traffic before she spoke.
“My son, Edward Griffin Wilkins, as you know, informed me about your wife and this case. I must say I’m fascinated. Of course, I saw the picture in the paper and the follow-up report. What can you tell me about Elizabeth Whittaker?”
A rippling of images flickered through his mind, and he wondered where on earth to start. What could he tell her about Elizabeth Whittaker? Was a lifetime long enough to even skim the surface?
Kate Wilkins’s eyes narrowed, waiting. She decided to be more specific in her questions. “Has she broken the law in the past?”
“No! Not Elizabeth. She never even goes past the speed limit. She has never had an overdue library book, she . . . she has always played by the rules. I remember once in college we were heading up to another floor in the library and I wanted to take a shortcut through the staff entrance to avoid the crowds. She stopped me and pointed to the sign that said STAFF ONLY. That was that. We went with the crowd.”
“Except on March 10,” the lawyer observed, opening her briefcase and pulling out a small thermos of coffee. “Would you care for some?”
He declined and remained silent. After she sipped some steaming coffee, Kate began to probe.
“Can you tell me what happened before March that would prompt her into breaking the law?”
The shake of his head was decisive. “No, I can’t.”
“It’s my understanding you two are separated. Is that correct?”
She watched the thinning of his mouth before he said, “No. We simply . . . live apart. For now.”
“How long?”
He thought for a moment. “About seven weeks or so.”
“Can you tell me why?”
His voice was clipped. “You’ll have to ask Elizabeth.”
Her curiosity quickened, but she moved on. “Tell me how you two met.”
She saw his surprise. “It helps to know the people I may be representing, on a somewhat personal basis.”
He considered that for a moment and then began to speak.
“It was in college, our senior year. We both had electives to fill and ballroom dancing sounded fun. Elizabeth was getting a degree in art; I was in biology and business. We hadn’t met or even seen each other until the moment we appeared for class. The ballroom was filled. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was going to be the one I wanted to spend the class with; even as the professor told us to choose partners I was zeroing in on her. Unfortunately, so were several other guys; she was—is—a beautiful woman. I wasn’t bashful. She was my partner.”
Kate waited but he said no more, so she murmured, “And the rest is history, as they say?”
He didn’t blink. “Fo
r me it was. We started dating and by the time we got our degrees, we were married.”
“She is an artist?”
His pride was obvious, she could tell. “Oh yes. Well, was. Oils. She’s had several shows over the years, but now she doesn’t do so very much. Strike that. She doesn’t let me know, really, what she’s doing. You’ll have to ask her. I do know she tires very easily now. She . . . has been frustrated by that in the past, but then we haven’t talked in a while so that might have changed.”
“You have children?”
“A daughter, Kellan. She’ll be at the cottage later today.”
“Pretty name. What about the other members of this . . . What did your wife call it?” By keeping her eyes on him she could see the subtle pieces of body language that spoke volumes.
His mouth tightened, as did his hands on the steering wheel, and he cleared his throat—perhaps dislodging something distasteful? “A support group.”
“Ah, yes, a support group. But what kind of support group? It seems it was one I have never heard of before.”
“A neuromuscular support group.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. She wanted to know why he was uncomfortable talking about it; she was also curious as to who was responsible for their living in two separate places. It was obvious he had deep feelings for his wife. It was also as obvious there were negative emotions about what she and her friends were doing together. Curious. From what she had heard about Michael Whittaker, he was a strong, ethical man who had accomplished much in the business world. He was also a strong player in the undercurrents of state politics and was admired by many in the upper social echelon of Richmond City, as had been his father years ago. Kate wondered idly what Michael Whittaker Sr. would have thought of this lively situation his son and daughter-in-law found themselves in.
He turned the car onto the bridge and she saw the waters rippling, flexing muscle, and an unbidden thought made her suddenly glad this was one of the structures the state had been regularly checking to make sure it remained sound. Had there not been other bridges in other states that had actually collapsed because of years of neglect? She pushed away those thoughts with another question.
A Sundog Moment Page 30