Fox River (37 page)

“Appropriate.”

“You follow it to the top, and the plot’s beside a creek.”

He watched for the willows, then made the appropriate turn, slowing to a crawl as they wound their way uphill until he saw a white picket fence surrounding an area that bloomed with simple stone markers. He parked and turned off the engine.

“We’re here.”

“The sky is a big giant rainbow,” Callie said.

“Sunset,” Christian told Julia. “A really spectacular one tonight.”

Julia rolled down her window. “It’s so quiet out here. We should have buried her under the dance floor at a nightclub.”

“An exclusive nightclub,” he said.

“You can’t bury people in a nightclub,” Callie told them. The puppy was wiggling, and Christian knew Clover had had too much of a good thing. He opened his door and reached for her. Callie scooted under the steering wheel and took off with the puppy as he went around to open the other door for Julia.

She was clutching the flowers as if they might ward off everything from evil spirits to Martians. He rested his hand on her forearm. “If you take my hand, we might avoid what happened last night.”

She looked up at him as if she could see every passing expression on his face. “I’m so sorry about last night. About everything, Christian.”

“Why did you want to come here with me? With Callie, too?”

“We’re going to be sharing her. It’s important that she thinks we get along, that she doesn’t worry about keeping things secret from either of us.”

“Sharing her?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Bard Warwick is going to share?”

“Right now we’re talking about you and me, and I want Callie to see us acting like grown-ups. This way, when we’re ready to tell her the truth, she’ll accept it.”

“What made you think of this place?”

She bit her bottom lip, white teeth sinking into soft tissue he had probably bruised last night. He couldn’t seem to look away or think of anything else.

“I’m seeing a therapist,” she said at last. “Maybe you think that’s silly? Or overdue?”

“A good idea, under the circumstances,” he said gruffly.

“I…well, she’s hypnotizing me….”

“Mommy?”

Christian turned to see Callie swinging from the lowest branch of an old maple tree at the cemetery’s edge.

“What’s she doing?” Julia said.

“Hanging from a tree, trying to get her toe up so she can sit on the branch.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re raising a little debutante.”

“No chance of that.” She cupped her hands to yell. “Just be careful….” She lowered them. “You’ll tell me if she falls?”

“I’ll pick her up. You were telling me about hypnosis?”

“It sounds like so much mumbo jumbo, doesn’t it?”

“Not if it helps.” He realized they were having a conversation like old friends. No matter how hard he tried not to, he just slid back into past habits.

“I don’t know if it will. I think I’m supposed to remember things I’ve buried.”

“Things that keep you from seeing?”

“Maybe. But today I thought about the last conversation I had with Fidelity. We fought over you—”

“Me?”

“And Robby, too. Fidelity wanted me to play the field, to date other guys.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“That was one of the reasons I was angry at her the day she died. One of the things I went to South Land to confront her about.”

“You never told me.”

“It didn’t seem important, not with Fidelity dead. And explaining anything from jail was impossible. By the time I got out on bail, I was more worried about whether I was going to prison. Or worse.”

“You told the police you were angry because you discovered she had been to Claymore Park that morning and persuaded Robby to let her ride a hunter you were training, a horse you had told her nobody else was supposed to ride.”

“Firefall. A big chestnut brute. Yeah, I was angry about that, too.”

“I never understood why she did it.”

“Sometimes if she got up early enough she’d come over for a morning ride, a change of pace from South Land’s horses and trails. Sometimes we’d do the same thing and go over there. That morning she and Robby went out, and she probably told him I’d given her permission to ride Firefall. She was just looking for excitement, and Robby didn’t know any better. I was upset when I found out, and I got angrier as the day went on. Late in the day, when I finally got a break, I went to confront her….”

“Christian, you said Fidelity wanted me to date other guys? How did you know?”

He told her about his conversation with Peter on the morning of Fidelity’s death. He debated whether or not to tell her what had come next, but in the end, he decided to tell her all of it. There had been too many secrets. “I saw Bard in town that afternoon, when I was making a run to pick up some tack we’d ordered.”

