Sweet Invocation

by Arline Chase

  But Leanna wasn't like his mother. Loyalty was important to her, one of her strongest traits. After all, she'd remained married to Malcolm Boyd for nine years. If Boyd hadn't bored her to death, how could she have tired of a new husband so quickly?

  Jamie wondered for the thousandth time why she had agreed to marry him. She had asked him half as a joke and he had surprised him by saying yes, never expecting her to go through with it. But the next day Leanna had bought a marriage license. Why? It couldn't have been looks or even sexual attraction, not the shape he had been in at the time ... pity, pure and simple. Had to be. But Jamie was getting it back. He was getting it all back—his body, his music—he didn't need anybody's pity any more. Least of all his wife's.

  And what about last night? Leanna had been working up to tell him something, but had lost her nerve. Was she trying to say goodbye?

  With the exception of Oliver Featherston, two years was longer than any of his mother's husbands had lasted—and her marriages had been lengthy compared to her affairs.

  Why did he and Leanna still hide from each other? What terrible thing brought her awake in the night crying in terror and reaching out to be held and comforted? If she loved him, why wouldn't she tell him what had happened while he was away to leave her so changed? Memories of their bitter parting surfaced. Jamie swallowed the lump in his throat and put his head in his hands.

  * * * *

  Rain fell as Jamie had packed the few belongings he planned to take. Knowing he couldn't leave without telling Leanna goodbye, he carried his duffel and guitar case through the alley and went to the side door, hoping not to be seen. Leanna met him at the door, as if she had been watching for him, as if she already knew. She looked so lovely standing there—it made his mouth go dry and he could barely speak.

  "I—uh, I came to return your books, before I—I'm leaving town.” A lie. He'd just had to see her one more time.

  "Thanks.” She looked pale as she took them. “Are you really going away for good? Jamie, you only turned sixteen three weeks ago. Won't they just find you and bring you back?"

  Jamie shook his head. “I thought about that. Oliver Featherston had a copy of his son's birth certificate. I covered up his first name and typed mine in, then made a copy at the library. It says I'm twenty-two. Nobody will question it, or be looking for me by that name."

  "What will your mother say, when she finds you missing?” Leanna swayed against the porch railing, then sank down to the steps on the side porch.

  "She's off on a Carribean cruise with number five. By the time they get back the trail will be cold.” Jamie sighed. “Don't worry, she won't try very hard. She doesn't need me anymore."

  "I've missed you ... I was afraid Malcolm might—"

  "Me, too. Watch out for him, Leanna. He's dangerous. I'm worried about you."

  "I'm glad you were my friend, Jamie.” Leanna twisted her fingers together.

  "I am more than your friend and you know it! I love you, Leanna, and I always will."

  "Don't! Don't make it any worse. Please...."

  Jamie looked deep into her eyes, but read only fear and worry. Well, he hadn't expected her to believe him, but he'd had to say to her once before he left. Leanna licked her lips and he wanted then to kiss her so badly, he almost couldn't breathe.

  "Goodbye, Jamie.... “Her gray eyes were clouded, but not with passion. Her skin was pale and clammy.

  "Leanna, are you all right?"

  "It's nothing, just the heat. A stomach upset, that's all.” She swallowed, taking the books he was still holding out.

  "Good. I thought for a minute you looked a little pregnant."

  Leanna shook her head. “Don't even say such a thing! Anyway, how would you know what a pregnant woman looks like. You're only a boy!"

  "You don't think I was the only time my Mom got pregnant do you?” Jamie stared at her, then shook his head. “The only reason she kept me was because she was trying to force him to marry her."

  "Jamie, don't—"

  "Don't, what? Say the truth? I don't see why not. She said it to me often enough.” Jamie closed his eyes and wished he had never come. Leanna was so beautiful. He just couldn't make himself leave without asking, “You're not in love with Malcolm Boyd, are you?"

  Leanna looked at the ground, refused to answer.

  "I know you're not. Leave him, Leanna. I'm scared. I never saw anything like his face the other day. The man really is nuts." Jamie bit his lip, put one hand on her arm, and begged. “Please. Come on the road with me. I'll find a way to take care of you somehow."

