Against All Odds (Arabesque) (32 page)

“Well, I— Goodbye, Melissa.”

* * *

Just before noon that Friday, Melissa joined other Frederick and Beaver Ridge notables in the heated, plastic-domed garden plot that covered three acres not far from the Monacacy River. The gardens were to serve as therapy for handicapped children, who would be encouraged to tend their own small plots. From her place in the front row, Melissa watched as Mary Roundtree rose from her seat between her two sons on the makeshift dais and told her audience how proud her husband would have been to see the project he loved so much completed. A rumble of noise overhead distracted her, and she didn’t hear Adam’s mother introduce him. Shivers crept up her arms when she heard a second, closer and much louder burst of noise above that she recognized as a clap of thunder. A glance at Adam told her that he’d fixed his gaze on her, and she braced herself. She wasn’t going to let him see her fall to pieces.

The lights went out, and she knew from the noonday darkness and the unseasonably warm weather that a wild storm threatened them. She wrapped her arms around her middle as though to shield herself from it, but a brilliant streak of lightning and a sharp clap of thunder completely unnerved her as rain pelted the roof with the force of golf balls. Shaking, she stood up. She had to get out of there. Flashes of lightning illuminated the domed garden, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Melissa, what’s the matter?” Banks asked her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and her lips formed a mute gasp. Another burst of thunder ripped the silence, and flashes of lightning seemed to burst into the dome. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream just before she felt a pair of steel-like arms cuddle her to the haven of a man’s chest.

The scent of his skin, the rough texture of his jaw against her temple, and familiar feel of his hands eased her terror. Adam held her. Then the sharpest flash of lightning and the loudest clap of thunder she thought she’d ever experienced filled the domed garden. Petrified, her arms tightened around his neck, and she couldn’t hold back the wrenching scream.

“It’s alright. I’m here and I’ve got you—I won’t let anything happen to you. Just take a few slow breaths.” He hurried to the entrance and put his coat around her. She didn’t ask him what he intended to do. She didn’t care—she was with Adam, and he would protect her. She didn’t offer resistance nor question him when he picked her up, dashed through the pelting rain, and put her in his car.

“Give me your door keys.” She fumbled in her pocketbook and placed them in his hand.

“Try to relax, I’ll make some tea,” he stated after removing their coats from around her. Melissa wanted to tell him that she didn’t want tea, only his arms around her. She leaned into a corner of the sofa while he left her to go into the kitchen. Another clap of thunder shook the house, and she clasped her hands tightly over her mouth and put her face between her knees. He handed her a cup of tea and placed his own on the glass coffee table.

“How do you manage these storms when you’re by yourself?” She felt his arms around her and, though she knew it was childish, she suddenly welcomed the storm.

“I’m sorry to drag you into this, Adam, b-b-but this is the worst one I’ve experienced in years. One of the reasons I liked New York is that there aren’t many storms like this one.” She snuggled closer, but his arms remained loosely about her. “I don’t know how to thank you for getting me out of there. I was scared, and I didn’t want people to know it.” He stood, and she looked toward the window. His gaze followed hers.

“Appears to be over. You’ll be alright now.”

“You—you’re not leaving.”

“Yes, I am. Mother and Wayne need transportation home.” Fear shot through her. He didn’t intend to patch it up with her. He could walk away just like that. He had acted the part of a gentleman, helped someone in distress. She could have been anybody. She looked from his shuttered eyes and his impersonal manner to his wet clothing and led the way to her front door.

“Thanks for helping me.” She tried to form the word “goodbye” but couldn’t.

He nodded. “I couldn’t have done otherwise.” She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t make a sound, and her right hand didn’t obey her command to reach out to him, but dangled at her side. She watched, helpless, as he saluted her in a gesture that struck her as sarcastic, stepped out of the door, and sprinted to his car. Gone.

* * *

Her heart pounded at the sound of the Jaguar’s engine taking him away. She grabbed her chest as though to slow down her heartbeat and leaned against the front door. After a few minutes she could take deep breaths and managed to calm herself. She took his untouched cup of tea to the kitchen, emptied it into the sink, and washed it along with hers, wondering if she’d ever do anything else for him. After an hour during which she distracted herself with “Oprah,” she got a pencil and sheet of paper and began to list the things she had to do before she could consider her slate with Adam clean. Their relationship had ended, but her responsibility to him had not. She finished writing, typed it on her word processor, printed it out, and climbed the stairs.