“Bard?”

Christian remembered the afternoon as if it had happened yesterday—he’d had years to go over each moment in detail. He had driven into town in one of Claymore Park’s oldest pickups, a veteran that was usually relegated to the hayfields. He’d been hot and dusty, and the ride without shock absorbers or air-conditioning hadn’t helped his temper. There had been one parking spot in front of the saddlery. As he’d turned into it, a sleek silver Jag had beaten him to the punch.

He had parked behind it, blocking the Jag’s exit, and stepped down from the pickup.

Now, ironically, he realized how symbolic that moment had been.

“You might say we started off on the wrong foot,” Christian told Julia.

“What happened?”

They’d had words. Bard had seen nothing wrong with taking the space, even though Christian had gotten there first. And when Christian refused to move the pickup until his errand was done, Bard threatened to go inside and call the police.

“We argued about a parking space,” Christian said, keeping it simple. “And before we were done, he managed to tell me that he had his eye on you, and that Fidelity had told him you were ripe to play the field.”

“I didn’t know this conversation ever happened.”

“Just out of curiosity, were you ready to play the field?”

“You were the only man I wanted. Why was Fidelity stirring up trouble?”

A question had been asked and answered, and he believed her. Now he thought about
her
question. His probing into Fidelity’s life had paid off, after all.

He leaned against Maisy’s pickup, watching Callie climb higher. “I know why she was stirring up trouble, but it’s not pretty. Do you want the truth?”

“Please.”

In as few words as possible he told her about Fidelity’s involvement with drugs. “She pulled back while she still could, but that meant staying away from everybody and every place she’d gone before for excitement. She lived in two worlds, Julia. The one she inhabited with you, me and Robby, and a more dangerous world.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’ve been doing some checking since I got out. I’m afraid I know this part for a fact.”

“And you’re saying that she was stirring up trouble…?”

“Because she was bored and probably a little angry about what her life had come down to. She was restless because she was fighting a craving that scared her. She had the good sense to back off before her life got out of control, but it gave her a lot of time and a certain kind of energy to mess around with the only people she could still afford to be close to.”

Julia was silent, digesting his theory. When she spoke, she sounded as if she wanted to cry. “She was unhappy, so she wanted to make us unhappy?”

“I think she just thought she knew what was best for everybody, and she didn’t have anything better to do. Maybe on some level she was jealous of what you and I had together, but if so, I can’t believe it was a conscious thing. I don’t think she wanted to hurt us. I just think she wanted control over something in her life.”

“Why didn’t she tell me what she was going through? She never let on.”

“Fidelity had no weaknesses, remember? That’s what happens when you raise a kid to think she’s perfect. How can she ever admit she’s not? To anyone?”

“I miss her so much.” Julia’s tears glistened in the fading light of day. “I would have been there for her.”

“Well, I wasn’t there at the end, when she really needed me. After I had my little encounter with Bard, I did my errand, then I left the saddlery hell-bent for leather and headed straight to South Land.”

“And that’s when you ran into me?”

Julia had been on her way into town to get groceries for Maisy, and she’d waved him down. He’d been preoccupied and curt, and when she’d asked why, he only told her he had a score to settle with Fidelity. The words had come back to haunt him when she took the witness stand.

“That’s when I ran into you,” he acknowledged.

“And you refused to tell me what was wrong.”

“I didn’t want to involve you.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

His throat felt tight. “If I’d only made it to South Land even twenty minutes before I did…”

Julia found his hand. “Let’s put her to rest, Christian. Both of us. We’re not at fault for what happened. A crazy man killed her and left you to pay the price. We were her best friends, and we still love her. Maybe she is an angel. Who knows? Maybe she’s still trying to meddle and bring all this to a better conclusion.”

“If Fidelity had any say in things, I wouldn’t have gone to prison, and you wouldn’t have married Bard and raised my daughter as his.”

“Maybe she just got her wings.”

