Liar's Moon (25 page)

While Leif went to the bar to produce champagne, Tracy learned in a soft aside from Liz that her mother had barely appeared since Tracy had spoken to her on the phone. She was out back by the pool with her father right now.

Tracy slipped out back, finding her mother and grandfather beneath the sun umbrella. Arthur remained sitting at the sight of her, Audrey jumped to her feet. Tracy could see that she had been crying. She was still beautiful, but she didn’t look her customary ten years younger than her true age—she looked ten years older.

“Oh, Tracy!”

Audrey looked as if she wanted to reach out and hug her. She didn’t. Tracy stepped forward and took the initiative, wondering if she shouldn’t tear into her mother. She sighed, holding Audrey close. She couldn’t help it; she couldn’t bear the pain,

“Mother, please, it’s all right.”

“It’s not—”

“Audrey, hush!” Arthur said wearily. Seated, dignified, he touched Tracy as deeply as her mother had—Arthur looked close to a hundred today. He stared at her with a strange honor in his weathered face, like a man condemned to hang, but certain that he acted on principle and couldn’t have changed a thing.

“Tracy, I hope, girl, that you will forgive us. If you can’t, I can only offer this—what I did, I did out of love. You were so young.” He glanced at his daughter; Audrey’s head was still bowed. “Audrey didn’t breathe a
happy breath from the time you were bo
rn
because every time she looked at you, she thought of Jesse Kuger. She wrote him, she called him—she saw him—to tell him about you.” He lifted his hands. “Tracy, a child is a tie. And Leif was married. I couldn’t bear to see your life go the same way. I—I did see to it that Blake reached Leif.”

Tracy sat down. “I just married Leif, grandfather.”

He digested that information in silence, then spoke to her softly. “I wish you every happiness. I mean that, granddaughter.”

“Grandfather, what you did was wrong. To mother’s life, to my own.”

“
Tracy, we all have to do what we think is right at that time. Only hindsight can prove us right or wrong. Your father—” He paused, glancing at his daughter’s bowed head again. “I don’t think that your father had it in him to be a one-woman man. But he needed Audrey in his way. If Audrey could have forgotten him, she might have been a great deal happier.”

He paused and leaned toward her. “Forgive me, Tracy?”

“Oh, Tracy!” Audrey sobbed again.

“Mother!” Tracy murmured awkwardly. “For God’s sake! Please quit crying. I forgive you!”

Audrey looked at her—then past her—and tears started to well in her red-rimmed eyes again. And this time, Arthur Kingsley came to his feet. Tracy turned around to see that Leif had come out and was walking toward them. She jumped up, gazing at Leif herself, mutely beseeching him to go gently with these two.

He stopped behind her, locking her to him with his arms encircling her waist. “Has Tracy told you?” he inquired softly.

Her mother didn’t answer; Arthur nodded. He sighed. “I assume, Leif, that you’d like me out of your house.” Tracy curled her fingers over Leif’s hands. She felt all the tension in their steel hold, and again, in her touch, she tried very hard to beg in silence. She tilted her head, gazing up into his features. He shook his head ruefully.

“No, Arthur. This is Tracy’s home, too, now. You’re her family—always welcome here. Audrey—we’re opening champagne. Will you come in and toast us, please?” Audrey broke into another spasm of tears. Leif released Tracy in order to go to her, leading her to sit, kneeling before her, and taking her hands. “Look at me, Audrey. It’s all right. It’s—all—right. Really. Now, please, come and have some champagne.”

Audrey nodded, her eyes very, very wide on Leif. He helped her back up, and they all returned to the house.

T
racy was exhausted—that was half of her problem with the evening. She felt as if she had been digging ditches all day, but then she had heard that mental trauma was far more draining than physical exertion.

