Eden's Dream (15 page)

Knowing that their mother needed no additional stress, especially that caused by hyperactive children, Eden had convinced her brother and family to move into her apartment temporarily. Once Carrie had been released from Downstate Medical Center, Eden had moved into the brownstone on Avenue J. The doctor had suggested nourishing meals and plenty of bed rest, and Eden aimed to make sure his orders were followed.

Squinting, she focused on an ornate jewelry box on top of the dresser. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and peered through splayed fingers at the red box. After a minute or so, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and waited for the fog to recede.

One eye remained centered on the box. Its bright red lacquer and heavy brass lock got her attention. Grandma Nell's legacy had been sitting there all night, in full view. No wonder she'd dreamt of boxes. The jewelry box had been left to Eden's mother. It held all the expensive baubles her grandparents had picked up in their travels. Eden doubted her mother had opened it recently, much less worn any of the gems it held.

Eden shook her head in another attempt to clear it, her thoughts now on Noah. She should try reaching him, she supposed. Though he'd said he would call her, she needed to take the initiative. She hadn't given him her mother's number. Dismissing the thought soon after it had surfaced, she mentally ticked off a list of items that needed to be accomplished today.

Yawning, she peered at her watch. She'd overslept again. This was becoming a bad habit, especially since she was due back at work in a few days. Time to grab a cup of coffee and go call Bill and Helga.

“Eden.” The whispered inquiry floated through the closed door.

“What are you doing up? You're supposed to be in bed,” Eden whispered back.

Her mother's head emerged through a crack in the door, followed by her entire body. A brightly colored scarf covered her wild mop of hair. She smiled brightly. “I made a pot of coffee.” She waved an empty mug in Eden's direction. “Want some?”

“Thanks. But I'll get it. You need to get back to bed.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Eden pointed an imperious finger. “I'll call the doctor if you don't.”

An unintelligible grumble followed. Holding her ribs with one hand, the cup in the other, her mother made a U-turn. Eden felt a pang of guilt. “Tell you what. We'll sit at the kitchen table just for a few minutes, enjoy our coffee, and catch up.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cognac eyes so like her own sparkled with mischief. “Good. We can talk about that fellow you're seeing.”

“What fellow, mother?”

“You know. The one who answered your phone.” Cassie took a seat at the table and waited for Eden to join her. “What's he look like?” she asked the moment Eden sat down.

In a delaying tactic, Eden sipped the steaming brew. “Is he hot? That's what you young people call the hunks of today.”

Eden sputtered and set the coffee cup down. “Gawd, mother. You've been watching too many soap operas.”

“Well is he?”

Eden knew there would be no peace for the weary. “Yes, Mother. Noah's very good-looking.”

“Is he nice? There's something about the name Noah that's got strength to it. See, even hearing his name brings stars to your eyes.”

“I don't—”

The phone rang. Glad for the interruption, Eden rose to answer. She glared at her mother, picked up the receiver, and covered the mouthpiece. “Go back to bed.” Removing her hand, she said, “Hello.”

“Hey, little sis. How's it going?”

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. Ever since she was old enough to remember, Bill had always called her “little sis.”

“We're managing. How are you and the little ones holding up? Finding everything okay?”

“Yup. Your niece and nephew are having the time of their lives. I caught them out on the terrace yesterday about to water-balloon some poor old man.”

Eden's laughter rippled. “Thank God that's all they were doing.”

“Got a couple of messages for you.”

Eden held her breath. Was it the one she waited for?

“Some woman called Sinclair Morgan says you need to get in touch with her. She wants you to either get a physical or go see the company doctor. I'm not sure. I'll have to listen to the message again.”

Eden exhaled. “No need to. It's been handled. I'm going back to work on Monday.”

Bill groaned. “Are you really ready, Eden? Don't let anyone force you to get back to work if you're not ready.” She could tell by his voice he was concerned.

“It's time. Besides, I'm going to need money soon.”

