by Nora Roberts
“It’s Sam Tanner.”
Instinctively, Noah snatched up a pencil. “Where are you?”
“I’m watching the sun go down. I’m outside, and I’m watching the sun go down over the water.”
“You didn’t tell me they were letting you out early, Sam.”
“No.”
“Are you in San Francisco?”
“I was in San Francisco long enough. It’s cold and it’s damp. I wanted to come home.”
Noah’s pulse picked up. “You’re in L.A.?”
“I got a room off of Sunset. It’s not what it used to be, Brady.”
“Give me the address.”
“I’m not there now. Actually I’m down the road from you. Watching the sun set,” he said almost dreamily. “Outside a place that serves tacos and beer and salsa that makes your eyes sting.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll meet you.”
Sam wore khakis and a short-sleeved chambray shirt, both so painfully new they’d yet to shake out the folding pleats. He sat at one of the little iron tables on the patio of the Mexican place and stared out over the water. Though business wasn’t brisk, there was a sprinkling of people at other tables, kids with fresh faces who scooped up nachos and sipped at the beers they were barely old enough to order.
In contrast, Sam looked old, pale, and inexplicably more naive.
Noah ordered more tacos, another beer for each of them.
“What does it feel like?”
With a kind of wonder, Sam watched an in-line skater skim by. “I spent a few days in San Francisco, to get my bearings. Then I took a bus down. Part of me kept expecting someone to stop me, take me back, say it had all been a mistake. Another part was waiting to be recognized, to hear someone call out, ‘Look, there’s Sam Tanner,’ and run over for my autograph. There’re two lives crossed over in the middle, and my mind keeps jumping back and forth between them.”
“Do you want to be recognized?”
“I was a star. An important actor. You need the attention, not just to feed the ego, but to stroke the child. If you weren’t a child, how good an actor could you be? After a while, inside, I had to put that away. When I knew the appeals weren’t going to work, the cage wasn’t going to open, I had to put it away to survive. Then I got out and it all came flooding back. And as badly as I wanted someone to look at me, to see me and remember, it scared the shit out of me that someone would. Stage fright.” Sam gave a small, sick smile. “There’s something I haven’t had to deal with in a long time.”
Noah said nothing while the waitress clunked their food and drinks down. Once she’d walked away, he leaned forward. “Coming to L.A. was a risk, because someone’s bound to recognize you sooner or later.”
“Where else would I go? It’s changed. I got lost twice walking around. New faces everywhere, on the street, on the billboards. People driving around in big chunky Jeeps. And you can’t smoke any fucking where.”
Noah had to laugh at the absolute bafflement in the statement. “I imagine the food’s some better than San Quentin’s.”
“I forgot places like this existed.” Sam picked up a taco, studied it. “I’d forgotten that before I went inside. If it wasn’t the best, I wasn’t interested. If I wasn’t going to be seen, admired, envied, what was the point?”
He bit in, crunching the shell, ignoring the little bits of tomato and lettuce and sauce that plopped onto his plate. For a few moments he ate in concentrated silence, a kind of grim focus Noah imagined came from prison meals.
“I was an asshole.”
Noah lifted a brow. “Can I quote you?”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? I had everything—success, adulation, power, wealth. I had the most beautiful woman in the world, who loved me. I thought I deserved it, all of it, so I didn’t value what I had. I didn’t value any of it or see it as any more than my due. So I lost it. All of it.”
Keeping his eyes on Sam’s face, Noah sipped his beer. “Did you kill your wife?”
He didn’t answer at first, only watched the last sliver of sun sink red into the sea. “Yes.” His gaze shifted, locked on Noah’s. “Did you expect me to deny it? What’s the point? I served twenty years for what I did. Some will say it’s not enough. Maybe they’re right.”
“Why did you kill her?”
“Because I couldn’t be what she asked me to be. Now ask me if I picked up the scissors that night and stabbed them into her back, her body, sliced them across her throat.”
“All right. Did you?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes shifted to the water again, went dreamy again. “I just don’t know. I remember it two ways, and both seem absolutely real. I stopped thinking it mattered, then they told me I was going to die. I need to know, and you’re going to figure out which of the two ways is real.”
“Which one are you going to tell me?”
“Neither, not yet. I need the money. I opened an account at this bank.” He brought out a scrap of paper. “That’s my account number. They do this electronic transfer. That’d be the best way.”
