This Heart Of Mine

by Susan Elizabeth Philips

  North of Sheboygan his cell phone rang. When he answered, he heard the voice of Charlotte Long, a woman who’d been his parents’ friend for as long as he could remember. Like his parents, she’d spent her summers at his family’s campground in northern Michigan, and she still returned there every June. He’d been out of contact with her until his mother’s death.

  “Kevin, your Aunt Judith’s attorney just called me again.”

  “Terrific,” he muttered. He remembered Charlotte talking with his father and mother after the daily service in the Tabernacle. Even in his earliest memories they’d all seemed ancient.

  At the time of his birth his parents’ well-ordered lives had centered on the Grand Rapids church where his father had been pastor, the books they’d loved, and their scholarly hobbies. They had no other children, and they didn’t have a clue what to do with a lively little boy they loved with all their hearts but didn’t understand.

  Please try to sit still, sweetheart.

  How did you get so dirty?

  How did you get so sweaty?

  Not so fast.

  Not so loud.

  Not so fierce.

  Football, son? I believe my old tennis racket is stored in the attic. Let’s try that instead?

  Even so, they’d attended his games because that’s what good parents did in Grand Rapids. He still remembered looking up into the stands and catching sight of their anxious, mystified faces.

  They must have wondered how they hatched you.

  That’s what Molly had said when he’d told her about them. She might be wrong about everything else, but she sure had been right about that.

  “He said you haven’t called him.” The note of accusation was strong in Charlotte’s voice.

  “Who?”

  “Your Aunt Judith’s attorney. Pay attention, Kevin. He wants to talk about the campground.”

  Even though Kevin had known what Charlotte was going to say, his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Conversations about the Wind Lake Campground always made him tense, which was why he avoided them. It was the place where the gap between himself and his parents had been the most painful.

  The campground had been established by his greatgrandfather on some land he’d bartered for in remote northeastern Michigan during the late 1800s. From the beginning it had served as a summer gathering place for Methodist religious revivals. Since it was located on an inland lake instead of on the ocean, it never acquired the fame of campgrounds like Ocean Grove, New Jersey, or Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard, but it had the same gingerbread cottages, as well as a central Tabernacle where services had been held.

  Growing up, Kevin had been forced to spend summers there as his father conducted daily services for the dwindling number of elderly people who came back each year. Kevin was always the only child.

  “You realize the campground is yours now that Judith has died,” Charlotte said unnecessarily.

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Of course you do. It’s been passed down through the Tucker family for over a hundred years. It’s an institution, and you certainly don’t want to be the one to end that.”

  Oh, yes, he did. “Charlotte, the place is a sinkhole for money. With Aunt Judith dead, there’s no one to look after it.”

  “You’re going to look after it. She’s taken good care of everything. You can hire someone to run it.”

  “I’m selling it. I have a career to concentrate on.”

  “You can’t! Really, Kevin, it’s part of your family history. Besides, people still come back every year.”

  “I’ll bet that makes the local undertaker happy.”

  “What was that? Oh, dear… I have to go or I’ll be late to my watercolor class.”

  She hung up before he could tell her about his marriage. Just as well. Talking about the campground darkened an already black mood.

  God, those summers had been agonizing. While his friends at home played baseball and hung out, he was stuck with a bunch of old people and a million rules.

  Not so much splashing when you’re in the water, dear. The ladies don’t like getting their hair wet.

  Worship starts in half an hour, son. Get cleaned up.

  Were you throwing your ball against the Tabernacle again? There are marks all over the paint.

  When he’d turned fifteen, he’d finally rebelled and nearly broken their hearts.

  I’m not going back, and you can’t make me! It’s so damn boring there! I hate it! I’ll run away if you try to make me go back! I mean it!

  They’d given in, and he’d spent the next three summers in Grand Rapids with his friend Matt. Mart’s dad was young and tough. He’d played college football for the Spartans, and every evening he threw the ball around with them. Kevin had worshipped him.

