Some Like It Hot (16 page)

“The liar and cheater in this story was Jason Monroe.” The Congresswoman shook her head. “In the end, Robert’s sacrifices were for naught. Jason got caught with cocaine again.”

“How sad.”

“It’s worse than that. Jason left the family high and dry, and Robert was taking care of them financially. Karen and Michael’s death had left him very well off.” Pamela toyed with a brown plastic stir straw and did not meet Melanie’s eyes. “By this time Robert was twenty-one. He went searching for Jason and found him using cocaine in a crack den. He confronted him, tried to take his drugs away, and Jason attacked him with a razor blade.”

“The scar at his temple.” Melanie understood why it had been so difficult for Robert to talk about.

“Robert was forced to have Jason committed to the psyche ward for forty-eight hours. It was either that or press
charges and have him thrown in jail. But Robert was too loyal to do that. Blind loyalty, that’s his weak spot. He’s loyal to people he’s forged a bond with, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Melanie couldn’t believe how much Robert had suffered. Now she completely understood that dark and brooding undercurrent he struggled to keep from surfacing.

“It tore Robert up inside to think someone he loved so deeply could hurt him like that. Even so, he paid for Jason’s rehab, but as I said, it didn’t stick. Finally Jason’s wife left him, and Robert took care of her and the kids until she remarried a few years later. It took Robert a long time to get past what happened with Jason. He went to grad school and got his Ph.D. in nutrition. But he’s been very careful with his affections and his loyalties since. I was so happy when your mother offered Robert the job at the Hotel Marchand. A fresh start is exactly what he needed.”

It all made sense. Why Robert had been afraid to express his emotions. Why he equated passion with disaster. All the passionate people he’d known had self-destructed. And yet, in spite of it all, he’d still been willing to give Melanie a chance. He might have been sad and lonely, but he hadn’t been afraid to try again. He wasn’t a coward. As she had been. Running from love, running from commitment. Afraid to try again after having failed with David.

Robert was a brave man.

Pamela Longren looked Melanie straight in the eye. “I told you all this so you’ll understand. Robert has been through so much in his life. He deserves a woman who’ll treat him right. I do think he needs a passionate woman who’ll balance him out, but he also needs a loyal, trustworthy one who won’t
screw him over again. He’s suffered enough. If you can’t give him what he so desperately needs, Melanie, then for God’s sake, walk away.”

M
ELANIE DECIDED NOT TO
apply for the job at La Chère. Coby was right—he was more suited for it, anyway. Besides, she was going home to tell Robert exactly how she felt about him.

Her plane touched down Sunday at midnight, and she hailed a cab to take her home.

Thirty minutes later, exhausted, she slid out of the taxi, stepping into the rain without an umbrella. She never carried one, didn’t even own one. She had no doubt sensible, practical Robert owned dozens. If he were here right now he’d pop one up and shelter her from the razor-sharp teeth of the persistent drizzle.

Before she could get into the house, Waffle, who’d been cooped up inside all day by herself, darted out around Melanie’s legs.

“Waffle, come back,” she called.

If she was really going to keep that cat she would have to get her spayed so she wouldn’t try to run away. Darn Robert’s hide for making her name the cat, anyway.

The kitten shot down the stairs.

Robert’s right,
Melanie thought.
I am like Holly Golightly. Chasing a stray cat through the rain.

“Waffle, come here,” she commanded sharply, but being her typical cat self, Waffle ignored her and kept right on going. Melanie went after her.

The roads were slick. A few cars moved slowly down the block.

Waffle reached the cobblestone street underneath a streetlamp at the same moment a black sedan turned the corner. Instantly, Melanie had a horrible flashback to the hit-and-run accident. The car that had slammed into her grandmother’s Cadillac had also been a black sedan.

And now it was bearing down on Waffle, who had stopped in the middle of the road to shake rainwater from her paws.

The sedan honked and tried to stop, but the quick application of brakes caused it to fishtail on the wet stones.

“Waffle!” Melanie screamed, and flung herself off the curb.

But it was too late.

“T
HERE’S BEEN AN ACCIDENT
.”

“An accident?” Robert repeated groggily into the telephone. He turned on the bedside lamp, swung his legs off the edge of the bed. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. “Who is this? What’s happened?”