* * *

The next morning Rafer summoned Melissa to a family conference, and she alerted her mother, certain that Emily hadn’t been included.

“I don’t know who else will be there, but I want you to come along. There’s no telling what he’s up to.” She told her about Timothy’s arrest.

“I was afraid Timothy had gotten in with the wrong crowd. When he was a boy, he was always into something unwholesome.”

Melissa found her aunt Louise, Louise’s husband, Timothy, and her father speaking in hushed voices when she arrived. Seconds after her father began to speak, her mother walked in wearing a chic Armani pants suit and her fur coat draped on one shoulder. Emily Grant could have passed for a fashion model had she been a few inches taller. She marveled that her father could camouflage his surprise so well, and she suspected that she alone knew how angry he was. Her mother paid him no attention.

“Adam Roundtree has gone too far,” Rafer exploded. “Blasting a hole in Timmy’s arm wasn’t enough for Mr. Roundtree. He’s framed our Timmy and had him arrested. I bailed him out an hour or so ago.” He nodded toward his nephew. “Well, we’ve indicted Adam for the shooting and for defamation of character. I won’t have our family name smeared by Adam Roundtree.” In answer to Emily’s question, Timothy revealed that he had been charged only with trespassing, but that MacKnight had been booked on a far more serious charge. Melissa saw Adam’s lenient hand in that.

“He could have thrown the book at you, Timmy,” Emily told the man. “Don’t you think you ought to tell us truthfully who shot you? We know Adam didn’t do it.”

Melissa regarded the players in their little family drama. Her father glared at her mother though she thought she detected his admiration for her as well, and to the irritation of all present but herself, her mother sat relaxed with the serenity of a bejeweled regent surrounded by her loyal subjects. Melissa smothered a laugh. Adam’s mother wasn’t the only consummate actress of her generation in Frederick—Emily Grant could hold her own with any of them. Among those present, she didn’t doubt that only she and her mother cared about the ruination of an innocent man. Adam. She stood to leave.

“I think I ought to tell you, Daddy, that I just mailed the district attorney my sworn affidavit that Adam was with me at his lodge on the Potomac when Timmy was shot, and I also sent Adam a notarized copy. I’m prepared to say the same thing in any court. Adam did not shoot Timmy, and I won’t be party to a frame-up.” Emily stood as though preparing to join Melissa, but instead she walked over to Timothy.

“How’d you get mixed up in this? Might as well tell the truth—it will come out anyway.”

He shrugged before mumbling, “I’ve been gambling, and one thing led to another. When I tried to quit and didn’t go to the gaming tables, one of the gang took a shot at me. Said it was a warning. Mack paid off a couple of my debts.”

Rafer’s voice rang out. “I don’t believe you. Are you saying that because you’re afraid of Melissa? Have you forgotten who I am? Your attorney, that’s who.”

Melissa looked her father in the eye. “And for a gambling debt, you’re ready to sacrifice a man who’s made a unique contribution to this town, a citizen in the fullest sense. Come on, Mama, I’ll drop you off at The Refuge on my way to work.” To her amazement, her father followed them out of his office and stopped them in the hallway.

“I thought you’d be through with this volunteer work by now, Emily. I thought you’d have gotten it out of your system. I want us back together, but not while you’re playing up to those people.”

Emily’s face bore an expression of astonishment before laughter spilled from her throat. “Be serious, Rafer. Only a chicken is stupid enough to rush back into a cage after having been free all day.” She looked at her watch. “My divorce will be final in fourteen hours and one minute. Our farce is over.” She reached out to touch his hand, but he quickly withdrew it.

“We made a mess of our lives, Rafer, and I’m sorry for my part in that. I intend to get mine straightened out, and I hope you do, too. Schyler has avoided the curse of this feud, because he got away from here and didn’t let any of it touch him. And when Melissa hurts badly enough, she’ll go to Adam and undo the mess she’s made of their lives. But she’d better hurry.”

