The Other Side

by J. D. Robb

  “I was seeing if it’s any good for reading in bed.”

  “And?”

  “Well, you’d have to shorten the cylinder, which would also make it lighter. But it struck me that the really important application will be for miners.”

  “Miners! Of course, instead of candles. How brilliant you are. Have I mentioned that lately?”

  “Yes, but it bears repeating.”

  “And how clever I was for marrying a genius?”

  “I’m the one who married a genius. You’re the best managing editor the Paulton Republic’s ever had, and circulation’s up to prove it. And that’s just one of your innumerable sterling qualities.”

  “Innumerable Sterling Qualities—good title for my biography.” He got up to get ready for bed.

  “Your autobiography.”

  She tried to read a few more paragraphs from an essay on Mark Twain in The Bay State Reader, Walker Hersh’s new journal. It was an interesting piece, but how much more interesting to watch her husband undress. He had such handsome shoulders. And what a nice, straight back. And, my, those long, strong legs, clad now only in drawers. All hers.

  “What’s this?” he said, leaning closer to the mirror over the bureau to read the writing on it—pretending he was just seeing it. His little joke. He also liked to pretend she wrote the messages on the mirror. Tonight’s said:Combination Rocking Chair/Butter Churn?

  They alternated, the messages, between suggestions for inventions and love notes. She liked both, but the love notes were her favorite. Yesterday’s had said, “Reader, I married him.” Of course she’d recognized the line from Jane Eyre, her grandmother’s favorite book. It wasn’t Henry’s, though, so how had he known of it? Oh, her husband was a man of many parts.

  “Darling,” he said, turning from the mirror, his eyes shining with tenderness. “What a beautiful sentiment. Elizabeth Barrett Browning?”

  She blinked at him stupidly. “The rocking chair/butter churn?”

  “The what?” He blinked stupidly back. Who knew how long that might’ve gone on, but just then Astra bounded into the room, followed by Eveready, the new puppy—named after the company that had bought Angie’s portable electric hand torch. “Flashlight,” they were calling it, and she had to admit that had a nice ring. (“Willow Light,” she’d wanted to call it, in honor of the house it had helped to buy, but Eveready hadn’t seen the marketing potential in that.)

  “Was my dog door a good idea?” she wondered out loud, far from the first time, while dodging sloppy kisses from both animals. They couldn’t seem to absorb the lesson that the bed was not a legitimate part of their territory.

  Henry tossed them both onto the floor (but so gently, no wonder they weren’t getting it) and climbed in beside her. “Sure it was, especially after the patent comes through. How are you liking the Reader?”

  “It’s grand. Norah says they’ve already passed the first subscription quota. And Walker’s so happy now—she says he’s a different man.”

  “It’s a fine journal. He should be happy. He’s thinking of selling it, you know.”

  “The Reader? Walker wants—”

  “No, the Republic.”

  “Oh.” This was news. “But that’s wonderful! Henry—we could buy it!”

  “Hang on there, moneybags.”

  “Think of it: you’d have your very own newspaper!”

  “It would be . . . ”

  “A dream come true!”

  “Ye-es, but—”

  “No buts. Let’s buy it!”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, laughing, rolling over on top of her, sliding his hands under her shoulders and nuzzling her neck. “You scare me.”

  “I do?”

  “No, not you. Our life.”

  She pulled away to see his face. “I love our life.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Then—”

  “But we have everything. Willow House, your work, my work—”

  “Don’t forget each other.”

  “The best part. But you see what I mean? We already have everything, so how could we want more? It almost seems greedy. Like tempting fate.”

  “Since when do you believe in fate? You sound like Mrs. Grimmett. That reminds me. I got a note from her today, asking if I’d like to join the garden club.”

  They made amazed faces. “The power of the nouveau riche,” Henry said.

  “More likely the power of your irresistible charm attack. She couldn’t take it anymore; she folded like a . . . ”

  “Like a gutless poker player.”

  “Like an accordion.”