“We used to watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
every Christmas at Ludwell. There wasn’t a man who believed the world would have been a worse place if he hadn’t lived in it.”

She started to pull her hand away, but he gripped it and held tight. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He was silent.

“Will you come with me to say goodbye?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll come.” He tucked her hand under his arm and led her slowly to the little cemetery. Callie swung down from the tree and joined them. Clover tumbled through the long grass, every blade a challenge.

“Callie, will you put the flowers on Fidelity’s grave?” Julia said. “Christian will show you which one is hers.”

They walked down one row and up another. He found the plot at the end. It was lovingly tended. Someone had planted a bright red rose, and despite the onset of autumn, it still had one bloom sending sweet perfume into the air. “We’re there,” he said tersely.

“Fidelity,” Julia said, “we still miss you. We wish you were standing right here in the flesh, but wherever you are, I hope you’re at peace.”

“These flowers are for you,” Callie said. She leaned over and carefully laid the bouquet at the base of a simple marble headstone bearing Fidelity’s name and the words: Beloved Daughter.

“And if you want to be my guardian angel,” Callie added, “I’d be proud to have you.”

Christian knew it was his turn. He felt foolish, yet he also felt Fidelity’s presence. She had been in his thoughts so strongly that he almost felt he’d conjured her.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he said. “But I’m glad I knew you, and you were my friend.”

A breeze rustled the bush, and Callie took Christian’s hand. “She’s not sad,” Callie said. “Look, the rose is dancing. She’s making it dance. Don’t you be sad, okay?”

They stood together, watching Fidelity’s rose waltz in the dying light.

T
his time Pinky’s call woke Christian before dawn. At the first ring Christian felt for the telephone, knocking it off the nightstand. The guest wing at Claymore Park had a private line, and he had no doubt the call was for him.

“Chris? Got
you
up this time. Good going.”

“What’s happening?” Christian sat up, pushing his hair off his forehead. Pinky had obviously set his alarm to make this call, probably to pay Christian back.

“I wanted to catch you before you went out to the stables.”

“Uh-huh.” Christian forced his eyes open.

“I found out something you might like to know.”

“I’m waiting.”

Pinky laughed. “I got an old buddy of mine drunk last night. He used to work for Davey Myers. Went to work for him back in the days when Myers used to be somebody.”

“And…?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is for a cop to get somebody drunk. They figure, they’re with you, nobody’s going to do anything funny. You know?”

Christian yawned. “I’m sure I would if I were awake.”

Pinky took pity on him. “Here’s the thing. He remembered that deal Myers was talking about, the one up near South Land.”

Christian was suddenly more than halfway toward consciousness. “What did he remember?”

“That’s the thing. He said a lot of people would have been pissed as hell if it had worked out, that a lot of rich folks would have woke up one morning to find bulldozers practically in their backyard and houses multiplying like horny little bunnies. He kept saying there’d be bunnies, not foxes there anymore. I guess that was the bourbon talking.”

Christian whistled, and, encouraged, Pinky went on. “He didn’t want to say any more than that. I got the feeling maybe he’d been paid off to keep quiet. Half a bottle of Wild Turkey and he still didn’t loosen up much more. He said he had things he had to think about, and maybe he didn’t remember anything after all. That was the best I got.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“An old hunting buddy of mine. Name of Lester Morgan. From down near Warrenton. He lives up here now, though. Works for Virginia Vistas.”

Christian was fully awake now. Virginia Vistas was the development firm where Bard Warwick was legal counsel.

“How long has he had that job, do you know?”

“Oh, a good long time. I remember when he moved up here. I helped him look for a place to live. Now he’s got a wife and a house, but back then—”

“Do you remember exactly when that might have been?”

Pinky was silent. Christian could almost hear him counting backward. “Just about the time they sent you to jail,” Pinky said at last. “Give or take a year. Is that close enough for you?”

It was close enough. “What does he do for Virginia Vistas?”

“Inspects properties. Hires contractors and oversees the work when it needs to be done. Truth be told, I was surprised he got the job. He’s good with his hands, but not so good with his head.”

