Since You've Been Gone (46 page)

“We're both having dates tonight,” she told Sean as she brushed him gently, smoothing the long hair on the backs of his legs and slicking down his slight cowlick. “I know this girl is special to you, so I want you to be a gentleman. If you pee on her, I'll die of embarrassment.”

Sean licked her nose, which she took in lieu of a contract. She hoped Betty and Walt wouldn't come nosing over to see what was going on.

In exactly one hour Clay arrived at the door bearing wine and a boom box. “I thought we could use some music,” he said simply. “I brought some CDs.”

“Not ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale,' I hope.”

“No. ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep' and ‘Here We Go ‘Round the Mulberry Bush.' I thought we could dance.” Sean and Gypsy were already touching noses. “A happy reunion.”

“Sean's a lothario.”

“Gypsy's not exactly playing the shy country lass.”

“I think it was love at first sight. Why don't the two of you come in? I'll grab the wineglasses and corkscrew and we'll head for the gazebo.”

When they climbed the steps to the candlelit gazebo, Clay whistled. “This looks magical.”

“My parents used to light candles out here some nights. I thought it was beautiful.”

“It is. And so are you. I feel underdressed in my khakis.”

“Oh, this dress just looked cool for a warm summer evening,” Rebecca said airily. “Found it at the back of the closet.”

“Well, it will go great with something I picked up for you.” Clay set down the wine and the boom box and opened a cluster of tissue paper. He withdrew a creamy white gardenia. “For your hair.”

“Clay, it's lovely!” Rebecca breathed.

“Women in old movies wear them. I always liked them.”

“Will you pin it in my hair?” He placed it behind her right ear and carefully pinned it in place. “How does it look?”

“Gorgeous. You should always wear gardenias in your hair.”

“I will from now on. They'll be my trademark.”

“Going to wear one at your next book signing?”

“If I ever write another book. The synopsis of my next one is so late the publisher has probably forgotten me.”

“I doubt that. And I'm looking forward to book two.”

“You haven't read book one.”

“Yes, I have. It was great. And I'm glad you didn't write about real events like Jonnie's abduction and Earl Tanner's murder.”

“Speaking of Earl Tanner,” Rebecca said as Clay uncorked the wine and poured two glasses, “I got a letter from Alvin today.”

“A letter?”

“According to Bill, Alvin would be too shy to call and talk to me personally.”

Clay handed her a glass. “I hope he didn't say anything awful.”

“His mother died in prison of cancer five days ago. When I read that, a load of guilt descended on me. But he went on with incredible information. He said it had never been his father who beat him. It was his mother. For a long time Earl believed her stories about Alvin having falls, but finally he caught on. He was going to divorce her, charge her with abuse, and take Alvin. So she murdered him and tried to collect the life insurance, which would have worked if it hadn't been for me. Alvin said he knew she would have eventually killed him and he thinks he owes me his life.”

“Well, I'll be damned,” Clay said. “And all this time you've thought he hated you.”

“It seems old terrors die slowly. Every time his mother
came up for parole, she told Alvin when she got out, she'd come after him. He was terrified, the child part of him thinking she could do anything. Now that she's gone, he feels free. And get this—he wants to write a book about the whole thing. He and his wife are expecting a baby and strapped financially. A book advance could do wonders. He asked me as a favor to bring up his proposal to my agent. I did. She loved the idea. True crime, ESP, the book written by the former child actually involved in the story—great stuff. She wants to see a synopsis. I wrote a note back to him telling him the good news. I didn't want to call him and scare him to death.”

Clay laughed. “If he actually sells the book, he'll have to get over some of this shyness.”

“He'll write it. He sent me some samples of his work. He's good. Very good.”

“That's great. Some of the people at the hospital think he's strange, but I always liked him.”

Rebecca took a sip of wine. “I have three other pieces of news,” she said quickly. She was unaccountably nervous and couldn't seem to stop talking. “One is about Aunt Esther. Before I left this morning, she told me she's decided to stay at a convalescent home near the hospital until the course of radiation therapy is finished. I was so afraid she'd insist on going back to Whispering Willows.”

Clay smiled. “Esther has good sense, Rebecca. She's also a fighter. I think she'll be around twenty years from now.”

“I hope so. My second piece of news is about Randy Messer. Remember my telling you they found an earring in the Pioneer Room after Sonia's attack, then I saw that his earlobe was torn?” Clay nodded. “Randy's father admitted that he and Randy had a ‘ruckus,' as he put it, and he tore out an earring. It was a hoop. The one in the library was a stud. I always thought it would be hard to tear out a stud.”

“I guess it would be. I hadn't given it much thought.”

“That stud in the library could have been anyone's, even
Randy's, but not from the night of Sonia's attack.” Rebecca sipped wine again. “Third piece of news. Todd couldn't stop worrying about the ‘baby' he thought was crying when he was hidden in the cabin. So Bill took him into the woods and they found the fawn. It was in perfect health. Todd wanted a policeman posted at the site to make sure the fawn stayed fine, but Bill convinced him Mama Deer might not like the intrusion.”

Clay grinned. “What a kid! After all he's been through, he was still worried about something crying in the woods.”

“I think he's pretty special.”

“And you want one just like him someday.”

Rebecca's face flamed. The reaction made her feel absurd. She gulped more wine and asked, “How about some music?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Clay slipped a CD into the player. Sarah McLachlan's “I Love You” came on. “My favorite song?” Rebecca asked. “You remembered.”

“Sure.” He moved closer to her, took her wineglass and set it down, then held out his arms, his gaze holding hers. “Dance?”

Rebecca stepped into Clay's embrace. The dogs huddled together watching them. Candlelight flickered as Sarah's soulful, haunting voice floated lyrics of love into the warm night air perfumed by nearby roses. “We dance well together.”

“We're not doing anything fancy.”

“Could you please try to get in the mood here?” Clay asked good-naturedly.

That's the problem, Rebecca thought. This wonderful mood. I could stay in his arms all night. I feel like if he lets go of me, I'll die.

“She's singing about a man she loves but she can't tell him,” Clay said close to her ear.

“I know.”

“Are you going back to New Orleans without telling me you love me?”

Rebecca's heart pounded. “In the song it's the man who walks away, not the woman.”

“I know. You didn't answer my question.”

They still danced slowly in the magical, candlelit, perfumed night. “Clay, I can't live here.”

“No one said you had to. They have hospitals in New Orleans, don't they?”

“Probably.”

“Would you mind if I worked at one?” He leaned back and looked at her. “You're the one with ESP, but I know you love me. And I love you. I think I have since you were a teenager and you told me about the constellations Callisto and Areas. For once you weren't stammering and blushing. And all I could think of were your beautiful green eyes and your soft lips and the music in your voice as you told a story. You were completely caught up in the passion and drama of it, and I saw the woman you were going to become.”

Rebecca gazed into his eyes, the sad-keen eyes she adored, and her throat tightened. “Clay, there are problems with me because of my ESP, my visions.”

“There are no problems without solutions.”

“That's not true.”

“Okay, but some problems
can
be worked out if people care enough to try. I certainly care enough to try. I think you do, too. Besides—” He turned her around until she faced Sean and Gypsy, lying side-by-side. “Are you going to be responsible for separating these two?”

Rebecca smiled, her eyes filling with tears. Then she laid her head on Clay's shoulder. “How do you think you'll like living in New Orleans, Dr. Bellamy?”