There was so much activity that night. They barbecued at the pool, and since it was the last night before they were to drive into the city for Jesse’s memorial service, everyone was nostalgic, and all the conversation centered on her father. Tracy drank too much champagne to soothe her jangled nerves, then she kept looking at everyone and wondering once more which of these smiling people had decided that her father should be murdere
d. And then there was Leif…

She had wanted to kiss his hands for the way he had dealt with her mother, yet she didn’t feel close to him at all. To her, unless he was holding her or touching her for someone else’s benefit, he remained as cool and distant as
he had been since they had exchanged the bitter words in bed.

Lauren was the last straw. She sauntered over to Tracy with her charcoaled chicken plate and a frozen daiquiri in her hand and offered congratulations again.

“I do hope it lasts,” she said with wide, innocent eyes. “For a few years, at least.”

Tracy smiled. “Lauren, marriage is for a lifetime.”

“Ah, Tracy! More than fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce! And you two have the age difference and all.”

“Lauren, Leif would be two years younger than Dad. You’re about two years older than I am? Did you marry him with that attitude?”

“I—” Lauren stared at her with her mouth agape for a second and then snapped it shut. “I—was more mature, Tracy. You’ve led a sheltered life. Fifteen years is a big difference. I mean, your husband is one of your mother’s friends!”

“Yes—nice, isn’t it?” Tracy said smoothly. “Oh, do excuse me, Lauren. I think I hear my mother calling me!”

“Just one minute, Tracy! I was your stepmother; I’m trying to give you a friendly warning. You are young. At some time your eyes might start straying and you might be tempted—”

“Oh? Did you cheat on my father, Lauren?”

“No!” the blond snapped out. “He cheated on me, and Leif is exactly the same. Do you really think that you can hold him?”

Tracy laughed. “Lauren, make up your mind! Who is going to cheat on who?”

She left quickly; she simply wasn’t up to Lauren anymore that night. She wasn’t up to the truth.

I am afraid, Lauren! Damned afraid! He married me because he wouldn’t give his son up in any way, shape, or form, and I have no idea what he really feels. Bitter, for one. But maybe we will manage, because we are capable of sleeping together very nicely, thank you.

And if he left me for another woman now, I think that I might curl up and die.

She managed to escape to the maze; she so desperately wanted to be alone. But when she had reached the rose garden, she realized that someone was there before her.

To her astonishment, she realized that the silhouettes against the silver moon were Sam and Liz.

Sam and Liz—in a passionate embrace.

Quietly, quietly, she slipped away.

For lack of anywhere better to go, she hurried into the house, listening to the laughter and conversation that followed her. She started up the stairs, wondering what would happen when Leif came up at last. Would he miss her downstairs? Would he hunt for her?

Would he come to bed in silence, still so distant? Or would he touch her? Was it all a travesty? Would they lay together, yet eons apart, for nig
ht after night after night…

She reached the door, then closed her eyes, leaning against it. Leif had been good to Audrey and Arthur. Had that been only to lure them into a trap?

“Tracy!”

At the sound of the urgent whisper, she started. At first she saw nothing, then down the darkened hallway she saw a little head peering out from a softly lit doorway.

Blake. Her heart began to pound, her hands to tremble.

She walked down to him and kneeled before him. He was in the cutest little teddy-bear pajamas.

He touched her cheek. “Were you crying again?”

She shook her head. “No, Blake.”

“Your skin is wet.”

“Is it?”

He nodded gravely.

She wanted to touch him so badly. She did, just stroking her palm over his cheek, then letting her hand fall. She couldn’t smother him; he wouldn’t want her at all then.

“You need to go to sleep, big boy,” she told him. “We’re going to drive into the city tomorrow.”

“I know. To pray for Uncle Jesse.”

“Right.”

“You
were
crying. Was it because tomorrow is when we remember him?”

“Maybe.”

He cracked his door open wider. “You can come in with me if you’d like. It might make you feel better. I’ll let you hold my Wuzzle.”

“Thanks, Blake,” she murmured, and her heart leapt again. He took her hand and led her into his domain. It was a big wonderful boy’s room with bookshelves and train tracks and toys.

“That’s my bed. It’s big. Want to
li
e down with me?”

“Oh, yes, Blake, thank you. I’d like that very much.” She lay down beside him, holding the Wuzzle. Trying not to cry, trying not to grasp him to her.