“I'll give you some.”

They went back and forth.

Bill continued, “You've gotten quite a few phone calls. When I pick up, there's no one on the line.”

“Most likely wrong numbers,” Eden said with more conviction than she felt. Oh God! It was happening all over again.

“And another thing, some guy called a couple of times. I didn't quite catch his name. He left a uh—personal message on your answering machine.”

Please let it be Noah. “What did he say?”

“Something about loving you and missing you—I—uh—saved it.” Bill cleared his throat. Sounding rather embarrassed, he continued, “He called back late last night, but said he was on the road and couldn't be reached. I gave him mom's number. Sounded like a nice guy.”

“He is.”

N
oah knew
he was in the city by the size of the buildings and the way traffic picked up. Behind him, and in the lane on either side, cabbies in yellow taxis honked their horns rudely. The drivers zipped from one lane to another, narrowly missing cars to the right and left of them. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard noting the time. A little after three. Not quite rush hour. Hopefully, Eden's apartment was close by. Still it wouldn't hurt to call just to be sure.

Minutes later, after fighting the guy to the right of him, Noah was able to pull over. He eased into a space at the curb just as another car slid out. Fumbling for the cell phone on the dashboard, he positioned the instrument between ear and shoulder. Kahlua's contented purr filled the car's interior. He tossed the cat in the cage beside him an affectionate glance, stuck his fingers between the metal grid and scratched the feline's ears. “You'll see your mother soon, hon.”

He checked his phone for the number Eden's brother had given him and punched a button. After a couple of rings, someone picked up.

“Hello.”

The woman had a European accent—the voice definitely wasn't Eden's. Must be the sister-in-law she'd mentioned. Noah tried not to let his disappointment show. “Noah Robbins here. Is Eden in?”

“Ah, Noah.” The warm, friendly response boosted his confidence. She knew who he was. “Eden's not here. She's back at her apartment. Do you need the number?”

“I have it.” He thanked the woman and rang off. Noah placed the second call, simultaneously struggling to gain control of his emotions. He hadn't earned the name Joe Cool for nothing. He, more than anyone, knew that it didn't pay to show a woman that you cared too deeply. You'd only get hurt. And he knew all about hurt. Wasn't he the one who'd come home to an empty apartment, found his furniture gone, and a Dear John letter tacked to the refrigerator. Still it had been ten long days since he'd seen Eden, and he missed her so badly it hurt. Just thinking of her made him tremble with longing.

A breathless “Hello,” and Eden was on the line. A television blasted in the background. He couldn't find his voice, and she repeated the greeting.

“Hi, there,” he said.

“Noah? Where are you?”

Lowering the car window, he scanned the area, looking for signs that would reveal his location. “Fifty-seventh,” he said, eyeballing the post on the corner.

“And?”

“Lexington.”

“Close to Bloomingdale's.”

Only a woman would make that association. He smiled, spotting the imposing concrete high-rise, streams of people swinging through the glass doors. “Yeah, that's right.”

“Busy section of town.”

“I noticed.” Why was she stalling? “I'll need directions.”

“Is Kahlua all right?”

“Fine. She's been wonderful company.”

She seemed to hesitate then eventually said, “I'm on the west side. Take—”

Noah jotted directions as Eden gave him the details.

She sounded like he felt—nervous and edgy.

N
o sooner had
Eden hung up than the phone rang. She lowered the TV's volume and raced to answer. Must be Noah again.

Jorge, her Puerto Rican doorman's thick accent, filled her ear. “Mees Sommers, you have an envelope at the front desk.”

Eden ran through her options. Pick up the envelope or change clothes and touch up her makeup? Vanity prevailed. It was probably only Pelican anyway, and she'd told them she'd be in on Monday.

“Tell you what, Jorge. I'm expecting a visitor in about—” Eden calculated how long it would take for Noah to get there, figuring in traffic and parking. She added, “Twenty minutes. His name is Mr. Robbins. Give him my envelope after you announce him.”