“All right.” Noah pocketed the paper. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Noah called Olivia the next morning, caught her at her desk at the Center. He was still damp from the shower after his run on the beach, just starting to pump up his system with coffee. The sound of her voice, brisk, businesslike, husky around the edges made him smile.
“Hello back, Ms. MacBride. Miss me?”
“Not particularly.”
“I don’t believe it. You recognized my voice too easily.” He heard her sigh, certain she’d wanted it audible and full of exasperation.
“Why wouldn’t I? You talk more than any three people I know put together.”
“And you don’t talk enough, but I’ve got your voice in my head. I had a dream about you last night, all soft, watery colors and slow motion. We made love on the bank of the river, and the grass was cool and damp and wild with flowers. I woke up with the taste of you in my mouth.”
There was a moment of silence, a quiet catch of breath. “That’s very interesting.”
“Is someone in your office?”
“Momentarily. Thanks, Curtis, I’ll take care of that.” There was another pause. “That riverbank is a public area.”
He laughed so hard he had to slide onto a stool. “I’m becoming seriously crazy about you, Liv. Did you like the flowers?”
“They’re very nice and completely unnecessary.”
“Sure they were. They make you think of me. I want you to keep me right in the front of your mind, Liv, so we can pick things up when I get there.”
“When do you plan to make the trip?”
“One or two weeks—sooner, if I can manage it.”
“The lodge is booked well in advance this time of year.”
“I’ll think of something. Liv, I need to tell you I’ve seen Tanner, spoken with him. He’s here in Los Angeles.”
“I see.”
“I thought you’d feel better knowing where he is.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. I have to go—”
“Liv, you can tell me how you feel. Aside from the book, just as someone who cares about you. You can talk to me.”
“I don’t know how I feel. I only know I can’t let where he is or what he’s doing change my life. I’m not going to let anything or anyone do that.”
“You may find out some changes don’t have to hurt. I’ll let you know when I plan to come in. Keep thinking about me, Olivia.”
She hung up, let out a long breath. “Keep dreaming,” she murmured and skimmed a finger over the petals of a sunny daisy.
She hadn’t been able to resist keeping them in her office where she could see them when she was stuck at her desk and itching to get outside.
She’d recognized what he’d done as well, and found it incredibly sweet and very clever. The flowers he ordered were all from the varieties he had in his own gard
en. The garden she hadn’t been able to resist. He had to know that looking at them would make her think of him.
She’d have thought of him anyway.
And she’d lied when she’d told him she didn’t miss him. It surprised her how much she did and worried her just a little to realize she wished they were different people in a different situation. Then they could be lovers, maybe even friends, without the shadows clinging to the corner of their relationship.
She’d never been friends with a lover, she thought. Had never really had a lover, as that term added dimension and intimacy to simple sex.
But she thought Noah would insist on being both. If she wanted him, she would have to give more than she’d been willing, or able, to give to anyone before.
One more thing to think about, she decided, and rubbing the tension from her neck, swiveled back to her keyboard and began to input her ideas for the fall programs with an eye to the elementary school field trips she hoped to implement.
She answered the knock on her door with a grunt.
“Was that a come in or go to hell?” Rob wanted to know as he gently shook the package he carried.
“It’s come in to you, and go to hell for anyone else. I’m just working out some fall programs.” She angled her head as she swiveled her chair around. “What’s in the box?”
“Don’t know. It came to the lodge, looks like an overnight from Los Angeles, to you.”
“Me?”
“I’d guess it’s from the same young man who sent you the flowers.” He set the package on the desk. “And I say he has fine taste in women.”
“Which you say with complete objectivity.”
“Of course.” Rob sat on the corner of the desk, reached for her hands. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m fine.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry about me, Grandpop.”
“I’m allowed to worry. It’s part of the job description.” And she’d been so tense, so pale when she’d come back from California. “It doesn’t matter that he’s out, Livvy. I’ve made my peace with that. I hope you will.”
“I’m working on it.” She rose, moved away to tidy files that didn’t need tidying. “Noah just called. He wanted to let me know he’d seen him, spoken to him.”
“It’s best you know.”
“Yes, it is. I appreciate that he understands that, respects that. That he doesn’t treat me as if I were so fragile I’d break, that I needed to be protected from . . .” She trailed off, felt a wave of heat wash into her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I don’t know if we did the right thing, Livvy, bringing you here, closing everything else out. We meant it for the best.”
“Bringing me here was exactly the right thing.” She dropped the files and stepped over to hug him tight. “No one could have given me more love or a better home than you and Grandma. We won’t let thoughts of him come in here and make us question it.” Her eyes stormed with emotion when she drew back. “We won’t.”
