Texas Sunrise (29 page)

“Sure,” the tired waitress said.

Val walked over to the newsstand, where she browsed through a copy of
Time.
She watched as the young mother shook her head, her eyes swiveling around the restaurant. Finally, she nodded. Val grinned from ear to ear when the children clapped their hands in glee. Val paid for a Tom Clancy novel, two packages of peanut butter and cheese crackers, two mint patties, three peanut butter cups, and two packages of tropical fruit Life Savers. She headed for the gate to wait for the boarding call, thinking about the check in her purse and how happy her accountant was going to be when she told him to put it into her retirement account.

Her future was secure and looking better with each passing day. Tomorrow would be her first day of unemployment in so many years . . . she grew light-headed just thinking about it.

 

At noon the following day, Val snapped her briefcase shut, took a last look around the office that was no longer hers, and headed for the door. She knew the minute she opened it the staff was going to yell “Surprise!” At which point she would yell, “Surprise yourself!” and hand out the gifts that had arrived by Federal Express two hours earlier.

“Fog lights!” she squealed moments later. “Monogrammed floor mats! A down sleeping bag! Mud flaps! Don't tell me this is a tent!” Val shrieked with laughter.

The oldest member of the firm spoke. “You said you were going to get into a Range Rover and just drive until you came to a place that suits you. As we speak, the maintenance people are installing a brush guard on your vehicle. In case you run into a cow or something at a crossing.”

Tears rolled down Val's cheeks. “I don't know what to say.”

“My mother always told me if you don't know what to say, don't say anything. Just smile. Like
you're
smiling,” Val's secretary said, hugging her. “Thanks for the Gucci watch,” she whispered. “And the bonus.”

“I'm really going to miss all of you,” Val said in a choked voice.

“Hey, we have an eight hundred number, call us anytime,” someone shouted.

“Don't think I won't either,” Val shot back.

“We have one last present for you, Val,” the seniormost man in the office said. “We talked about this and we all agreed we would worry ourselves sick with you driving wherever it is you're going alone, so we . . . ah, we decided to . . . hell, open the door,” he said to one of the secretaries standing next to the kitchen.

Val's jaw dropped. More tears rolled down her cheeks.

“This is Samantha. She answers to Sam. Note the Gucci collar and the Gucci lead.”

“Ohhhh,” Val said, dropping to her knees to cradle the golden retriever's head. More tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don't know what to say.”

“Whoof.”

“Sounds good to me.” Val grinned. “Is she housebroken?” She was remembering Isaac's contribution to her decor months before.

“Completely,” the senior man said. “She was on a list to go to the Seeing Eye Farm, though at the bottom of the list, I admit. The owner seemed to think she was too playful, and he didn't want to take a chance. She's yours, Val.”

“Okay. Listen, I'll be in touch. I'll call in. I'll be back from time to time. When I finally light in one place, I'll let you know. Thanks for everything.”

In the parking lot, out of sight of her office staff, Val unhooked the leash from the dog's collar. All of a sudden she felt like the kid she never had a chance to be. She kicked one spike-heeled shoe in the air and then the other. She ran, feinting to the right and then to the left. Sam chased her, her tail wagging furiously. In and out among the cars they ran, spooking one another. Exhausted with her efforts, Val backed up against her new brush guard, her chest heaving. Sam stood on her hind legs, her front paws on Val's shoulders. She growled softly, her eyes wet and adoring.

“God, I just love you,” Val said, rubbing her face against the dog's silky head. “Come on, let's get this show on the road. You can either have the front passenger seat or all of the back.” She opened the door to let the dog leap in. Sam settled herself comfortably on the passenger seat. Val wiggled her butt on the seat before she swung her legs inside. Designer, skintight skirts were not conducive to four-wheel drives, she decided. She'd remedy that as soon as she drove to her condo to pick up her bags. Her jeans, endangered species sweatshirt, and L.A. Gear sneakers were all laid out, just waiting for her to arrive home.

Val backed the Range Rover from her parking space. She looked at her name on the metal marker and saluted smartly before she swung the four-by-four about. She drove carefully, mindful of the dog on the seat.

“We,” Val said, “have one stop to make before we head for the open road. Not to worry, it's in my building. We can do our visiting while my bags are being loaded into the car. There's somebody I want you to meet.” The, dog looked at her expectantly. “Okay, two stops. Food for you. God, I hope you aren't going to need all that stuff Isaac needs. He's a sissy. He even has a toothbrush. I draw the line at that.” She grinned and almost swerved off the road when one silky, shaggy paw stretched out to touch her arm. “I guess that means you like me,” she chortled happily as she tooled down the road. She felt like singing, but she didn't know the words to any songs. Instead she switched on the radio, fumbling with the buttons. Lionel Ritchie's voice exploded into the confines of the truck. Val switched stations until she heard Carly Simon's voice. She turned down the volume and hummed along.

When they arrived at Assante Towers, Sam leaped out of the truck, as if she knew they were home. Home for another thirty minutes.