“Sure thing, Mees Sommers.”

Even that short conversation had cost her valuable time. She raced for her closet. What to wear? What to wear? Nothing too fancy. Nothing that would make it look like she'd been primping. Still, something eye-catching. In her excitement she stepped over the open suitcase of soiled garments on the closet floor and almost went flying. Steadying herself, she flicked through the racks, mentally examining and discarding options.

Outside, the day hinted of the warm summer to come. A light breeze blew through the open windows, bringing with it a hundred city odors: the noxious fumes of backfiring trucks, the mouthwatering smells of street vendors, and that indescribable smell that only New Yorkers knew. Humming a popular tune, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly, it came to her. She'd wear red. Red made her feel good. It was a power color she'd once been told. Impulsively, she shimmied into a thigh-high red mini-dress that clung to her curves. It was the kind of dress you'd throw on to go shopping or if you were meeting a girlfriend for lunch. Sticking her feet into flat red sandals, she headed for the bathroom and makeup. Ten minutes later, she emerged, hair secured in a knot at the top of her head, cheeks and lips slightly tinged red.

Eden cast a cursory glance around the apartment. Despite the fact that Helga and Bill had left it neat as a pin, she plumped up the cushions of the old-fashioned divan and then stooped to pick up a piece of lint from the dark wooden floors. The ringing phone made her jump.

Noah, so soon! She wasn't ready.
Breathe, Eden. Breathe.

So as not to appear anxious, she let the phone ring once, twice and then counted to five.

“Yes, Jorge?” she finally said.

Nothing on the other end.

“Jorge? Hello?”

Click.

She felt the nausea build, saw the room fade and come back into focus. Was she overreacting? No one knew she was home except for her family, Lori, and Sinclair. Bill had said he'd gotten a number of hang-ups. Was that pure coincidence or a veiled warning? Either way, time to get her number changed.

The phone rang again. Eden's panic built. Pressing a hand to her chest, she debated not answering. But what if it was Noah?

What if? She somehow managed a tentative, “hello.”

“Mees Som—”

“Yes, Jorge?” Her thudding heart accelerated. “Meester Robbins is here to see you.”

“Send him up,” Eden said more curtly than she meant, “and don't forget to give him that envelope.”

Elation took the place of anxiety. Noah was in her lobby. He'd brought her cat. The warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach had little to do with Kahlua. Who was she kidding?

She gave the place a quick once-over and tried to view it with an objective eye. Not more than six hundred square feet, the apartment was small, tasteful, and cozy. Since she'd been big on privacy, she'd added an attractive divider and turned the L-shaped studio into a one bedroom. In the living room, a cream-colored canvass couch ran the length of one wall; its light color a delightful contrast to highly polished wooden floors. A smattering of handwoven rugs covered dark mahogany floors. Ivory walls held a collection of primitive art, running the gamut from African masks to musical instruments.

The doorbell rang.

She couldn't do it. Couldn't put one foot in front of the other to answer. But the truth was she wanted her cat and desperately wanted to see Noah.

“Eden,” he called.

Even his voice made her shiver. “I'm coming,” somehow got lodged in her throat.

An invisible hand pushed her toward the door. She struggled with locks and fumbled with the safety chain. At last the door swung open.

“Well, hello.”

He was there bigger than life. And despite her doubts, her misgivings, nothing about her feelings had changed. She wanted him just as badly as she had before.

“My God, you look wonderful,” Noah said, stepping inside. “Tell me you didn't go through all that trouble for me.” He slid past and began circling her.

She would neither deny nor confirm his statement as all six-foot-four of him invaded her space, making her apartment appear smaller than ever. She could barely breathe, much less answer him. Carrying the cat's kennel by the handle, he pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him, the familiar clean smell of him. His soul-searching kiss actually made her knees buckle. She'd almost forgotten the emotions that his kisses unleashed. Reality check. Kahlua's kennel whacked her back. An angry hiss reminded them of the forgotten cat.

