“CHRISTIAN’S OFFERED to Bernie- and Iris-sit,” Beth Ann informed Glenn, but she stared into Christian’s face, wondering if she could trust him about something as small as the letter from the hotel.
He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod and Beth Ann felt a tiny rush of relief flood through her.
“Really?” His eyebrow raised up. “When did this happen?”
“Just now,” Christian said easily.
Beth Ann watched Christian position himself between them. Surprisingly, she didn’t find his show of authority overbearing, but rather oddly endearing. Almost as if he was trying to reassure Glenn he would take good care of them while Glenn was gone.
Beth Ann hoped Glenn would grasp the complexity of the situation and just accept it rather than become the protective big brother.
Beth Ann said, her voice perky, “He wants some time with Bernie.”
Glenn nodded his head, his eyes still on her. You sure, Bethy?
Beth Ann nodded.
He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Okay. Then I’m outta here. Come give Pop-pop a kiss goodbye, Bernzie.”
Bernie’s eyebrows puckered. “No! Garden!”
“Pop-pop’s got to go to work.”
“No werk. Garden.”
“We’ll go to the garden when I come back.”
“No go bye-bye, Pop-pop.” Bernie’s little bottom lip quavered as she slung her arms around Glenn’s leg and wailed.
Christian watched enviously and wondered if Bernie would ever wrap her arms around him to prevent him from leaving. Beth Ann gently extricated her daughter and lifted her up. The wails subsided to whimpers.
“She has a problem with separation,” she explained.
“No go bye-bye,” Bernie moaned.
“I’ll see you soon, Bern-bern,” Glenn assured her with a kiss on her cheek.
“No go bye-bye.”
“Breaks my heart,” Glenn said with a glance at Christian.
Beth Ann gave Glenn a quick kiss. “Time to make your escape.”
“Noooo!” Bernie sobbed as if her heart was breaking when Glenn slipped out the front door.
Christian watched helplessly.
Beth Ann smiled at his discomfiture and said, “She’ll be over it in a minute. Her sadness rarely lasts very long.” She paused, midrock, her hand rubbing Bernie’s back and added, “You don’t have to do this. There’ll always be another show.”
Christian couldn’t stop staring at the two of them. Bernie laying her head on Beth Ann’s shoulder, her finger in her mouth, the residual hiccups of her distress racking her small body.
“Well,” Beth Ann said a tad gruffly. “I guess you should probably go get your stuff. It doesn’t make a lot of sense for you to pay for a hotel when we have plenty of space here.”
WITH CHRISTIAN GONE, Beth Ann took Iris and Bernie to tend the garden. She stood with them, thinking about the implications of what had just happened. What in the world had possessed her to ask him to stay? Wasn’t she inviting some sort of disaster on herself? On Bernie?
“Look me, Mommy! Look me!”
Beth Ann looked up and gasped, as Bernie, quick as lightning, had made her way through the beans and was trying to climb through a small hole in the shed.
“Bernie, come on, sweetie. We need to help Nana with weeding.”
“Weeding. Weeding.” She wriggled and came out of the hole, butt first, then tripped. Beth Ann’s heart was in her throat, especially as Bernie’s head came dangerously close to smacking the corner of the shovel propped up against the shed.
“Bernie!”
“I okay. I okay.” Bernie chortled and immediately got up and toddled toward Iris.
Beth Ann watched Iris teach Bernie the right way to weed the furrows of beans, laughing when Bernie ignored her and pulled on the tender stalks, taking with her the entire plant. Iris praised Bernie’s effort and directed her to another patch of weeds, which Bernie proceeded to clear with vigorous hands, most of the leaves landing on the ground rather than in Iris’s refuse basket.
