Authors: Anne Stuart
Banish Misfortune (16 page)
It was going to be a cool, rainy autumn
, Springer thought, tipping back his chair and staring out the wide picture window into the misty Washington afternoon. Like every other autumn and winter in the ten years he'd lived there. Sooner or later he was going to get tired of that constant rain, and that moment seemed to be looming closer and closer.
The mug of coffee cradled in his large hand was lukewarm and bitter, and he drained it with a grimace of distaste and dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction with his coffee, with the West Coast rain, with his life. And he knew perfectly well it had nothing to do with coffee or Washington. It had to do with missing someone he still barely knew, someone who had managed to become entangled in his soul in a damnably short period of time.
It was only because the whole situation was so unresolved, he told himself, setting the empty mug on the floor beside him. If he'd just had one more chance to see her, to talk to her, he wouldn't have been left with this gnawing feeling in his gut—the feeling of unfinished business, of a wanting that never seemed to go away, months after he should have forgotten all about her.
Elyssa had been right. Now in this winter of his discontent he was going to have to learn patience. For Katherine's sake, and for his own. He just wished it were an easier thing to learn.
It was early morning on Christmas Eve. Jessica ran a nervous hand through her thick tangle of wheat-blond curls, chewing the pale lipstick off her lips for the third time. She was no longer used to wearing makeup, and twice she'd rubbed her eyes, smearing the mascara. Who was to say that one had to wear makeup in the big city at Christmastime? Fumbling in her outsized purse, she pulled out the lip gloss and tried again. It was an armor against the outside world, she decided, pulling her loose-fitting wool dress to hang more evenly over her five-month belly. And she'd need all the armor she could get, leaving her little nest and braving the bold, bad world of New York once more.
She would never have gone, nothing would have convinced her but the tears in Elyssa's voice the week before, as she'd added a final plea. Hamilton MacDowell, bluff, macho, indestructible Hamilton MacDowell, had a particularly virulent form of cancer. He wouldn't last another year.
Where was Marianne when she needed her? There was a light snow falling, already sticking to the bare roads and covering the gray, melted-downsnow. Surely the venerable Toyota couldn't have failed her again. Once more she paced across the shiny wood floors, once more she checked the wood stove. Marianne had promised she would keep the fires going while she was in the city to make sure the pipes didn't freeze. Andrew would have been more than willing to help her, Jessica was certain, but Marianne was determined to do it herself. So far she had managed to make herself scarce the three times Cameron had tooled his aging Valiant to their end of the island, and the great romance appeared to have foundered before it even began. Marianne was able to avoid him as long as she wanted—he had to pass her house to reach the MacDowell place and she could steer clear until the ancient, rusty car rattled its way back down the road.
It was a source of great frustration for Jessica, but there was nothing she could do about it. In the meantime, the lessons were becoming more and more important to her. Cameron was right—she loved the feel of the baryo against her expanding belly, loved to feel the music flowing through the beautiful instrument and her burgeoning body. Moving across the room, she ran a caressing hand down the neck of the banjo and its firebird inlay, plucking a string and letting the pure, crystal sound echo in the room. She only wished that she dared to take it with her to New York. It soothed her better than the most powerful tranquilizers.
There was nothing to be nervous about, she reminded herself. Elyssa had said Springer would be at the opposite end of the country. He never came East if he could help it, and Christmas had particularly bad memories for him. He had no idea of his father's illness—Hamilton had been adamant. The closest Springer MacDowell would come would be via the telephone, and he wouldn't ask to speak to her. He wouldn't even know she was there, much less five months pregnant.
And that was another problem. Elyssa had no notion of her condition, and Jessica could think of no tactful way to broach it. In the end, she decided to let her stomach announce itself. With luck, the MacDowells would be too discreet to question her. If their concern outdistanced their discretion, she would place the blame on Peter, on some Vermonter, perhaps Cameron. She had effectively blanked out her child's parentage, and nothing was going to force her to think about it.
