For All of Her Life (6 page)

“Of course, I’d like to.”

“Want to wait for them so we can all have dinner?” she asked.

She didn’t know why, but she was glad when he shook his head. “No. Ten years is a long time. We should talk through some things first, before adding them to the brew, don’t you think?”

“Your call,” she said lightly, and preceded him out the door.

Jordan had never cared for many of the trappings that came with success. He liked to walk, on big city streets and country roads; liked to enjoy sunsets and study old buildings, but tonight, he had come to her home in a black stretch limo. It had been parked just down the street. The limo wouldn’t particularly be noticed by the people living in her building—it was inhabited by Wall Street brokers, well-known actors and actresses, successful models, oil execs, and even an Arabian prince—a nice enough fellow except that Kathy was certain he was keeping a harem in his penthouse apartments. Though she wasn’t exactly a bra-burning feminist, she couldn’t help but feel indignant about the situation, no matter what the man’s background. This was the U.S.A. She had risen in her chosen field, having become Executive Senior Editor and Associate Publisher, but in publishing, titles were often much weightier than paychecks. She’d only managed to get the apartment because Jordan had always been a smart businessman. Though she’d refused to take a settlement after their marriage, each band member still received royalties from the sales of records, albums, tapes, and compact discs. She’d bought the place from an associate who’d married a rich but weary stockbroker who wanted to leave the city behind and move to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to raise sheep. The pair, happy as larks, were doing that now, and Kathy received Christmas cards each year showing the two of them smiling—along with their sheep. In the background was always beautiful white snow, and she promised herself every year that she would go out and see her old friend, her old friend’s husband—and their sheep. She hadn’t managed to do it yet.

Which left her with another dilemma. She probably could get time off, she was in a senior enough position to throw a good pitch to the publishing company’s president, Marty Rothchild, but at least a half-dozen books in various editorial stages required her close attention.

“Kathy?”

She hadn’t realized that she had just stopped and was staring into the limo when the driver hopped out to open the door for them. She stepped in, Jordan followed her. The young driver quickly closed the door.

The limo—spacious and long—suddenly seemed too intimate. She found herself with a wild desire to run, and at the same time, looking across at Jordan, she felt an equally strong desire to burst into tears and ask him how so much could have gone so wrong. She wanted to fall into his arms, to experience his secure touch once again.

No. Oh, no. This was such a trap. This was why she had run. She had to admit it. Chicken.

But then, things had changed. He had changed. The rumors after Keith’s death, the subtle, hurtful things that had been said had torn at them all. Relationships had been undermined. Jordan could have held the group together, Kathy had always thought. But he hadn’t chosen to do so. He had wanted to be out of the limelight. He had continued to write, and had put out several solo albums, but he had never gone on tour alone, and Kathy was certain that he never would. He didn’t like touring and, financially, didn’t need to go out on tour.

“May I offer you something?” he asked. “The limo is fully stocked and neither of us is driving.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She seemed to be very close to him. It was a big limo. Comfortable. Black interior, TV screen, video box, nice bar. Her knees were still brushing his. She pulled them back in.

“You know,” she murmured, “maybe a—”

“Jack and ginger?” he suggested.

“If they have it.”

He didn’t reply. She suddenly realized that, of course, there would be Jack Daniels Black and ginger ale in this car because he would have ordered it. She might know him; he knew her.

He fixed two drinks, the same, while the car moved into traffic. Kathy heard street noises. The honking of horns, the shouts, the screeches when the zillion cars still on the roads no matter what the hour nearly bumped into one another.

She took the drink from him, meeting his eyes once again. She lifted her glass.

“Cheers,” she murmured.

“To a good reunion.”

“Jordan, I really don’t want to come.”

“Why not? If it’s because of personal differences, I’ll stay out of your way. I’ve done so very well over the last ten years, don’t you think?”

