Secrets in the Stone

by Radclyffe

  “Maybe the story isn’t finished yet.”

  “My grandfather gave my statue to my grandmother, and she gave it away. Just like she sent my mother away. Now Melinda wants it. Do you think that’s part of the story?”

  “I don’t know,” Adrian said quietly. “What do you think?”

  “The answers have always been in the stone. And maybe they still are.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Adrian stared at the paragraph that had been staring back at her from her screen for the past forty minutes. Now she knew something was wrong. Wherever she was in the world, whatever was happening in her life, no matter how chaotic or dangerous or painful, she’d always been able to work. She’d chosen her career and the life that came with it over her parents’ expectations and favor. The price she paid for turning her back on her family’s blueprint for success had been the loneliness of always being the outsider, and the knowledge that she disappointed those she loved. She had friends, but no lovers. Her work was her escape and her solace.

  When Rooke left, she’d booted up her computer, planning to spend the rest of the day outlining the new project, but within minutes her mind had drifted to the story of Rooke’s grandparents’ ill-fated love affair and the tragedy that played out in the lives of their children. If she hadn’t come from a family that put such great stock in social status and maintaining the family’s image, she would have found it impossible to believe that Ida Hancock had cast out her daughter for falling in love with a poor man. She doubted it was all about money, though. Ida’s anger probably had a lot to do with the fact that her daughter chose a Tyler, when she herself had not been willing to. And Rooke had been the ultimate victim of this twist of fate. Adrian was certain that if Ida Hancock had publicly recognized Rooke as her granddaughter, Rooke never would have been treated so poorly in school and by members of the community. Ida would not have allowed it. But Rooke was not a Hancock. She was every inch a Tyler, having inherited the talent that had been her family’s legacy for generations. Rooke’s skill, her passion, was to unleash the hidden grandeur in the stone. Adrian wondered if Ida Hancock had any idea how extraordinary her granddaughter was or how much she had missed out on by not acknowledging her. She couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for Ida’s loss, though. Ida Hancock did not deserve Rooke.

  Rooke. She wondered what Rooke would decide about Melinda. As soon as she pictured the seductive way Melinda had leaned into Rooke as they talked in the hotel, touching her constantly, her concentration went all to hell. She knew firsthand how compelling Melinda’s attentions could be, and she knew from her own career achievements the seditious allure of celebrity. Although she was far from famous, she’d won a few awards and been interviewed for several national magazines, and even appeared on a network news show once. For a very short while, she’d enjoyed the media attention. And if she was honest with herself, she’d enjoyed the interest from women who were probably more attracted to her star status, such as it’d been, than anything else. Adrian didn’t need to use any imagination to know that Rooke—amazingly talented, young, gorgeous, sexy Rooke—was going to have women falling at her feet if Melinda put the spotlight on her.

  Grumpily, Adrian pushed back from the table. She’d never thought of herself as the jealous type, but okay, maybe she was a little more possessive than she’d thought. Only she was getting way ahead of herself, and a lot ahead of Rooke, who hadn’t exactly made a move on her. She never behaved this way around women. She didn’t pine, she didn’t even lust. She enjoyed a few days, a few weeks. The last time she’d had a relationship last more than three months had been years before. Casual and uncomplicated was her motto. Now in the course of a few crazy intense days she’d met two women who had her acting in ways she didn’t even recognize. Melinda aroused her, completely against her will, and Rooke—Rooke turned her emotions inside out when she wasn’t turning her on with the slightest, most innocent touch. Hell, she hadn’t even wanted Rooke to leave that afternoon, and had barely stopped herself from making up some excuse to get Rooke to stay a little longer. And then as soon as Rooke had left, she’d missed her. Adrian rubbed her temples. She couldn’t trust anything she was feeling. What she needed was a reality adjustment or a mental cold shower.

