Double Jeopardy (26 page)

You really don’t think Ben wrote the poetry
?

Unwillingly, Sera sat up. She shook her head, and her tone was harsh. “I told you before, no, I don’t think so, Gemma. It doesn’t sound like him at all.” The last thing she wanted Gemma to know was that she was in love with Ben. Her sister wasn’t to be trusted with such a confidence.

Gemma’s eyes, so much like her own, studied Sera’s face for a long moment. Then she wrote,
He made love to you
?

What was the use? This thing had a life of its own and avoiding it wasn’t working.

“Yeah.” Sera sighed and nodded. “He did. We had sort of a one-night stand in San Diego. Two nights, actually. Nothing serious,” she said, trying to act flippant and failing. She watched the vivid play of emotions on her sister’s face, first jealousy, then confusion and, finally, uncertainty.

Sera couldn’t stop herself. The anger she felt toward Gemma had reached a point where Sera couldn’t contain it any longer. “But he didn’t make love with you, Gemma, did he? He didn’t try anything with you. What you told Papa wasn’t true, was it?” She was shrieking, and she didn’t care. “You based the whole stupid drama on those poems. You lied to Papa.” Her tone was accusing, and her hands were trembling. She slid them under the duvet and drew her knees up to her chest, knowing it was hopeless to confront her sister. Gemma would deny it all, just as she’d always denied any wrongdoing.

Gemma hesitated for a long time, and then at last, with great reluctance, she nodded.

Sera was astounded. It was the first time she’d ever known her sister to own up.

“Why, Em? Why would you cause so much trouble for a man who never did anything but good for you?”

In spite of herself, Sera’s voice rose again. “Look at you. Your face is just exactly the way it was before. That’s all because of Ben, his skill, his dedication. You oughta be grateful to him, instead of accusing him of things he didn’t do.”

Gemma was trembling now, too. Sera could see it as her sister grasped the pen and scrawled on the paper
, The poems. I really thought he wrote them
.

Sera reluctantly nodded. Someone had written the damned things. And when you took into account the fact that Gemma had been seriously injured, had come close to death, had lived with a wired-up jaw for over a month already, maybe it made sense that she’d mistake Ben’s professional attention for something else. If you were Gemma, that is, who assumed all men fell for her like dominoes. Which they usually did.

“What’s become of Jack? Doesn’t he come over anymore?”

Gemma shook her head.
Dumped him
, she scribbled.

“Why?”

Gemma shrugged and her face showed rebelliousness.

“Jack was a really great guy, Em.”

Gemma’s pen bit into the paper.
Old, serious, no fun. Boring
.

Gemma was lying again. Sera gave her a narrow eyed stare. “Oh, yeah? Seemed to me you two had something good going. What makes you think he didn’t write those poems?”

Gemma rolled her eyes as if that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

Some demon made Sera say, “Maybe I’ll give him a call tomorrow, ask him out for brunch, seeing that you two aren’t an item anymore. I really liked him.”

A dull flush spread up Gemma’s neck and suffused her face.
What about Halsey
? The paper tore under the force of the pen.

“What about him?” Sera raised her eyebrows and prayed that she could he convincingly. “It’s over between us. I told him I didn’t want to see him again.” She could barely keep from clutching her chest, her heart hurt so much every time she thought of Ben. “It might be fun to get to know Jack better. He’s really sexy. Didn’t you notice that?”

Gemma shrugged and threw the pen and paper onto the dresser. She climbed into the other twin bed and turned her back to Sera, seemingly indifferent to Sera’s words, but her breathing was harsh and heavy.

So Gemma cared about Jack. Sera decided to do exactly what she’d threatened: in the morning, she’d skip church and invite Jack Kilgallin out to brunch, instead. Gemma would be spitting mad, Sera thought with an enormous surge of satisfaction. Well, it was past time her sister got a little of her own medicine.

Sera met Jack at a local hotel famous for its Sunday buffet brunch. He looked decidedly handsome in a gray sport coat that exactly matched his eyes.

He’d been surprised when she’d called, but Sera had counted on the fact that he was too much of a gentleman to refuse her invitation.

They talked about everything except Gemma. Jack asked about her job, and what she thought of living in California. Sera confided that she liked Vancouver better; L.A. was fine, but it wasn’t home, as the song said.

Jack wasn’t a verbal man, Sera noticed. Instead, he was a listener, who paid close attention to what his companion said and asked intelligent questions that invited long answers. He had a charming way of making a woman feel fascinating.

Sera waited until they’d finished eating to reach into her straw bag and extract the sheets of poetry she’d snuck out of the box in Gemma’s bottom drawer. Her sister had made it difficult by staying in bed that morning, refusing to go to church with Aldo and Maria. Sera had waited until Gemma made a hasty trip to the bathroom.

“You wrote these, didn’t you, Jack?” Sera prayed that she was right, and her heart lifted when he nodded without bothering to do more than glance at them. A flush spread across his cheekbones, and he carefully avoided meeting her eyes. He was embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you tell Gemma you were the one sending them?”

He put sugar into his coffee and stirred it much more than it needed. His voice was strained when he said simply, “She’d have laughed at me.”

Sera began to protest and then stopped. He was probably right; her sister might have done exactly that. Sending them anonymously had added intrigue and mystery, which Jack undoubtedly knew would capture Gemma’s imagination.

“They’re good,” she told him honestly. “I guess every kid tries to write poetry at some point. I did, and I remember how hard it was.”