“Better let Kahlua out,” Eden whispered, reluctantly breaking the kiss.

“Sure thing.” Noah set the carrier down. He released the latch, freeing the cat. Kahlua, tail at half-mast, stalked off, stopping only to toss a baleful glare over one shoulder. “How's your mother?” Noah asked, straightening up.

“Recovering. The police still can't find the person who ran her down.”

Noah shook his head and made a
tssk
ing sound. After a while he turned his attention back to her apartment, planted both hands on his hips and looked around. “Nice setup.”

“Thanks. I did my best.”

He whistled. “And a remarkable job it is. Eclectic, tasteful, and very much you.” He surveyed the room again, missing nothing. “Now before I forget.” He retrieved a crumpled envelope from his pocket and handed it over. “Your doorman asked me to give you this.”

Eden glanced at the plain white envelope. The handwriting, a spidery scrawl, was not one she recognized. Clutching the unopened envelope, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

Noah flopped onto the couch and stretched out his legs. He stared at the images on the silent TV then back at her. “A beer, if you have one, and something to munch on if it's not too much trouble. God, I forgot just how brutal New York traffic can be. DC's a piece of cake in com—”

She jumped on his words. “So that's where you're from. I suspected as much.”

Noah blinked, but made a quick recovery. “You did, did you? Where's that beer with my name written on it?”

“Coming up in a minute.”

She gave him a mock curtsy and headed for the kitchen.

Eden returned with a tray holding a platter of cheese and crackers and two Michelobs, the envelope propped between the bottles. Noah relieved her of the tray, setting it down on an exquisite coffee table, an intricate combination of wrought iron and glass.

“Are you planning on opening that envelope?” he asked. For some inexplicable reason, he sensed she was delaying that task. The first rush of jealousy hit him. Could the note be from an old boyfriend—or current one for that matter? They'd never discussed previous involvements. He'd simply assumed that Rodney Joyner's death had left her single and available.

“Eventually.”

He took a swig of beer and bit into a cracker. “Don't sound so enthused.”

“All right I'll open it.”

She slid a perfectly manicured nail under the flap. He focused on her face, watching for a reaction. When she unfolded the note and scanned its contents, a perplexed look registered.

“Something wrong?”

Eden nibbled her lower lip, perusing the letter again.

“Eden?”

“Yeah?” She looked up, but didn't really see him. “What is it?”

“Hmm.”

Forgetting his hunger, he slid off the couch and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Don't give me that B.S. Something's the matter. Is that a love letter?” He tried to make light of the situation, though every muscle in his body revolted at the thought. He'd rip off the eyelids of any man who tried to lay claim to her.

“Here, see for yourself.” She handed the note over.

“Shall we sit?” Tension slowly eroding, he gestured to the couch, waiting for her to sit. Glancing at the crumpled paper then back at her, he continued. “This isn't really a letter. It's been copied.”

“I know that.”

“Why would someone send you a cargo manifest?”

She took a tiny sip of beer and set the bottle down. “It's not just any old manifest. Look at the date.”

“May fifth,” Noah repeated. “The date of the Pelican crash.”

“Exactly.” Eden picked up the bottle and swigged the liquid. “Look closer. Look at what's listed.”

“Alright. What am I missing?”

She slid next to him. A delicately colored nail pointed out item by item. The smell of wildflowers enveloped him as cheek to cheek they pored over the crumpled paper. “Nowhere does it say anything about Baylor Hospital or a human organ for that matter.” The last was whispered.

“You're good.” Her closeness had made it increasingly harder to think, much less keep his hands to himself. In his excitement, he kissed her. “We're on to something, girl. Was there a letter? An address, maybe?” As if he didn't know the answer.

“No.” But for good measure, she turned the envelope upside down, examining the front and flap.

He traced patterns against her cheeks with the tips of his fingers. “God, did I miss you.” So much for keeping his cool.