  Abandoning any hopes of working, she snatched up the phone and hoisted herself up onto the counter. She punched a familiar number and listened to it ring, anticipating the answering machine. Her good friend and frequent collaborator Jude Castle was on assignment more than she was home, traveling to wherever critical events were unfolding in the world. They’d met several years before when they’d shared a rickety prop plane flying into the bush in Central Africa. Adrian had been doing a series on the AIDS crisis in third-world countries and Jude had been on her way to film a guerrilla leader in his jungle camp. They’d hit it off immediately. In addition to being women and lesbians in a male-dominated world, they shared the same wild sense of adventure and were similarly driven by the elusive hunt for the next story. Since then, they’d collaborated on several projects, most recently reporting from the front lines in Iraq. Considering they’d both returned to the States just before Christmas, she wouldn’t be surprised if Jude had left again.

  “Hello?”

  Adrian was so startled it took her a second to respond. “Jude? Hey, it’s Adrian.”

  “Hey yourself, Ade. You in the city?”

  “Nope. Upstate at my grandmother’s place. What are you doing in the city?” Adrian teased.

  “The team is editing the footage we brought back. In fact, I’m glad you called. Time is interested in us putting together a book on today’s soldier. When I get the stills sorted, I’ll send you the lot so you can work up the copy.”

  “That’s great! Can’t wait to get at it.” Adrian liked being in the final phases of one project while she researched the beginnings of the next so there was no downtime. If she was working, she didn’t have time to wonder what might be missing from her life. “So you’re staying put for a while?”

  “I am,” Jude said, sounding pensive. “Maybe for a little longer than usual.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. I think I’m just tired of sleeping on the ground and eating out of foil packages.” She laughed softly. “And I miss Sax.”

  “I’m sure she won’t complain about having you around more.”

  “She better not. Hopefully she’ll work a little less, eat better, and maybe even sleep once in a while,” Jude said, referring to her surgeon lover. “So what’s going on with you?”

  Adrian had called Jude because Jude was always so grounded, so rational, and Adrian trusted her. She hadn’t actually thought out what she was going to say, so the words just came out before she had a chance to censor them—before she had a chance to put her feelings into a neat little package that made sense to her. “I met this woman—two women, really—and I kind of feel like I fell down the rabbit hole.”

  “Oho. Let me grab a beer and get comfortable.”

  Adrian smiled as she heard the sound of a refrigerator opening and the clatter of a metal bottle top dancing across a counter.

  “Okay,” Jude said, “I’m back. Two, hmmm. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not having a lot of fun.”

  “How come?”

  “Because half the time I don’t feel like myself.”

  “Meaning?” Jude asked.

  “On my way up here I met a woman, an art dealer from the city. Melinda Singer. She owns Osare—know her?”

  “No. I’ve heard of the gallery, but we’ve never met. What’s she like?”

  “Beautiful. Sexy. Relentless.”

  Jude laughed. “Sounds interesting.”

  “She’s very hard to resist, and she’s been coming on to me since the minute we met.”

  “Really?” Jude made a little humming sound. “How do you feel about her?”

  “Have you ever been turned on, I mean like full-tilt burning-up-your-skin turned on, by someon
e who you didn’t really want to be turned on by?”

  “Yes,” Jude said, surprising Adrian. “Saxon, the first time I met her.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Adrian moaned. “Because I don’t want to go there with Melinda Singer.”

  “I also fell in love with Sax the first time I met her, although I didn’t realize it for quite a long time. I was too busy being pissed off at her.” Jude paused. “But I don’t gather that’s what you’re talking about.”

  “No. With Melinda it’s a case of my mind screaming no while my body goes a million miles an hour in the other direction.”

  “Good thing you’re so stubborn, then. Your head will win.”

  “I used to think so,” Adrian muttered. “Lately I’m not so sure.”

  “Tell me about woman number two.”

  “She’s doing some work on my grandmother’s house,” Adrian said, and filled Jude in on what had happened since she’d arrived in the midst of the blizzard and discovered the damage to the house.

