A Different Light (12 page)

“Then I’m glad we ran into each other. I’m happy to have been in the right place at the right time.” He paused, then gently touched her elbow. “Listen, Athen, maybe I could call you sometime, maybe we could have dinner …?”

“I don’t know … if I’m …” The words “I’m ready” got stuck in her throat.

“I understand.” He nodded. “But we could be friends. I would like to think of myself as your friend.”

“I think I’d like that.” She started across the bridge, then turned back and asked, “Quentin, if someone you cared about wanted you to do something you weren’t sure you wanted to do, but they really insisted, what would you do?”

He thought for a long minute.

“I guess I’d have to ask myself: What’s in it for me? And: What’s in it for them?”

What’s in it for me,
she silently repeated.
What’s in it for Rossi …?

She wished she knew.

QUENTIN STOOD ON THE BRIDGE
and watched Athen wheel her bike toward Woodside Manor’s main building. When she came to a stop at the end of the path that led to the front door, she got off the bike and looked around momentarily before rolling it to a spot near the door. She put the kickstand down and left the bike there, disappearing into the building.

Was she really going to leave that shiny new, pricy little model right there, without a lock, for anyone to walk off with?

Lacking the faith in their fellow man that Athen apparently had, Quentin came back down the path and sat on the back of one of the park benches, where he had a clear view of the front door and the bike. He watched for a few minutes, wondering if it had even occurred to her that the bike
might not be there when she came back out. Could she really be that trusting? That naïve?

He thought perhaps she might be.

There was something about her that drew him beyond the obvious, that she was very beautiful. He’d often heard people describe a woman as being “as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside,” but it was an expression he personally had never used. He tried to remember if he’d ever met a woman to whom the expression might apply but couldn’t bring one readily to mind. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Cynthia had been beautiful on the outside, but inside she was self-centered and self-absorbed. He’d really believed that once Timmy was born, she’d find that the universe had shifted, and that she was no longer at the center of it. Unfortunately, that never happened. If anything, becoming a mother had only reinforced her conviction that no one’s happiness was more important than her own. When Tim was two, she handed him off to Quentin and promptly went back to the job she’d reluctantly left behind when Tim was born, determined to resume her climb to the top of her field. It took several years, but she did in fact become the superstar she’d always believed she should be. Last year, she was offered her dream job. If accepting it meant that her husband and her son would have to fend for themselves, well, they’d just have to buck up. By then the marriage had long since died. The divorce was merely a formality. He’d gotten
past the pain she’d caused him, but he’d never forgive her for the pain she’d caused Tim.

It was nice to meet a woman who loved her child and honored her family ties. As far as Quentin was concerned, Cynthia had done neither.

The door of the building opened and Athen came outside. She slipped her sunglasses onto her face and walked the bike to the edge of the parking lot. She hopped on and pedaled down the drive and out onto the road. Quentin watched until she disappeared around a bend in the road before starting back over the bridge and across the field to where he’d left his car.

He’d have to hurry or he’d be late for his meeting with his stepfather to talk about his future employment, and he knew he should be focused on that. But he found himself thinking about Athen’s curious question. He couldn’t help but wonder who was trying to talk her into something she really didn’t want to do, what that something was, and whether or not in the end she’d give in.

 8 

The news hit City Hall like a bombshell. Dan Rossi’s choice for mayor was …
Athena Moran
?

Disbelief spread throughout the building. The evening newscasters from both the local and the cable stations each called no fewer than three irrefutable sources trying to confirm the unlikely story.

Rossi appeared to relish the frenzy.

Athen stood by his desk almost numbly as he made the formal announcement to Council on Friday afternoon, a moment that appeared to give him particular pleasure, Athen thought at the time. The coldly cordial good wishes expressed by the two most stung by Rossi’s choice chilled her. Dan’s assurances that both Jim Wolmar and Harlan Justis would come around did little to dispel the feeling that all might not go exactly as Dan had promised.

It wasn’t the first time she questioned the wisdom of her decision, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Athen regretted having put such distance between herself and Diana, knowing that her father’s friend would be a good source of sound advice. Athen wished she had the courage to call and ask what she thought about it all, and what she thought Ari would say.

In the end, she based her decision on the rationale that, for better or for worse, she was taking a positive step forward into her future for the first time in months. And it would be an opportunity to do something of value for someone other than herself, she reasoned. She’d lived her entire life in Woodside Heights, had taught its children. The parents and grandparents of those children had voted her father into office, and had stood by her side when John had fallen. Perhaps, in her capacity as mayor, she could do something of lasting benefit for the community, as her father and her husband had done. Dan had tugged hard on that string of civic responsibility, of her legacy, and she’d found it hard, if not impossible, to come up with a reason not to run for the office. Maybe, as Dan insisted, she had picked up more from her father than she realized.

