For All of Her Life

by Heather Graham

  “Kathy?”

  She hadn’t realized that she had just stopped and was staring into the limo when the driver hopped out to open the door for them. She stepped in, Jordan followed her. The young driver quickly closed the door.

  The limo—spacious and long—suddenly seemed too intimate. She found herself with a wild desire to run, and at the same time, looking across at Jordan, she felt an equally strong desire to burst into tears and ask him how so much could have gone so wrong. She wanted to fall into his arms, to experience his secure touch once again.

  No. Oh, no. This was such a trap. This was why she had run. She had to admit it. Chicken.

  But then, things had changed. He had changed. The rumors after Keith’s death, the subtle, hurtful things that had been said had torn at them all. Relationships had been undermined. Jordan could have held the group together, Kathy had always thought. But he hadn’t chosen to do so. He had wanted to be out of the limelight. He had continued to write, and had put out several solo albums, but he had never gone on tour alone, and Kathy was certain that he never would. He didn’t like touring and, financially, didn’t need to go out on tour.

  “May I offer you something?” he asked. “The limo is fully stocked and neither of us is driving.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She seemed to be very close to him. It was a big limo. Comfortable. Black interior, TV screen, video box, nice bar. Her knees were still brushing his. She pulled them back in.

  “You know,” she murmured, “maybe a—”

  “Jack and ginger?” he suggested.

  “If they have it.”

  He didn’t reply. She suddenly realized that, of course, there would be Jack Daniels Black and ginger ale in this car because he would have ordered it. She might know him; he knew her.

  He fixed two drinks, the same, while the car moved into traffic. Kathy heard street noises. The honking of horns, the shouts, the screeches when the zillion cars still on the roads no matter what the hour nearly bumped into one another.

  She took the drink from him, meeting his eyes once again. She lifted her glass.

  “Cheers,” she murmured.

  “To a good reunion.”

  “Jordan, I really don’t want to come.”

  “Why not? If it’s because of personal differences, I’ll stay out of your way. I’ve done so very well over the last ten years, don’t you think?”

  Oh, damned well, she thought. Yes, he had done well. He had obliged her every wish. He had kept his distance. He had been a good father to the girls, while bowing to all her decisions. Not that they had ever quarreled over their children. The girls were beautiful and bright and warm, and loving to both of them; and they always had been. The divorce had hurt them badly, both parents knew, and so they had been very careful. If they had been noble at all, it had been in making sure that they had never spoken a negative word about one another to their children.

  They hadn’t communicated, though, in anything other than a few terse letters. He had probably thought her unreasonable at times. She hadn’t thought it was possible to make him understand that, to survive, she’d needed an absolute severance from him.

  “Jordan, honestly, I’m not trying to be mean or uncooperative. I’m busy,” she said evasively. “Just because you’ve suddenly decided that we should all get back together doesn’t necessarily make a reunion a good idea for the rest of us.”

  “Everyone else is coming.”

  She shrugged. “What are you trying to do?” she insisted.

  “Kathy, besides everything else, we have two children who have weathered the past decade exceptionally well. Christmas Eve with me, a fast flight to New York with a million other holiday travelers for Christmas with you. Easter in Florida one year, Thanksgiving in New York the next. Let’s give our daughter a decent twenty-first birthday.”

  “We can both have nice parties for her—”

  “One good one instead.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Where are we going now?” she asked him.

  “The Oyster Bar?” he said, but there was a question in his voice. If she didn’t like his suggestion of a place, he would be ready to change it.

  “Fine.”

  “Will you come down?”

  “For how long?”

  “Say, a week at least?”

  She shook her head, suddenly very curious as she watched him. “I just don’t understand this. Does Miss April Pin-Up Queen know that you’re in New York entreating your ex-wife to come to a party?”

  A very slow smile curved his lips. “You are referring to Tara?”

  “I am.”

  “She was never Miss April—or a pin-up of any kind.”

  “Sorry. Tacky thing for me to say. But does she know you’re here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Jordan, this makes no sense.”

  He leaned forward suddenly. “You work too hard, you spend your life with your nose in manuscripts, you never take vacations—”

  “And how would you know?”

  “Your daughters tell me.”

  She lowered her head, flushing, frustrated. Great. Alex and Bren had led their father to believe that she had dived straight into books—given up on life completely. It was humiliating. Especially when he was dating a young woman who could easily have been Miss April or any other kind of pin-up.

  “Jordan, I like my job. It’s rewarding. I work with fantastic authors—”

  “I’m aware of that. You’ve got quite a distinguished roster, from what I’ve heard.” He looked slightly puzzled, shaking his head. “In fact, I was expecting...”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Never mind.”

  “No, what? Tell me what you were about to say.”

  He shook his head, lifting his hands in a typical Jordan gesture she knew very well. “I guess I had thought to find you with someone... more... dignified. A professor, a great literary talent, an older man maybe. You just never seemed to be the type for...”

  “For?” she questioned curiously.

  “Your young muscleman. All brawn, not much between the ears.”

