Reckless Moon (17 page)

Beth nodded sympathetically. “He had it in for you, all right. That kind of hearing is usually over in five minutes with a slap on the wrist and a warning to behave. I don’t know why he felt he had to read all that stuff out loud.”

Bram turned to look at her. “He was trying to make me look ridiculous, humiliate me in front of you. And he succeeded.”

“Oh, Bram, that isn’t true,” Beth said softly, her heart going out to him. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Not as many as I make.” He glanced away, his dark eyes bleak. “And I keep making the same one.” He looked back at Beth, attempting a smile. “You must think I’m a real jerk.”

“No, I don’t,” Beth replied, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I think that you’re...”

“What?” he prompted, eyeing her intently.

“Unhappy,” she finished, watching his reaction.

He smiled grimly, then half laughed as he responded, “God knows, that’s true enough.”

Beth felt his confusion, his pain, and wished that she could solve everything for him, take away the bad experiences that had made him what he was. But she loved what he was, and was willing to take the bad with the good.

Bram raked his hand through his hair, lifting it from his forehead. “It’s my own fault, mouse. The judge was right. I should have outgrown this nonsense; I’m too old to be getting into fights in bars.” He grinned suddenly, displaying a flash of the charm Beth found so irresistible. “In fact, I was too old ten years ago. That never stopped me, though.”

“I feel responsible,” Beth said quietly. “I gave you a hard time the night you wound up at the Kit-Kat. Some of the things I said were very unfair.”

“Some of the things you said were perfectly true,” Bram countered, admiration creeping into his tone. “Told me off, didn’t you, counselor?”

“I’m not proud of what I did.”

“You should be. Never be ashamed of honesty, not with me, anyway.” He smiled slightly. “I might not like hearing it at the time, but I like lies a lot less.” He reached out and ran a strand of her hair through his fingers. “Maybe I need an honest woman to make a man of me.”

“You’re already a man, Bram,” Beth answered, afraid to say anything more.

He snorted. “Physically, sure, but I’m not certain about emotionally.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “You see, mouse, I am aware of my shortcomings. I just can’t seem to figure out what to do about them.”

Let me help you, Beth wanted to say. “I think you’re all right,” she said lightly, half kidding, trying to tease him out of this confessional mood that was bringing her dangerously close to tears. Bram in a rage was at least familiar; this was heartbreaking.

“I think I really could shape up, you know, if I had someone to depend on, someone who would be faithful,” he said, almost to himself, as if she hadn’t spoken.

I’m here, Beth thought. But he didn’t believe such a woman existed, and she knew it. It hurt her deeply that even after their night together he couldn’t see that what he needed was standing right in front of him.

A couple passed next to them, laughing, and they both looked up, startled. They had forgotten where they were.

“You look lovely in those clothes,” Bram said suddenly, changing the subject. “Like an autumn leaf.”

Beth was wearing a rust-and-brown tweed suit with a harvest gold blouse. “I’m glad you like them,” she said.

“And you’re wearing my bracelet,” he added, delighted. He had caught sight of it when she moved her hand.

“Yes.”

He set his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, putting her back to the hall.

“Beth, something has been bothering me. The night we spent together—we didn’t use any precautions. You could be pregnant.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

He seemed almost disappointed, an odd reaction from a man who had made a lifetime fetish of avoiding responsibility.

“Will you have lunch with me?” he asked, still holding her.

“I can’t, Bram. I have to meet a client in town.”

“So that’s it?” he said. “You just go off to your meeting and I don’t see you anymore?”

“You’ll see me on business in your office.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He released her, stepping away. “How can you be so distant with me after what we shared?”

“That was your choice, Bram, not mine,” Beth replied quietly.

He nodded slowly, looking away. “It must be obvious, even to you, that I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said.

“It’s obvious that you have to make up your mind about what you want.”

Bram continued to look past her, his eyes distant “And you won’t wait forever, will you?” he finally said.

Beth didn’t answer, thinking that she probably would.

His eyes returned to hers. “You are one classy lady, do you know that? I took from you the most precious gift a woman has to offer, and then left with hardly a word. And you handled it like a champ: no tears, no recriminations, just the most perfect example of style and grace I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “Why did I walk away?”

“You have to answer that for yourself.”

He bent his head, jamming his hands into his pockets. The doors of Room Two swung open behind them and disgorged a flood of litigants.

“I’ll go,” Bram said, looking up, “and let you get to your lunch. Thanks for going with me. You kept me from blowing up and getting into worse trouble.”

“Goodbye,” Beth said, watching as he blended into the crowd and finally vanished through the door.

He’s turning to me, Beth thought, as she walked to the desk to file his disposition papers. He talked to me, and told me what he was really thinking. No more tough lines about everyone being alone and learning to take care of yourself. He had shared a little of his mind with her, and she knew that with Bram that was a far more important portion than his body.

Beth nodded to another lawyer with whom she had a passing acquaintance, and then handed in her paperwork. She signed the register, then looked at her watch. Plenty of time to get into Suffield to meet her lunch date.

As she snapped her purse closed, the golden charm she wore flashed with a glint of diamonds.

She smiled, and headed for the door.

CHAPTER 9

Two days later the phone was ringing as Beth let herself into her house. She put down her overnight case and dropped her purse on the hall table, hurrying to answer it.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” she muttered, picking up the receiver. She cradled it between her neck and shoulder and bent to remove her shoes.

“Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Beth!” Marion’s voice was urgent “Where on earth have you been?”