Oh, damned well, she thought. Yes, he had done well. He had obliged her every wish. He had kept his distance. He had been a good father to the girls, while bowing to all her decisions. Not that they had ever quarreled over their children. The girls were beautiful and bright and warm, and loving to both of them; and they always had been. The divorce had hurt them badly, both parents knew, and so they had been very careful. If they had been noble at all, it had been in making sure that they had never spoken a negative word about one another to their children.

They hadn’t communicated, though, in anything other than a few terse letters. He had probably thought her unreasonable at times. She hadn’t thought it was possible to make him understand that, to survive, she’d needed an absolute severance from him.

“Jordan, honestly, I’m not trying to be mean or uncooperative. I’m busy,” she said evasively. “Just because you’ve suddenly decided that we should all get back together doesn’t necessarily make a reunion a good idea for the rest of us.”

“Everyone else is coming.”

She shrugged. “What are you trying to do?” she insisted.

“Kathy, besides everything else, we have two children who have weathered the past decade exceptionally well. Christmas Eve with me, a fast flight to New York with a million other holiday travelers for Christmas with you. Easter in Florida one year, Thanksgiving in New York the next. Let’s give our daughter a decent twenty-first birthday.”

“We can both have nice parties for her—”

“One good one instead.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Where are we going now?” she asked him.

“The Oyster Bar?” he said, but there was a question in his voice. If she didn’t like his suggestion of a place, he would be ready to change it.

“Fine.”

“Will you come down?”

“For how long?”

“Say, a week at least?”

She shook her head, suddenly very curious as she watched him. “I just don’t understand this. Does Miss April Pin-Up Queen know that you’re in New York entreating your ex-wife to come to a party?”

A very slow smile curved his lips. “You are referring to Tara?”

“I am.”

“She was never Miss April—or a pin-up of any kind.”

“Sorry. Tacky thing for me to say. But does she know you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Jordan, this makes no sense.”

He leaned forward suddenly. “You work too hard, you spend your life with your nose in manuscripts, you never take vacations—”

“And how would you know?”

“Your daughters tell me.”

She lowered her head, flushing, frustrated. Great. Alex and Bren had led their father to believe that she had dived straight into books—given up on life completely. It was humiliating. Especially when he was dating a young woman who could easily have been Miss April or any other kind of pin-up.

“Jordan, I like my job. It’s rewarding. I work with fantastic authors—”

“I’m aware of that. You’ve got quite a distinguished roster, from what I’ve heard.” He looked slightly puzzled, shaking his head. “In fact, I was expecting...”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Never mind.”

“No, what? Tell me what you were about to say.”

He shook his head, lifting his hands in a typical Jordan gesture she knew very well. “I guess I had thought to find you with someone... more... dignified. A professor, a great literary talent, an older man maybe. You just never seemed to be the type for...”

“For?” she questioned curiously.

“Your young muscleman. All brawn, not much between the ears.”

She stared at him, startled. He didn’t sound insulting, just surprised and even a bit concerned.

She smiled around clenched teeth. Great. Just what she wanted. His concern. “You haven’t had a chance to get to know Jeremy very well. He is one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever met. And you’re mistaken. He has a lot between the ears. He’s an avid opera buff, knows art backward and forward, loves the theater, and gives me wonderful opinions on all sorts of reading materials.”

Shadows danced around the inside of the limo. She couldn’t see his eyes, and she didn’t have the least idea of what he was thinking.

“Well then, I do apologize,” he told her. There was a slight strain in his voice as he added, “It’s just that your muscleman is a bit young.”

“And Miss April isn’t?”

He didn’t reply but leaned forward, suddenly taking both of her hands. “He’s invited. And if you say he’s a good guy, then he must be. You’ve...always been a good judge of people. Well, almost always. And I didn’t come here to try to destroy the life you’ve created for yourself. It’s been a long time. Our fights should all be in the past. Will you please promise me to come down?”

“Jordan, I—”

The limo came to a halt.

“I don’t know,” Kathy finished.

“Damn,” Jordan muttered.

