A Different Light

by Mariah Stewart

  She gathered up the Sunday paper and took it to the back porch. She was more than a little surprised to see her picture, bold as life, gracing the front page.

  Woodside Heights mayor Athena Moran was one of the many enthusiastic workers at yesterday’s kickoff of the UCC’s new community garden. Story on page 3.

  Page 3 highlighted a series of photos: Ms. Evelyn waving a tractor onto the lot; a group of workers leaning on their shovels; Reverend Davison greeting several volunteers.

  “Hey, Mom.” Callie poked her head out the door. “I’m going across the street to Carolann’s for a while, okay?”

  “Sure.” Athen nodded, absorbed in the text of the article.

  She scanned the paper, then folded it over, making mental notes of several articles she’d read in depth later, but she was still tired from yesterday’s exertion. Impulse led her up the steps and into the attic, across creaking floorboards to the alcove that overlooked the side yard.

  The sheet that covered the easel was gray with dust. She carefully removed it, dropped it onto the floor in a heap, and studied the canvas with a critical eye. Turning on the lights, she leaned closer. The tall spikes of the pale pink flowers rose against a background of pale blue. White roses twined around a half-finished arbor. In the foreground, a branch of magnolia bent to frame the garden beyond the arbor. The painting, intended as a gift for John, had remained incomplete for over a year.

  Athen stared at the canvas, wondering if the image of the garden that had been destroyed by the storm remained vivid enough in her memory to finish what she had started. What a wonderful present for Callie if I could finish it, she thought.

  She gathered the tools she would need. Some of her paints had dried and would need to be replaced, but there was enough to begin. At first, the brush felt awkward in her hand, but soon she was lost in the colors, carefully shading here and adding light there. When her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten in hours, she looked at her watch and was surprised to find that the afternoon had passed without notice. Callie would be looking for dinner before too long.

  She stepped back to assess her work. Not bad, she thought. I’ve done better, but after a long hiatus, this is pretty good.

  She gathered her brushes to clean them and realized she was humming. How good it had felt to shape color into form again. Proving to herself that she could still bring a canvas to life unexpectedly filled her with peace. She was starting to feel whole again.

  She cleaned her brushes and changed her paint-spattered shirt. She went downstairs and sat on the sofa, then leaned back against the cushions. Perhaps just a short nap, she thought as she pulled a light afghan up to her chin.

  It was after six when she was awakened by the ringing telephone. Dumbly following the shrill sound to its source, she stumbled into the kitchen and lifted the receiver.

  “Did I wake you?” Quentin asked. “You sound as if you’re half asleep.”

  “There’s a reason for that.” She yawned mightily.

  “We need to build up your stamina,” he admonished with a chuckle.

  “Did you get Ms. Evelyn’s bandstand finished?”

  “Yes, we did,” he told her, static from his cell cutting him off briefly. “Of course, we had a lot of expert assistance. Mr. Rossi showed up, hammer in hand, smiling for the cameras so that tomorrow’s paper can show him participating in manlier-than-thou work. No sir, no sissy stuff like filling baskets with broken glass for macho Dan.”

  Quentin added, almost as an aside, “He invited me to interview him.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why would he do that?” she wondered aloud.

  “If you’ll open the front door, I’ll come in and tell you all about it in person.”

  She peered out the side window. His car was at the curb.

  He was dirty and sweaty and, if possible, even more adorable than usual. The maroon baseball cap sat on his head, dark locks of hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration, and his Mets T-shirt bore the same smears of grime as his arms and face.

  “So what’s Rossi up to?” She opened the door, and wished she had the nerve to put her arms around him, maybe kiss that little smudge that ran across his upper lip. She’d never been the one to make the first move. She’d never known how.

  “Beats me, but I thought it was really interesting that he sought me out,” he said with a grin. “I’m going to meet him at his club for dinner. Curious, yes?”

  “Curiouser and curiouser.” She led him by the hand into the living room and in the general direction of the sofa.

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head as she approached the sofa. “I’m too grimy to sit on your furniture. I just wanted to stop and see how your aching back is doing.”

  “Much better, thank you.” She smiled as he leaned back against the wall and drew her to him.

  “Perhaps a quick massage.” He ran his hands up and down her back, kneading her muscles with his strong fingers.

  “Ouch.” She winced and he softened his touch. “We had fun last night, Callie and I.”

  “So did we.” He watched her face as his fingers made their way more slowly from her neck to her waist and back again. “Mom made me promise to bring you back. And, of course, Timmy and Callie have made plans for next Saturday to ride.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want her to impose.” His proximity made her dizzy.

  “Tim loved the company, and Brenda enjoyed working with her.” He rubbed her shoulder blades gently.

  “Brenda called Meg this morning, did you know?” Maybe if she could keep a conversation going she could regain control of her breathing.

  “I knew she was going to.” He paused before asking, “What do you think of the idea?”

  “Of Meg working here? Are you kidding?”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” He tipped her face and kissed her. His lips were warm and soft and drew her deeper and deeper toward a place she thought she’d never find again. Forgotten emotions surged through her, and she felt the fingers of one hand move as if on their own to his face, and then upward slowly, winding their way through his damp curls.

