A Season of Miracles

by Heather Graham

  “Yeah, we’ll have a good makeup artist, someone to hide shadows under her eyes, the evidence of a hangover, whatever.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Jillian murmured. “Where’s Douglas?”

  “Don’t know,” Griff said. “Do you, Eileen?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Conversation stalled at that point, though they weren’t leaving, that much was clear. So Jillian decided she might as well go; she could find out what they were up to later.

  As she walked down the hallway, she passed the executive kitchen and decided to slip in for coffee. She poured herself a cup, then smiled when Jeeves Junior walked in, stretched and leapt up on the table as if he owned the place. “Hey, fellow. I’m so sorry about your predecessor, but it’s good to have you here.” She gave him a stroke and set him down.

  Gracie came in just then, humming. She saw the cat, stopped dead and let out a scream, clutching her throat.

  “Gracie! It’s the new guy,” Jillian said soothingly.

  Gracie stared at her as if just realizing Jillian was there. “Oh, oh, of course, Ms. Llewellyn.”

  “Jillian, Gracie.”

  “Jillian, yes. I forgot. He just gave me such a turn.”

  “You gave me a turn. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost.”

  “Well, I was fond of Jeeves.”

  “Me, too. I guess we’ll have to get just as fond of this guy.”

  “I’m sure I will, in time.”

  “Well, I’d better get back to work.”

  “Oh, me, too. There’s so much to do before we go to Florida. Imagine, getting to go to Florida on business in the middle of all this snow.”

  “Oh, you’re coming?” Jillian said, then wished she hadn’t.

  Gracie’s face fell instantly. “It’s all right with you, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it’s all right with me. I’m glad you’re coming.”

  “Is Connie coming?”

  “You know, I haven’t even talked to her about it. I’ve been so busy.”

  That was a lie. She had been working, of course, but she’d also been sketching, something she hadn’t done in a long time. She’d barely noticed Connie, working away in her cubicle. They’d talked, of course. But…well, she had to admit it; she felt uncomfortable after her suspicions over the weekend.

  “Connie and Joe have the kids, you know,” she said. “We’ll see.”

  She headed for her own office but stopped instead at Connie’s cubicle. She knocked and poked her head in. Connie had been busy at her computer, but she quickly looked up. Her pretty round cheeks looked pinched. Her face seemed strained.

  “You okay?” Jillian asked.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “You don’t look okay.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I wanted to check with you about this weekend. Are you coming to Florida?”

  “You don’t really need me, do you? Of course, Joe is going. He’s the man, and men work, right?”

  “Connie, is something wrong between you and Joe?” Jillian asked.

  She thought that Connie waited just a minute too long to reply.

  “No, no, of course not. Joe and I are just like Mickey and Minnie Mouse—together forever, with our two adorable little baby mice. We have a terrific life. What could be wrong?”

  “Connie, you’re talking to me. Your best friend.”

  “And my boss.”

  “Connie!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little pressured here. I want to go, but I feel like I’ve been ignoring my kids. That’s why we left Connecticut early.”

  Jillian hesitated just a minute, then asked, “Connie, were you in Daniel’s room last weekend?”

  “What?” Connie gasped, staring at her.

  Was there a flash of guilt in her eyes? Jillian wondered.

  “Were you with Daniel—having some kind of argument with him—in Connecticut?”

  Connie shook her head vehemently. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I just…I thought I heard your voice.”

  Connie shook her head again, staring at the computer. “No, although…” She looked up, offering Jillian a smile. “It looks like you and Robert Marston might be dynasty material, after all.”

  Jillian exhaled. “I do…like him. Very much.”

  Connie laughed. “Hey, it’s me, remember? Your best friend. You’re doing a lot more than ‘liking’ him.”

  Jillian shrugged. “Connie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Mr. Marston? Sure. He’s gorgeous. Good voice—really sexy. And great buns, looks good in clothes—and out of them, I imagine,” she teased. Then she sobered. “So what’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, you can tell me.”

  “No, I can’t because I don’t know. Every once in a while, I’m just a little…afraid.”

  “Everyone is afraid. Falling in love is the scariest thing you’ll ever do.”

  “I don’t mean it that way. I don’t know, it…oh, never mind.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Listen, Connie, no pressure intended. I’d love to have you in Florida, if you can come. I like having you helping me rather than some stranger. But if it causes a problem with the kids, stay home.”

  “Thanks. I’m just not sure yet.”

  “When you are, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jillian nodded and left. Glancing at her watch, she decided to head back to Douglas’s office. But as she walked down the hall, she saw Daniel striding her way, his expression grim. He was obviously very angry.

  He didn’t look any happier when he saw her.

  “Hey, is there anything I can do?” she asked quietly.

  He stopped, staring at her. “What?”

  “You look upset about something. Can I do anything?”

  “No, no, you can’t.” He gazed back toward Douglas’s office, then stared at her. “Actually, you know what? You can quit being so damn perfect, that’s what you can do.”

  “What?”