  "Jamie, you're only a boy.” Leanna sighed and put her head in her hands. She swallowed twice before she spoke again. “You don't know what you're talking about. I can't be pregnant, I just can't."

  "Why not? You and old man Boyd are married, aren't you? You labor at love from time to time—there's no reason the union couldn't be fruitful. ‘Sweet invocation of a child...’ remember?"

  "Is that what it means?” She stared at the floor then looked up with a hint of the old sparkle in her eyes. “Shakespeare? You're the only friend I've ever had in my life and we're never going to see each other again and you're standing here quoting Shakespeare?"

  "I though his words were more delicate, but the question's still the same—are you pregnant, Leanna?"

  She stared at the toes of her sneakers and said nothing, but her cheeks grew pinker and Jamie had known she was angry that he pushed for an answer.

  "It's okay. Forget I said it.” He held up one hand before she could answer. “I know, it's none of my business. But I love you Leanna, so worrying about you is my business. I wish I knew where I'd be so—I'll write you as soon as I have a permanent address. I promise."

  Leanna shook her head. “He'd find out. Harvey Atherton's the postmaster. They play poker together."

  A van with faded blue paint pulled into the alley. Jamie glanced at it, and got slowly to his feet. Leanna rose too, a grave expression on her face. He took her hand, looked into her eyes and felt as if his heart would burst. “Come with me, Leanna. I'll find a way, no matter what. I promise...."

  "Jamie, don't—” Leanna's gray eyes stared into his own. There were tears in her lashes. She reached up and brushed his hair back. “I'll miss you, too. You know I will."

  Jamie felt his own tears, warm on his face. He bent down and brushed his lips softly against hers. Turning quickly, Jamie picked up his things, walked to the van and got in without looking back. He hadn't dared turn around, afraid he wouldn't be able to force himself to go. Jamie sighed, remembering that he had cried most of the way to Mobile.

  * * * *

  Jamie opened the piano and played the Sweet Invocation theme, contemplating the bitter memory of the day he left Port LeClare for good. Six years later, he and Leanna had met again. When they did, her eyes were no longer clear—or innocent. The pain he read in them made him catch his breath. Then he had asked after the child he'd been sure she carried, and she'd shocked him to the core when she answered that she had chosen not to have it.

  * * * *

  Leanna's lunch with Farley Ralston went pretty much as she had expected. They talked of the hardware store, profits and loss records, and he advised her once again to sell out to a large chain. Small independent merchants just couldn't compete with the chains who bought merchandise in bulk, supplying a thousand stores at once. Leanna said she'd think it over and went back to the hospital.

  Because it was nearer, she walked in thorough Physical Therapy. A long corridor led from PT to the banks of elevators and she paused a moment on the spot where she'd first seen Jamie again after six long years. That moment was etched forever in Leanna's memory.

  * * * *

  The moment she saw him, she felt sure it was Jamie, yet not sure at all. He looked so different in a plaid shirt and clean new jeans, leaning heavily on a pair of metal elbow crutches. Pale, a little puffy, clearly ill, with hair that had been cropped short sometime earlier, and was growing in thick, stic
king out every which way. A livid scar ran across one temple, the puckered skin lifted one eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look.

  He turned away, limping toward the elevator and for a moment she wasn't sure. Then she caught him up and saw the golden lights in his eyes, burning brightly in spite of the pain.

  "Jamie!"

  "Leanna.... “He stared at her a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. “I didn't expect to run into you quite so soon.” His speech was slowed, blurred as if from medication, but his eyes looked clear. “What are you doing in the hospital?"

  "I work here."

  "Work?” The light above the elevator clicked on and the doors swished open. He took a deep breath and moved painfully inside. “How've you been?"

  "Fine.” Leanna followed him into the empty car. “What happened—? I—I mean what floor?"

  "Coffee shop.” He grinned then, looking almost like the Jamie of old. “It's okay to notice and the damage is only temporary, I promise. How's Mr. Boyd?"

