Oh, lady, he thought with a sigh. I am sorry.
"What do you want to do about dinner?" she asked, her manner a little stiff.
"I'll put something together in the kitchen. But if you want to go out, go ahead. Don't stay home on my account."
She sat motionless for a long time. Then slowly she smiled. "I think I will. I had an invitation from Martin for this evening, but I didn't want to leave you here. Since you don't mind, though, I think I'll call Martin and accept. It'll be nice to get away from business for a while."
He couldn't keep the jealousy from flaring in his eyes. If she thought she was going out with another man while he was still sleeping in her bed, she could just…
She could just do it, he admitted grimly. Besides, wasn't that what he'd wanted—to push her away?
But not into another man's arms, he argued. He didn't want to ever think of her with another man, and certainly not while he was here.
"Thanks for being so sweet, Zachary," she said, brushing her fingers across his hair as she passed. "I'll see you later tonight. Don't wait up."
He continued to stare at the television, although nothing registered in his mind except the sound of her steps on the stairs. He was still staring half an hour later when she came down again. Stubbornly he refused to look at her. He didn't want to see her wearing some gorgeous outfit for someone else.
He didn't want to see if she was carrying her fur.
"Good night, Zachary," she called from the doorway.
Not trusting his voice to work, he looked harder at the television and lifted his hand in a careless wave. But as soon as the door closed behind her, he forgot the TV. Weariness settled over him, particularly heavy around his heart. It was something unfamiliar, something he'd never experienced, but he suspected that he would soon get to know it very well. It was going to be with him for a long, long time. Because Beth wasn't.
* * *
Beth let herself into her office, crossing the dark room with the assurance that nothing was in her path. She turned on the small lamp on her desk, then slipped off her fur. With a sigh, she sat down on the sofa, then propped her feet, one ankle over the other, on the coffee table.
She felt foolish for having lied to Zachary. Martin had invited her to dinner this evening, but she'd turned him down weeks ago. Even if she had changed her mind, she knew he had long since invited someone else. But Zachary, damn him, had been acting so uncaring that she'd wanted to provoke him.
And she'd gotten a response, too. She'd seen the jealousy he'd been unable to hide. It had come swiftly, darkly, and she suspected that it was still there.
But what did that prove? That he didn't want her for himself, but didn't want anyone else to have her, either?
The lamp cast deep shadows on Althea's portrait across the room. For a long time Beth looked at it, feeling sadness and loss and despair pooling inside her. "I've missed you ever since you died," she whispered, "but never as much as now. I know you could help me. You could tell me why Zachary's acting this way. You could tell me what to do."
But Althea had told her years ago what to do: live her life for herself. To be what she wanted to be. To care about her own opinion, not her family's and not her friends'. To be a person she could live with, a person she could be proud of, a person she could love.
Did she love herself? Not yet, but she was learning. She certainly liked herself better than she had seven weeks ago. Falling in love with Zachary had changed her. It had made her more real. More alive. More likable.
But she still needed to make other changes. She needed a life, not a career. She needed a family and friends, real friends like Sarah. She needed to feel important, not as a lawyer but as a person. A woman. A lover. Maybe even, someday, a mother.
She needed to know that she mattered. That when she died fifty years from now there would be people whose lives were better because she had lived.
Gradually she became aware of a soft sound in the hallway. Footsteps. Probably one of her co-workers coming back for a file he or she had forgotten, she told herself, although her pulse speeded up a bit, anyway. But the steps came to a halt outside her office, and the door swung silently in. It wasn't a co-worker who stood there—no one that unimportant.
It was Zachary.
He came inside and closed the door, turning the lock with an audible click. For a moment he remained across the room while he removed his leather jacket and gloves; then he slowly started toward her. "Martin Hamilton called and left a message for you," he said quietly. "He's sorry you couldn't make it tonight, but there's always next time."
She smiled, only mildly embarrassed at being caught in her lie. "You didn't have to come all the way down here to tell me that. A note would have sufficed."
He moved closer. "I was curious about where you'd gone, since it obviously wasn't to Martin." He paused, then added, "I was hoping you would be here."
She didn't swing her feet to the floor or tug her skirt down or any of the image-conscious acts she might have made only a few weeks ago. He had seen her at her best and at her worst, and he had liked her either way. He was the only man she could make that claim about.
He sat down on the sofa beside her and laid his hand just above her knee. In spite of the gloves he'd worn, his fingers were cold against her skin. But he wasn't cold. His eyes weren't cold. His expression wasn't cold.
In the dim light Zachary studied the dress he'd refused to look at earlier. It was black with long sleeves, and it fit like a second skin, with the skirt ending high on her thigh. It was pretty and slinky and sexy, and he wanted nothing more than to remove it and toss it on the floor, out of his sight, out of his mind. "I am sorry," he murmured, moving his fingers only fractionally over her stocking-clad leg.
"For what?"