  The sound of the back door slamming caused them both to jump.

  “Callie,” Athen told him.

  “Mom?” Callie called out from the kitchen as if on cue.

  “In here, sweetie.” Athen raised an eyebrow and reluctantly disengaged herself from his arms.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Forbes.” Callie seemed glad to see him. “Did you work with Ms. Evelyn again today?”

  “Yes, I did.” He nodded, one hand still resting in the middle of Athen’s back. “And you’ll be happy to know we got the bandstand constructed. Maybe next summer we’ll be able to go down there and hear some concerts.”

  “That would be cool.” Callie draped herself over the back of the sofa and made no attempt to leave.

  “I think I’d better get going. I’m supposed to meet Dan at seven, which doesn’t give me much time to clean up.”

  “Give me a call later and let me know how the interview went,” Athen said as she walked him to the door.

  “I will, if I get in early,” he told her. “See you, Callie,” he called into the living room.

  “See you, Mr. Forbes.” Callie came into the foyer and stood next to her mother. Quentin saluted them both before heading to his car.

  RUNNING LATE THE NEXT MORNING after a sleepless night, Athen grabbed the paper from the front steps on her way to the car. Her first glimpse at page 1 came at her desk, and she spewed half a mouthful of coffee onto the headline.

  ROSSI BLASTS MORAN

  Below that, in only slightly smaller print:

  Calls present mayor “the only political error I ever made.”

  White knuckles grasped the edges of the paper to hold it in front of her disbelieving eyes as she read:

  In an exclusive interview with the Woodside Herald, former mayor Dante Rossi said that he had committed a major “error in judgment”
in backing political novice and current mayor Athena Moran for office.

  “Athen Moran is a lovely woman, and she means well, I’m sure,” Rossi said, “but the fact is that she hasn’t a clue about running this city, except maybe to run it into the ground by trying to give away parcels of valuable land that should be used to increase tax revenues, not add to the burden our citizens are already shouldering.”

  On and on it went for almost half the page.

  “That son of a bitch,” Athen sputtered. “When I get my hands on Quentin Forbes, I will kill him!”

  Infuriated with herself for having let her guard down, for believing he could be anything other than what he had proven himself to be in the past, Athen paced her office floor, fuming. She was too angry to realize that he had not broken his promise. His article contained no reference to Mary Jo Dolan.

  “Mrs. Moran.” Veronica’s voice sounded through the intercom. “Mr. Forbes is on line seventeen.”

  “Tell him I’m not in.” She seethed. “Not today, not any day. If he has something to say to me, he can address it at the next press conference.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. M.” Veronica teetered in on high-heeled red shoes that matched the color of her dress. “I don’t think I heard …”

  “You heard, all right.” Athen’s eyes blazed. “You tell that son of a bitch I have nothing to say to him.”

  Veronica calmly picked up the receiver on Athen’s desk and announced in a slightly nasalized monotone, “Sorry, Mr. Forbes, but Her Honor is supremely pissed off and doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and asked, “How was that, Mrs. M.?”

  Athen stared at her, and Veronica turned her attention back to the call. “What did you say, Mr. Forbes? Okay, hold on.” She covered the receiver again and said, “Mrs. M., he said it’s really important that he …”

  “Not now, not ever.” Athen launched into a string of bilingual curses.

  “No go, Mr. Forbes,” Veronica told him. “I’ll give her the message, but I can tell ya, she’s really steamed. It’s not a good sign when she starts cursing in Greek.”

  “Hang up the damned phone!”

  “Sorry,” Veronica sang and hung up. She turned to Athen and asked, “What’d he do, if I’m not overstepping?”

  Athen pointed to the newspaper, which now lay in a crumpled ball on the floor. Veronica picked it up, smoothed it out, scanned it, then whistled long and low.

  “Wow,” she said. “Rossi’s got it in for you, all right. What an ass. But don’t worry, Mrs. Moran, it’s obvious he’s just trying to make you look bad ’cause you pissed him off.”

  Veronica headed for the door, thinking a cup of tea might calm the boss down. She got as far as the hall, then she turned back to Athen and said, “I can see you wanting to lynch Rossi for saying all those things about you, but why’re you mad at Mr. Forbes?”

  “He wrote the article.” Athen stated the obvious through highly clenched jaws.

  A look of mild confusion passed over the young woman’s face. “But … isn’t that his job?”

  “Out,” whispered Athen, clinging to the very last shred of her patience. “And close the door.”

  Athen remained holed up in her office all day, taking no calls and accepting no visitors. Veronica brought her some lunch, which she could not eat, and when she left a half hour early, Veronica told her, “He called seven times, Mrs. Moran.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it.” Athen plugged her ears with her fingers.

  “I promised him I’d tell you.”

  “And you have. Good night, Veronica.”

  It did nothing to improve her state of mind to walk into her kitchen and find him waiting there, calmly talking to Callie.