  He exhaled sharply. “Sorry. Never mind. It isn’t your fault. It has nothing to do with you. He just…I won’t stay if someone else is going to run my life, that’s all. Some things are personal, and I don’t give a damn what he’s done for us. Look, never mind. I’m just in a rotten mood. I’ll get over it.”

  He walked past her then, striding down the hall to his own office.

  The door slammed. Jillian winced, then headed back toward Douglas’s office, where Amelia told her he was in a private meeting with his attorneys and had specifically asked not to be disturbed.

  “Just tell him for me, please, that I’m going out to dinner, and not to wait for me.”

  “Sure, Jillian. I’m glad you told me. He worries about you, you know.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t.”

  Amelia just smiled. “No chance of that, dear.”

  At last Jillian returned to her own office. And for the remaining hour and a half of the day, she settled down to work.

  * * *

  That night, Robert took Jillian to one of his favorite Italian restaurants in the theater district. She seemed happy and at ease, excited about Florida.

  “It’s getting better here this weekend, can you imagine? After all this snow, it’s supposed to go up into the fifties. But Florida is in the eighties. I can’t wait.”

  Her smile was beautiful, her enthusiasm real. “So you like it hot?”

  “Well, I like it cold, too,” she responded, grinning. “I love the snow, a fire in a hearth. And Christmas. But, yes, I do love the heat. Swimming pools, a Jacuzzi late at night.” She sipped her wine, eyes bright as she looked at him. “Do you like warm weather?”

  He nodded. “Fishing, boating, snorkeling, swimming, whatever.”

  “It will be fun. Different.”

  “Nice to get away somewhere other than Connecticut,” he said, watching her closely.


  Her smile slipped a little. “I love the house in Connecticut.”

  Then she turned the conversation in another direction, and he let her, feeling there was nothing to be learned from her reaction, anyway, other than that, whether she would admit it or not, the weekend’s events had made her uneasy.

  When they left the restaurant, he asked her to go home with him.

  She hesitated.

  “Look, I’m not trying to push you—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I want to come.”

  “Then…”

  “I don’t have any clothes or makeup or anything that I need at your place.”

  He grinned, feeling vastly relieved. “You can’t need that much makeup, but we could drive by your house—”

  “Then I’d feel too…obvious going back out.”

  “There’s always a shop open somewhere in New York City.”

  “You have a point there.”

  So they shopped. They prowled a few clothing stores, then stopped by a deli, picking out fruit together for the morning, plus croissants and bagels. Finally they made their way to his place, where he lit the fire, and they sipped wine and talked and made love.

  He was sleeping deeply later when she woke up screaming. Bloodcurdling shrieks sent him bolting from the bed, blinking furiously, looking around, then grasping her shoulders and shaking her. She was still asleep, he thought. She was dreaming. There was nothing—no one—in his bedroom. In a minute, she would wake everyone in the building. She would wake the damn dead.

  “Jillian. Jillian!”

  She stared at him, shivering fiercely. He could see the terror in her eyes.

  “It’s burning. The fire is burning. We’ve got to get out.”

  “Jillian, there is no fire.”

  “Out. We’ve got to get out. We’ve got to!”

  “No.” He shook her slightly, trying to wake her. He was breathing raggedly himself, and his heart was thumping. He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back. “Jillian, please, listen to me. There is no fire.”

  She stared at him. Swallowed. Looked around the room.

  Her head fell, and she stared down at the sheets, smoothing them with her fingers. “I—I—God, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s all right. You were dreaming. Of course, in a few minutes someone would have broken down my door and hauled me away for attempted murder—but hey, it’s all right.”

  “Robert…”

  “Jillian, I’m joking. It’s okay, honestly. You were dreaming. You had a nightmare about a fire, and you woke up screaming.” He put his arms around her, holding her close, then whispered against her ear, “Jillian, it’s all right. It’s over.”

  They lay down together. He loved the way she curled against him, one hand on his chest, knuckles resting against his skin. Hair like a soft web around him. One long leg lightly cast over his. He loved the feel of her, flesh against flesh. He smoothed her hair, still soothing her.

  “Everyone dreams,” he said softly. “Hell, I told you. I kept dreaming about Milo’s ghost up in Connecticut.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t a real ghost?”

  “Because—”

  “Of course. You don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Dreams come from the subconscious, Jillian. We talked a lot about Milo, so he appeared.”

  “So you get to have discussions with Milo, and I get to dream about fire.”

  “Did you ever burn yourself as a child?” he asked.

  “No, Sigmund, I didn’t,” she replied, laughing.

  He smiled, his arm tightening around her. “See?” he asked softly. “You’re feeling better already.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve had the dream before.”

  “Before? Recently?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what happens in the dream?”

  “Nothing. Just fire. I can smell it. Then I can feel it. It’s very real, and then I start to scream.”

  “But it isn’t real,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You’re safe,” he told her with soft vehemence. “You’re with me.”

  She didn’t answer.

  After a while, he heard her even breathing and decided she was sleeping.

  In time, he slept himself.

  * * *

  Maybe there were such things as miracles. Little miracles, anyway, Robert thought, feeling the sun beat down on the bare skin of his chest, wet sand between his toes, and a pleasant breeze stirring the air around him.