Elyssa and Hamilton would be godparents—she had long ago decided that, perhaps as a sop to her conscience. That would be their tie, and it would be enough. The baby was hers, her immaculate conception, and she would only share it with those she wanted. This baby wasn't going to belong to anyone else by virtue of blood or an accident of birth.
It was a mistake going to New York and Jessica knew it was. Everything would have been so much easier if she could have just let them know sometime in the summer that she was a mother, with no embarrassing way to pinpoint dates. But with Hamilton sick, there was no question but that she would go. She would simply have to count on a not very beneficial fate to carry her through the visit relatively unscathed. For the first time in her pregnancy she could be grateful that she had gained so much weight early on. She looked a bit more than five months pregnant, which could only work as a blessing.
She could hear the telltale sound of the Valiant from far down the road, and she dashed to the window, peering through the frosted pane. It was Cameron, all right, the Valiant chugging and puffing and moving valiantly along as befit its name, with a miserable-looking Marianne by his side. A small, secret smile lit Jessica's worried face as she watched the odd couple approach.
"The Toyota bit the dust once more," Marianne announced as she scrambled from the front seat before Cameron could move. "I was hiking up the road when he came by." There was a distinct lack of gratitude in her voice, but Cameron only smiled sardonically.
"A happy Christmas to you, Jessica," he greeted her. "I wanted to wish you Godspeed before you left, and it looks like I've come in handy. Not that your friend will admit it."
"You have your uses," Marianne said sourly. "I left the kids with Mrs. LaPlante. I figured Burlington on Christmas Eve will be a complete zoo, but this way I can buy some last-minute things without interference." She tossed her head at Cameron dismissingly. "Thanks again."
"Uh, Marianne..." Jessica began, amusement ripening inside her as she pulled her down coat around her chilled body. "I'm afraid we have a problem."
"Which is?"
"I took the Subaru in for repairs. The four-wheel drive is sticking on. I thought we'd be able to drive in the Toyota."
Cameron's sardonic grin widened, and he made a sweeping gesture toward the venerable old wreck. "Ladies, my chariot awaits you."
"Damn." Marianne's reaction was heartfelt if tactless. "I don't really need to go in. Why don't the two of you...?"
"Don't be silly, Marianne. You need to finish your shopping, and this is a perfect chance. That is, if Cameron doesn't mind."
"Not at all," he said politely, barely hiding his air of satisfaction. "I have a few things to do myself."
"I don't think-"
"Don't be ridiculous, you silly woman," Andrew snapped. "I'm not going to compromise you in the space of a busy afternoon. Help me get Jessica's bags and try to be sensible for a change."
Marianne stood there, obviously torn, and her broad, pretty face was set with stubbornness. Jessica tipped the scales. "Please, Marianne. I need you for moral support. I'm not very happy about going to New York. For one thing, I'm worried about Ham, and for another, they don't know I'm pregnant. You can help me keep my mind off what I'm going to face when I get there."
Jessica could have almost felt guilty at the way Marianne capitulated if she hadn't known that Marianne wanted a good excuse for being in the intoxicating, dangerous presence of the irascible Scot.
"Do you think you'll see Peter?" Marianne asked anxiously.
"I don't know," Jessica said, her voice diffident. "He's married now—I don't really expect to run into him." She smiled, holding up her overnight bag. "And this is all I'm taking. We may as well go." She moved past her friend to climb into the backseat before Marianne could open her mouth in protest. "You take the front seat. I still have to get my purse rearranged."
There was nothing Marianne could do but glare im-potently at both of them. Jessica busied herself with her overstuffed purse, to avoid both Marianne's accusing eyes and her uncomfortable questions. She'd told her as little as possible about her child's conception, contenting herself with relating her broken engagement and nothing more. Marianne assumed Peter was the father, as Jessica hoped everyone would, and she had no intention of enlightening her.
"Get in, woman," Andrew growled. "The snow's getting heavier, and we don't want Jessica to miss her plane."
"No, we wouldn't want that," Jessica murmured, unconvinced, staring at the ticket in her lap with a sinking feeling. "We wouldn't want that at all."