“Would he talk to me?”

“No. You’ll have to go about it some other way.”

“Maybe I’d better look into what Virginia Vistas was doing back then.”

“You do that. And good luck. ‘Cause it sounds like that’s what you’ll need from this point onward. I can’t think of another thing I can do to help.”

Christian thanked Pinky and hung up.

Julia had worked out a routine that gave her a sense of security. Although she still needed help for errands and paperwork, she was growing more and more self-sufficient. In fact, Karen had been offered a job in a surgeon’s office and planned to leave at the month’s end.

This morning, though, Julia was glad to have Karen’s assistance. Maisy was helping at the gallery, and Julia had an appointment in Leesburg with an internist who had examined her during her hospitalization at Gandy Willson. It was a routine visit to find out the results of lab work he had run. She almost canceled, but at the last minute she decided to go. Her own doctor was usually so overbooked that making an appointment to go over another doctor’s tests could take months.

They went in Karen’s car and chatted like old friends as they took the back way into town. Julia knew all about Karen’s life now, and had told her a fair portion of her own.

“You know,” Julia said as they stopped at one of the few lights between Ashbourne and the doctor’s office, “you’ve made me realize how few women friends I really have.”

“I have?”

“I…well, I guess I just haven’t wanted another close friend.”

“You had your husband, didn’t you?”

“No.” Julia was finally coming to terms with the fact that her marriage to Bard had seemed so acceptable because she had known they would
not
be friends. She hadn’t been ready for another relationship where she would have to share her heart. And she was afraid Bard would
never
be ready for one.

Karen stepped on the accelerator. “Well, I married Brandon’s father because everybody else was getting married, and I figured the time had come. Poor Walter was the first guy who asked once my time clock started ticking.”

“And I married because I was pregnant with another man’s child.”

“Aren’t you glad you had her, though? I don’t know what I would do without Brandon. He’s worth what I had to put up with from Walter.”

Julia knew from prior conversations that during their marriage Karen’s husband had collected lovers the way some men collect sports memorabilia. “I don’t know what I would do without Callie. Just imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t had her. I never got pregnant again. I might never have had the chance to raise a child.”

“I don’t know. There are lots of new treatments out there.”

“I hear the nurse inside you talking,” Julia said. “But I’m not even sure what the problem is. My periods are erratic, which is the most likely cause. Bard never wanted to bother with a real fertility workup. I don’t think he likes children enough to try that hard.”

“That seems funny to me.”

“Why?”

“Well, you told me once that you thought he couldn’t learn to love Callie because she wasn’t his.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Seems like he would have moved heaven and earth to have his own child, then.”

“Maybe he would have if I’d wanted his child.” Julia realized she’d never formed those words before. “I don’t think I really wanted his baby, Karen. That’s why I never pushed.”

“And it’s too late now?”

It was too late for a number of things that had to do with Bard. But that was a thought she wasn’t ready to speak out loud.

They arrived early at the doctor’s office, and Karen helped Julia into the waiting room. Julia had accustomed herself to not fully knowing what was going on around her, and even though Karen filled in some of the picture by describing the room, she was comfortable with what she couldn’t see.

When it was her turn to talk to the doctor, Karen helped her inside and offered to wait. The nurse appeared and asked Julia to change into a gown.

“I’m just here to get the results of some tests,” Julia explained. “Do I really need to do that?”

“The doctor wants to do a quick pelvic, Mrs. Warwick. Will that be a problem?”

Curiosity piqued, Julia said no. Karen helped her into the gown, then left to give Julia and the doctor privacy.

She was sitting on the examination table when the door opened and a voice boomed a hearty hello. Except for the obnoxious Dr. Jeffers, all the doctors who had examined Julia since her accident had run together in her mind. Neurologists, opthamologists, retinal specialists. Dr. Forrester, the chipper internist, seemed like a total stranger. She answered his queries about her health, the weather and whether she’d had any encouragement about her eyesight.