  Eventually John Tucker had grown too old to minister, the Tabernacle had burned down, and the religious purpose of the campgrounds had come to an end. His Aunt Judith had moved into the bleak old house on the grounds where Kevin and his parents used to stay, and she’d continued to rent out the cottages in the summer. Kevin had never returned.

  He didn’t want to think anymore about those endless, boring summers filled with old people shushing him, so he cranked up the volume on his new CD. But just as he left the interstate behind, he spotted a familiar chartreuse Beetle on the shoulder of the road. Gravel clicked against the under-carriage as he pulled over. It was Molly’s car, all right. She was leaning against the steering wheel.

  Great. Just what he needed. A hysterical female. What right did she have to be hysterical? He was the one who should be howling.

  He debated driving away, but she’d probably already spotted him, so he got out and walked toward the car.

  The pain stole her breath, or maybe it was the fear. Molly knew she had to get to a hospital, but she was afraid to move. Afraid if she moved, the hot, sticky wetness that had already seeped through the skirt of her white woolen wedding dress would become a flood that would sweep away her baby.

  She’d attributed the first cramps to hunger pangs from forgetting to eat all day. Then a spasm had gripped her that was so strong she’d barely been able to pull the car over.

  She folded her hands over her stomach and curled in on herself. Please don’t let me lose this baby. Please, God.

  “Molly?”

  Through the haze of her tears, she saw Kevin peering through the car window. When she didn’t move, he rapped on the glass. “Molly, what’s wrong?”

  She tried to respond but couldn’t.

  He jiggled the handle. “Unlock the door.”

  She began to reach for it, but another cramp hit. She whimpered and wrapped her arms around her thighs to hold them together.

  He rapped again, harder this time. “Hit the lock! Just hit it!”

  Somehow she managed to do as he asked.

  A wave of bitterly cold air struck her as he jerked open the door, and his breath made a frosty cloud in the air. “What’s wrong?”

  Fear clogged her throat. All she could do was bite her lip and squeeze her thighs more tightly.

  “Is it the baby?”

  She managed a jerky nod.

  “Do you think you’re having a miscarriage?”

  “No!” She fought the pain and tried to speak more calmly. “No, it’s not a miscarriage. Just—just some cramps.”

  She could see that he didn’t believe her, and she hated him for it.

  “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

  He ran to the other side of the car, opened the door, and reached through to shift her into the passenger seat, but she couldn’t let him do that. If she moved… “No! Don’t… don’t move me!”

  “I have to. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  He didn’t understand. It wasn’t she who’d be hurt. “No…”

  But he didn’t listen. She gripped her thighs tighter as he reached beneath her and awkwardly shifted her into the other seat. The effort left her gasping.

  He raced
back to his car and returned moments later with his cell phone and a wool stadium blanket that he tossed over her. Before he slid behind the wheel, he threw a jacket on the seat. Covering up her blood.

  As he pulled back onto the highway, she willed her arms to keep their strength as she clamped her legs together. He was talking to someone on the phone… locating a hospital. The tires on her tiny Bug squealed as they hurtled down the highway and around a bend. Reckless, daredevil driving. Please, God…

  She had no idea how long it took to reach the hospital. She knew only that he was opening the door next to her and getting ready to pick her up again.

  She tried to blink away her tears as she gazed up at him. “Please… I know you hate me, but…” She gasped against another cramp. “My legs… I have to keep my legs together.”

  He studied her for a moment, then slowly nodded.

  She felt as though she weighed nothing as he slipped his arms beneath the skirt of her wedding dress and lifted her so effortlessly. He pressed her thighs tightly against his body and carried her through the door.

  Someone came forward with a wheelchair, and he hurried toward it.

  “No…” She tried to grip his arm, but she was too weak. “My legs… If you set me down…”

  “Right here, sir,” the attendant called out.

