Time After Time (29 page)

Caroline stood up slowly,
clutching a dandelion in her hand. She held it out silently to Liz
— not as an offering, apparently, but as evidence of her purpose in
crouching behind an old tree trunk on a remote, overgrown corner of
a property that at that very moment was brimming with bright
amusements and enchanting games.

I'm supposed to think
she'd rather be picking weeds. Right.

"Come over
here."

Caroline considered
whether she should obey or not; then, with an indifferent shrug,
she approached Liz.

"Don't you have an ant
farm in your room?" Liz asked her.

The child let out a bored
sigh and said, "I don't anymore."

"I'll bet," Liz said
dryly. "Where is it?"

"I suppose, under your
feet — and under
Susy's
feet — and under everyone's feet. I got tired of
it."

Unsatisfied with her
answer, Liz asked her directly, "What are
you doing here?"

Caroline glanced at the
Meissen bowl on the bench and said to Liz, "What are
you
doing here? Aren't
you supposed to be getting things ready for people to
eat?"

Very true. Liz didn't have
time to be investigating snotty five-year-olds. She made an
impatient sound, picked up the covered bowl, and began walking
away.

She heard the child's
voice, high and brittle, ring out behind her: "Is my mother coming
back or not?"

Liz stopped and turned and
said, more softly now, "Of course she is, Caroline. I'm sure you
know that."

"Because sometimes she
doesn't, you know," the child said with a tremulous sneer in her
voice. "She stays away. And when she comes back, my father yells,
and she yells, too. And then Bradley always cries. But I never
do."

"Your father—?"

"Not Dada," Caroline said
dismissively with a flip of her little wrist. "The man who lives
with her."

She sounded so
world-weary. It was impossible for Liz to believe that the child
was Susy's age. The sad irony was that neither girl seemed to have
a clue what a real father was — and in that, they were more alike
than not.

Liz said with gentle
caution, "When your mother comes back from the clinic, it will all
be fine, Caroline. Really."

But the child seemed to
have jumped onto another track altogether. She folded her arms
across her floral sundress; the dandelion, its stem bent in two,
hung from her hand like a broken promise. "You want to live in East
Gate, don't
you," she said, clamping her
lips in a tight grim line. "You and Susy
."

Liz hesitated before she
acted puzzled. "Why would I want to live at East Gate, Caroline? I
have a pretty little house of my own."

Caroline gave her a shrewd
look. "I knew you wouldn't tell me.''

Flushing, Liz said, "I'm
sorry, young lady; I'm very busy right now," and left
her.

She had absolutely no idea
what Caroline's game was. Was the child afraid that Liz was going
to displace her mother — who was threatening to displace Jack's
mother? What an unholy mess! Didn't
anyone
believe in the nuclear family
anymore?

It occurred to Liz, as she
slipped the Meissen bowl back to its rightful place, that
Caroline's cross-examination might have an element of wishful
thinking in it. The girl seemed so jealous of Susy; was it possible
that Caroline was simply fishing? That she was willing to take any
mother she could get? Liz fervently hoped not — it was too
distressing to imagine such open, aching need.

As for Caroline's
suspicion that Liz had designs on East Gate: it was simply unfair.
Certainly, Liz would like to live at East Gate. Who
wouldn'
t
want to live in a fairy-tale palace? It was a
perfectly normal desire.

The question was, would
she like to live there with the fairy-tale prince as
well?

****

The lump of fear that had
lodged in Liz's throat began to ease when no one actually dropped
dead of food poisoning. She had worried, not unreasonably, that the
ants might merely have been the warm-up act to the main event:
salmonella or arsenic or worse. But the guests ate, and the guests
survived, at least for today.

And at least for today,
Victoria gave up on sneaking the heart-shaped pin into Jack's room.
None of the keys on the first key ring had fit the lock, and when
she'd approached his door the second time with the second ring of
keys, she'd been intercepted by Cornelius Eastman
himself.

"Y'know — I think he was
coming on to me?" Victoria said to Liz in a bemused voice. "We
stood in the hallway for a long time, and he said something about
what an intense 'presence' I had. And he asked me if I'd ever —
honest to God — been on the stage."

Liz rolled her eyes and
said, "I suppose it's better than 'What's your sign?'

"
I
thought it was cute. It was such
an old-fashioned thing to say; he probably learned to hit on women
before movies were even invented. He's charming,
actually."

"He's married,
actually."

"Liz! I wasn't taking Old
Corny seriously. I think the guy was just on automatic, anyway. I
mean, look at him now — flitting from pretty woman to pretty woman.
He's like a bee in a flower bed."

The picnic was clearly
winding down; guests were departing. From where they stood in the
shadows of dusk, Liz and Victoria had a good view of Cornelius
Eastman extracting a little bit of nectar from every female he
chose to alight on.

"He's a man who loves
women, no doubt about that," murmured Victoria, half in
admiration.

"From what I've seen," Liz
said, sighing, "it's a family curse."

Victoria laughed and said,
"If you mean Jack, I'm not so sure anymore. Word on the street is,
suddenly he's taken himself out of the action. He hasn't been seen
holding up anyone's arm in a couple of weeks."

"Because he's preoccupied
with the shipyard, I imagine," said Liz at once. But in fact she
was imagining something else entirely, and it frightened
her.

Don 't start
fantasizing,
she warned herself.
Don't. Where can it lead? Nowhere.

Victoria was smiling her
knowing smile. "Do you really think a man like Jack Eastman would
give up women just to put in a few extra hours at the
shop?"

"Why not? It's been done
before."

