Chasing the Wind (48 page)

Jude let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, my feelings for you are definitely not the same."

And in one split second everything coalesced, and a clarity and feeling of sheer joy rose up in her, a
knowing
that rippled through her and spread like stardust. She burst from the chair, flinging her arms around Jude's neck, and the chair tipped, tumbling down, taking them both down too.

"Whoa!" Jude laughed, catching her, encircling her with his arms as he lay flat on his back, cushioning her fall. "Was that a yes or a kamikaze attack?"

He was still laughing as she braced her hands on either side of his shoulders, looking down into his face. "Have you asked a question yet? I can't recall."

His look turned grave. He shook his head. "I dunno."

"Well. Ask it."

"All right. Can you cook?"

She lowered her arms, moving closer, longing for that first kiss. "I cooked a potato once, but it exploded in the oven."

He groaned. "I remember."

And then he turned into a blur, and her lips touched his, lightly at first, moving, exploring, and he pulled her down into his arms. She felt his hands cradling her face, and then he pushed her back, away, and gave her a long look. And when their lips touched again, she felt the memories streaming through the kiss: their years growing up, the things they'd learned together, how they'd laughed, a gardenia he'd once picked for her when she hadn't had a date for a dance. Every moment of their years together fed that kiss as friendship sanctified their love.

When Jude finally lifted her, pretending to groan at the weight, they sat together on the floor, side by side, leaning back against the screen and talking, planning, interrupting each other, excited like the children they'd once been. They would get married soon, he said.

In the springtime, she said. She wanted a wedding. At the cathedral.

That's a long time to wait, he said, giving her a sideways look.

She told him he'd live.

He groaned, but smiled. "We'll wait."

After a moment, she turned to him. "This is a package deal, you know. I want to adopt Luke."

He pulled her close. "We'll adopt him, if Caroline agrees. And the agency. We'll raise him together as our own."

Amalise smiled. "Caroline and Ellis won't object. And I'm sure the agency will permit us to have him. He already loves us, I think." She turned her face to him and ran her finger across his bottom lip. "And I love you, Jude. I think I've always been in love with you."

A smile lit his face as he pulled her to him slowly, pulling her into a new life with him and with Luke as she nestled her head under his chin, pulling her with him as a river slips you into its current and carries you downstream as far as the river flows.

Friday afternoon Rebecca stood in the
doorway of Amalise’s office and looked at her, noting the glow on her face. Amalise, bent over her work, hadn’t spotted her yet, and Rebecca took the moment to compose herself.

Jude had proposed to Amalise. They had called her together from Marianus where the two of them, with the child, had spent the Thanksgiving holiday. They’d made the trip there and back in one day, but that was Amalise. And Jude.

Well, she wasn’t that upset. She was happy for them, she supposed. She leaned against the door frame, watching Amalise. Jude had always figured her, Rebecca, for a woman consumed with her career, she knew. And he was right. If she’d ever been forced to choose, she’d have chosen her career. An easy call.

Not that she’d been asked.

But what she couldn’t understand was what she’d heard from Amalise this morning. She’d continue to practice law after the wedding, she said. They were adopting that child, too, and Jude was thrilled. He was giving up his pilot’s commission for love. He’d go into real estate here in the city, renovating old houses.

So he’d have Amalise’s back while she continued on at Mangen & Morris. Amalise had found it all—love, a family, and a career. Rebecca shook her head. She’d have never guessed, and she wondered if that plan would really work.

With a sigh, she walked on into the room. Jude had always loved Amalise. Deep down inside she felt a small ache at the loss, but she’d get over it, she knew. In fact, she admitted to herself, he’d never been hers to lose.

Amalise looked up, put down her pencil, and smiled. “Hey.”

Rebecca sat in the chair in front of Amalise’s desk. “Fed wires close in an hour, but it’s clear Murdoch’s gone and the money, too. Raymond says that Morgan Klemp’s having a fit in New York, but Banc Franck still won’t give anyone the time of day without that security code. Raymond figures Bingham’s on a beach somewhere, surrounded by women.”

Amalise smiled. “He does enjoy the good life.”

Rebecca stood. Wandered over to the bookshelf and fingered a Lucite deal toy given to Amalise after the closing of a transaction last spring. She had one just like it. “Have you and Jude set a date yet?”