Beth Ann suddenly wanted to capture what she was seeing. And even though she primarily focused on landscapes, the urge to depict this moment was powerful. Much more compelling than the landscapes she ignored in the attic. It was odd because this would require her to do two things she wasn’t very good at—drawing people and capturing a scene live, not from a reference photo. As Iris and Bernie conversed, Beth Ann took the opportunity to run up to the attic and snatch her sketchbook, making sure she only left Iris and Bernie for a few seconds.
Although Iris was having a good day, it wasn’t wise to rely on her for any period of time. Beth Ann rushed back, laden with a terrible sense of dread that the small indiscretion of leaving the two would result in a fall by Iris or Bernie. The dread was only reinforced by the horror stories of toddlers drowning in two inches of water or the elderly lost for days wandering up and down roads. It was impossible, but Beth Ann knew in her heart of hearts the only safe thing was to keep an eye on both of them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
When she returned, her worst fears were not confirmed. Her two charges had moved on to weed around the adolescent tomato plants, Iris pointing out the new flowers and the small fruit just beginning to grow. Bernie pulled off the flowers she saw and chuckled as Iris scolded, telling her there would be no tomatoes if there were no flowers. Iris was forever a teacher.
Beth Ann smiled, as she tried to capture the arc of Iris’s back and the movement of Bernie’s stubby legs. She felt a little sadness that Carrie wasn’t here to see this. She shook herself. But then, Carrie wouldn’t have found the same joy in what she saw. Her hand moved rapidly, trying to define the differences between Iris and Bernie. The end of life and the beginning of life.
She frowned, and where was she?
Caught in the middle, not middle-aged, but feeling as if her life wasn’t hers anymore. No life to call her own, no place to process the awareness of how physically arid she’d really become. Christian’s masculinity nearly overwhelmed her, his size, the depth of his voice, the shuttered emotion and hurt behind his cool eyes. She wanted to run from him and at the same time, she wanted to embrace him, to be as close to him as she could get. She shook off the sense of a small, newly heard cry of wanting. She concentrated on the lines that she sketched. All her time belonged to the two precious individuals before her, who were giggling at some shared joke. The wanting would have to wait.
She drew Bernie in profile. After her depressing attempt at art yesterday, it surprised her that she even felt compelled to pick up the sketchpad and realized with a small tinge of guilt that she was looking forward more to Christian’s company than the opportunity to immerse herself in painting. Don’t count on it. She didn’t even know whether Christian would be able to stick it out.
Beth Ann reflected on Christian. He seemed to be as thoughtful as Carrie was thoughtless. More careful, more prone to study detail. More like herself. Carrie’s flamboyance was contagious, but she was a hard individual to know. She kept things locked away, selfishly guarding the most secret parts of herself. As she’d grown older, Carrie had become even more closed. Beth Ann thought that was why her sister had relished cruising so much. During her pregnancy, she’d talked nonstop about the wonder of being in a different place every night, at how, even when she was sleeping, she was never in the same place. But what it really meant—Beth Ann realized—was that no one was ever around long enough to discover the truth about Carrie.
After Carrie had graduated from high school, she’d left, never intending to come back. Staying in Mercy Springs when she was pregnant ate away at her patience. Beth Ann suspected it was not simply the sameness that scraped at Carrie’s nerves; it was being trapped in the cage she’d thought she’d escaped from.
“Pitty,” Bernie said, bringing her a weed with a blue flower on it.
“Thank you. It’s very pretty.”
“The weeds are just springing up,” Iris said, walking slowly with the heavy basket.
Beth Ann hurried to take the basket and then dump it in the garbage. Weeds didn’t compost well. They all started back to the house, Bernie running ahead to climb the stairs and try to open the screen door.
“Is Glenn coming back?” Iris asked.
Beth Ann shook her head. “No, Glenn’s gone to Fresno. But...”
“But?”
“But Christian offered to stay with Bernie, so I can paint. What do you think about that?”
Iris looked at her serenely. “A better question is what do you think about it?”
“It’s okay. Bernie seems to like him well enough.” She bit her lip and looked away. “What about you? Do you like him?”