“I went to Boston, Marion. I told you about it. My old boss referred a case to me and I went up there to discuss it with him. Why? What’s the matter? You sound like you thought I went to Japan.”

“I did. I’ve been trying to reach you. When are you going to get a secretary, or at least a service to take messages?”

“I just bought a machine, Marion, give me a break. You act like I’m made of money. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

There was a pause. Then, “Bram’s father had another stroke.”

Beth sank slowly into a chair. “How bad is he?” Beth asked.

“Not good. Bram was looking everywhere for you last night; he even called me, which is an indication of how desperate he was to find you.”

“Oh, God,” Beth whispered. Why did this have to happen the minute she left town? “Is Bram at the house?” she asked Marion.

“Yes. He’s got a private duty nurse there around the clock. He’s in rough shape, Beth. He really sounds like he needs you.” Marion cleared her throat. “It amazed me how broken up Bram was about it. I never thought he cared much for his father.”

Beth closed her eyes. Marion didn’t understand Bram at all. No one does, Beth thought. No one but me.

“Marion, I have to go. I’ll get right over there. Thanks for calling.” She hung up before Marion could reply, reaching for her shoes again. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

* * *

The Curtis house was one of the most impressive homes in the valley. It was a two story colonial with a front veranda running the length of the house, supported by tall columns, which gave it the look of a Southern plantation house. A long drive led up to it through rows of oaks standing like sentinels on either side. In the distance Beth could see the first of the tobacco barns that stretched along the landscape for miles. The harvest was in now, and the leaves were drying, tacked to the doors of the sheds. These flipped upward like the pages of a stenographer’s notebook, exposing the green leaves to the parching sun. To the right were the buses used to carry the pickers to and from town, still and silent now, parked at random like the discarded toys of a child who had outgrown them. Beth drove into the paved semicircle that faced the house and got out, noticing the presence of several unfamiliar cars. There were others inside besides Bram.

The nurse answered the door. “May I help you?” she said politely, looking Beth over with detachment.

“I’m Beth Forsyth, I live down the road. Mr. Curtis has been asking for me.”

The woman’s demeanor changed immediately. “Of course,” she said, taking Beth’s hand and pulling her inside. “Mr. Curtis has been very upset. But he won’t talk to me; I don’t know what to do for him.”

“How is his father?” Beth asked, noticing the hushed, almost expectant atmosphere of the house, indicating the presence of an invalid.

The nurse raised her brows. “The doctor is with him now. I can’t say. He seems aware of what’s going on around him, though.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Beth asked eagerly.

“He can’t talk, miss,” the nurse added flatly.

“At all?” Beth said, alarmed.

The nurse shook her head. “And his son has been crazy. He threw the cleaning woman the agency sent over right out of the house, said she was making too much noise. And he was asking for you all the time, sent that young lady to look for you.”

“What young lady?”

“Short, blonde, with a little girl.”

Mindy. “Is she still here?”

“No, she had to leave. She said to tell you if you arrived that she would call later.”

“Is Bram alone? Where is he?”

“In the library, miss. He said not to let anyone in but you.”

“I’ll go and see him,” Beth said, walking past the nurse, and then stopping. “I’m sorry, forgive me. What is your name?”

“Mrs. Harkness.”

“Hello, Mrs. Harkness. Thanks for filling me in. Do you know Mrs. Lopez? She’s a practical nurse on pediatrics at Johnson.”

“No, miss. I don’t work out of the hospital; I get my assignments from my agency.”

“Oh, I see. I’m glad you were able to help out here.”

Mrs. Harkness nodded. “He’s very much alone, isn’t he?” she asked. “The son, I mean.”

“Yes,” Beth whispered. “But he wants it that way.”

“I don’t know about that,” the woman said wisely. “He wanted you here, miss.”

Beth patted Mrs. Harkness’ hand. “Thank you for saying that. And please call me Beth. I’ll see you later.” She made her way through the deep entry hall, recalling the layout of the house, unable to remember the last time she’d been inside it. The library was at the back, behind the living room, and Beth noticed the change in decor. Bram’s mother had favored antiques and family heirlooms, and after she died the men had kept it pretty much as she’d left it, until the advent of Anabel. Now the furniture was stark and modern, chrome and glass, which did not go well with the style of the house or its male occupants. It looked as if it had been done by a decorator, and Beth could well imagine what Bram thought of it. Obviously he had been too busy with the business and his father’s ill health to do anything about it since Anabel’s departure. But her choice had been an effective one; the memory of Bram’s mother was muted almost into silence.

Beth halted outside the closed library door. She knocked. There was no response, so she turned the knob and pushed it inward.

The room was dark, but even so it was obvious that Anabel’s modernization project had made no inroads here. Someone had insisted on leaving the place alone, and it was as Beth remembered it, filled with books and plaques, trophies and family pictures, much like Beth’s father’s den at home. There was a large portrait of some Curtis ancestor over the fireplace, mounted in a heavy gold frame. Beth looked around the room, which appeared to be empty, and would have left except that she caught the strains of music coming from the stereo standing in a corner. It was Debussy’s
Afternoon of a Faun.

“Bram?” she said softly. “Are you in here?”

He stood, peering at her through the gloom. He’d been slouched in an armchair behind the rolltop secretary, hidden from view. “Beth?” he said hoarsely.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Beth,” he repeated, coming toward her across the room. He caught her in his arms and held her silently, dropping his head to her shoulder.