  "Malcolm—died.” Leanna's voice sounded dead too, flat with the effort of concealing the shock of seeing Jamie in such frightening condition.

  "Sorry.” The elevator doors opened again and Jamie moved painfully into the hall. “How long—I mean when...?"

  "Years now.” Leanna followed him. “Can you manage? Do you need a wheelchair? I can call—"

  "I need a cup of coffee.” He smiled then, despite the weariness apparent in his face. “Join me?"

  Leanna followed him into the coffee shop, noticing the white knuckles of his hands clutching the crutches, the small, almost-concealed groan as he lowered himself into the chair, the gladness in his eyes, that still shown with remembered affection.

  "Jamie, what happened to you?"

  "Me and a 747 had a slight collision with the ground. Skip the boring details,” Jamie had said with his same air of detached amusement with which he had once used to recount his mother's neglect. “Don't scowl. With work, I'll be good as new in a few months’ time."

  * * * *

  After staring at the empty corridor for a moment, Leanna closed her eyes, remembering the long months of therapy, the hard work and determined effort Jamie had put into his recovery.

  "Mrs. Mallory?"

  Snapping her attention back to the present, Leanna saw one of the orderlies holding the elevator for her and hurried inside.

  "Five, please.” As the doors closed, she wished she'd cancelled her lunch with Farley and gone home to Jamie instead. She could have told him about the baby, then taken the afternoon off to celebrate. If, that is, he was in a celebrating mood.

  * * * *

  Across town, Jamie in sweat suit and joggers was beginning his five-mile daily run. He'd worked hard and long getting his body back in shape after the crash that had destroyed his life and nearly killed him. Now that he was back in shape, he meant to keep himself fit. The leg and hip that had been broken in three places hardly bothered him at all. The scar on his temple had faded and the other, deeper scars on his head were covered by hair. Muscles under the scar on his side pulled as he stretched to warm up, but the pain offered little more than a friendly reminder.

  Jamie trotted down Pleasant Street, followed the usual route across to Battery Park, then along the waterfront. His body moved in rhythm, his breath came effortlessly, his heart rate increased as his speed increased. But Jamie's mind was not on the spacious houses of Victorian Row or the spreading oaks in the park. He stared unseeing at the boats in the marina, his mind fixed instead on the past, on the years spent away from Port LeClare.

  * * * *

  The band he'd left with had toured across Alabama and Georgia before they went broke. The other boys called their parents and asked for money to come home. Jamie picked cotton, then followed the citrus crops south to Florida. In the keys he'd played steel drum in a Calypso band and made the hop to Jamaica, where he'd produced the phoney birth certificate and convinced the British authorities to issue him a passport to replace the one he had “lost.".

  From there on he'd played in piano bars and sung for his supper on cruise ships around the islands. Eventually, he had signed on for a passage to England. There, on an impulse, he began a search for Oliver Featherston's real family. Even then, Jamie had realized the quest was probably out of some need to belong to someone or something. He found a number listed for Luke Featherston, the name on the birth certificate he'd been using. He wrote down the address and took a cab, assuring himself it couldn't be that easy. But it was.

  Oliver's ex-wife, Sofia, the woman whose name was listed as his mother on the false birth certificate had opened the door, listened to his stammered explanation and let him in. She had remarried someone who did something top-secret in the government. She seemed delighted to meet Jamie, asked after Oliver, and had even shed a few tears when she learned of his death.

  At Sophia's house he met the real Luke Featherston, Oliver's twenty-three-year-old son, who had been full of questions about the father he could barely remember.

  Luke. Jamie blinked back tears and made the turn along the waterfront, running steadily. The closest thing to a brother he ever had. Amazing how alike they were. Luke played guitar for a band called the Tigers that was “going through some changes.” When he found out Jamie played keyboards, he'd insisted his “brother” join the group. Neither Luke, nor his mother, had ever seemed upset about his using their name. Sophia's husband had made him a gift of a new passport, still in the name Featherston. They all made him a welcome part of their family. In fact, before long, he almost forgot he hadn't been born James Featherston, lead singer for the hot British rock band, Eye of the Tiger.