He stared at her, and smiled. “I really didn’t want to be alone tonight,” he admitted.

“Neither did I,” she said.

In time, his eyes closed.

She couldn’t make herself leave him. In time, her eyes closed.

T
hirty minutes later, Leif gave up searching the house for his disappearing and wayward bride—it had been hard to keep up a celebration dinner without her. Grimly he wondered if she hadn’t decided to back out of the whole th
ing anyway. And if she had…

He inhaled, knowing that if he found her, he would drag her back, back to his arms, back to his room. Back to his bed.

On sudden intuition, he went to his son’s room. He saw the two of them sleeping there. He saw the tears on her cheeks. He saw their fingers, entwined between them. He pulled off her shoes, drew the blanket over them both, and silently closed the door as he left.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
racy tried to pray but she couldn’t. All that she could see or feel was the sun, reflecting through the beautiful stained-glass windows.

Bessie Tibbs, a popular soul singer and old friend of Jesse’s, was singing “Ave Maria.” It was beautiful. Her tones reached throughout the church like crystal magic. Everything was beautiful. The candles, the flowers. The church was full, and outside people lined the street. Some in tribute to Jesse; some to see the personalities who would eventually come from the church.

Tracy closed her eyes. She felt the fabric of Leif’s jacket brush her arm, and though nothing was right between them, she was glad. He’d made no comment at all about her falling asleep in Blake’s room; he’d been beside her all the way today. They’d driven together with Liz and Blake in the backseat, and, thankfully, the two of them had kept conversation going. And once they’d reached the church, Leif hadn’t left her side. He still hadn’t really spoken to her, but he’d been there for her, and she felt the strength of his presence—a bastion today, when she needed it.

She closed her eyes more tightly. She wanted to pray for her father. All she could keep thinking was that it had all been such an awful waste. Jesse lost to them. Young,
full of laughter, full of talent. He hadn’t been just a pop star, but a musician and a poet. Not a personality, but a man, with all his human frailties. She missed him today with all her heart.

She opened her eyes again. She heard the words of eulogy, the prayers for his soul.

God grant that he ha
ve peace…

Once she caught Jamie’s eyes. He gave her a rather sad smile of encouragement, and she returned it, thinking, We are here, we are together—and we loved him. That is in itself the greatest testament!

Leif prodded her. She gazed into his eyes and realized that the service had come to an end. Stumbling slightly, caught by his strength, she started to walk from the pew.

Outside on the steps, the sun nearly blinded her. There were a number of policemen and security officials around, holding back the crowd. But suddenly a man approached Leif, motioning him aside.

Leif didn’t seem to be surprised. He excused himself huskily to Tracy and stepped aside. She gripped Blake’s hand.

“What a circus,” Liz murmured.

It was indeed.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “Mrs. Johnston! Is it true?”

Liz nudged her. “Tracy—you are Mrs. Johnston.”

“Mrs. Johnston! Is the story true?”

What story? She felt very disoriented. Jamie and Tiger were suddenly in front of her. Like a wall of protection. A group of teenaged girls started shouting at the sight of Jamie.

What story? She’d seen the morning paper. There had been an article on the service today—and on Jesse. It had been a nice article, commemorating his accomplishments in music.

“Ah, come on, Mrs. Johnston! There’s a great story out in the tabloid! All about you and Leif Johnston being lovers a long time ago! That you actually had a child together, and that all these years later you’re finally together! What a romance!”

Tracy was stunned. Who could know? Who could know but her intimate family—and who of them would have called in such a story? She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t react—she couldn’t function.

She realized then that her mother was behind her on the steps, and that Arthur was with her, and Ted.

A flashbulb went of
f in her face. When she could see again, she instantly noted Blake—staring at her in a horrible way.

“Leave her alone!” Jamie shouted in her defense.

Numb, Tracy stared across the steps. Leif was still talking to the man, nodding and frowning with his dark brows drawn taut across his face. He saw Tracy’s pale face and inclined his head in a worried question. He pointed toward them. T
he strange man looked their way
—and nodded. Leif started walking toward her. But he seemed so distant. There were so many people between them.