She wasn't being coy or difficult; he acknowledged that. She truly didn't understand why he'd been behaving this way. "This case is going to the jury tomorrow. They'll probably have a verdict by Wednesday, and I'll be home by Thursday." His smile was taut and faint. "I don't want to take you home with me, Beth." He already had enough memories to haunt him for a lifetime. He didn't need to add any more. He didn't need to make love to her one last time … although he knew he was going to, again and again, before Thursday. He didn't need to focus so intensely on her … although he knew she would remain the most important part of his life for a long time. He didn't need to love her … although he knew he would. For always. Forever.
"This was just supposed to be an affair, wasn't it?"
She didn't offer him confirmation.
"But something happened. I fell in love with you, lady. And now I have to figure out how to fall out of love with you. Any suggestions?"
She numbly shook her head. His admission had taken her by surprise, he saw in the pale light. She had never expected to hear that he loved her. She'd made certain that he knew from the start exactly what she was willing to give him: an affair. A few weeks of passionate sex. Nothing more.
"I've always been sensible," he went on. "I understood from the beginning that there wasn't any future to this—to us. I just lost control of things somewhere along the way. But I'll get it back. I'll manage." For a moment he broke off and watched his progress as his hand moved along her thigh, now reaching the hem of her short black dress, now gliding beneath the fabric.
"I'm looking forward to going home," he said, smiling a bit as her eyes fluttered shut when his fingers intimately probed. "The last couple of months have been a great experience, but it'll be nice to let my life get back to normal—to go back to working part-time and finishing my house, seeing my family and friends. But I'll never forget this time, Beth. I'll never forget you."
Beth wanted to cry at the note of finality in his voice, but her body betrayed her, shutting down all coherent thought in order to concentrate fully on the sensations he was sending through her. She gave a start when his mouth touched hers in a pure, innocent kiss, so at odds with the wicked things his hands were doing to her.
He brought her to completion using no more than his kisses and his caresses. Then he took off her clothes, removed his own and made love to her. Her tears found release then, just a few, sliding over her skin to disappear into her hair. It was the sweetest, gentlest thing she had ever experienced. It was the sort of lovemaking that memories were made of. It was almost perfect.
Only almost. Because it was also goodbye.
* * *
It was possible, Beth realized the next day, to completely shut off your feelings and still function. She'd gotten dressed this morning that way, and she'd made the trip downtown to the courthouse that way, too—perfectly functional but feeling nothing. She'd even managed to survive this morning's court session, listening to Carrie's responses to Duane Misner's cross-examination, making the proper objections the few times he made a remark or asked a question that was out of line. She had even carried on conversations with Zachary as if he hadn't said such hurtful things last night.
I don't want to take you home with me, Beth. This was just supposed to be an affair, wasn't it? I understood from the beginning that there wasn't any future to this—to us.
It'll be nice to let my life get back to normal.
As if being in love with her wasn't normal. As if sharing her home, her bed, her life, wasn't normal. As if he'd fallen in love with her unwillingly and now wanted only to be free of her.
Actually, she thought, toying with a gold pen, she was glad he'd said those things. If he hadn't, she might have made the mistake of telling him that she loved him, that she wanted to live with him, to help him finish his house on the mountain, to raise children with him there.
She might have made a fool of herself in ways that she had never achieved even with Philip.
She sighed for a moment, thinking about Philip. For a long time the mere mention of his name had been painful. Then, as her feelings for him faded, pain had given way to shame. She had been embarrassed by the way he'd used her, the way she had let him use her. She had been ashamed of her gullibility and her vulnerability.
Now … she felt nothing. It was almost as if he had happened to someone else.
Now, if she wanted heartache, she only had to think of Zachary.
"They're not going to bring a verdict back tonight."
She blinked, then looked at Zachary, seated across the desk from her. After the case had gone to the jury after lunch, they had come back to her office so she could work while awaiting the verdict. But she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything except her own problems.
But Zachary was right. By now the jury had surely been released for the night. They would reconvene in the morning and take up the deliberation again.
"What is it they say—that the quicker a jury comes back, the more likely the verdict is not guilty?"
Beth shrugged. "I haven't found any real pattern personally, except in cases where the evidence was overwhelming one way or the other. All this means for sure is that the jurors didn't wholeheartedly accept either the prosecution's arguments or ours." With a sigh, she opened the center desk drawer and dropped the pen in it. "Want to go out to dinner tonight?"
"Sure."
He didn't sound any more enthusiastic than she felt, Beth thought. Whoever would have believed that she could grow so used to home-cooked meals for two in such a short time? There was such a cozy, homey feel about eating in. But tonight she didn't want to be cozy, at least, not until bedtime. She didn't want to spend any more time alone with Zachary. She didn't want to think about last night and the things he'd said, or tomorrow night, when he probably wouldn't be around to say anything at all.
They went to a nearby restaurant, where they found numerous reasons for not speaking to each other—the menus, the waiter, the food, the other diners. They had come full circle, she thought without one bit of humor. They were back to the awkwardness and uneasiness that had characterized their relationship in the beginning. No one who saw them tonight would guess that, in a few hours, they would be making passionate love.
Or so she hoped.
Dear Lord, how she hoped.
