by Myrna Parks
Once inside, dressed in her borrowed jewels, new green dress, and dainty heels, Beth walked with an air of confidence down the corridors, her shoes clicking on the glossy tiles. As an early arriver, she moved easily through the wide-spaced hallway and into the banquet room. An attendant stationed near the door pointed in response to Beth’s inquiry to the table marked ”Reserved” near the stage.
When she found the place card with her name neatly printed in bold block letters, Beth pulled out a chair and took her seat. There were six place settings around the table. Leaning sideways, Beth saw “Adrian Adams” printed on the card placed to her right and felt positively giddy.
The banquet area held a multitude of tables. The room appeared to be filling steadily with people of every description. There were sounds of folks shuffling toward their seats, talking and laughing, and caterers moving about discreetly, making last minute adjustments. The scent of hot food wafted in from some distant, unseen serving area.
Beth glanced around her, searching for Carter’s face in the crowd. She realized she would never be able to spot him in such a large mob. She felt relieved that Carter had her cell phone number. He had assured her they would meet up after the festivities were over. Briefly, Beth wondered how she could ever have imagined meeting Adrian Adams without assistance.
An older couple, beautifully attired, joined Beth’s table. The short man had sparkling green eyes and a pale mustache, and his companion, a large-bosomed woman with dark gray hair and circles of rouge on each plump cheek, sat down next to Beth. In richly articulated tones, the woman said, “Good evening. My name is Mildred. This is my husband, Samuel Worthington.” Beth accepted the woman’s bejeweled hand and nodded to her husband.
“I’m Bethany Ashton. I’m very pleased to meet you. Did you say ‘Mildred Worthington?’” Beth allowed the name to roll around uselessly within her memory. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall why.
Two men dressed in business suits appeared, pulling out chairs across from Beth. She guessed them to be somewhere in their late thirties. This left only Mr. Adams’s chair vacant. She had hoped the famous writer might join them before the banquet started.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman beside her. “I seemed to have lost my program. Can you tell me when Mr. Adams will speak?”
“Yes, dear, Adams is the first speaker,” the woman answered in her distinct and cultured voice.
“Are you — are you the Mildred Worthington?” Beth stammered. “The one who writes children’s books?”
“Why, yes. I’m flattered you know my work.”
“I grew up reading your books!” Beth stared with wide-eyed wonder and then suddenly blushed pink all the way down to the tips of her toes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—” Beth let the statement die.
Mildred answered with a good-natured laugh. “I’m not offended, my dear. I am old enough to no longer care when someone refers to my age.”
“Are you still writing?” Beth wanted to pinch herself, hardly believing she could find herself seated between two of the greatest writers of all times.
“Oh my, yes. We currently live in the south of France. Most of my publications, however, never seem to catch on in America these days.”
The lights grew dim. A spotlight hit the podium above her. Beth’s next sentence died on her lips. Her eyes fastened like a magnet onto the platform. Somewhere, a band began to play.
Henrietta Huxley, wearing a navy blue evening gown, wobbled on chunky heels toward the center of the stage. She uttered the typical acknowledgments of appreciation for those responsible for this year’s successful conference. After a round of applause, she cleared her throat. “We are privileged to have with us one of our country’s most illustrious authors with accolades too numerous to mention.” The orchestra played a drum roll. “Therefore,” Henrietta said, milking the moment, “without further ado, I would like to introduce Mr. Adrian Adams!”
A man stepped forward. Everyone in the room stood to their feet with heartfelt applause as the famous author walked to the podium in the center of the stage. Everyone that is, except Beth. She thought she’d just received a hefty dose of a paralyzing drug injected into her legs, Beth remained glued to her seat.
The audience sat down. Beth heard the author’s deep voice, speaking clearly into the microphone. “What’s in a name? Some of you this week have called me ’Teacher.’ Several call me ‘Sir.’ A few even call me ‘Friend.’ Many who don’t know my face will recognize my pen name, Adrian Adams, but few people, other than family, close friends, and those who work within the publishing industry know me by my given name, Carter Phillips...”
Beth closed her eyes. Her fists clenched into painful balls.
Mildred Worthington touched Beth’s hand. “Miss Ashton?” she inquired. “Are you ill?”
Beth managed to stand. Heedless of the curious glances around her, she hurriedly weaved her way in and out of the tables, heading to the back of the room.
Somehow, with her whole world crumbling about her, Beth stumbled through the door. She made it just outside the exit, and then her face crumpled… and the tears came.
Chapter Fifteen
The lights came up, the applause faded and Carter stepped from the blinding spotlights. With a spring in his step, a song in his heart, and a ring in his pocket, Carter searched though the multitude of blurred faces as he made his way offstage and headed in the direction of his designated table. Several well-wishers impeded his movement. Carter smiled and accepted heartfelt wishes with his usual easygoing grace, but when he finally made it through the throng and got a clear vision of the ringside table, he saw four familiar faces but realized the only face he wanted to see was missing.
Carter paused behind Beth’s empty chair. “Even though I cannot recall a single word you uttered, I simply adored your speech. You always make me laugh,” Mildred Worthington said.