“Thanks.” His face was still flushed, but now he met her gaze, defiant pride in his eyes. “I’ve published some poetry in little magazines,” he admitted shyly. “Four poems. Nothing big.” He reached out and touched the pile of poems with a finger. “But these were private. I wanted to let Gemma know how I really felt about her. But she didn’t seem to get the message.” There was pain in his voice; a longing for a loved one, which Sera recognized.

That he loved her sister wasn’t news. Sera thought of how many times he’d brought Gemma flowers and CDs and magazines. She thought again how good-looking he was, how torn apart he’d been when Gemma was injured.

Em was an absolute idiot not to appreciate him. And, Sera reasoned as she watched the play of emotions on his face, the wonderful thing about Jack was that although he was polite and friendly, Sera could sense that he wasn’t at all interested in her; the fact that she and Gemma were twins didn’t intrigue him in the slightest.

And now she was going to have to hurt him by telling him that Gemma believed Ben had written the poems Jack had sent her so hopefully.

She did it as quickly and clearly as she could, filling in every detail, and by the time she was done, Jack’s initial surprise had turned to disgust.

“Between us, it seems we’ve created one hell of a mess, Gemma and I. I made a mistake by not telling her the poems were from me. I guess I really believed she’d just know. I’m long overdue on setting the record straight with her.”

Sera could hear the steel in his tone. Jack was quiet, but beneath the controlled exterior were passion and strength.

“I like Dr. Halsey,” Jack added. “We need to straighten this out right away, for his sake.” A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw, and rage smoldered in his gray eyes, rage that Sera knew was directed at her sister.

Jack insisted on paying the bill, and then he took the poems and folded them carefully into his jacket pocket. “I’ll follow you over to your parents’ house right now,” he said with a determination that brooked no argument.

Sera wasn’t about to protest. She drove straight home, with Jack’s sedate blue Pontiac right behind her. Her parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway; they weren’t home from church yet, and Sera was relieved. Getting this first part over without an audience would be easier, Sera decided.

Gemma was drinking coffee in the kitchen, hair unbrushed and wild around her face and shoulders. She was still in her yellow nightshirt. She glanced up sullenly when Sera came in, and then her eyes went huge when she saw Jack. She jumped to her feet, intending to race out of the room, but Jack caught her arm.

“Sit down.” He pulled out a chair and guided her into it. “We have to talk. Right now. Gemma.”

Sera caught a glimpse of his eyes, and they were blazing. She knew she probably should leave Gemma and Jack alone, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk out of the kitchen. This affected her as well as them; she wanted to know exactly what Jack would say, and how her sister would react.

He reached in his pocket and drew out the poetry, then slapped it down in front of Gemma.

“I wrote these for you, you little fool,” he began. “I’ve been in love with you since the first day you set foot on the construction site, but I can promise you I’m gonna try my best now to get over you, Gemma.” The hurt and betrayal he felt were obvious. “I said before you were a spoiled brat but you’re also a dangerous one. Now, Did Doc Halsey do anything at all to make you think he’d written these?”

Gemma stared at Jack, her eyes huge, and then she slowly shook her head.

Jack swore under his breath. “It’s past time you grew up and took responsibility for the things you do,” he said in a harsh tone. “You can’t hurt people and get away with it. It’ll always come back to you, somehow or other.”

Sera watched her sister’s face crumple, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Plainly, Gemma really cared for Jack, otherwise she’d never have sat this quietly and actually listened. Or told the truth.

In fact, by her stricken expression, Sera suspected that Gemma was in love with him, had been all along without realizing it.

“We’re gonna straighten this out before I walk out of here, Gemma,” Jack continued, his voice hard and determined. “You’re gonna tell your dad the truth, and then I’ll call Doc Halsey and tell him I wrote the poetry. Maybe you can’t talk, but you can sure as hell write him a note saying you were mistaken in what you believed. He can show it to whoever Aldo complained to at the hospital.” He grabbed a pen and paper from the counter and slapped them, too, down in front of Gemma. “Write,” he ordered.

Sera held her breath. She knew from past experience that when the moment came for Gemma to make amends for something she’d done, she became hysterical, throwing things, running out of the room, locking herself in the bathroom.

She watched, astounded, as her sister looked up at Jack for what seemed a very long time. He held her gaze, his expression relentless. “It’s up to you to make things right, Gemma,” he finally said. “You screwed up, no you fix it. That’s the rule.”

Gemma’s shoulder’s hunched and she bent her head. Tears dripped down her cheeks and fell on the paper, but she slowly picked up the pen.

Sera reached for tissues for her, but Jack had already found some and handed them over.

They all heard the front door open and close. “Girls, are you coming to Aunt Teresa’s?” Maria’s heels clicked down the hallway. “She’ll be disappointed if you don’t—”

She paused in the kitchen doorway. “Hello, Jack, I thought that was your car outside. It’s good to see you again. You can come along and have dinner with us. Teresa always has enough to feed a thousand extra. Sera, I know your flight leaves at four, but Teresa’s made cream horns just for you. Visit for a little while and then Papa will drive you to the airport. Gemma, what on earth are you doing still in your nightgown?”

The strained atmosphere finally penetrated, and she fell silent just as Aldo squeezed past her, giving her an affectionate pat on the rump.

‘‘Hello, Jack, good to see you. What’s everybody doin’ here in the kitchen?”

“There’re some things you should know, Aldo.” Jack motioned to the poetry. “I wrote these, not Doc Halsey.”