  “So, what’s special about this one?”

  “Um, everything?”

  Jude made a choking sound followed by laughter. “Well, I guess that tells me everything I need to know. Really, though, does that mean smart, sexy, exciting, intriguing, dangerous…what?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Have you been secretly meeting with my lover?” Jude teased.

  Adrian laughed, grateful all over again for Jude’s easy friendship. “Well, Rooke—her name is Rooke—does have the dark and brooding thing going on a little bit.”

  “What exactly does she do?”

  “She’s a stonemason. She carves gravestones.” Adrian hesitated. “And she sculpts.”

  “Wow. Wow,” Jude repeated. “She sounds really interesting.”

  “She is. Fascinating. I haven’t even seen her sculptures, but the things she does with the gravestone carvings is…it’s hard to describe how beautiful some of it is.”

  “That all sounds pretty intense, but something tells me there’s more going on.”

  “For starters, Melinda came up here to find Rooke. She wants to get Rooke’s sculptures into her gallery.” Adrian sighed. “There’s something else, too. Can you ask Sax a medical question for me, when she’s got a spare moment?”

  “Sure. But she’ll be up in a few minutes and you can ask her yourself. She was on call last night and didn’t get home until almost ten this morning. I forced her to go to bed. Is something wrong?”

  “No, not really,” Adrian said quickly. “Rooke has a medical condition that I’ve never heard of before and I thought Sax might be able to explain it to me.”

  “So how does Rooke feel about Melinda’s offer?”

  “I don’t know. She never intended to sell her work, but Melinda can be very convincing.” Adrian picked at a chip on the edge of the kitchen counter, wondering if she was making any sense at all. “She was coming on to Rooke pretty hard this morning, and yesterday she kind of suggested she wouldn’t mind a threesome. Not Rooke specifically, just on general principle.”

  “God, I really have to get out more. So, would you?”

  “A threesome? It’s not anything I’ve given any thought to.” Adrian let herself imagine Melinda and Rooke together and her head started to hurt. “If Rooke accepts Melinda’s offer to sell her sculptures, she’s going to be directly in Melinda’s sights. Who knows what will happen.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I really like Rooke,” Adrian said softly, “so I’m going to work on being friends. Rooke has some important decisions to make, and until she does, I think that’s about all that can happen.” She didn’t add that Rooke wasn’t the kind of woman to do anything casually, and casual was what Adrian was accustomed to. She was already uneasy about her inability to maintain any barriers where Rooke was concerned. “Besides, I’m way out of my comfort zone here already.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, friendship isn’t a bad idea.” Jude was momentarily silent. “I hear Sax. You want to talk to her now?”

  “Yes. Thanks. And thanks for listening.”

  “I expect you to call me again soon and let me know what’s happening.”

  “I will. Promise.” Adrian heard the phone passed and then Saxon Sinclair, her deep voice still rough with sleep, greeted her.

  “Adrian. How are you doing?”

  “I’m great, Sax. Sorry to bother you with medical stuff on your day off.”

  “No problem. What’s the situation?”

  “What can you tell me about someone who’s had head trauma and isn’t able to read at all?”

  “Posttraumatic alexia,” Sax said. “Give me the details.”

  “I know she was very young at the time of the accident.” Adrian explained about the accident and that Rooke had told her she couldn’t recognize words or numbers. She also told Sax about the seizures.

  “Well, it’s rare but not unheard of,” Sax said. “The nervous system in very young children is not mature—so a significant injury could disrupt development in unpredictable ways. If she hasn’t had any improvement by adulthood, she’s not going to. As far as the seizures are concerned, it sounds as if she’s fairly well controlled on medication.”

  “So she’s okay climbing around on my roof by herself and driving, things like that?”