  “Just show me where to take her,” Kevin said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

  “Get moving!”

  She rested her cheek against his chest and for a moment felt as if she and her baby were safe. The moment evaporated as he carried her into a curtained cubicle and carefully set her on the table.

  “We’ll take care of her while you go to registration, sir,” the nurse said.

  He squeezed Molly’s hand. For the first time since he’d come back from Australia, he looked concerned instead of hostile. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she gazed into the flickering fluorescent light above her, she wondered how he’d fill out the paperwork. He didn’t know her birthday or her middle name. He knew nothing about her.

  The nurse was young, with a soft, sweet face. But when she tried to help Molly off with her bloody panties, Molly refused. She’d have to ease open her legs to do that.

  The nurse stroked her arm. “I’ll be very careful.”

  But in the end it didn’t do any good. By the time the emergency room doctor arrived to examine her, Molly had already lost her baby.

  Kevin refused to let them dismiss her until the next day, and because he was a celebrity, he got his wish. Through the window of the private room she saw a parking lot and a line of barren trees. She shut her eyes against the voices.

  One of the doctors was talking to Kevin, using the deferential tone people adopted when they spoke with someone famous. “Your wife is young and healthy, Mr. Tucker. She’ll need to be checked by her own physician, but I don’t see any reason why the two of you won’t be able to have another child.”

  Molly saw a reason.

  Someone took her hand. She didn’t know if it was a nurse, the doctor, or Kevin. She didn’t care. She pulled her hand away.

  “How are you feeling?” Kevin whispered.

  She pretended to be asleep.

  He stayed in her room for a long time. When he finally left, she rolled over and reached for the telephone.

  Her head was fuzzy from the pills they’d given her, and she had to dial twice before she finally got through. When Phoebe answered, Molly started to cry. “Come get me. Please…”

  Dan and Phoebe appeared in her room sometime after midnight. Molly thought Kevin had left, but he must have been sleeping in the lounge because she heard him talking to Dan.

  Phoebe stroked her cheek. Fertile Phoebe, who’d given birth to four children without mishap. One of her tears dropped onto Molly’s arm. “Oh, Moll… I’m so sorry.”

  When Phoebe left her bedside to talk to the nurse, Kevin took her place. Why wouldn’t he go away? He was a stranger, and no one wanted a stranger around when her life was falling apart. Molly turned her head into the pillow.

  “You didn’t need to call them,” he said quietly. “I would have driven you back.”

  “I know.”

  He’d been kind to her, so she made herself look at him. She saw concern in his eyes, as well as fatigue, but she couldn’t see even the smallest shadow of grief.

  As soon as she got back home, she tore up Daphne Finds a Baby Rabbit and carried it out to the trash.

  The next morning the story of her marriage hit the newspapers.

  Chapter 6

  Melissa the Wood Frog was Daphne’s best friend. Most days she liked to dress in pearls and organdy. But every Saturday she added a shawl and pretended she was a movie star.

  Daphne Gets Lost

  “Our Chicago celebrity of the week spotlight turns to wealthy football heiress Molly Somerville. Unlike her flamboyant sister, Chicago Stars owner Phoebe Calebow, Molly Somerville has kept a low profile. But while no one was looking, sly Miss Molly, who dabbles at writing children’s books, scooped up Chicago’s most eligible bachelor, the delectable Stars quarterback Kevin Tucker. Even close friends were shocked when the couple was married in a very private ceremony at the Calebow home just last week.”

  The gossip reporter rearranged her plastic expression into a look of deep concern. “But it looks like there’s no happy ending for the newlyweds. Sources now report the couple suffered a miscarriage almost immediately after the wedding ceremony, and they’ve since separated. A spokesman for the Stars would say only that the couple was working through their troubles privately and would make no comments to the media.”