She'd been deliberately vague
about her time of arrival, preferring to arrive at the charming little town house on her own. Elyssa would be there—it had sounded as if she'd moved back in when Jessica had last spoken with her. She'd forgotten to ask about David—indeed, would have gladly continued to forget about David, if only Elyssa would. But maybe he'd be there, after all, along with old Johnson, whose overso-licitiousness had always set her teeth on edge. But no Springer. Elyssa had promised no Springer.
She stood for a moment outside on the steps in the chilly winter air, hesitating. The branches were bare on the tree-lined street in the East Sixties, and the small, discreet signs of Christmas abounded. A season of joy and cheer, celebrated by an unwed mother and a dying man. It would make a good TV movie, she thought with a wry smile, raising her gloved hand to ring the bell before she could change her mind. But they'd need a handsome hero.
"Darling!" The door was flung open, and Jessica felt herself pulled into Elyssa's scented embrace, the slender arms clinging like a lifeline. "Thank heavens you're here! I was afraid you'd change your mind, stay in Vermont. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."
To Jessica's surprise she felt her own eyes fill with tears, and she hugged Elyssa back, suddenly very glad she had risked everything to come. "I had to," she said with a watery smile. "You and Ham are my family—I couldn't have Christmas without you." She let herself be pulled into the warm hallway redolent of pine needles and spice, still keeping the down coat close over her expanding body. "How is Ham doing?"
As Elyssa shut the door behind them she took a moment to compose herself, and Jessica could see the lines of strain, the circles under her dark, liquid eyes. She had always looked so youthful and vibrant, so young and alive, but today Elyssa MacDowell looked every one of her fifty-three years. "Not good, Jessica," she said with a deep sigh. "They're pumping him full of painkillers, blasting him with cobalt, but it just keeps growing. He's lost a lot of weight—don't mention it, okay? I just wish he'd let me tell Springer."
"Springer still doesn't know?" Jessica questioned carefully. "He's not here?"
"He has no idea. He's spending Christmas with some friends on Puget Sound—I don't know if he'll even remember to call. It's not fair of Hamilton, not to give Springer the chance—" her voice cracked "—the chance to say good-bye."
The momentary, suicidally irrational disappointment . that Springer really wasn't going to turn up vanished. "He's that bad?"
"He's not good. Part of the problem is that he's lost interest. He doesn't seem to feel he has any reason to hold on, and part of me can't blame him. I know it's selfish of me, but I'm not ready to have him die yet. If he could just hold out, go into remission, it could last indefinitely. If not—the doctors can't be very specific—it could be a matter of weeks, it could be six months. His white count is low, and—" She broke off suddenly. "I'll fill you in on all that later. He knows you're here—he can't wait to see you. Let me take your coat and you can go on in. He's sitting up today. Just be prepared for a change." She held out her hands for Jessica's coat.
There was nothing she could really do to put off the inevitable. The house was sinfully warm, as befitted a place of sickness, and the down coat was turning into a sauna. With an effort at nonchalance she undid the buttons with one only slightly trembling hand and shrugged out of her coat. "Here you go. In the living room, you said?"
Steeled for a reaction, she felt absurdly relieved and deflated when the distraught Elyssa didn't even bother
to look at her very evident belly but simply nodded, turning to hang up the coat. "Go on in," she said again. "I'll give you two some time alone before I bring in the drinks. Dubonnet?"
A small smile lit Jessica's face at her friend's understandable abstraction. "Perrier, please. I'm not drinking right now." Patiently she waited for a reaction, but none was forthcoming.
"That's probably not a bad idea," Elyssa said vaguely, making a little shooing motion with her hands. "I'll be in shortly."
Jessica paused outside the living room, smoothing the rough woolen dress over her rounded stomach, her booted feet quiet on the marble foyer floor. She wasn't quite sure what she expected from her old friend, but she held her breath, pasting a dazzling smile on her face before stepping into the room.
The smile faded quickly as Hamilton looked up at her. He'd lost his noble paunch, his rosy cheeks, his vigor. The man that looked up at her still had twinkling eyes, the only sign of life in that pale face, but even his gray beard seemed to have lost its liveliness. The blue eyes smiled at her, meeting her worried eyes, then traveled down directly to her pregnant stomach.