“In the spring. We want to give it a little time. I’m a widow, you know.”

Rebecca turned and looked at her.

“And I want sunshine and flowers.”

“After marrying Phillip at City Hall, you deserve a spectacular wedding.”

Amalise pulled out the bottom desk drawer and propped both feet on it, smiling. Rebecca could almost see the plans already running through her mind. “I agree. I think we’ll do it in St. Louis Cathedral.” She eyed Rebecca and her voice turned tentative. “What do you think of that?”

“Perfect.”

She saw Amalise visibly relax.

“Will you be my maid of honor? It’ll be a small wedding. No bridesmaids.”

Rebecca grinned. She tilted her head. “If you’ll let me choose my dress. I’m not wearing one of those ugly dresses.”

Amalise laughed. “That’s a deal.”

Rebecca planted her hands on her hips and sashayed to the window. She turned, scrutinizing Amalise. “You’ll wear flowers in your hair. It’s too short and straight to do anything fancy, but flowers will work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re small. A long, slim dress fitted at the waist would look good. White?”

Amalise shook her head. “No. Something light, a full ruffled skirt in tulle, layers of flounces in peach and pink, orange, yellow, tangerine.”

“I like it.” Rebecca lifted her hands and hiked up her hair, then let it fall. “What kind of music?”

“The Olympia Brass Band.”

Rebecca gave her a look. “In the cathedral?”

“No. After, when we come out.” Amalise gestured with her hands. “I want tubas, French horns, trumpets, drums. We’ll do the second line all around Jackson Square.”

Rebecca burst into laughter. “Well, I hope it’s a sunny day. Where’s the reception?”

“The Café Pontalba. Gina insists.”

“It’ll be fabulous.”

Rebecca yawned and stretched. Looked at her watch. She walked to the door. Hands on the door frame, she turned and looked at her friend. “I’m happy for you, Amalise. And for Jude, too. And Luke.”

“Thanks, Rebecca.” Amalise’s eyes held hers. “For everything.”

Amalise pulled her purse out of the desk drawer, closed it, and stood. Jude and Luke were waiting for her. They were all going to Caroline’s for dinner. She smiled, thinking of Jude with Luke. The child was stuck to him like glue. And Mama and Dad had fallen in love with Luke.

“Miss Catoir?”

She turned to see a young man standing in the doorway. He wore the braided uniform of a valet from the Roosevelt Hotel. In his hands he held a package.

“Yes?”

He stepped inside her office and walked to the desk, holding the package out before him. He set it down carefully in the middle of her desk.

“Is this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who sent it?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged and pushed a dark shock of hair back from his forehead. “My boss just told me to deliver it today. He said the guy told him you’d understand.”

“Do I need to sign for it?”

He shook his head.

She opened her purse and stuck her hand inside, looking down, fumbling for cash for a tip. “Just a moment,” she said.

He held up his hands, backing away. “Not necessary. It’s been taken care of.” Then he turned and disappeared.

Setting her purse on the credenza, she sat down and pulled the package toward her. It was wrapped in slick white paper and tied up with a gold ribbon, knotted on the top. Carefully she untied the knot and pulled the ribbon loose. She stripped off the tape at either end of the package and unwrapped the paper.

No tissue inside. Just a folded white cloth.

She picked up the cloth, held it up, and saw that it was a shirt. As she turned the shirt to see the front, her brows shot up. Then slowly her puzzled frown turned to a smile. She lay the T-shirt down on the desk before her, spreading it flat so that she could read the words emblazoned across the front.

In glittering gold lettering, almost rising from the cloth, they read like this:

Where in the world is D. B. Cooper?

She smiled and looked through the window at a beautiful sunny day. They’d never find him, she knew. And the craziest thing about the whole story was that if Bingham Murdoch, or D. B. Cooper, or whoever he was hadn’t come to town, she’d never have found Luke.

She closed her eyes, for some reason remembering that flash of light from the wingtip of a plane out over the lake she’d seen on her first day back at work six weeks earlier.
Thank you, Abba.
Because suddenly she realized that this story was never about Bingham Murdoch’s deal, or even Jude. It was always, from day one, all about little Luke.