Dan kept Athen pretty much out of sight and mute up until the night of the rally, when he would introduce her
and officially present his choice to the party. Requests for interviews from the media had been declined at Dan’s insistence until after Monday, which was fine with Athen.

Athen splurged on a new dress for the occasion, after Callie pointed out that she had nothing suitably formal and yet professional to wear to the rally.

“It’s 2009, Mom.” Callie scowled at every dress Athen withdrew from her closet. “Women are into power dressing. I saw it on
Oprah.
”

Athen rolled her eyes, but allowed Callie to drag her to the mall for something more appropriate.

Callie assured her that she was content to wear a dress that Meg had sent her last spring, a light green sundress with a light sprinkling of floral embroidery across the bodice and a ruffle at the bottom.

“I thought you hated that dress.” Athen had been fully prepared to bribe Callie out of her favorite cutoffs and new soccer cleats for the event if it had been necessary, but Callie had volunteered to wear the sundress.

“Mom.” Callie grinned. “I’m going to be First Kid. It’s okay if I look like a geek for one night.”

Athen was barely zipped into her own new dress—a linen sheath in a deep shade of red, not too tight, not too short, not too low-cut—before Rossi’s driver rang the doorbell. She called to Callie to go out and tell Mr. Rossi she’d be down in a second.

Last-minute doubts plagued her and she fumbled with her necklace. The garnet and gold piece her mother had worn on her wedding day was perfect with the dress. She wondered at the wisdom of her decision not to cut her hair or, at the very least, to have piled it on top of her head instead of leaving it to hang straight down her back in a thick black waterfall.

“Too late now,” she muttered as she fastened the garnet earrings on and stepped back to take a look at herself.

“Mom,” Callie shouted up the steps, “Mr. Rossi said we have to leave right now.”

The butterflies in her stomach transformed themselves into something more sinister and were now in the process of gnawing painfully at her insides as she ran down the steps. From the moment she’d made her decision she’d had no time for second thoughts.
God,
she prayed fervently as she closed the front door behind her,
I hope I’m doing the right thing
.

The biennial rally was traditionally hosted by the party at the home of one of the more well-to-do contributors. This year’s honor went to Hughes Chapman, who, with his new wife in tow, would greet the movers and shakers on the spacious grounds of their sprawling home just inside the city limits. Rossi’s driver carefully made the sharp turn into the Chapmans’ drive and ceremoniously opened the back door to assist his passengers as they exited.

Athen caught her breath at the sight of the redbrick Georgian mansion and the graceful grounds that spread out in every direction.

“What does Mr. Chapman do?” she whispered to Dan.

“Well, locally, he owns the
Woodside Herald,
but that’s not where the money is. Real estate, professional sports teams, you name it. I heard he just bought a cable station, wants to make it a news powerhouse. Doesn’t get much involved in politics except through his wallet.” Dan shook out the arms of his dinner jacket so that the sleeves hung just so. “Only reason I tolerate that damned rag and its liberal reporters is because he owns it. Turned it over
to his daughter last year, I think.” He plastered a smile on his face. “Hughes, great to see you again …”

“Dan, welcome.” Their host offered a warm greeting.

Jovial and round with twinkling eyes, at first glance, Hughes Chapman called to mind jolly old St. Nick without the beard.

“So, this is Athena Moran.” He grabbed both of Athen’s hands in his and chuckled. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you over the past week or so. Lydia,” he said to the elegantly dressed woman to his left. “Lydia, dear, say hello to Dan Rossi and Athena Moran.”

Lydia Chapman’s greeting was, Athen felt, oddly cool under the circumstances.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Chapman.” Athen tried to smile despite the close scrutiny of the very sophisticated Mrs. Chapman.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Moran.” She smiled cordially, yet there was no real warmth in her blue eyes. She turned to the young woman who stood next to her and said, “Brenda, meet Athena Moran. Brenda is my stepdaughter.”

Brenda’s eyebrows raised slightly as she inspected Athen more carefully than the occasion would seem to have warranted.

“So you’re Athena Moran,” she said in a low voice.

Brenda had golden blond hair piled atop her head, with errant wisps that floated around her face. She wore an ankle-length white silk dress that made no attempt to hide the many curves of her body. She looked to be around thirty, and was every bit as elegant and sophisticated as her stepmother.

Moved forward by incoming partygoers, Dan caught Athen by the elbow and, following the crowd, steered her
and Callie toward the tent that dominated the lawn to the left of the house. Athen turned back once, feeling Brenda Chapman’s eyes burning between her shoulder blades.