  “Hi, Mom.” Callie brightened as her mother came through the door.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked coldly.

  “I would like to talk to you,” he replied.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” She walked past him into the hallway.

  “Fine. I’ll talk and you listen.” The newspaper containing the offending article was tucked under one arm.

  “Guess now’s a good time to take Hannah for a walk.” Callie glanced from one to the other uneasily. “Come on, Hannah.”

  “You really have a lot of nerve, coming into my house.” She spat out the words.

  “Look, Athen, I can understand that you’re angry that Rossi’s come out swinging, but …”

  “I didn’t expect you to help him.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He grabbed her arm as she tried to breeze past him. “Athen, I didn’t put words in his mouth.”

  “You promised me you’d never come after me in print again.”

  “Athen, I promised I’d be fair to you, which as a journalist I should be. But I could never agree to not report the truth, or not report what someone else says about you. Particularly when that someone else is Dan Rossi.”

  She went back into the kitchen and ran cold water in the sink. She filled a glass and took a long deep drink.

  “I want you out of my house.” The tears welled up and she fought to keep them from rolling down her face.

  “Athen, do you honestly believe I’d deliberately write something with the intent of hurting you?” he asked softly.

  “You gave him a forum to openly criticize me.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I should have used everything except the negative things he said about you?” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “Do you really expect me to censor what gets printed so that only the nice things that people say about you get into the paper?”

  She glared at him, but did not respond.

  “Athen, I’m a reporter,” he sighed, “not your personal press secretary. If you can’t respect that …”

  “You could have at least warned me it was going to be so … ugly.”

  “It was very late when I got home last night. I tried to call you this morning to give you a heads-up, but you didn’t pick up your cell. What would you expect him to say about you, given the circumstances? For Christ’s sake, Athen, if you’d read the article all the way through, you’d have seen that he’s using you as an excuse to run again. ‘I feel honor bound to take the city back from the misguided few who would create a fiscal nightmare.’ That’s a story, Athen. The fact that I wanted to put the SOB’s lights out because of what he said has nothing to do with the fact that I have a responsibility to report what he says, as he says it. I can’t pretty it up because of our relationship.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore,” she said quietly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He eyed her cautiously.

  “You said it best, Quentin. Fool me once, shame on …”

  “Athen, please …”

  “I’d like you to leave now.” She avoided his eyes.

  “You know, I thought I could pull this off. I really thought I could have a personal relationship with you and still maintain a professional one. Do my job, be objective, but still see you.” He shook his head sadly. “Guess not, huh?”

  They stared glumly at each other, the silence widening the distance between them.

  Finally, he shook his head. “I’m sorrier than you know,” he told her before tossing the paper onto the counter and walking out the back door.

  Athen was still standing near the sink, the glass of water in her hand, when Callie came back into the house.

  “You’re not happy with Mr. Forbes right now, are you, Mom?” Callie seemed to choose her words carefully.

  “No, Callie, I’m not.” Athen turned her back on her daughter and emptied the water glass into the sink.

  “Does this mean I can’t ride with Timmy on Saturday?” Callie asked wistfully.

  “Of course not,” Athen assured her. “This has nothing to do with you and Timmy.”

  “Good.” She sighed with relief. “Brenda said she’d teach m
e how to jump.”

  QUENTIN DROVE AIMLESSLY AROUND WOODSIDE Heights trying to understand what had just happened. Could Athen really believe that he’d written that story to embarrass and hurt her? Was she serious?

  On the one hand, it pissed him off royally to think that she would think so little of him that she’d believe he’d deliberately try to hurt her. On the other, it pissed him off that she didn’t understand the difference between him quoting Rossi and him saying those ridiculous things about her himself. Apparently, she didn’t. Apparently, Athen believed those hurtful remarks came out of Quentin’s mouth instead of Rossi’s. Apparently, she found it easier to believe that he’d used her to get the scoop on every other reporter on all things related to City Hall.

  He blew out a long breath and tried to put it all into perspective.

  Okay, he could understand her being upset at seeing all those nasty remarks printed under his byline. And he should have tried harder to get in touch with her before the paper was delivered this morning. He’d give her that much. But, Christ Almighty, did she honestly think he cared so little for her that he’d want to hurt her? Did she think a byline on a good story was more important to him than she was?

  He’d thought they’d gotten past that sort of thing, that they’d been moving toward a real relationship. His head was about to explode. What didn’t she understand, and how could he explain it to her?

  Every time he thought about the look on her face when she walked into her kitchen, the look in her eyes when she told him to leave, he felt sick.

  He found himself at Ms. Evelyn’s up on the Hill, so he parked at the edge of her drive and turned off his headlights. He sat and stared at the lights from the city below and waited for the red haze of anger to fade. When it finally did, he had to face the unhappy truth that this sort of thing had been inevitable. This was all his fault. There was no way he should have continued to cover the City Hall beat once he’d started to get involved with Athen. Sooner or later, there was going to be a conflict between her and his job. He’d known it was only a matter of time, but he’d told himself he could deal with it.