The driver came around to let them out. Jordan thanked the young man, and helped Kathy out himself. He took her elbow as he led her through the Fifth Avenue entrance to the Plaza Hotel and along the stately corridors to the doorway of the Oyster Bar.

It was late, but a theater crowd had come in, and the place was busy, noisy, and somewhat smoky. Jordan procured them a table in the back, just a little bit away from the din.

Kathy opted for a shrimp cocktail and a second Jack and ginger—maybe not a good idea—and Jordan went with a Bud and oysters on the half-shell. Their conversation was idle as they waited to be served, Jordan commenting on the changes in New York since he’d been up last and Kathy telling him the girls loved to skate on the rink at Rockefeller Plaza every Christmas.

“Still skating yourself?” he asked her, watching as his oysters were delivered.

“Sometimes.”

“Still diving?”

She hesitated. Diving had once been a family sport. South Florida had been a great place to indulge in it, and Jordan had kept a small apartment in the Keys to accommodate their love for it.

“I’ve... taken a few trips. I never liked diving in cold water, though I’ve checked out a few sunken ships.”

“And gone on a few Caribbean vacations.”

She arched a brow.

“The girls keep me informed,” he reminded her.

“Ummm.”

“You’ve still never acquired a taste for oysters?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too slimy looking.”

“They’re delicious little buggers.”

“Ugh.” She watched him let one slide down his throat and then shuddered.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he assured her.

“Well, we all have to miss out on a few things in life.” She hesitated. “Does Miss April like oysters?”

He grinned, arching a brow at her reference to “Miss April” again. “Actually,” he informed her, “Tara doesn’t like seafood at all.”

“She looks too thin to be a lover of red meat.”

“She’s a vegetarian. How about muscleman?”

Kathy grinned now. “Moderation in everything,” she said sweetly.

“Does he dive?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t swim,” she admitted.

“Oh. Well, he does love the opera.”

“And I’m sure Miss April does love... something!” she said even more sweetly.

He grunted, swallowing another oyster. “Well?” he asked when he had washed it down with a long draught of beer.

“Jordan—”

“The girls will think you very churlish if you don’t come.”

“Churlish?” she repeated.

“Churlish. It is a good word, right, madam editor?”

“It’s a fine word. I suppose. But if they think I’m churlish, it will be your fault.”

“It won’t be, because you will be churlish if you don’t come.” He leaned across the table, strangely intent again. “Promise me that you will.”

“Jordan, this isn’t fair.”

“Life never is.”

“Yes, but we do have some control over our own destinies.”

“Do we?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Please, come down.”

“If I can get the time off,” she said evasively.

He sat back, triumphant, pleased. “Then it’s settled.”

“It’s not quite so simple—”

“Oh, come, come.”

She smiled suddenly. “How about this, Jordan? I’ll promise to come if you’ll tell me what you’re really up to!”

“What I’m really up to?” he repeated. “Is that grammatically correct?”

“Jordan, what is it you really want?”

“To see everyone back together again. And that’s the truth.”

There was more, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to drag it out of him. Not now, at least. Maybe once she did to go Star Island...

But Miss April would be with him all the time. What would she learn then?

Ummm. Did it matter? Whatever she said to him now, she knew she was going to fly down for the week. Even if it did half destroy her, and ruin the fine cloak of independence and dignity it had taken her so very long to don. He was after something. Maybe she was, too. Maybe they—and the group—had parted too quickly after Keith had died, and maybe they needed to get back together again. Perhaps this was the only way any of them could really move on without being haunted by the past.

“It will really be nice. If you come down on Friday night, you’ll have nine days and only miss five at the office. We can take the
Sand Shark
down to the reefs for a few days before the rest of the gang arrive.”

“I thought Miss April wasn’t fond of diving.”

“Muscleman doesn’t go in the water at all, from what you say, but I’m sure they’ll both enjoy the sailing.”

Muscleman. Somehow, she was going to have to convince Jeremy to come along. He was going to be in for a very big surprise.