“Robert, it’s Charlotte. I…” Her voice choked and she couldn’t speak. Fear grabbed him and shook hard.

“Melanie. Is it Melanie?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?” he demanded. “What hospital is she at?”

“Canal Street Veterinarian Hospital.”

“What?”

“Waffle and Melanie got hit by a car, but Melanie refuses to leave Waffle’s side. She’s bruised and bleeding but she
won’t go get help herself until she knows Waffle is going to be okay. I can’t make her go. I tried but…”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home. The veterinarian called me and had me talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. Maybe you can reason with her, Robert.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I get her to the hospital.”

Heart pounding with terror, Robert gathered up his journal and drove, grim-faced, to the veterinarian hospital. He hurried in through the twenty-four-hour emergency entrance and stopped at the reception desk. “Melanie Marchand and her cat, Waffle?”

The veterinarian assistant took him back to one of the examination rooms.

When Robert saw Melanie sitting there in a rocking chair with the unconscious kitten in her lap, tears streaking the dried blood on her bruised cheek, a feeling of anger and helplessness and abject sympathy washed over him.

“Melanie,” he whispered, and rushed toward her.

“Robert.” She blinked at him and started crying all the harder. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here.”

“Waffle got hit by a car.”

“I heard.” Gently, he reached out a hand to stroke the still, small creature in her lap. “Charlotte said you got hit, too.”

“The fender clipped me as I tried to scoop Waffle out of the way of the tire. The vet said if I hadn’t been there to block her, the impact would have killed her.”

“Don’t you think we should get
you
to a doctor?” He met her eyes and tried his best not to cringe at the sight of the gash above the bridge of her nose. “That cut needs a stitch or two.”

“I can’t go. Not until I know Waffle is going to pull through.”

“Charlotte told me you went to Seattle for a job interview.”

“I did.”

“How’d that go?”

She shook her head. “I never applied.”

“Why not?”

“Because I met your aunt Pamela,” she said. “She told me everything, Robert. About your parents, about Jason Monroe.”

She studied his face and he knew she was trying to gauge his reaction to her news. Instead of closing down, he let his emotions register on his face. He was surprised and relieved and confused and, oddly, happy.

“I lied to you,” he said.

“About what?”

“After we made love. When I told you it was just sex. I lied about that.”

“I was so hoping you did.”

“I’ve got something I want to share with you,” he said.

“You do?”

He extended his journal to her. “I’ve never shown it to anyone. It says everything I haven’t been able to say.”

“Oh, Robert, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was more splendid than any award, any paycheck he’d ever received.

And then Waffle meowed.

O
NCE SHE KNEW THAT
W
AFFLE
was going to be okay, Melanie let Robert drive her to the hospital emergency room. While they waited for the doctor, she read his journal.

It started with the day he’d come to work at the Hotel Marchand and included his growing feelings for her. His eloquent words painted a richer picture of this man she loved.

He believed that about her? He thought she fit well with others?

And then another entry.

The day of the infamous turkey skirmish.

And the day after they’d made love.

Melanie looked up at him.

He was watching her with a mixture of anxiety and tenderness.

“Robert,” she whispered, but just then the doctor had arrived to stitch up her nose.

While Robert waited outside, she realized how much she wanted out of the hospital so they could go somewhere and discuss what all this meant for their future.

The doctor finished his task just as her family came swooping into the room.

Rats,
she thought. Much as she loved them all, she wanted everyone to go away except for Robert.

They were all there—her mother and Charlotte, Sylvie and Renee, enveloping her in their love. She looked around for Robert and saw he’d slipped out the door, giving her time alone with her family.

“You guys didn’t have to come out in the middle of night,” Melanie said.

“Yes we did,” Sylvie told her. “You’re our baby sister and we love you to distraction.”

“Even if I was put out with you for taking off for Seattle,” Charlotte chided.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” Renee asked. “What’s wrong?”

Anne sat down on the end of the gurney and took Melanie’s hand. “Sweetheart, we just want you to know we’re here for you always and forever. No matter what problems you’re having.”

All four of them exchanged worried looks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Melanie demanded.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Anne patted her hand. “You can be honest with us.”

“We know the real reason you went to Seattle,” Charlotte said. “We know you went to see your drug dealer.”