“You know, I saw your husband last year,” he told her. “I just realized the connection. His doctor was out of town. Mr. Warwick is quite a powerhouse.”

“I thought this would simply be a routine visit,” she said, once she had the chance to initiate a sentence herself. “Is an exam really necessary?”

“I hope you’ll bear with me. But I’m a little perplexed about something, and I thought I’d just do a follow-up exam before we talk.”

“Mind telling me what?”

“I don’t mind at all. But I’d be happier to talk after I’ve checked again. Not trying to be secretive, just thorough. I can tell you it’s not anything to worry about, though.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I’m not going anywhere dressed like this.”

He seemed to think that was funny. She had to smile. Her own internist was humorless and aloof, and Julia had always intended to find another. Maybe she had.

He went out in the hall to call his nurse, and Julia lay back on the table.

Maisy had been heartened by what had seemed like a gradual return of Julia’s appetite. Tonight, though, Julia barely tasted a supper of fresh greens and corn bread.

“Not hungry?” Maisy asked, as Julia carefully scraped plates into a compost pail for Jake to take out to the garden.

Julia took her time answering. “I guess I can’t think and eat at the same time.”

“You’ve seemed preoccupied.”

“I still have a lot I need to sort through.”

No one knew that better than Maisy, and no one knew better when Julia was keeping secrets. She went back to washing dishes.

“I’ve been thinking about your book,” Julia said.

“Have you?”

“What made you decide to write this particular story?”

“Every author has to start somewhere.”

“When I stand at my easel, I don’t simply pick up a paintbrush and starting dabbing on paint at random.”

“Never?”

“You’re saying that’s what you did? You sat down at the typewriter—”

“Computer. Little old modern Maisy.”

“You sat down and started to type and the words came from nowhere?”

“No, they don’t come from nowhere. Relationships fascinate me. They always have. And, like anyone my age, I’ve witnessed dozens of marriages, maybe hundreds, up close.”

“Ian is a terrible man.”

“If you see him that way, then I haven’t done my job.”

“Surely you aren’t saying he has any redeeming features? It’s possible to be too liberal.”

“Blasphemy.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay, picture this. A truck drives through an open field. The field is muddy, and the truck sinks a little. The next truck slips easily into the ruts the first one made and follows in its path without incident. Three or four do the same. Then the next truck comes along. All’s going well, but suddenly the driver realizes he wants to make a turn. He tries, but he’s so deep into the ruts he can only go in that direction. No matter how hard he tries.”

“I believe the expression ‘stuck in a rut’ would be a quicker way to say the same thing.”

Maisy smiled a little. “Unless you picture it, you can’t see how impossible it is to change. How hopeless.”

“Are you saying Ian Sebastian couldn’t change his behavior? You’re actually condoning the way he treats Louisa?”

“I’m just saying life is difficult, and answers are never easy.”

“Bard would be surprised to hear that.”

“You’ve insisted from the beginning that Ian is based on Bard.”

“There are many different ways a man can raise his hand to a woman.”

Maisy watched her daughter. Julia’s chin was set, the way it had often been as a child. To others she had seemed an overly sensitive, malleable girl, but Maisy had seen firsthand what her daughter was made of.

“Stories, like paintings, have a way of taking on a different cast, depending on who hears them,” Maisy said.

“Or who tells them.”

Maisy acknowledged that with a nod Julia couldn’t see.

“Does Ian change after he has a child?” Julia said. “Is that why you’re defending him?”

“It’s a while before bedtime, and I’m not defending him. You don’t want me to give away the story, do you?”

“Why don’t you read to me out on the porch tonight after we finish the dishes? Unless you have something else you have to do?”

“I don’t.”

“With Callie at Tiffany’s, the evening’s going to seem too long, anyway.”

“I can read to you.”

Julia faced her mother, almost as if she could see her. “When I paint, I always have a clear idea what I want to show.”

“Some of us just fumble along, sweetheart. No matter how hard we try, no matter how much we need to say.”