Iris was silent a long time. “I like him very much.”
“How can you know that? You only met him this morning,” as far as you remember, Beth Ann added silently.
“I see it in his eyes. He’s looking for Carrie and he’s hoping he’ll find her here.”
Beth Ann shook her head. “He’s not going to find her here. She left a long time ago.”
Iris nodded in agreement. “She left him a long time ago, too.”
IT TOOK CHRISTIAN a little longer than he expected to gather up his things and check out of the hotel. He got caught in a cryptic conversation with Max who wanted to the know the details about Caroline’s child. Max was persistent when he wanted to be and Christian had learned to be equally evasive. After all, they’d known each other since they were seven, when the smaller Max, brand new to their boarding school, had challenged Christian, by then a veteran, to a fist fight. The fight hadn’t lasted long enough to determine a victor, but their subsequent posterioral discomfort, compliments of the headmaster, cemented their grudging respect. They became uneasy friends, an intimidating pair of, well, bullies, until Christian was transferred to military school.
They rediscovered the benefits of collaboration at Yale, this time in conquering not boys smaller or less skilled than they, but women. Christian and Max were almost opposites, although equally handsome, equally charismatic. Christian was dark with silver eyes, Max, fair, with eyes the color of a rich malt brew. Christian was silent, controlled and rich as Midas. Max was affable, boyishly attractive and had a flattering nature that seduced more than a few women. Together, they made a formidable team, neither feeling any qualms about capitalizing on their combined charm. Both broke several dozen hearts by the time they graduated.
Max’s strength was in investments, but he had agreed to be Christian’s right-hand man when Christian’s grandfather had decided it was time to retire. Their success with the company—moving it from an era of typewriters and dictaphones into the age of computers, faxes and the World Wide Web—had reaped them both great rewards. Greater wealth hadn’t changed Max, nor his attitude about women. He still was essentially the same Maximilian Riley, thirsty for the thrills of the romantic chase, bored within days of the capture.
When they’d met Caroline, Christian had long outgrown the need to accumulate women like trophies. He’d admitted that for the most part he and Max had acted like pigs and that much of their friendship was based on a mutual understanding that women were nice distractions, but not very essential. That fact hadn’t really changed—Christian had simply grown weary of the amount of work necessary to meet new women and had settled on Caroline. He’d loved her in his own way and she’d certainly benefited from their marriage.
But this situation with Beth Ann and Bernie and Iris felt different. He didn’t feel like talking to Max, allowing Beth Ann’s household to be a target for Max’s biting wit. As succinctly as he could, Christian had let Max know it was going to take a little longer to iron out this deal than he had anticipated. He’d then promised to call in about a month and let him know what had happened.
When Christian arrived at the house, it was unusually silent, but the front door was wide open. He peered into the house and then tapped on the door lightly. “Hello?” he called.
“I’m in the back,” Beth Ann called in response.
He placed his luggage inside the front door, then walked around the back. Beth Ann was in the middle of hanging the laundry on two wires that ran between the old oak tree and the house.
“Hi,” he greeted her.
She smiled and he noticed she looked really tired.
“Where is everybody?” he asked.
“Napping.” She glanced at her watch. “They should be out for another hour or two. I’m just taking the opportunity to get some laundry done. These are your sheets and towels.” She whipped the bottom sheet out and Christian automatically caught it. It seemed as if it were the most natural thing in the world to help her. He felt the damp sheets, smelled the clean smell of freshly washed laundry. He reached into the bag that hung across her shoulder and fished out two clothespins.
“Dryer broken?” he asked, with nothing better to say. For some reason, his ability to come up with scintillating conversation had deserted him entirely. He was too distracted by her graceful movements, as she worked at her mundane task.
She shook her head. “No. Too hot. If I dry something, it heats up the whole house. Good for winter time, but miserable in the spring and supermiserable in the summer. It’s warm today so these should dry in no time.”