* * *

Adam packed for his return to New York. He didn’t want any of his mother’s questions, but he knew she’d stay with him until he left, so he reconciled himself to the inevitable.

“What are you doing about Melissa?” He didn’t answer at once, but picked up a brush and used it to clean a pair of soft leather moccasins while he thought.

“You asked me that two or three days ago, Mother. Nothing has changed.” If he sounded a bit testy, she should expect that. He tucked the shoes into a sack, turned, and went into his private bathroom. He propped his left foot on the edge of the tub and rested his left elbow on his knee. He’d finished the job and caught the troublemakers, but the letdown he felt was a new thing, as though he lacked completeness. As if he’d lost something of himself, something on which he had unwittingly relied. He looked at his watch, went back in the room, and resumed his packing. As he expected, his mother remained where he’d left her, sitting on the side of his bed. If he had to talk about Melissa or listen to his mother talk about her, he knew he’d succumb to his urge to call her. He’d done that last night, and her first thought had been of her family. Had Booker Coston arrested his own son? She hadn’t said the words, but that was what she’d implied. He walked back into the room and resisted kicking the side of the armoire.

He’d never express to anybody what he felt when he walked out of her house that afternoon. He had wanted, needed her words—that he’d done nothing wrong, that her aunt Louise bore responsibility for what had happened between them. Melissa had wanted affection, maybe lovemaking. He didn’t know. Who the hell could figure out her mind? But she hadn’t taken that first step, and he’d figured she wouldn’t. So he’d left. He’d handed himself something akin to a death sentence. But he’d left, and he wasn’t sorry.

“Just tell me this.” His mother hadn’t been in the habit of nagging him, and she wouldn’t do it now, he decided, if she didn’t need satisfaction about her son’s well-being. She didn’t want a Grant in his life, but she didn’t want him to be unhappy, either. Could she be mellowing? He gave her his full attention.

“Were the Grants involved in the trouble at Leather and Hides? You said Mack engineered it. Who helped him?”

“Timothy Coston was the lookout, but he’s guilty only of trespassing. Poor fellow—he let himself be blackmailed into it. The Grants had nothing to do with it, Mother.” He stopped packing and sat beside her.

“I’d rather not talk about this, but you seem compelled to get the details. Melissa had no part in MacKnight’s havoc at Leather and Hides.” He tossed the affidavit to her. “She’s gone to some lengths to support me against Rafer’s accusations.”

“Then why are you leaving like this?”

He got up and locked his suitcase, uncomfortable with her queries, but unwilling to hurt her by refusing to answer. In three hours he’d be on the plane, and nobody he knew in New York dared question him about his behavior.

“Let’s just say I’ve paid for an innocent, youthful indiscretion. Nobody can screw up your life for you, Mother. You have to do that yourself.”

She frowned. “Is yours screwed up?” He released a grudging smile. His mother hated that word.

“Is it?” she persisted. Adam dropped a hand lightly on her shoulder, at once consoling her and attempting to stop her. She shook it off, and he knew that she’d have her say, but he didn’t have to answer her.

“Why can’t you wait until after Christmas?”

How could he tell her that he needed distance between Melissa and himself, that he had to push aside temptation? How could he tell her that Melissa had erased from his consciousness every other woman he’d ever known? That he’d come close to loving her?

“I’ll fly down Christmas Eve and spend the night,” he threw out as he set a case down in the hallway. Mary unfolded the paper that he had handed her and read its contents.

“Adam, do you love her?” Her voice sounded less firm than it had a little earlier, as though she fought tears. He was about to tell her he didn’t think so, that he wasn’t certain, when Wayne walked in and saved him the necessity of a reply.

“We’d better get moving, if you want to stop by B-H’s place.” Adam kissed his mother’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me, Mother, I can take care of myself.” He noticed her somber expression and the absence of her usual confident air.

“You always could do that,” Mary said, “but you haven’t ever hurt like you’re hurting now.” He felt the heat of his blood burning his face.

“Let’s go, Wayne.” They didn’t speak during Wayne’s demonic drive the short distance to Bill Henry’s house. Adam got out of Wayne’s car, glad to be alive, and wishing he’d driven himself in the Jaguar as he’d originally planned.

“This thing won’t fly no matter how much gas you give it, don’t you know that?”