If I Can't Have You (44 page)

oOo

July 4, 1938

Trevor gazed at the fireworks exploding over the swaying palms and the magnificent columns of Sparta, lighting the midnight sky with a profusion of sparkling colors. Off in the distance he could hear laughter and loud voices ringing out as partygoers celebrated Independence Day.

But Trevor couldn’t bring himself to celebrate.

Carole Sinclair was dead.

History
had
repeated itself. In spite of his efforts in the past year to change the course of events, Carole Sinclair still was dead.

He’d failed.

He stood on one of the terraces which was fragrant with roses and honeysuckle, and looked down at the Grecian temple that stood solemnly beside the Poseidon Pool. Once he’d tried to end his life there, now he wanted to go back to the life that held his fondest memories. He prayed he would not fail again.

With one hand tucked in the pocket of his crisply pleated trousers, he ignored the rain of firelight in
the sky and cast his eyes downward to study the reflection of a million sparkles on the calm surface of the water.

From the corner of his eye he saw movement on the stairs leading to the pool. It was the shadow of a woman dressed in flowing white, and for one heart-wrenching moment, he thought—he hoped—it was Adriana. And then he realized—it was only Janet Julian.

He watched her walk slowly and gracefully past the temple and stop at the edge of the pool. Her long gown was pale pink, not white, and it swirled at her feet. She looked sweet and innocent, like a girl at her first cotillion. But instead of laughing and acting carefree, she looked just as troubled and tortured as he. Carole would still be alive if...

What good did it do to dwell on it. Carole was dead. If he tried a thousand times, he doubted he could change the tragic circumstances of the night before. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe some things just couldn’t be changed.

From where he stood, he could hear Janet’s sobs. Her head had bent in sorrow, and she’d covered her face with her hands. He wished that he, too, could cry, but no amount of tears would bring Carole back.

The sudden crash, crackle, and bang of the fireworks exploding in the sky caught his attention, and he ran his fingers through thick ebony hair, combing back the lock that insisted on falling over his forehead when caught in the cool night breeze. He wished that he could celebrate. He wished that Carole was alive and that Janet was happy. But those things weren’t meant to be. When...
if
he could return to Adriana, he’d just have to forget. He could do nothing else.

Taking a deep breath, he sucked in the scents of star jasmine, closely clipped grass, the obtrusive smoke and gunpowder from the Fourth of July festivities,
and, from a distance, the salt air of the Pacific Ocean that he loved. He’d done the same things before. He’d given up hope the last time. This time, hope was all he had to hang on to. As soon as
Janet left the Poseidon Pool, he’d walk into the water, float facedown, and hope when he woke, he’d be in Adriana’s arms once again.

Janet was gone when he turned toward the temple. The fireworks had stopped exploding, and only dim light brightened the pool—and the silky pink fabric that floated on the surface.

Oh, God!

He ran across the terrace, leaped over a hedge, and raced down the stairs, two and three at a time.

Please, Lord. Let her be alive. Please.

He rounded the temple and dived into the water. He was at Janet’s side in less than a moment, pulling her limp body close as he made his way back to the marble steps leading out of the water.

Charlie was waiting at poolside, his face filled with fear, and Trevor placed Janet into Charlie’s outstretched arms.

Trevor took a few deep breaths, then felt like a helpless bystander as Charlie knelt on the marble and cradled Janet in his arms. Slowly her eyes opened, and even through the pool water streaming down her face, he could see the flow of tears.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“Don’t say that, Janet,” Charlie whispered. “Please. She’s dead. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do now. Just try to forget everything.”

“I wish I could. Oh, I wish I could.”

Janet buried her head into Charlie’s shoulder, and she continued to weep as he stood with her cradled in his arms.

“I’m going to take her inside,” Charlie said to Trevor.
“See if I can find someplace quiet and let her rest.”

“I’ll go with you,” Trevor said.

Water dripped from his tuxedo and Janet’s gown as they walked in silence up stairs that led them across deserted terraces rather than the crowded ones, and entered the mansion through one of the back doors.

There was a small reading room just off the library that Trevor led Charlie to, and Janet curled up on the black-leather sofa where Charlie had laid her.

Trevor poured a snifter of brandy, and held it out to Janet.

“Drink this,” he said, not knowing what else to do or say. “It might warm you up a bit.”

She took the glass with trembling fingers. “I wanted to die,” she cried. “It’s all my fault that Carole’s dead. It’s all my fault.”

Charlie helped her to sit up, and she took a sip of the brandy. The eyes that had smiled
at him last night were vacant n
ow, glazed over in a look Trevor remembered so well. It was the same empty stare she’d worn the first time he’d seen her at Magnolia Acres.

She drank the rest of the brandy and held the empty glass out to Charlie. “Thank you, dearest,” she said, as he took it from her fingers “You’re so good to me. So very, very good.”

She tilted her head to look at Trevor and smiled. “You really shouldn’t be here, you know. You should be with your mystery woman. She must miss you.”

She said the words as if she knew he was going away, as if she knew the future.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, first,” he said.

“Charlie’s with me. He’s always with me. Go now, Trevor. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

He hoped she was right. He prayed everything would be fine, and that he’d soon be back in Adriana’s arms.

Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss on Janet’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

She touched his cheek. “Of course you will.”

Trevor shook Charlie’s hand. “You’ll take care of her?” he asked.

“Always.”

Knowing the truth of Charlie’s statement, Trevor crossed the room and opened the door, long past ready to attempt a journey back to Adriana.

“It’s gone,” he heard, turning back at the sound of Janet’s faint, tear-filled whimper.
“My necklace,” Janet cried, clutching her neck. “Oh, Charlie. I must have lost it in the pool. Please find it.”

“I’ll go right now. You just stay here and relax.”

Trevor shook his head at Charlie. “I’ll go. You take care of Janet.”

He started out the door, then tilted his head to look over his shoulder at Janet. “I’ll bring it back to you. Don’t worry.”

Trevor ignored the stares and laughter of his friends as he walked soggily across the terraces. He patted backs, shook the hands of age-old friends, and hugged his dearest friend, Harrison, as he headed for the pool.
They must think I’m a fool,
he laughed to himself, not really caring any longer what anyone thought.

The only person who mattered to him was Adriana, and he’d give anything to hear her laugh—with him or at him.

The surface of the water was calm when he stood before the Poseidon Pool. At the bottom, resting on top of an emerald green tile, he saw the sparkle of a diamond choker.

He’d picked a red rosebud on his trek down to
the pool. Now, he held it close to his face, inhaling the sweet fragrance, and thought of Adriana’s own unique scent wafting about him. The memory made him smile.

“Soon, Adriana,” he whispered, half-hoping, half-praying that his words were true. Once he returned the necklace to Janet, he’d try and return to the arms of his wife—and he’d keep on trying, even if it took a lifetime.

He’d failed Carole. He refused to fail Adriana.

He kissed the rose and tossed it onto the water, took a deep breath, and dived to the bottom of the pool. With his eyes open, he could see the shimmer of diamonds, and he followed their glow.

The necklace was just inches from his fingers when he heard thunder roaring through his ears and felt a turbulent whirlpool surrounding him. Reaching out, he clutched the choker, turned, and attempted to push off the bottom and head for the surface.

But the strong, swirling water pulled him down. It felt as if icy fingers had wrapped around his ankles, his knees, his waist, halting his escape. The water choked his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

Fear wrapped around him. He thought he was going to die without having a chance to get back to Adriana.

All of his instincts fought for life. He scratched at the water, wanting to reach the surface, wanting a gasp of air.

But he couldn’t move. He couldn
’t swim. He could just barely th
ink as the water pressed against him like a vise.

Adriana!
he attempted to scream, but his words were drowned out by water rushing into his mouth.

Dizziness engulfed him, as his thoughts drifted
from his fear of dying, to once again being with the woman he loved, to lying in her arms.

I love you, Adriana.

A dark void filled him then, he felt tired, he wanted to sleep, and...

July 4, 1998

“Miss Howard.”

The woman’s voice was hazy. Faint and indistinct. A nurse maybe?

Adriana felt cool fingers on her forehead, then the voice again.

“Miss Howard? Are you all right?”

“Just a little dizzy.” Adriana struggled to sit up, then doubled over, wrapping her arms around her stomach to fight the nagging nausea. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” she said, choking out the words.

“I’m going to get something cool for you to drink. Try not to move until I get back.”

Adriana pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to rid herself of the headache and the persistent ringing in her ears. Her fingers were numb, and an icy dull fluttered through her arms.

Opening her eyes, she looked around the unfamiliar room. Sun streamed through an open window where white eyelet curtains fluttered in the breeze. Floral paintings hung on the walls in pristine white frames, and a yellow-and-white chenille spread draped over the side of the narrow twin bed. A
white, lacy doily sat on a nightstand, and one simple long-stemmed red rose occupied a tall crystal bud vase on top.

Where could she possibly be?

The room seemed oddly familiar, but the decorations were different. Soft and feminine rather than sterile and plain.

She rose from the floor and hesitantly walked to the window to look out. She was at Magnolia Acres, but it seemed so different. Happier.

Downstairs, on the vast expanse of green lawn bordered by rows of multicolored rosebushes, an old man was lighting a barbecue, and the fumes of lighter fluid and charcoal wafted up to her. A child was laughing as he ran around waving a sparkler, and gray- and white-haired men and women with crocheted lap robes over their legs sat about in wheelchairs listening to Sousa marches on the stereo.

The Fourth of July?
No, that couldn’t be right. That holiday was several weeks ago. She had planned to spend it with Elliott and Juanita but something had kept her from celebrating the Fourth at Sparta, so she’d gone there on the fifth, instead.

Oh, why can’t I remember anything else?

She pressed her burning forehead against a cool yellow wall and tried to remember something, anything that might remind her why she was here. She didn’t remember the drive, but her green Mercedes was parked downstairs in the gravel circle. She didn’t remember coming to this room, but her purse sat on the nightstand.

Am I losing my mind?

She turned when she heard footsteps on the hardwood floor, and the woman’s voice once again. “Are you feeling better, Miss Howard? I was worried about you.”