  Miami was having the perfect winter. Temperatures had softened from deadening heat to a majestic warmth. Skies were clear. Gloriously blue. In fact, it was almost impossible to tell where sea and sky met, the colors of each were so rich, so clear, so beautiful. The days here were simply magnificent. And at the moment, he had nothing to do but enjoy himself. No camera angles to check on, no marketing decisions to be made. He was leaving everything entirely to the others, while he enjoyed the small miracle of Miami and his new job as a male model.

  In Connecticut, he had gotten to be the dark-haired guy in the tux.

  Now he was getting to be the dark-haired guy in the bathing trunks.

  They’d found the perfect location. A white sand beach, palm trees, glorious scenery. This early in the morning, the stretch of sand surrounding them was nearly deserted. It was too early for tourist season to have really gotten going—most snowbirds flocked south just before Christmas, or just after it. So they had paradise all to themselves.

  Jillian looked spectacular. Despite the scantiness of her bathing attire, the romantic mood that Brad had so perfectly evoked in his drawings remained. The director they’d hired for the video was very funny, contorting himself every which way to show them how to be sexy and romantic. His antics amused Jillian, and the light in her eyes and the subtle smile that curved her lips each time Robert walked toward her on camera was better than anything any model could have achieved.

  He knew, of course, that deep down, she was laughing at him, at herself, at the sheer amusement that, after everything, they were being taught how to be romantic, sensual, totally involved with one another.

  It had been a great trip so far. The plane had taken off on time—another small miracle. They had landed, gone to the hotel, then headed out by ten-thirty, which was, by Miami standards, just when things were beginning to heat up. They went to several of the dance clubs, where salsa and the tango were hot. He wasn’t much of a dancer himself, but the Llewellyns had all taken lessons while they were growing up, so they were very good. He stood back, watching while Griff and Jillian tore up the floor and all but brought down the house. Later both Jillian and Eileen tried to teach him steps, though to very little avail. Griff was popular, teaching Gracie what he could and making Connie look good when he took her out on the floor, though Connie told Robert she had never been able to dance the way Jillian could.

  “I can out-swim her, though,” Connie had told him with a grin. “I’ll show you—I think we get some beach time tomorrow.”

  They did. Daniel had scheduled the filming and photo shoots through two. After that, they were free. They had planned on steaks that night at a steak house right on South Beach, and after that, they were going to go dancing again, then sit at an outdoor café and people watch—something Eileen was dying to do.

  They had finished with the stills about two hours ago, and even with the camera setups, the angles, and all the chefs back in the kitchen, they had nearly wrapped up the video. Jillian and he had gotten things down to a rhythm by now. At the moment, she was leaning against a coconut palm, a fan lightly lifting her hair in imitation of an island breeze. She was wearing a crimson print bikini with a flowing serape skirt that caught the breeze and made her look more beautiful than ever. He walked up to her with the locket and she said the line; then they did it again and it was his turn to speak.

  The director called for background, places, and then started the cou
ntdown. “Five, four, three—” with the “two” and the “one” being silent.

  Robert started walking toward Jillian, just as he had done several times already.

  “Watch out!” someone suddenly shouted.

  “What the hell?” the cameraman protested.

  Robert heard a strange cracking sound. Then he saw that a huge palm branch with a cluster of coconuts was coming down—straight for Jillian. He bounded into action.

  Jillian heard the sound, but didn’t see the danger. She was looking around, tense, ready to run, but uncertain of which way. The others were shouting, starting to surge forward en masse, but they would never make it; he was the only one with a chance, and a slim chance at that.

  Seconds…split seconds. He flew toward Jillian, yet it seemed as if she was thrust out of the way even before he reached her and could throw himself against her to push her out of the way.

  The branch fell with a whoosh, then hit the sand like thunder.

  Sand spewed over the two of them. After a second he lifted his head and looked at Jillian. She was staring up at him with wide eyes, unable to speak for shock.

  The others massed around them, everyone talking, hands reaching out to them. Daniel brushed past them, his eyes on Jillian, reaching for her hands to help her up. “Jillian, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks to Robert.”

  Daniel blinked and looked at Robert, who was just getting to his feet. He gripped his hand, shook it. “Thank you, man. Here we are again…in your debt.”

  “No one is in my debt,” Robert said tersely, breaking through the throng. He went stalking over to the downed branch, hunkered low and reached for it, fingering the break.

  “Robert?” Jillian was at his side, shaking his shoulder. “Robert, what is the matter with you? It’s a broken branch. No one did anything,” she added in an urgent whisper. “The wind, maybe. Gravity.”

  He swore beneath his breath. It looked like a natural break. The branch didn’t look cut. It had fallen from fairly high up. Someone would have to have known exactly where they were going to film, where Jillian was going to stand, to have tampered with the tree. And even then, reaching the branch would have been one hell of a feat.

  Of course, lots of people had known where they would be filming. It hadn’t been a secret. They had permits, they had booked crews, they even had off-duty police to cordon off the area.