"Get real, Liz. I
mean,
look
at the
guy."

Victoria took her by the
shoulders and turned her ninety degrees. There was Jack, standing
alongside a tall bamboo torchère, his hair glinting black in the
amber glow of the citronella lamp that burned brightly in its
hobnailed bowl. He was laughing and saying good-bye to little Amy,
whose father, a welder at the shipyard, lived on Liz's parents'
street. Even from that distance, Liz could feel her body begin to
hum in response to his sheer physical presence.

All day it had been this
way, even though they'd scarcely had time to speak since the casino
conversation. Liz would be doing her job, minding her own business,
and suddenly her radar would lock onto him. She'd look up, and
there he'd be, sometimes staring at her, sometimes not. But every
time, it was a jolt to her system, a shock to her heart. And every
time, she felt a little more consumed, a little more
lost.

This couldn't go on.
Either he'd have to sell his house, or she'd have to sell hers.
Because it
couldn't
go on. She was falling in love with him, and it was the most
pointless, time-consuming, heart-wrenching waste of time she'd ever
spent.

"Yes," she said calmly. "I
see him. So what?"

"So what? So buttons! He's
rich—"

"He's not rich; it just
looks that way. His money's tied up."

"He's
handsome—"

"Not so handsome. I think
his nose was broken once; it's a tiny bit off to the
left."

"—and he's looking your
way. Oh, Gawd." Victoria burst into nervous giggles and turned
aside. "How can you
resist
him?"

Liz felt hot tears rush up
and then recede. "I don't know," she admitted. It came out in a
moan, not in a boast.

Victoria swung slowly
around. Her head was cocked curiously to one side, like a cardinal
checking out a new feeder. "Is something going on? Have you been —
Liz, you
haven't
gone to bed with him! Not without telling me!"

Liz shook her
head.

Victoria looked
unconvinced. "I guess after seeing you two today, my next question
is: Why the hell not?"

"He hasn't suggested it,
for one thing," said Liz, hiding behind a wry grimace. "And for
another, it's none of your business, dammit."

"Aha! So you
are
planning to jump in
the sack with him. Good for you! Heck, things are gonna close up
down there if you don't use 'em soon."

"Tori!"

"Don't Tori me," Victoria
said, undaunted. "How long has it been? Years, right? You
understand how neurotic that is? Is that what you are at this
point? Just plain old
afraid?"

"Don't be dumb. Look, I've
been raising Susy—"

"Oh, like you're the only
single mother on the planet."

"And I've been trying to
get a business up and running—"

"You think everyone else
is on welfare?"

"And ... and he's not my
type—"

Victoria merely laughed
out loud.

"And he
undoubtedly
wants
children—"

"For goodness' sake, you'd
just be bedding him, not marrying — wait a minute," said Victoria,
touching her hand to her forehead in lieu of a smack. "That's what
this is about? You won't do it without a wedding ring? Oh, sweetie,
you
have
lost
touch with reality. Ha. And they shake their heads over
me."

Liz glanced around: the
true reality was, they were having the kind of chat that belonged
on a couch with pizza and movie rentals. Not here.

"Thank you for the update
on the dating game, Miss Landers," she said. "Now, will you kindly
gather up my exhausted daughter and take her home? I'll be there
just as soon as I've got my money."

"And well you deserve it,
if I may say so, Liz. Great job. This one really did go
perfectly."

"Pretty much," Liz said,
brushing aside the revolting ant episode, about which she'd said
nothing so far. "You didn't by any chance see Grant Dade skulking
around?"

"The student nutcase? Good
lord, no. Why?"

Liz frowned and said,
"Somehow I don't think he's through with me."

"Oh, well, let's not think
unpleasant thoughts. See you back at the ranch. Don't worry about
Susy; I'll tuck her in."

"Mmmn. And thanks, Tori.
For everything." Liz embraced her, then bundled her happy, weary
daughter into Victoria's arms for the four-block spiral
home.

After that there was
nothing much to do but the final cleanup, most of which was the job
of the caterers. Liz gathered up the chairs and umbrellas and resin
tables and stacked them for pickup the next day. She bagged the
linens and took down the banners and boxed the leftover souvenir
glasses, each hand-painted by her with a ruby-red clematis and the
year of her Renaissance picnic. She kept one of the glasses for
herself, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball. Would there
be another picnic, another theme, another year? If only she
knew.

At about the time Liz
snapped the last table shut, the last of the guests finally left
and Jack came over to lend a hand.

"Oh, sure, now that all
the dishes are done," she teased. He didn't have to offer his help;
but she was inexpressibly pleased that he had.

The caterers, more
proficient at breaking down a party than Liz, had done their job,
gotten paid by her, and were long gone. Netta — if she had any
sense — was in her room with her feet on a hassock and an ice bag
on her head. Deirdre must've had Caroline and Bradley en route to
their beds. As for Cornelius Eastman, he'd designated himself the
driver of a perky female yardhand who'd had a bit too much to
drink. That left just Liz and Jack, and a galaxy of stars
overhead.

They walked side by side
down the torchère-lined path, taking turns blowing out the candles
as they passed. The smell of citronella and paraffin began mingling
in the air around them, adding a smoky, sultry ingredient to the
heady mix of roses and honeysuckle that were still in bloom upwind
of the house. Beneath their steps the gentle crunch of pea-stone
echoed their ambling pace. It was a moment of almost magical
seclusion, despite the traffic that ebbed and flowed a mere hundred
yards away under the nostalgic amber glow of iron streetlamps on
Bellevue Avenue.