  Eye of the Tiger. They'd done all right. Made the cover of Rolling Stone. Seventeen hit singles. Five albums, and five international tours. Not bad for a bunch of kids barely out of their teens. They had done something, built something, been something. Money turned up in embarrassing amounts, thanks to Tony Grant's good management. On the advice of Sofia's lawyer, Jamie trademarked his name, created an off-shore corporation, paid his taxes and banked the remainder of his earnings in a numbered Swiss account in case he ever wanted to resume his real identity. Until the crash, he hadn't thought that much of a possibility.

  Then Luke had planned a skiing vacation in Gstaad. After twelve weeks on the road in France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal, it seemed like a good idea. Everyone in the band went along—everyone except Tony, their road manager, who'd flown home because his Mum was in hospital. They spent a great ten days skiing, then took off for London, and had wound up splattered across a snow-covered wheatfield in Normandy.

  When Jamie regained consciousness, he learned that Luke and everyone else in the band, had been killed in the crash. French doctors had shaved his head to deal with the skull fracture and had removed the rib fragments from his lungs. Then Sofia arrived and took him back to London for the orthopedic stuff. He remembered she came to the hospital every day, as if in being with Jamie, she could somehow get nearer to Luke. Her way of dealing with grief.

  Jamie had to find his own way. Luke was gone. The music was gone. Even his own body was gone. The head injury had left him with temporarily slurred speech and the broken hip and leg made mobility difficult. Doctors estimated it would take a year of excruciatingly hard work to get his body back, and made no guarantees of success. In fact it had taken longer.

  Jamie made the last turn into Elm Street, heading back for the house. Five miles a day. Not bad considering that they'd once expected he might be on crutches for the rest of his life. Not bad at all, when he thought of the shape he'd been in when he'd first seen Leanna again.

  When doctors finally released him from the hospital, it was Sofia who suggested coming back to Port LeClare. Day after day as she sat beside him, Jamie had clasped her hand with his one good one and called Leanna's name. Half out of his mind with pain and shock, he begged her to see him to talk to him, he told her how much he needed her, how much he loved her. In and out of a coma, he dreamed of L
eanna, of Malcolm Boyd, even of the child he'd been sure she was carrying when he left. Sofia heard everything, and guessed the rest.

  "Go back to her, Jamie. See her, talk to her, live near her. That's better than nothing.” When Jamie didn't answer, Sophia had given him that cool stare that was so like Luke's and asked, “What have you got left to lose?"

  So James Featherston had booked a flight to the states, but it was Jamie Mallory who signed the registry at the River Inn and took a taxi every day to the Port LeClare hospital for physical therapy. Every day he'd asked the driver to go up Pleasant Street and drive past Leanna's house. The paint was peeling on the shutters and the yard looked almost as neglected as it had the first time he'd seen it. There was never any sign of Malcolm, or of Leanna. No clothes on the line, no bicycle leaning against the garage, no toys in the yard.

  Then he had stepped out of the therapy room and there she stood. God, she'd looked good. Older, of course. More mature. Even more beautiful, if that were possible. They'd talked, Jamie hardly aware of what was being said, so deep was the emotion that gripped him after she told him Malcolm Boyd was dead.

  Jamie had closed his eyes and swallowed bitterness. Leanna was free, she'd been living alone for years—while he'd been halfway around the world, playing music and trying to forget she ever existed.

  * * * *

  Then, when he asked the famous question about the child, the same Leanna, who'd been infinitely shocked at the idea of abortion the day he left, had calmly said she'd decided not to have the baby. Sitting across from her, Jamie felt as though someone had sent the universe spinning out of control. Only then, did he realize the extent of the changes in Leanna. He'd felt his eyes widen and said, “I—see.” Though, of course, he hadn't.

  When he finally brought his concentration back under control, Leanna was saying something about how sorry she was that he couldn't locate his mother. Lilah had left town and nobody in Port LeClare had heard from her in years.