Carter made no reply. He turned, his eyes scanned the crowded room behind him. “Where’s Beth?”
“Miss Ashton, I fear, must have taken unexpectedly ill. She looked pale and slightly unsteady on her feet when she left suddenly without offering any explanation.” Mildred replied.
“Miss Ashton’s probably heard you before. As soon as you started to speak, the young woman exploded out of the room like a shooting star,” Darrin Richardson said.
Carter turned on his heels and headed for the nearest exit. He drove like a man on a mission, weaving his way in and out of traffic. Passing each vehicle in sight, he ignored frustrated motorists who blew their horns and flashed their lights in angry protest.
With tires squealing over the smooth pavement, Carter drove through the gate. He sped up the driveway and stood on the brake when he reached the front door.
A young maid opened the door in answer to Carter’s persistent ringing. He darted across the entranceway, leaving the openmouthed servant standing in the hall. Climbing stairs two at a time, with his hand on the doorknob, Carter paused outside the bedroom. Even through the heavy door, he could hear sounds of objects being tossed about inside the room.
Carter took a deep breath and opened the door.
Beth marched past him as he entered the room. Shoulders back, head up, she returned from the closet, her arms loaded with garments snatched from hangers. She heaved the wad of clothing in the general direction of the large leather suitcase lying open on the floor. Most of the clothing landed in a heap outside the baggage. Beth turned and marched back to the closet.
The sight of Beth dressed in her chic, new gown, her countenance a study of indignation, filled Carter with a surge of regret. What had he done? “Beth, why did you leave the conference center without me?”
Beth wheeled around, moved toward him, and met his gaze head-on. He could see the ice chards glittering in her eyes.
“How could you! How could you deceive me like this?”
“I thought you’d find this amusing. I never dreamed you would be angry.”
&n
bsp; “No woman in her right mind would be amused! Only a man with your twisted sense of humor could laugh at a woman who spilled her heart out to you.” She spit the words like a foul taste in her mouth,
He saw the horror-stricken look in her eyes. Carter pleaded, “Beth, please, I never intended to hurt you. I thought you would be overjoyed when you discovered the truth.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I never intended to deceive you.”
“I thought you were a professor.”
“I never told you I was a professor. That was your label.”
“On the plane, when I shared my hopes, my plans, my longings... why didn’t you tell me then who you were?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“All those hours, I poured out my heart. You never told me who you were or what you do —”
“You never asked me.”
“You could have said.”
“You talked. I listened. You assumed.” Carter raked one hand nervously around the back of his neck.
Beth glared at him, disappointment darkening her eyes. She looked as though her legs could no longer hold her up. She moved toward the bed, sat down on the edge, and in a hoarse whisper accused, “All this time, you’ve been laughing at me. I have been nothing to you but a constant source of entertainment.”
Carter moved across the room, knelt at her feet, and took her hands in his, her fingers small and supple. “Beth.”
Beth stared at him through a blur of angry tears that quickly pooled and made a trail down her pale cheeks.
“I planned to tell you. Mary Ann sent a detailed letter explaining who you were, which flight you were traveling on, your seat number, etcetera and so I decided to book my passage with the same airline. When I searched online, I was pleased to discover a seat beside you was still available.”
Carter watched the realization of his words begin to take root. Her tears ceased and her eyes grew wide in disbelief. Encouraged, he continued. “When I purchased my ticket on-line, checked available seating on the connecting flight out of Atlanta, and discovered the seat next to yours available, I figured if I sat next to you, we could discuss your manuscript.”
Beth leapt to her feet with a swiftness that sent Carter nearly sprawling on the floor. Giving him a stricken look that caused a jolt to his senses, she cried, “You knew! Even then, you knew who I was! You were already aware of my reason for flying to California even before I boarded the plane! Yet you said nothing! You allowed me to make a complete fool of myself!”
As he moved toward her, Beth backed away, horror and humiliation glittering in her eyes.
For the first time since entering the room, Carter experienced a moment of panic. He talked fast, trying to justify. “I took the seat with the intention of reading your manuscript during the flight, but I confess that your nervous chatter amused me. I found the irony of the situation so entertaining that by the time you drew a breath, we were two hours into the flight, and I decided to wait. When your saga unfolded at the conference center, I felt sorry for you! I found myself somehow pulled into your scheme before I realized what I was doing.
“I knew I could confess my true identity at any time. However, everything became more complicated after that first morning kiss.” When he mentioned the kiss, he saw emotion flicker like pain across her face. “I found myself searching for excuses to prolong our parting. I finally admitted to myself that I did not want to leave you.”
Beth’s eyes gave off warning signals no man with intelligence could miss. She spoke in a tone that could melt iron. “And now, I suppose you’ll tell me you have fallen in love with me.”
“I do love you. This may sound incredible to you, but I cannot imagine life without you.”
Beth’s eyes pinned him to the spot. He could see the pulse throbbing in her throat as she sneered, “You don’t even know me.”
Turning on her heels, Beth snatched the pile of clothing from the floor, stuffed the wad inside the suitcase like sausage in a tin can, and then slammed the lid shut.