  “Like a well-read love letter.” Henry was so much better at words than she was. “Thank you, darling,” he said, “but I think it was the ad rates I gave her husband’s bank. So? Are you going to join the garden club?”

  “Should I? What if we become pillars of the community?” She gave a mock shudder.

  “What if we do?”

  “Wouldn’t it be funny? The ex-ghost detective and Wild Johnny Darlington’s girl, leading the way in Paulton high society.”

  “Now that’s supernatural. What was I saying? Before Mrs. Grimmett—”

  “Something about tempting fate.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s just that my cup runneth over already—”

  “Oh, all right, we won’t buy the Republic. Yet. But isn’t it nice to know that we could if we wanted to?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Vanderbilt.”

  “Not as nice as this, though.” She squirmed under him, wanting to feel all of Henry on all of her. “This is very high up on our list of blessings.”

  “Possibly the top.” He undid the buttons on her nightgown so he could kiss her between her breasts.

  “I do love you, Henry,” she said, while she could still think. (She’d tried calling him Harry, but it didn’t stick. Except at certain special times.) “I wish I could tell you how much. Oh, I wish I knew the words.”

  He had the hem of her gown up around her thighs. “You did tell me,” he murmured between intimate kisses. “You wrote it on the mirror.”

  “No, you did, you wrote ‘rocking ch—’ ”

  “Shh.”

  “You wrote . . . mmm . . . ” She forgot what she was going to say. “Oh, Harry . . . ”

  Later, after the moon rose and the world was at its stillest, Angie pushed back the covers and padded down to the kitchen for a drink of water. She loved her house in all hours, but most of all in the thick of night, when its deep, benign silence wrapped her up like a comforter. Of course, sometimes there were noises. Creaks and cracks, nothing to be afraid of. Tonight that far-off, quicksilver sound that might be laughter played with her as she ran back up the stairs, holding up her gown in one hand, water glass in the other. It followed her back to her grandparents’ bedroom—hers and Henry’s now. It didn’t scare her; it made her smile. My house is so happy, it laughs.

  She stopped shy of the bed. Bluish moonlight slanting through the window picked out writing on the mirror. Quite a lot of writing. She knew it read, “rocking chair/butter churn?” but she went closer anyway, just to . . . to . . .

  “Oh, Henry,” she whispered, stricken with love. “Look what you did.”

  I love thee with the breath,

  Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

  I shall but love thee better after death.

  Her heart turned over. All her life she’d wanted the sort of love her grandparents had, complete, passionate, fulfilling. Eternal love. And now it was hers.

  In bed, she laid her head on Henry’s chest and carefully arranged his sleeping arm around her. Lucky, lucky me, she thought, and drifted into a dream that began with the sweet, tickled sound of laughter.

  Afterword

  Alas, Emile Berliner, not Angie’s grandfather, invented the gramophone disk.

  I don’t know who invented the self-tipping hat or the rocking chair/butter churn, but both have legitimate patents. Same with the pocket ashtray, the hat brim c
ompass, the shoe-heel bottle opener, and the collar alarm.

  Philip H. Diehl invented the first ceiling fan, and patented it in 1887.

  The fly bat was invented by Frank H. Rose, but it didn’t really take off until Dr. Samuel J. Crumbine renamed it the “flyswatter.”

  As for the flashlight, David Missell invented an early one around 1895, and sold it to the company that would later become Eveready.

  Oh, if only Angie’s grandmother had invented the Comfy! It would have predated the Snuggie by about a hundred years, and the Darlingtons would’ve been millionaires. Fortunately—this isn’t in the story, but only because I ran out of room—while nursing the twins, Angie was playing with a piece of wire and accidentally invented the paperclip. Some people think it was William Middlebrook of Waterbury, Connecticut, but no, it was Angie. That’s how the Wildes got their wealth, eclipsing that of the Grimmetts by a mile. Henry and Angie’s proudest moment came in 1917, though, when the Paulton Republic won the first Pulizer Prize for journalistic excellence. Not long after that, the town was renamed Wildeton.