“I still want what’s best for you. I’m just not as sure as I once was what it is. This young man . . .” He nodded toward the flowers. “He’s bringing you an awful lot to face at one time. But he’s got a straight look in his eye, makes me want to trust him with you.”
“Grandpop.” She bent, kissed his cheek. “I’m old enough, and smart enough, to decide that for myself.”
“You’re still my baby. Aren’t you going to open the package?”
“No, it’ll only encourage him.” She grinned. “He’s trying to charm me.”
“Is he?”
“I suppose he is, a little. He’s planning on coming back soon. I’ll decide just how charmed I am when I see him again. Now, go to work, and let me do the same.”
“He comes back around, I’m keeping an eye on him.” Rob winked as he got up and headed for the door. Then he stopped, one hand on the knob, and glanced back. “Did we keep you too close, Livvy? Hold you too tight?” He shook his head before she could answer. “Yes or no, you grew your own way. Your mother’d be proud of you.”
When the door closed behind him, she sat down, struggled with the tears that were a hot mix of grief and joy. She hoped he was right, that her mother would be proud, and not see her daughter as a woman who was too aloof, too hard, too afraid to open herself to anyone but the family who’d always been there.
Would Julie, bright, beautiful Julie, ask her daughter, Where are your friends? Where are the boys you pined for, the men you loved? Where are the people you’ve touched or made part of your life?
What would the answer be? Olivia wondered. There’s no one. No one.
It made her so suddenly, so unbearably sad the tears threatened again. Blinking them away, she stared at the package on her desk.
Noah, she thought. He was trying to reach her. Wasn’t it time she let him?
She dug out the Leatherman knife from her pocket, used the slim blade to break the sealing tape. Then she paused, let herself feel the anticipation, the pleasure. Let herself think of him as she lifted the lid.
Hurrying now, she probed through the protective blizzard of Styrofoam chips, spilling them out onto the desk as she worked the contents out. Glass or china, she thought, some sort of figurine. She wondered if he’d actually tracked down a statue of a marmot, was already laughing at the idea when she freed the figure.
The laugh died in her throat, tumbled with the avalanche of icy panic that roared through her chest. Her own rapid breathing became a crashing scream in her head. She dropped the figurine as if it were a live snake, poised to strike.
And stared, trembling and swaying, at the benevolent and beautiful face of the Blue Fairy poised atop the music box.
twenty-four
“I never wanted to be alone.” Sam held the coffee Noah had given him and squinted against the sun. “Being alone was like a punishment to me. A failure. Julie was good at it, often preferred it. She didn’t need the spotlight the way I did.”
“Did or do?” Noah asked, and watched Sam smile.
“I’ve learned there are advantages to solitude. Julie always knew that. When we separated, when I bought the place in Malibu, the prospect of living there alone was nearly as terrifying as living without her. I don’t remember much about the Malibu house. I guess it was similar to this.”
He glanced back at the house, the creamy wood, clear streams of glass, the splashes of flowers in stone tubs. Then out to the ocean. “The view wouldn’t have been much different. You like it here, being alone?”
“My kind of work requires big chunks of solitude.”
Sam only nodded and fell silent.
Noah had debated the wisdom of conducting the interviews at his own place. In the end, it had seemed most practical. They’d have the privacy he required and, by setting up on the deck, give Sam his wish to be outside. He hadn’t been able to come up with a good argument against it, as Sam already had his address.
He waited while Sam lit another cigarette. “Tell me about the night of August twenty-eighth.”
“I didn’t want to be alone,” Sam said again. “I wasn’t working, had just fired my agent. I was pissed off at Julie. Who the hell did she think she was, kicking me out of the house when she was the one fucking around? I called Lydia. I wanted company, I wanted sympathy. She hated Julie, so I knew she’d say what I wanted to hear. I figured we’d get high and have sex—like old times. That’d teach Julie a lesson.”
His hand bunched into a fist on his knee, and he began to tap it there, rhythmically. “She wasn’t home. Her maid said she was out for the evening. So I was pissed off about that, too. Couldn’t depend on anyone, no one was there when you needed them. Worked myself up pretty good. There were others I could have called, but I thought fuck them. I did a line to prime myself up, then got in the car and headed into L.A.”
He paused, rubbing lightly at his temple as if he had a headache brewing, then went back to tapping his fist on his knee. “I don’t know how many clubs I
hit. It came out in the trial, different people seeing me at different places that night. Saying I