She gave him the end of the flat sheet and together, they hung it up. Then they hung a series of Bernie’s T-shirts and sweats. He reached for another pile and Beth Ann said hastily, “Thanks, but I’ll do those.”
“You’ll get done a lot quicker,” he commented and picked up a few of the articles.
She snatched them away from him. “That’s okay. I’ll hang them. You can go unpack your stuff.”
He looked at her strangely, but as her face turned bright red, he nodded and walked toward the house.
“Take my bedroom,” she called. “It’s the one on the right when you walk in. The bottom drawer is empty, so if you want you can put a few things there.”
Christian raised a hand and then discreetly looked over his shoulder as he walked into the house. He realized with a smile that she was old-fashioned enough not to let a man hang her underwear.
He picked up his bags and walked to her room, suddenly wondering if she and Glenn were lovers, then surprising himself by how much he didn’t want that to be true. He ventured in, slightly uncomfortable. Like the living room, her bedroom was purely feminine. She’d chosen pinks and yellows, but it wasn’t a little girl’s room. It was a woman’s room, with a woman’s taste evident in the wallpaper and wall hangings. Her four-poster bed was antique cherry, hand carved and high. A pale pink matelassé coverlet lay smooshed to one side, the bed bare of sheets. He imagined that during the fall and winter months, she would replace the coverlet with blankets and perhaps a quilt that was much more substantial. Christian grinned when he saw well-used cherry wooden steps. If she didn’t have steps she would have to pole-vault into the bed each night.
He studied the photographs she had artfully hung around the room and a large watercolor that was visually appealing if not very sophisticated. He picked up a photo of Beth Ann and Glenn with another man, all three smiling. It looked as if it was taken in college. Behind them, her old truck was piled high with furniture and whatnot. Maybe art supplies. Christian couldn’t tell. Putting the photo down, he turned his attention to the other objects in the room. There was some more of Bernie’s art, a piece of jewelry here and there. He opened the bottom drawer and the stiff smell of cedar washed toward him from the small blocks scattered on the bottom. He quickly unpacked his few possessions, going to the closet to see if there would be any chance of hanging up a few pairs of slacks and shirts. If she was anything like her sister, all the closet space would be completely used. Eventually, Caroline had needed another closet down the hall.
To his surprise, Beth Ann’s closet was relatively empty, though he did spy a pile of dirty laundry hiding inconspicuously in the corner. He counted four dresses and two very nice, very tailored suits. She also seemed to have just two pairs of dress shoes. He hung his shirts and slacks next to hers, liking the way they looked together. Side-by-side. As if that was the way they were supposed to be. When he finished and went to the living room, Beth Ann was there, too, flipping through a trade magazine for watercolorists.
She looked up when he walked in and put the magazine aside.
“I want to thank you again for doing this. You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to. But it would be nice to get to know Caroline’s family. Hey, that looks good—”
Beth Ann glanced at the iced tea in her hands. She rose hurriedly. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you wanted some.”
“Sit down,” Christian ordered her. “If I’m going to be watching Bernie and Iris, I should at least be able to fix myself a glass of iced tea.”
Beth Ann sipped at her tea, and listened to him walk around, trying to get used to his light step. He walked quietly, gracefully for a man so tall. She heard three or four cupboards creaking before she heard him open the freezer for ice and then the refrigerator. A moment later, he was back.
“Is now a good time to talk?” he asked directly.
Beth Ann nodded. They would have to have this talk sooner or later. At least she was sitting at home on her couch, in a safe place. She didn’t know about him. “As good a time as any.”
“Do you have proof that Caroline is Bernie’s mother?” he asked, his neutral face back. He sounded like a businessman doing research rather than a man discussing his wife.
Beth Ann nodded. “I have lots of proof. Birth certificate. Photos of Carrie pregnant. If it makes you feel any better, she had a lousy pregnancy. She fought it all the way and wasn’t a glowing mother-to-be.”