"How are you, Ham?" she queried softly just inside the doorway.
"The better for seeing you, little one. Though if my eyes don't deceive me you aren't so little anymore. Come here and kiss me, darling. It's not catching," he said lightly.
With a sudden rush Jessica ran across the room and threw her arms around his slight, suddenly fragile fig-ure. "You look like hell, Ham," she said gruffly, her voice filled with tears.
"Well, thank heavens someone has the nerve to say that to me," he replied, his voice equally gruff, as he stroked her shining length of hair, which had grown at a quick rate. "You, on the other hand, look magnificent." He held her away for a moment, and there were tears in both their eyes. "Sultry and fecund and delicious. Is it Springer's?"
She only blinked. "Of course not."
"Well, don't bother trying to convince me it was that wimp of a fiance. Peter Kinsey couldn't father anything. So who's the father?"
She stalled for time by pulling up a chair beside his. "No one you know," she replied tranquilly. "Besides, he's ancient history. This is my baby and no one else's."
"I always thought you were clever but I didn't think you could manage to pull off an immaculate conception," Ham shot back. "So this isn't my grandchild?"
Jessica smiled at him. "Your godchild," she said gently. "Yours and Elyssa's. Will that do?"
He shrugged, but she could see the pleased look in his bright eyes. "I don't know if it's a good thing to saddle a kid with a godfather who's about to kick the bucket. Why don't we have Springer serve as backup?"
"No!" The word came out with unexpected anguish, but it took only a moment for her to regain her calm. "No, Ham. You're her godfather, no one else."
"Her, eh? How do you know it won't be a boy?" Ham snorted. "I can tell by the way you're carrying that it's a boy."
Jessica laughed. "Marianne says everyone becomes an expert on babies when they're around a pregnant woman. What makes you think it's a boy?"
"You're carrying the same way Elyssa did, with Springer. All in front." Tactfully he ignored her stricken expression. "So I'm going to be a grandfather," he mused, pleased.
"Godfather," she corrected.
"Oh, yes, godfather. I always get those two mixed up." There was a devilish grin on his pale face. "You'll have to keep reminding me."
"Damn you, Ham," Jessica said lightly.
"Why are you damning my husband?" Elyssa queried as she backed into the room, a small tray of drinks in one slender hand.
"Come here and meet your new grand—that is, godchild, Elyssa," Ham invited her, then watched with delight as the tray crashed to the parquet floor. "It's going to be a boy."
"Girl," Jessica corrected, rising from her chair with ponderous grace and helping the shocked Elyssa with the broken glass. "I'll bet you."
"When's it due?" Hamilton asked desultorily, but Jessica wasn't fooled.
"In the spring," she said firmly. "And that's as specific as I care to get."
"All right, I'll bet you a case of Moet that it's a boy. And I guess I'm going to have to live long enough to find out whether I win or lose, won't I, Elyssa?"
"Certainly," Elyssa said briskly. "I've never known you to welch on a bet, no matter what the cause."
"No," Hamilton said with relish, "I never have. I'm certainly not about to start now."
Christmas had never been
Springer MacDowell's favorite time of year. It always reminded him of other families, that mystical, fairy-tale world that normal families seemed to be and his family never was. For Katherine's sake he always made an effort, and this year it was more important than ever.
But this year he felt even less like celebrating. Something was wrong, something he couldn't put his finger on. For a week he'd been tempted to take Katherine back East for her first Christmas with her paternal grandparents. He'd thought better of it, of course. But here it was Christmas Eve, and they were condemned to one more weary round of forced festivities at his upwardly mobile ex-wife's town house. And he knew Katherine wouldn't like it much better than he did.
Maybe after Christmas they could go East. And maybe Jessica Hansen might possibly have surfaced. Though why such a thought should cheer him was a mystery. But it did. He looked out into the Seattle drizzle with a tiny bit more holiday spirit. Maybe New York for the New Year.