  She stared at him, startled. He didn’t sound insulting, just surprised and even a bit concerned.

  She smiled around clenched teeth. Great. Just what she wanted. His concern. “You haven’t had a chance to get to know Jeremy very well. He is one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever met. And you’re mistaken. He has a lot between the ears. He’s an avid opera buff, knows art backward and forward, loves the theater, and gives me wonderful opinions on all sorts of reading materials.”

  Shadows danced around the inside of the limo. She couldn’t see his eyes, and she didn’t have the least idea of what he was thinking.

  “Well then, I do apologize,” he told her. There was a slight strain in his voice as he added, “It’s just that your muscleman is a bit young.”

  “And Miss April isn’t?”

  He didn’t reply but leaned forward, suddenly taking both of her hands. “He’s invited. And if you say he’s a good guy, then he must be. You’ve...always been a good judge of people. Well, almost always. And I didn’t come here to try to destroy the life you’ve created for yourself. It’s been a long time. Our fights should all be in the past. Will you please promise me to come down?”

  “Jordan, I—”

  The limo came to a halt.

  “I don’t know,” Kathy finished.

  “Damn,” Jordan muttered.

  The driver came around to let them out. Jordan thanked the young man, and helped Kathy out himself. He took her elbow as he led her through the Fifth Avenue entrance to the Plaza Hotel and along the stately corridors to the doorway of the Oyster Bar.

  It was late, but a theater crowd had come in, and the place was busy, noisy, and somewhat smoky. Jordan procured them a table in the back, just a little bit away from the din.

  Kathy opted for a shrimp cocktail and a second Jack and ginger—maybe not a good idea—and Jordan went wi
th a Bud and oysters on the half-shell. Their conversation was idle as they waited to be served, Jordan commenting on the changes in New York since he’d been up last and Kathy telling him the girls loved to skate on the rink at Rockefeller Plaza every Christmas.

  “Still skating yourself?” he asked her, watching as his oysters were delivered.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Still diving?”

  She hesitated. Diving had once been a family sport. South Florida had been a great place to indulge in it, and Jordan had kept a small apartment in the Keys to accommodate their love for it.

  “I’ve... taken a few trips. I never liked diving in cold water, though I’ve checked out a few sunken ships.”

  “And gone on a few Caribbean vacations.”

  She arched a brow.

  “The girls keep me informed,” he reminded her.

  “Ummm.”

  “You’ve still never acquired a taste for oysters?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Too slimy looking.”

  “They’re delicious little buggers.”

  “Ugh.” She watched him let one slide down his throat and then shuddered.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he assured her.

  “Well, we all have to miss out on a few things in life.” She hesitated. “Does Miss April like oysters?”

  He grinned, arching a brow at her reference to “Miss April” again. “Actually,” he informed her, “Tara doesn’t like seafood at all.”

  “She looks too thin to be a lover of red meat.”

  “She’s a vegetarian. How about muscleman?”

  Kathy grinned now. “Moderation in everything,” she said sweetly.

  “Does he dive?”

  She shrugged. “He doesn’t swim,” she admitted.

  “Oh. Well, he does love the opera.”

  “And I’m sure Miss April does love... something!” she said even more sweetly.

  He grunted, swallowing another oyster. “Well?” he asked when he had washed it down with a long draught of beer.

  “Jordan—”

  “The girls will think you very churlish if you don’t come.”

  “Churlish?” she repeated.

  “Churlish. It is a good word, right, madam editor?”

  “It’s a fine word. I suppose. But if they think I’m churlish, it will be your fault.”

  “It won’t be, because you will be churlish if you don’t come.” He leaned across the table, strangely intent again. “Promise me that you will.”

  “Jordan, this isn’t fair.”

  “Life never is.”

  “Yes, but we do have some control over our own destinies.”

  “Do we?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “Please, come down.”

  “If I can get the time off,” she said evasively.

  He sat back, triumphant, pleased. “Then it’s settled.”

  “It’s not quite so simple—”

  “Oh, come, come.”

  She smiled suddenly. “How about this, Jordan? I’ll promise to come if you’ll tell me what you’re really up to!”

  “What I’m really up to?” he repeated. “Is that grammatically correct?”

  “Jordan, what is it you really want?”

  “To see everyone back together again. And that’s the truth.”

  There was more, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to drag it out of him. Not now, at least. Maybe once she did to go Star Island...

  But Miss April would be with him all the time. What would she learn then?

  Ummm. Did it matter? Whatever she said to him now, she knew she was going to fly down for the week. Even if it did half destroy her, and ruin the fine cloak of independence and dignity it had taken her so very long to don. He was after something. Maybe she was, too. Maybe they—and the group—had parted too quickly after Keith had died, and maybe they needed to get back together again. Perhaps this was the only way any of them could really move on without being haunted by the past.

  “It will really be nice. If you come down on Friday night, you’ll have nine days and only miss five at the office. We can take the Sand Shark down to the reefs for a few days before the rest of the gang arrive.”

  “I thought Miss April wasn’t fond of diving.”