“Mrs. Johnston! Is Leif’s little boy your own son?”

Who?
Tracy raged silently. Maybe one of the others had known; maybe Jesse had told Lauren or Carol what he had suspected. Lauren, surely! She couldn’t be trusted.

A woman’s voice came at her next, giggling, excited.

“Tell us! Please, what is the truth? Is he your little boy? He’s adorable!”

Blake wrenched his hand from hers and stared at her in a horrible combination of reproach, fury—and hatred.

“My mother is dead!” Blake cried out, wrenching from her. “I hate you!” he screamed to Tracy. “I hate you, I
hate you!” He burst into tears and disappeared into the web of humanity coming from the church.

Chaos broke out. People were forging everywhere. The police began to lose control.

“Blake!” she screamed. She was shaking. Tears started to burn behind her eyes. How could anyone be so cruel?

Liz gripped her shoulders. “Tracy—I’ll find Blake. I promise. I—I don’t think he’ll come to you right now. Do yourself a favor—get out of here, quickly.”

Liz disappeared. There were too many people. She could no longer see Leif, nor could she even find Jamie. “Is Leif Johnston’s son really yours?”

“When was the affair?”

What in God’s name possessed people? Tracy wondered desperately. There were strangers all around her, crushing her, smothering her. Grabbing at her. At her hair, at her clothing.

She was about to panic, about to scream, when she saw a familiar, kind, gentle face at last. Ted Blare reached out a hand to her and wrenched her from the frenzied crowd. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here!”

She followed him with the greatest relief, running down the steps in his wake. There was a taxi at the curb. Ted ushered her into the back, hopped in beside her, and told the cabbie just to drive, to get them going.

Then he turned to Tracy, his dark eyes full of concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, gripping his hand. “Oh, Ted!”

She was shaking; she had sworn she was done with crying, but tears streamed silently from beneath her lids. “How could they? How could somebody print a story like that? How could that horrible man have shouted that way? Oh, my God! Blake will never speak to me again.
What is the matter with people? It was supposed to be a memorial service for my father—”

“Hush, hush, Tracy, it’s going to be all right,” Ted assured her. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, smiling. “Look around you now. We’ve left it all behind. It’s just a quiet Sunday afternoon and everything is going to be all right.”

“I don’t know if it will ever be all right. Blake—”

“Tracy, his aunt will find him. They’ll control that mess back there, and Leif will reassure him. He is only six, Tracy. He didn’t really understand any of it—only that they were nastily attacking you. And somehow threatening what he remembers of Celia. He’s young— he’ll be okay. He’ll spring back, and he won’t hate you.”

Oh, God, he hates me now! she thought wretchedly. “It’s all, all, all such a mess,” she murmured.

She gazed up at him—at the kind, steady face she had always known. Ted, always there in the background. She laughed suddenly. A bitter sound, a sad one. She gripped his hand and held it tight.

“Oh, Ted! How did you ever wind up stuck in this absurd family!”

He smiled back. “I was what your grandfather had in mind for your mother. A good, steady, boring businessman. And once I saw your mother, I was hooked. I still think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Tracy discovered herself looking quickly away from him. She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes with the thought that her mother had cheated on him for years and years and years. With her father.

He sighed softly. “You don’t have to look away, Tracy. I know that your mother saw Jesse until the day that he died.”

“Oh, Ted. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have your baby brother now. Anthony makes everything all right.”

She swallowed and nodded. Anthony was only two now, but when he was older, she wanted him to spend time with her and Leif and Blake.

If there was anything left. If Blake could forgive her, if Leif could love her. If they could create a family in the wake of all of this.

She shook her head, suddenly, violently, misery rising high within her once again. She looked out the window at the city, wishing desperately that she could just run, feel the breeze—feel free from the burdens of the heart that seemed to hang about her neck like heavy bricks.

“Stop!” she cried suddenly, leaning over to tap the cabby on the shoulder.