  Almost Heaven

  RUTH RYAN LANGAN

  To my beautiful daughter-in-law,

  Patty Langan,

  for planting the seed that grew

  into this heavenly tale.

  And to Tom, my heaven on earth.

  Prologue

  “Attention, everyone.” Ted Crenshaw waited until the waiter signaled that every glass in the room had been filled with champagne. Copper Creek, one of the most prestigious private country clubs in northern California, was the perfect setting for this joyous celebration of the engagement of his only daughter, Christina, to handsome Mark Deering.

  Drawing his wife Vanessa to her feet to stand beside him, the silver-haired man exuded wealth and success, and on this particular evening, great happiness.

  He held aloft a fluted glass of Dom Pérignon. “To our daughter, Christina.”

  The young woman who was the object of his affection was seated at the other end of the oblong table and was positively glowing.

  “And to Mark, who will soon be joining our family.”

  Mark Deering, charming owner of a successful Internet software company, had long headed the list of California’s most eligible bachelors. No one was surprised that he had finally lost his heart to a woman like Christina Crenshaw. She was her parents’ pride and joy. A brilliant student while at Harvard, with an MBA from Wharton, she had taken over an executive position at her father’s company, one of the most solid advertising agencies on the West Coast. Under her leadership the company managed to land Lyon Entertainment, an account they’d been coveting for years. The future of Crenshaw Advertising looked even brighter with Christina leading the way.

  Ted looked down into his wife’s shining eyes before adding, “My only wish is that Mark and Christina will come to know the happiness her mother and I have enjoyed for the last thirty years.”

  While the others cheered and drank their champagne, Ted took only a sip before setting aside his glass to draw his wife close. “I don’t need champagne tonight, babe. Nothing could make me happier than seeing those two together.”

  Vanessa brushed her lips over her husband’s cheek. “I know what you mean. Look at them, Ted. They’re so perfect together, aren’t they?”

  “You bet.” He caught his wife’s hand as the piano player started the last set of the night. “Come on. I want to dance with my best girl.”

  Watching them glide and dip in perfect rhythm, cheeks touching, eyes closed, Noelle Morgan, one of Christina’s best friends since childhood, leaned across her escort. “I’m always amazed at your parents, Chris. Nobody their age should act like that.” Her tone lowered with sarcasm. “My dad isn’t even that goofy over his latest child bride.”

  “I don’t know.” Christina glanced across the room where her friend’s father was whispering in the ear of the gorgeous redhead who had recently become his fifth wife. “They look pretty cozy to me.”

  “Give them time.” Noelle’s lips turned into a pout. “My dad’s wives have a shelf life of approximately five years. Once they turn thirty, they realize they’ve outgrown him.”

  Christina was still laughing when her parents ambled over. She was on her feet at once, eager to hug them both. Ted and Vanessa drew their daughter into the circle of their arms.

  “Happy?” Ted whispered against her cheek.

  “You know I am, Dad.”

  “Then your mother and I are, too.” He clapped an arm around Mark’s shoulders, drawing him into the circle as well. “We need to get home now. Mrs. Mellon never falls asleep until she knows we’re in for the night.”

  Christina smiled at the mention of the woman who had been the Crenshaw housekeeper for the past twenty-five years. Both Mrs. Mellon and Bonnie Waverly—caregiver-tutor to her little brother, Tyler—had suites of rooms in the Crenshaw home. Blond, blue-eyed Tyler was called their bonus baby by her parents. Their late-in-life son had the face of an angel, but by the time he was three, they all realized something wasn’t quite right. Now six years old, after having been examined by some of the finest specialists in the country, the family had been told that Tyler was a puzzle. He could be a high-functioning autistic, though he didn’t fit the mold. He might also prove to be a nonverbal genius or just a very late bloomer. They were all patiently making their way through the maze that had become Tyler’s personal challenge. Christina and her parents were actively involved in every aspect of the little boy’s life. Though Tyler remained unresponsive to most of the things that went on around him, his family was convinced that they would eventually hit upon the key to help him live a normal, productive life.