Carter moved swiftly across the room, clasped her shoulders, and turning her around, he pulled her close. He could smell her perfume, soft and sweet.
“Beth, I love you. What can I say that will convince you?” In a voice gently persuasive, he said, “Please don’t go. Not like this.”
Beth shoved Carter backward with a strength that surprised him. “I’m not going anywhere!” she cried, choking on a sob. She pointed to the bag. “Didn’t you notice? This is your luggage!”
Desperation knotted his muscles. Steadying the tremor in his voice, Carter attempted a different approach. “I read your manuscript. Don’t you want to know what I think?”
A fresh shadow of pain flitted across Beth’s face. In a tone of icy contempt, she replied, “The only thing I want from you is your absence.”
Chapter Sixteen
On the first Wednesday in October, Beth sat back in her office in Laurel, Georgia, and gazed through the window. She sighed as the mountain mist slowly lifted from the distant hills, dissolving in the early morning sunshine. Her mind drifted down Main Street and its quaint old buildings, colorful awnings, and gingerbread trim. Across the scenic landscape, she could see autumn trees, glowing bronze and golden against the pale blue sky. The peaceful scene did little to relieve the tender ache embedded in her heart.
The front door opened. The old clapper bell jangled against the glass-fronted panel. Familiar footsteps moved across the aged wooden floor. Beth glanced over her shoulder.
Amy Chambers appeared in the doorway, her short, dark hair tousled and her plump cheeks dimpled into a welcoming smile. “Bill received a phone call from the sheriff’s office right before we left the house. It would appear that some hiker discovered a skeleton up on Piney Ridge this morning. It’s probably just the remains of another bear or mountain lion. Bill’s gone to check it out.”
“Does Bill want me to drive up there?”
“Nah.” Amy smiled. “He knows how busy you are.”
Beth swiveled away from the window. For weeks she’d been trudging through her work. Determined to make up for her lackadaisical attitude, she scooped papers from her desk and stuffed them inside a thick, manila file folder. “I’ll have these ads ready by tomorrow. I plan to call David Bracken and ask him why he omitted part of his rental company’s listing for next month’s advertisement.”
Amy waddled into Beth’s office, her sturdy frame bulging with the third trimester of a long-awaited pregnancy. She lowered herself into the chair in front of Beth’s desk. “Beth, can we talk?”
“Of course.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
Beth grimaced, knowing those words usually preceded something she didn’t want to hear.
Amy continued, “I don’t want to pry, but ever since you returned from California, you’ve not been yourself. Bill and I are concerned. All you told us about your trip was that you met Mr. Adams and things didn’t go as you hoped. But, Beth…” Amy leaned forward. “Just because Adrian Adams refused to help you is no reason to give up. If we keep trying, somehow, we’ll find a way to get your manuscript into the hands of a publisher.”
Not wanting Amy to see the tears stinging her eyes, Beth pivoted her chair back toward the window. She could feel Amy’s penetrating gaze on the back of her head. Trying to keep her voice steady, Beth asked, “Why did Mary Ann tell us Adrian Adams was an old man?”
In a tone of surprise, Amy said, “She didn’t say Mr. Adams was old. If you remember, she described him as ‘older.’ You know how it is. At seventeen, any man who holds a position of authority and needs a shave on a daily basis would seem old.”
With her emotions under control, Beth turned back to face her friend. Meeting Amy’s brown-eyed gaze head on, Beth placed her palms face down on the cool, hard surface of the desk and forced herself to speak. “Not only did Mary Ann fail to mention that Adrian Adams is not the author’s given name, she also never told us
how devastatingly attractive the man is.”
Instantly alert, Amy scooted closer, a dawning gleam of understanding shining through her eyes.
Mustering her courage, Beth shared honestly and openly with her friend for the next twenty minutes, describing as much as she could without breaking down, telling Amy about her Sacramento fiasco. When she finished, Beth felt proud that her voice had broken only twice during the detailed description of her disastrous journey.
Amy’s look of shock turned into sympathy. With concern mirrored in her eyes and a tone of indignation in her voice, she exclaimed, “Just like that! Carter left you without calling or anything? He simply boarded a jet and flew out of your life?”
“Well, no,” Beth admitted. “For nearly three weeks, Carter telephoned several times each day. I refused to answer his calls.” Beth couldn’t bring herself to admit, even to her friend, how the sound of Carter’s voice had triggered sleepless nights filled with angry tears and painful weeping.
“But why wouldn’t you respond to his calls? What if Carter really does love you? Men do stupid things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.”
“We spent five days together. Carter couldn’t possibly know me, much less love me! Besides, if he really cared, he wouldn’t have given up so easily. No, I feel certain the novelty quickly wore off. He’s probably dating some ski instructor or fashion model by now.” The image of Carter holding someone else in his arms made Beth feel sick to her stomach.
Amy sighed. “I guess you’re right. Why don’t you come to our house for dinner tonight? I have a pan of lasagna in the freezer.”
Hearing the pity in Amy’s voice caused Beth to square her shoulders and lift her chin. I’m an Ashton, she told herself. I’ll get through this. In answer to her friend’s invitation, Beth smiled, nodded, and wondered if the hurt would ever go away.