  “There are no guarantees that she won’t seize again. Her seizure threshold could be lowered by any number of things—change in medication or failure to take her medication, severe stress, physical illness, alcohol, or certain drugs. But it’s a good sign that it’s been a number of years since she had a problem.”

  Adrian leaned her head against the cabinet behind her and closed her eyes. She’d secretly hoped that Rooke’s condition just hadn’t been investigated thoroughly enough and perhaps some kind of treatment might offer improvement. Apparently not. “Thanks, Sax. That helps a lot.”

  “Her disorder presents a considerable challenge,” Sax said, “but not an insurmountable one.”

  “Oh, I know. Believe me, Rooke is a perfectly competent, wholly functional human being. She’s also a remarkable artist.”

  “Sounds pretty special.”

  “She is.”

  *

  Rooke stood in the doorway of her shop, her gaze wandering over the shelves from one sculpture to another. She’d uncovered the unfinished work in the center of the room. The torso and chest, the breasts, and the arch of neck were all visible, but the face remained featureless. That would come, she knew, as she worked. She tried to imagine her sculptures in a gallery, isolated on stark, white pedestals under bright lights. This room, her sanctuary, would be bereft without them. She wondered if her dreams would be emptier too.

  She switched off the light, locked the door, and walked over to the house. Pops was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of him. She helped herself to a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and drank some while leaning against the refrigerator.

  “I saw you out on the grounds today,” Pops said. “Pretty cold for a walk.”

  “Adrian wanted to see some of the markers. She’s going to write an article about them.”

  Pops raised his eyebrows. “She’s a reporter?”

  “Kind of. A freelance journalist. She writes about whatever she wants.” Rooke described some of the articles Adrian had written.

  “She told you all that while you were fixing the roof?”

  “In between.” Rooke studied her beer can, turning it in her hands. “I told her about the reading thing.”

  “Did you.” Pops sipped his coffee. “Is that what’s chewing on your insides?”

  Rooke looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “You came home this afternoon and went straight into your shop. Usually when you do that, you don’t surface until breakfast the next day. But here you are, looking like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

  “It’s not Adrian.” Rooke drank some more beer. “She didn’t
think it was such a big deal. About the reading.”

  “She looked like a smart woman.”

  Rooke smiled, thinking that Adrian wasn’t just smart. She was smart for sure, but she never made Rooke feel as if she wasn’t, even though Rooke had never been anywhere or done anything special in her life. When she was with Adrian, she felt as if what she thought or said mattered. Rooke set the beer aside and looked at her grandfather.

  “Did you give one of my sculptures to Ida?”

  Pops’s mouth turned down at the corners and he nodded. “About two years ago. I thought she ought to see what you were. Past time, maybe. I’m sorry for taking so long to get to that.”

  Rooke waved a hand. “I don’t care what Ida Hancock thinks about me. It ended up with Bea Meriwether, and now an art dealer wants it. She wants all my sculptures.”

  “To do what with them?” Pops asked in surprise.

  “Show them. Sell them.” Rooke shrugged. “In New York City.”

  “Well, what do you know.” Pops walked to the back door and looked out. He spoke without looking back at Rooke. “Snow is supposed to start up again around midnight.”

  “Another foot, they say.”

  “What are you going to do about the art dealer?”

  “What do you think?”

  Pops was quiet a long time before turning back. “I don’t usually tell you what I think you ought to do.” He scratched the back of his head. “In fact, I don’t think I have in the last twenty years.” He blew out a breath. “But I think you should let her do it. You’ve got a talent, Rooke. Anyone can see that. Maybe her coming means it’s time for you to own that.”

  “I’m afraid,” Rooke said quietly, “it might change everything.”

  “Most everything changes.” Pops opened the refrigerator, pulled out a pound of hamburger, and handed it to Rooke. “Get started making these.” When Rooke reached for the package, he squeezed her shoulder. “Being scared of the next step in life is okay. Just make sure you don’t let fear keep you from taking a step you should take.”