  Ted had a sudden thought. “Just because the party’s starting to break up, it needn’t end. If you and Mark would like to come back to our place, we can keep the celebration going a little longer. I’m sure Mrs. Mellon and Bonnie would enjoy the chance to offer their congratulations.”

  Christina nodded. “Oh, I’d like that. Maybe we could even wake Tyler and let him join us.” She turned to Mark. “What do you say?”

  He gave a pained expression. “Sorry. I asked a few of our friends to stick around.” He turned to Christina’s parents. “I hope you don’t mind if we do it another night.”

  “Not at all.” Ted kissed his daughter and then, in a moment of pure joy, drew Mark close for a bear hug. “Just take good care of my girl.”

  “You know I will.” Mark leaned down to kiss his future mother-in-law’s cheek before taking Christina’s hand in his.

  When her parents reached the door, they turned and blew a kiss, and Christina did the same.

  As soon as they stepped outside, Mark led Christina toward the bar, where a number of their friends had gathered.

  When a round of drinks was served, Mark reached into his pocket. The waiter shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Deering. Mr. Crenshaw insisted that the entire evening was on his tab. Even the tip.”

  Mark glanced around with a grin. “Looks like my money’s no good tonight.” He lifted a glass. “Here’s to Ted and Vanessa. My soon-to-be family really knows how to throw a party.”

  The valet escorted Vanessa to the car under the shelter of an umbrella. As he held the door, he glanced across to her husband, settling himself behind the wheel. “Be careful of these rain-slick roads, Mr. C.”

  “Don’t you worry, Casey.” Ted fastened his seat belt. “I’ve been driving this route for thirty-odd years. I have a lot of respect for what rain can do to hairpin curves. We’ll see you tomorrow for Sunday brunch.”

  Ted put the car into gear and started down the curving ribbon of driveway.

  Minutes later they were cruising along the highway that boasted some of the most expensive real estate in California. Multimillion-dollar mansions clung precariously to the sides of hills, looking as though they might at any moment lose their grip and slide into the jagged canyons of rock and pine far below.

  Though she’d made this trip hundreds of time
s, Vanessa never tired of the amazing view. She sat back with a sigh of pure contentment. “That was such a grand party, Ted.”

  “Nothing but the best for our girl.” He glanced over. “I wish they could have come back with us.”

  Vanessa nodded. “I know Tyler would have loved to share in the celebration for his big sister.”

  Ted pressed his foot on the brake pedal as they started around the first curve. Instead of slowing down, the car actually seemed to be accelerating. Surprised, he pressed harder. The car careened around the curve, swerving dangerously close to the edge of the road.

  Vanessa grasped the door handle. “Darling, slow down.”

  “I’m trying to. The brakes must be damp. I’ve never had the car behave like this before.”

  Keeping both hands on the wheel, he managed to bring the car back to the proper lane, but no amount of pressure on the brake pedal could slow the forward thrust. By the time they’d rounded another curve, the car was speeding like a missile down the rain-slicked highway.

  “Ted.” Vanessa’s finger was trembling as she pointed. “Headlights.”

  “I know, babe. I know.” It took all Ted’s strength to keep his car from swerving into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

  As the headlights moved past, Ted fought to maneuver around the hairpin turn, but by now the car was traveling at such a rate of speed, it was impossible to handle. With a sickening jolt the car broke through the guardrail and plunged like a child’s toy over the embankment.

  Vanessa’s screams mingled with the sound of breaking glass and twisted metal as the car continued down the steep side of the hill until it came to an abrupt halt against a tree. The sheer force of the impact sliced the vehicle nearly in two, sending shards of glass and metal shrapnel raining everywhere.

  After the deafening sound of the crash, an eerie silence settled over the land, broken only by the steady patter of the rain.

  One

  “Ted? Oh, Ted, darling, where are you?” Despite the horrible events of the past minutes, Vanessa’s voice sounded as strong as ever.