  “Muscleman doesn’t go in the water at all, from what you say, but I’m sure they’ll both enjoy the sailing.”

  Muscleman. Somehow, she was going to have to convince Jeremy to come along. He was going to be in for a very big surprise.

  “All right.”

  “All right?” Jordan repeated. He seemed to let out his breath. She was somewhat startled by the expression she caught in his eyes before he blinked, thick sandy lashes seeming to sweep away whatever she had thought she saw. He had really wanted her to come. This hadn’t just been a polite and determined attempt on behalf of their daughters; it was important to him that she be there.

  Why?

  Their marriage was—had been—indisputably over. He hadn’t been alone, though she had to admit he’d never lived the wild, reckless life she might have expected him to indulge in once he’d gained his freedom. Before Tara Hughes, there had been a voluptuous country-western singer. Not his type—Kathy could have told him so. Before that, he had been seeing a very attractive television weatherwoman and, right after the divorce, the ballet dancer. He certainly hadn’t been pining after her all these years. So what?

  There was something very intense about him tonight. But then...

  He had become tense after Keith’s death. Sometimes then she had thought she didn’t know him at all. She hadn’t been able to reach him. She had felt...

  As if she’d lost him. She had lost him. Lost all the trust, the belief.

  She didn’t want to think back. And her first reaction had been the right one—she didn’t want to go back.

  But she was doing it.

  She was setting herself up for a knife twisted in the heart. The Star Island house had been her home for nearly ten years before she had left it. She knew every nook and cranny of the place, knew the legends about the mobsters who had owned it during the thirties, could picture now the view from the backyard at night—stars in a dark sky and the lights from downtown Miami striking water blackened by into a rippling velvet sea.

  Behind the pool where the guest house had been... Even when she had left, the earth had seemed parched and burned there, though the skeletal remnants of the cottage had been blasted and swept away.

  Had he rebuilt the guest house?

  She wondered as well if Miss April had done any redecorating.

  “I’m not sure what good I’ll be to you,” she said suddenly. “I haven’t done anything except sing in the shower in the past ten years. I never really was a musician, I—”

  “You wrote the best lyrics,” he told her.

  Did he mean it? Or was it a polite way of agreeing that she had never been a musician?

  “If you’re really planning a performance—”

  “I am.”

  “Then you won’t be getting much help from me.”

  He shook his head. “I intend to on the second Saturday night. By then, we’ll have had five days of practice, and we’ll do all the old songs we’d have to be dead not to remember. Most of the guys have kept working one way or another. And Shelley has been singing in Las Vegas. It’s a benefit; you haven’t anything to worry about.”

  She nodded, knowing he was lying through his teeth! He was worried about something himself.

  But as she had realized, she did know Jordan. And she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him tonight.

  “All set?” he asked.

  She had one shrimp left—his squiggly little oysters were all gone. Well, that was Jordan. He had what he wanted; he was ready to move on.

  “Yeah, I’m all set.”

  He helped himself to her last shrimp, asked for the check, and paid it. He then politely pulled back her chair and just as politely set
a hand at the small of her back to escort her out of the restaurant.

  “Is this where you’re staying?” she asked him.

  He nodded.

  “Well, you don’t have to see me home. This is my city and I’m well over twenty-one—”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Great, she thought wryly. He knew her age.

  “I can go home alone.”

  “Don’t you think the girls will be waiting up to see me? You were the one who wanted to leave a note.”

  They would.

  “Besides, I always like to take my ‘date’ home after an evening out.”

  “I’m not your date. I’m your ex-wife.”

  “Kath, quit being difficult, will you?”

  “I’m merely truthful. To you it always seemed to be one and the same.”

  They were outside; their limo driver was waiting with the door open, smiling away. Obviously, he was pleased to be chauffeuring the Jordan Treveryan for the evening.

  Kathy slipped into the plush interior of the vehicle. Once again, Jordan sat across from her. She was suddenly exhausted, and acutely aware of a sense of danger. She’d been okay—all this time—because she hadn’t had to see him. Didn’t he understand that?

  Apparently not. She felt his eyes on her in the shadows, saw his face in the sudden streaks and shafts of light that made their way into the vehicle despite the tinting of the windows. Something in her heart suddenly seemed to ache, and she wanted very badly to reach out and stroke his bearded cheek. God, she’d always loved his face! She wanted to ask him what was wrong, to tell him she knew something was haunting him.

  She didn’t have the right anymore. Miss April played with that bearded cheek, and Kathy was going to spend her week in Florida pretending that her every waking moment hinged around Jeremy—muscleman.

  “When are you going back?” she asked Jordan, wishing once again that she didn’t feel as if they were alone together in the blackness of a strange, vast—but confining—universe. She could still smell that damned aftershave. There was cruel irony in this. She’d spent ten years building up her own life, her own personality, her own world.

  She’d been with him just a few hours, yet the protective wall of those ten years had seemed to crumble like dust. He was still Jordan; she still knew him. All the hurt seemed to be with her again, and still she was saying that she would set herself up for more of it.