Christian didn’t blink and Beth Ann wondered if that was any surprise to him.
“I don’t understand why she would keep it a secret,” he muttered almost more to himself than her.
Beth Ann’s heart went out to him as she watched him struggle to process the information.
“Maybe she didn’t want to be a mother,” Beth Ann said simply. Or you’re not the father. She resisted the urge to touch him, to try and comfort him.
Christian must have been thinking the exact same thing, because he was silent. His next question came out of nowhere.
“How close are you and Glenn?”
Beth Ann was too surprised to be offended.
“Very close,” she said frankly.
“Bernadette seems attached.”
“She is.”
“Are you thinking about making Glenn her father?”
Beth Ann choked back a cough, then shook her head solemnly. “Don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Christian’s eyes were hard to read.
“Because,” Beth Ann said placidly, “he’s already married. And Fred would be very disappointed if I took his husband away.”
She watched Christian’s face until it became clear that he’d absorbed the full meaning of what she’d said.
“Ah.” Christian nodded with new understanding. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Why? How could you have known?”
“So Glenn sleeps in your room—”
“And I sleep in the daybed in Bernie’s room. Just like now. You’ll sleep in the front. I’ll sleep in the back.” Beth Ann spoke practically, but now she wondered if that was enough space between them. He seemed to be sitting awfully close.
“Did Caroline ever see Bernie?”
Their small conversational reprieve was over. Beth Ann swallowed hard. “Not after she left.”
“I know you mentioned it before but how old was Bernie when she left?”
“Ten days.”
“Ten days.” Christian nodded. She could see he was thinking, making calculations. “So if Bernie was born in June—”
“June 27.”
“Caroline would have left at the beginning of July.”
Beth Ann nodded. “I think she went straight to San Francisco and caught a three-month Alaskan cruise, so she would have been home the beginning of October. I kept thinking she was going to come back and pick Bernie up, that she just needed to get away for a time—postpartum depression and all.”
“But she never did.” Christian’s voice was flat and hard.
Beth Ann wanted to cry for him.
Christian clenched his stomach and regulated his breathing. He was trying every trick he’d learned, but nothing seemed to keep the feelings down. He had tried to intellectualize the situation. Here they were having a perfectly rational conversation about his wife and the baby his wife had abandoned. But he just felt like his guts had been blown out.
He avoided looking at Beth Ann, her dark, dark eyes, so expressive. He felt his throat close and he sat straighter to take a long swig of the iced tea. He knew she was still staring at him, just as she had in the parking lot of Los Amigos, and he felt that if he looked at her, she would see how terribly he was dealing with the entire situation.
Christian took a deep breath. He could do this. He had negotiated deals worth millions of dollars. He had saved his grandfather’s company from hostile takeovers and stared down lawyers and reporters during verbal assassinations of his family name and reputation. He had even managed to maintain a level of corporate decency through a period when all his peers were cutting loyal employees loose to save their bottom lines. So why couldn’t he manage to look in those espresso-brown eyes?
Because, despite all his training, despite all the control that he had managed the past thirty-six years of his life, he couldn’t stop the pain that was beginning to pulse right under his sternum. And with every expression of concern she gave him, the hurt pulsated even harder.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” Suddenly, her eyes were wary.
“Raise someone who isn’t yours.”
She laughed. “I’m just returning the favor. Iris raised me and I wasn’t hers. Carrie was her granddaughter by blood. I was barely a granddaughter by marriage—Carrie’s father never even adopted me. But that didn’t make any difference to Iris. I was her granddaughter.” She continued, her voice fierce. “Besides, you can’t tell me that Bernie isn’t mine. She is my daughter.”
“Have you adopted her?” Christian asked, wondering if he would have any say in the matter, given that he was Caroline’s husband.
“I’m in the process right now. But it’s long.” She cleared her throat. “Probably, I would have needed to get in touch with you for something in the end.”