* * *
The call came in shortly before noon on Wednesday: the jury had reached a verdict. Zachary and Beth hurried to the courthouse, where they met for a few moments in private with Carrie. She wore the green dress, but today the rich color merely emphasized her pallor. Seven weeks in jail could do that to you, Zachary thought. Maybe soon she would be free again to go outside, to hold her kids and put them to bed, to give birth to the baby she carried and make a home for all the children. Maybe.
"I just want it to be over," Carrie said, her voice pitched low. "Even if they find me guilty, even if they send me to prison, I just want the not knowing to end."
"All we're going to get today is the verdict," Beth warned. "If you're acquitted, you'll be home with your children tonight. If you're found guilty, the judge will set a sentencing date, probably in a month or so, and you'll go back to jail. During that time, the probation department will do a presentencing investigation to determine what kind of sentence they'll recommend. It could be probation, or—" her voice softened "—it could be a long time in prison."
"But at least today I'll know," Carrie said stubbornly. "I'll know whether I'll get to spend Christmas with my kids." When the bailiff tapped on the door, she stood up, then faced both of them. "I want to thank you for all you've done. I know this has cost you an awful lot of time and money, and I can never begin to repay you, but … thank you." Gravely she shook Zachary's hand, then enveloped Beth in an awkward embrace. Then she walked out and joined the bailiff who would escort her to the courtroom.
Zachary watched Beth. For a moment she seemed to have forgotten him, and selfishly he didn't like it. "Any headaches? Heartburn?" he asked, circling the table to stand beside her.
"Headaches?" she echoed.
"You said before that by the time the verdict comes in on a case, you usually have a long-term case of heartburn and a world-class headache. What about this time?"
She considered it for a moment, then smiled. "Other than a minor case of nerves, I feel fine."
"I wonder why that is. Maybe because you chose a case based on the facts and not on the billable hours or the partners' recommendations?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it's because I had a good partner of my own this time," she replied.
Maybe, Zachary silently agreed, but he didn't think that was the only reason. Maybe it was because in addition to long hours of work on this case, she had also spent long hours relaxing. Unwinding. Forgetting about the trial. Making love.
Like last night.
As Carrie had done only moments earlier, she offered her hand to him. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Zachary. Thank you … for everything."
He accepted her handshake and resisted the urge to pull her into his arms—just barely. He held her fingers long after he should have let go, and for one crazy moment he considered asking, begging, pleading with her to let him remain a part of her life, to see him on weekends, to give him even the slightest hope that someday they might work something out.
Then she pulled away and said, "We'd better get to the courtroom."
And the moment passed, leaving him with an abrupt feeling of emptiness. Of despair. Of hopelessness.
He followed her to the courtroom and to their table at the front. Court was called to order, the judge took his seat at the bench, and the jury filed in in two somber rows. The formalities passed over Zachary's head as he suddenly realized that this was it: the goal he and Beth had worked toward for the last seven weeks. Had they succeeded, or were they going to lose big? Was Carrie going to lose?
The judge instructed the jury foreman to read the verdict. First came the case number, then the reading of the charge, then the verdict itself. At the sound of the word "guilty," followed by gasps and murmurs in the crowd, his heart sank in his chest. Somehow he had hoped, had believed, that everything would work out all right for Carrie, that just this once life would b
e fair to her.
But the foreman continued reading, and he realized that he'd reacted too soon. They had won. He needed only to look at Beth's face to see it and at Duane Misner's to confirm it. Carrie had been found guilty not of first-degree murder, the charge the prosecution had aimed for, but of manslaughter. The lesser charge brought with it a lesser penalty, maybe a few years in prison, maybe even simple probation. It was possible that these weeks awaiting trial and sentencing would be the only time she would have to serve.
After Carrie was taken away, Misner came to the defense table. "Not bad, Beth," he said, his tone a tad ungracious.
"Not bad at all," she agreed. "I hope you watched us closely. You might have learned something, Duane."
With a scowl, he returned to his table for his briefcase, then left the courtroom. Zachary leaned against the table and watched him go. "Looks like there's quite a crowd out there," he remarked before the door swung shut. "Are you finally going to give the reporters something besides 'No comment'?"
"Let Misner play with them. He thrives on the attention." She picked up her own briefcase and fiddled with the clasps, then set it down again and looked at him. "This calls for a celebration, don't you think? There's a place here in town that has the best steak and homemade rolls and…"
He shook his head, and her invitation trailed off. "I'm sorry, Beth, but I can't," he said, his voice thicker than he wanted it to be with emotion he didn't want to feel. "I've got to head on home."
For a moment she looked disappointed, and he knew that if she asked him again, he would accept. He would stay for one more evening with her, one more night with her. But the disappointment changed to cool reserve, and she smiled her best ever-so-professional smile. "I understand. Well … be careful. Have a safe trip. And good luck on your house."
She stuck out her hand, and he took it, and this time he didn't resist the urge to pull her closer. He simply did it, sliding his arms around her waist, nuzzling her head back, leaving a sweet, lingering kiss on her mouth. Then, wearing a smile that he didn't feel, he released her and, without looking back, walked away.
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