“My what?” Melanie exclaimed, sitting up straighter on the gurney and staring at her family in disbelief.

“There’s no shame involved,” Renee said. “It happens. We’ll help you through it.”

“You guys think I’m doing drugs?”

“You’re not?” Sylvie asked.

“No, and whatever gave you that idea?”

Her mother and sisters looked at each other, but this time in confusion.

Charlotte was the first to speak. “Remember that day in your apartment when I brought the dress over for the charity auction? I dropped the cup on your answering machine and it played your messages. I heard your “friend” from Seattle say he had some primo stuff for you.”

“Coby was talking about primo gossip.” They thought she was using drugs?

“Please don’t lie,” Charlotte said. “I came back in your apartment a few minutes later because I’d forgotten to tell you something, and I overheard you calling him back. You said, and I quote. ‘Cocaine, I want everything you’ve got, all of it.’ Are you going to deny that?”

Melanie tried to remember exactly what she’d said in that phone call to Coby. “You took the words out of context.”

“Then what was the correct context?” Charlotte asked.

She wasn’t going to tell them about Robert’s cocaine conviction, Melanie decided. If he wanted them to know, then he could tell them. Now she understood why he hadn’t told her the truth about it when she’d confronted him. What was the point if those you loved were ready to assume you were a liar and a drug addict? It felt like a stark betrayal of trust.

“That day you came to see me in the art gallery, you told me you were strung out,” Sylvie said. “You looked nervous and distraught.”

“I didn’t mean strung out on drugs,” Melanie declared. Here she was, feeling like the odd man out again. The one who was different. The one who didn’t fit.

“What about the rehearsal dinner?” Renee asked. “You substituted crabmeat for the ground turkey and caused a member of the wedding party to have an allergic reaction. Then you caused the fire with your flambé. What other explanation could there be for your actions?”

Melanie hovered on the brink of tears. How could her family refuse to believe her? She loved them so much and yet she felt so misunderstood.

“Tell them the truth, Melanie. Tell them all of it.” Robert had come back into the room. A huge sense of relief swept over her.

“Even the part that concerns you?” She was worried that when her mother found out about Robert’s cocaine arrest, she would fire him.

“All of it,” he repeated.

“Tell it with me,” she said, and extended her hand.

He took it, squeezed her fingers tightly.

Anne got up off the gurney and he sat beside Melanie, never taking his eyes from her face. Piecemeal, they told her family everything that had happened.

When they’d finished, her mother and sisters apologized profusely for jumping to conclusions, and asked for her forgiveness. Anne assured Robert his job was not in jeopardy.

“Melanie,” Anne said. “I’ve got something for you.” She reached into her spacious leather handbag and pulled out a photo album. “I was working on this and when Charlotte called I brought it along. I thought it might make you feel better.”

She handed the album to Melanie.

It was her baby book—chock-full of pictures with decorations and clever comments from Anne. At the back was a family tree of the Marchands and the Robichaux. There were pictures of her father’s parents. Melanie had forgotten how much she looked like her grandmother Marie. Black hair and dark-skinned, tall and muscular…

“Oh, Mama, thank you. This is magnificent.” Melanie looked at her mother and her sisters, all well put together even though they’d been called out in the middle of the night. All here because they loved her.

She realized now that what she’d mistaken for criticism was actually love of the highest order. Her family had just wanted to help her, and she’d resisted. Determined she was
the odd duck, she’d told herself she had to blaze her own path. But it wasn’t true.

This was where she belonged.

She was finally, truly home.

“You were a beautiful baby,” Robert murmured, peeking over her shoulder at her baby book. “I wish I could have known you then.”

She looked into his eyes and he gazed into hers and she was vaguely aware that one by one her sisters and her mother were slipping from the room. “You know me now. It’s enough.”

“When Charlotte called and said you and Waffle had been in an accident, I was so afraid I could have lost you without ever telling you how much I love you.”

She reached up to caress his cheek. “We’re okay. Both Waffle and me.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her fingers. “We never did get to make up after our fight last night.”

“No,” she said, “we didn’t.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you after the fire. I apologize for the things I said. It was only because I was so worried about you.”

“So we had a fight. You know the best thing about having a fight?”

He grinned. “The make-up sex?”