  Lilly Sherman snapped off the Chicago television station, then took a deep breath. Kevin had married a spoiled Midwestern heiress. Her hands trembled as she closed the French doors that looked out over the garden of her Brentwood home, then picked up the coffee-colored pashmina shawl that lay at the foot of her bed. Somehow she had to steady herself before she reached the restaurant. Although Mallory McCoy was her best friend, this secret was Lilly’s own.

  She tossed the pashmina over the shoulders of her latest St. John knit, a creamy suit with gold buttons and exquisite braided trim. Then she picked up a brightly wrapped gift bag and set off for one of Beverly Hills’ newest restaurants. After she’d been shown to her table, she ordered a blackberry kir. Ignoring the curious gazes of a couple at the next table, she studied the décor.

  Subdued lighting glazed the oyster-white walls and illuminated the restaurant’s small but fine display of original art. The carpet was aubergine, the linens crisp and white, the silver a sleek Art Deco design. A perfect place to celebrate an unwelcome birthday. Her fiftieth. Not that anyone knew. Even Mallory McCoy thought they were celebrating Lilly’s forty-seventh.

  Lilly hadn’t been given the room’s best table, but she’d grown so accustomed to playing the diva that no one would have known it. Two of the top men at ICM occupied the prime spot, and she momentarily contemplated walking over and introducing herself. They would know who she was, of course. Only a rare man didn’t remember Ginger Hill from Lace, Inc. But nothing was less welcome in this town than an overweight former sex kitten celebrating a fiftieth birthday.

  She reminded herself that she didn’t look her age. Her eyes were the same brilliant green the camera had always loved, and although she wore her auburn hair shorter now, Beverly Hills’ top colorist made certain it hadn’t lost any of its luster. Her face was barely lined, her skin still smooth, thanks to Craig, who wouldn’t let her lie in the sun when she was younger.

  The twenty-five-year age difference between her husband and herself, along with Craig’s good looks and his role as her manager, had invited inevitable comparisons to Ann-Margret and Roger Smith, as well as to Bo and John Derek. And it was true that Craig had been her Svengali. When she’d arrived in L.A. over thirty years ago, she hadn’t even possessed a high school diploma, and he’d taught her how to dress, walk, and speak. He’d exposed her to c
ulture and transformed her from an awkward teenager into one of the eighties’ hottest sex symbols. Because of Craig, she was well read and culturally literate, with a particular passion for art.

  Craig had done everything for her. Too much. Sometimes she’d felt as if she’d been swallowed up by the demanding force of his personality. Even when he was dying, he’d been dictatorial. Still, he’d truly loved her, and she only wished, at the end, that she’d been able to love him more.

  She distracted herself with the paintings on the restaurant’s walls. Her eyes drifted past a Julian Schnabel and a Keith Haring to take in an exquisite Liam Jenner oil. He was one of her favorite artists, and just looking at the painting calmed her.

  She glanced at her watch and saw that Mallory was late as usual. During the six years they’d filmed Lace, Inc., Mallory had always been the last to arrive on the set. Normally Lilly didn’t mind, but now it gave her too much time to think about Kevin and the fact that he’d separated from his heiress wife before the ink was dry on the wedding license. The reporter said Molly Somerville had suffered a miscarriage. Lilly wondered how Kevin had felt about that, or even if the baby had been his. Famous athletes were prime targets for unscrupulous women, including rich ones.

  Mallory came dashing toward the table. She was still the same size four she’d been during their days on Lace, Inc., and unlike Lilly, she’d been able to keep her career alive by becoming the queen of the miniseries. Even so, Mallory didn’t have Lilly’s presence in person, and no one took note of her arrival. Lilly had nagged her about this countless times, Attitude, Mallory! Walk like you’re getting twenty mil a picture.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mallory chirped. “Happy, happy, you adorable person! Present later.”

  They exchanged social kisses just as if Mallory hadn’t held Lilly in her arms more than once through the ordeal of Craig’s long illness and death two years ago.