The taxi veered off the road. Ted, confused, gripped her arm. “Tracy! What are you doing? Let me get you back to the hotel. We’ll go to your mother’s and my suite. No one will be back for a bit. We’ll be all alone—”

Tracy smiled at him. “I know you think I’m crazy. I just have to get out. I have to walk for a while. You go on back.”

“Not on your life, young lady.”

“Ted, see the bridge? I’m going to take a walk over it.”

He inhaled impatiently. He was annoyed with her— she knew it. He’d wanted her to go to the hotel with him.

“Tracy, come on, now, just come back to the hotel with me!”

“Ted, really—go on. I’ll be all right. I just feel like walking. Ted, you’re a dear, but—”

“Do something!” the cabby interrupted them irritably.

“Maybe the bridge will do just as well,” Ted muttered. Tracy frowned. He smiled and urged her out of the taxi, following quickly behind her.

Ted paid the cabbie; they stepped out on the pavement. The bridge loomed before them in silent majesty.

“Come on!”

Ted took her arm. He seemed quite content now to walk over the bridge with her. They walked in silence then for the next fifteen minutes. The air was cool, the sun was out—New York was enjoying a fabulous blue sky that day. The breeze cooled Tracy’s cheeks. She noted moments later that she wasn’t shaking anymore, that her footsteps, hurried to keep up with Ted, were both exhausting and calming. She did feel better.

“Look at the old scow down there!” Ted told her, pausing. Tracy came beside him to stare down to the river—far, far below them now.

The sky was blue, but the water was greenish gray. Sunlight caught on it, and now and again it sparkled. Behind them, a group of cars whizzed by, creating a greater wind.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Ted said.

He took her elbow and they started walking again. “A sailboat—and that one looks like a merchant marine!”

They paused again. Tracy realized that they were high up and the boats below them were very, very small now. Not real at all.

“Toys!” she laughed again.

“It’s a long, long way down,” Ted murmured.

Tracy stepped back suddenly, wanting a distance from the rail. She was suddenly frightened, and she didn’t know why. Heights didn’t bother her. It was broad daylight, and though the Sunday traffic was slower than usual, the bridge was still busy with spurts of cars whizzing by them every few seconds.

“Very few people have survived a fall from this height, Tracy,” Ted told her gravely. “And I believe that those
who have came out of it were terribly mangled. Death would be the better option.”

She smiled at him, weakly, feeling the shivery sensation of an unknown fear once again.

“Ted—” she murmured uneasily, backing further away to start walking again.

He reached for her hand, holding it tightly with his own, leaning comfortably against that railing that suddenly seemed so small a barrier between life and death. “I know that you know, Tracy.”

“What?” she gasped. “Ted, I don’t know anything—”

“Surely, you do.” He smiled. “That cop’s partner is telling Leif right now that your mother, Arthur, and I are the ones that he saw his partner talking to the week before dear Jesse departed. We just met him in the street, you know, and your mother can’t resist flirting with anyone. But I saw something about him. I saw his lust for money, the way he seemed awed when he realized that he was talking to Arthur Kingsley. So I went back. I saw him alone—and I paid him to see that a criminal was killed. Easy. My benefit for years of being the neglected husband—Arthur Kingsley’s money. Two hundred thousand dollars a year in personal allowance. I wanted it— but I discovered no amount of money was enough to watch your mother yearn for your father—year after year after year.”

“Ted, no. I don’t know anything of this! Don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to—”

“Tracy, Tracy, tsk, tsk. You and Leif decided that someone had paid Martin Smith to kill Jesse. I knew it as soon as Leif called about his get-together for a memorial service. Flush them all out. That was his plan. But you see, he’s still going to think that Arthur did it. After all, Arthur did everything else. Arthur and your mother.”

His fingers tightened around her wrist. Tracy was still so stunned that nothing escaped her but a faint protest.

“Tracy, you were a sweet child. But you were his child. God, the years I spent hating him! You should have hated him, too. He didn’t bother much with you—he was too busy sleeping with your mother.”