“I’d do anything to guarantee that Bernie got to stay right here.” Christian’s statement was flat.
Beth Ann looked at him in surprise. “You’d want to help?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged. “I just thought— Well, it occurred to me—”
“That I’d want custody?”
“Well, maybe.”
“Is there any chance that I’m her father?” Christian asked, his voice light.
From the pain in his eyes and the tight set of his handsome lips, Beth Ann knew he wasn’t joking at all. She wanted to be able to tell him that Carrie had told her he was the father and that she loved him desperately, but Carrie had only referred to his money, rarely the man. This time Beth Ann didn’t resist the urge to touch him. She caught his hand and squeezed.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. “She never said.”
“But surely if I—”
“Carrie was complicated. I’ve long given up trying to figure out how she could have walked away from Bernie. I know I couldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t walk away,” Christian said.
Beth Ann regarded him for a long time, tenderness welling up in her as she realized she believed him. She took a deep breath, not daring to contemplate a permanent relationship between Christian and Bernie. And maybe herself. When she realized that she was still holding his hand, liking the feel of his fingers entwined with hers, she hastily pulled her hand away. He seemed reluctant to let her go.
“How did Carrie die?” Beth Ann asked, changing the subject, taking a large gulp of tea. She could still feel his touch.
This time he didn’t do anything to hide the pain.
Beth Ann added carefully, “The person who called said she was in an accident. I thought you would call.”
Christian looked at her in surprise, then replied, “I didn’t know how to get in contact with you. If you remember we didn’t even really meet. I didn’t know you existed until the day you showed up at the office.”
Beth Ann shook her head in disbelief. “No. I know Carrie was distant, but I don’t think she’d— No, she wouldn’t—”
“Caroline told us she had no family,” Christian said flatly.
Beth Ann was not prepared for the pain his words caused. She swallowed hard. “Well, technically, I suppose that’s true.”
“When you showed up that time in San Diego, I felt terrible about your reception,” Christian said. “But I was in the middle of one of the biggest contractual agreements I’d ever negotiated and I couldn’t stop what I was doing.”
“I waited three days for Carrie to call me.” Beth Ann couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice.
“The next day, after the deal was signed, I asked Caroline about inviting you over to the house, but she said you were only in town for the day.”
“You mean she lied?”
Christian didn’t say anything. This time he grasped her hand. They stared at each other in silence, Carrie’s lies looming between them.
He said quietly, “After she died, I remembered you but I didn’t remember your name. I didn’t know how to contact you. My lawyers hired an investigator to find you. By then, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you your sister was dead. I thought it would be better coming from my lawyer.” He hesitated. “But maybe I was wrong.”
Beth Ann moved closer to him on the couch, so her shoulder touched his and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m glad we were told in enough time to attend the funeral. I know it was an overwhelming time for you.” After a long pause, she asked again, “So how did she die?”
He began in a halting voice, “She was in an accident. She was coming home from a party and she crashed her car into a tree. The police said there weren’t even tire marks, which means she didn’t even brake, she just ran into the tree at full speed.”
“Is that all?”
Christian was silent for a long time, then nodded, his eyes rimmed. “I wish it were more complicated than that.”
“No drugs or alcohol?”
“No. They did an autopsy.”
“No reason?”
“No.”
Beth Ann wondered what he was hiding. His whole body tensed and he shifted away from her.
“I know Carrie was my sister, but I don’t think she ever knew how to be a sister.”
Christian gave a strangled laugh. “Funny. I was just thinking she didn’t know how to be a wife. But then again, maybe I didn’t know how to be a husband. Or the kind of husband she needed.”
When his eyes met hers, Beth Ann saw his soul. She saw the torture that Carrie had caused him and knew it was unfair. Beth Ann wasn’t sure what kind of man Christian was, but whatever he’d done, he didn’t deserve to suffer like this. She stared at the hand that still clasped hers tightly and lifted it to her mouth.