In the apartment, Val called down to the security station to ask for help in getting her bags to the car. She watched as Sam checked out her new surroundings, stopping twice at the dining room table leg Isaac had christened. Val looked at her watch. In thirty minutes, noon actually, the electricity and phone would be turned off. One week from today the new owner was moving in, a dentist who had his offices on the fifteenth floor. She hoped he would be happier here than she had been.

“I'm happy now,” Val chortled as she punched out a new set of numbers. She was glad when Cary Assante answered the phone. “I'm coming up to say good-bye, and I'm bringing a friend, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Cary said.

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

Sam was at the door before the doorbell rang. She backed up, her tail between her legs, as she waited for Val to open the door. She gave one sharp warning bark before she growled softly. Val pointed to her four oversize French bags and the three boxes of personal papers and the few files she was taking with her. She handed the porter a ten dollar bill before she closed the door.

“We'll get some cheeseburgers when we hit the road,” she said to the dog. She bent over to tie the laces in her sneakers. “I hate shoes,” she said to the dog. “Come on, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Well, he's sort of a friend. Closest thing to a friend. I think so anyway,” she muttered.

 

“Come in,” Cary called. “Door's open. I'm on the terrace.”

Val looked around. Nothing had been changed since Amelia's death. She just knew all of Amelia's clothes were still in the closets, her things still on the dresser, her robe still on the hook on the bathroom door. Cary was not a man to change.

Val bent over to kiss Cary's cheek. “This is Sam. My office staff gave her to me at my going-away party. She's a golden retriever.” Val smiled when Sam plopped one of her paws on Cary's leg.

“He feels silky. Is his coat shiny?”

“She. Yep, you can almost see your reflection in her back. I never had a dog. I love her. How's it going, Cary?”

“It isn't. I pretty much hang out here on the terrace. I listen to the television; Susan reads to me. I have stacks of books on cassettes, though I never was much of a reader. I go to the doctor's twice a week. I'm on a donor list. Friends call. I've put the memorial on hold. My heart isn't into much of anything these days.”

“It hasn't been all that long,” Val said softly.

“Depends on who's doing the counting. This is July. The memorial was supposed to be finished by now.”

“It's just a temporary setback, Cary. Is there anything I can do before I leave?”

“Like what?”

“Like I don't know. That's why I'm asking.”

“I am a little worried about the payments on the mortgage,” Cary said quietly.

“Well, don't be. I structured it with your condition in mind. Some people owed me some favors, and I called them in. You don't have a thing to worry about. By the time the first payment comes due, the plane will be ready for testing. Sawyer tells me it's going full-speed, and, to quote her, ‘is lookin' good.' Don't frown, Cary. The year's interest is tacked on to the last balloon payment at the end. There really is no problem here. Trust me.”

“If it was anyone but you, Val, I'd be chewing my toenails worrying if I bit off more than was wise. Tell me, what's your game plan?”

Val sighed. “I'm just going to drive. West. When I see something that pleases me, I'll stop, stay awhile and see if it's what I want. I'll let you know where I end up. I have all the files and records in the car. I plan to keep my eyes and ears on things.”

“Have you heard anything about Billie or Maggie?”

“Not really. I saw Maggie on a flight out to L.A. yesterday, but I haven't heard a thing about Billie. I would think Susan would know. Doesn't she?”

“No,” Cary said curtly. “She's refusing to deal with it. She's blaming her mother for dying. I don't know how to deal with
that.
She's starting to smother me, Val, and I don't know what to do about that either. I like Susan, I really do. Part of me wants her to leave and part of me—the part of me that's afraid to be alone—wants her to stay. Can you understand that?”

“Of course. Why don't you have a talk with her?”

“She's in a very shaky emotional state, but then so am I. I don't want her to get . . . I'm afraid she's becoming too attached to me. How do you tell someone something like that?”

“Very carefully, I would think. Do you want me to talk to her before I leave? By the way, where is she?”

“She went to get her hair and nails done. What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“She should be back by now. She may have stopped by the market. She likes to cook. She says I need to eat more. I probably would eat more if someone wasn't watching me slop my food all over myself. Jesus, Val, I don't know what to do.”

“You didn't answer my question. Do you want me to talk to her? Believe it or not, I can be subtle. It will be up to you to follow through, though. Can you handle that?”

“No. Look, don't worry about me. I've pretty much come to terms with it all. I've been through the denial, the grief, the anger. I'm trying real hard to get to the acceptance part. I'm not ready to sell pencils yet. I'm not ready for anything.”

“Life goes on, Cary. I've heard that term so many times lately, I feel it was created just for me. I don't think Amelia would approve of what you're doing. She'd tell you to get the lead out and put some grease on your sneakers. This is just my personal opinion, and I probably have no right even to voice it, but we've been friends for a long time. Stop wallowing. Boot Susan out of here and take responsibility for yourself. That's the end of my lecture. I don't
have
to leave today. I can stick around and set some things in motion for you.”

“What kind of things?”

Val smiled at the curiosity in Cary's voice. Until now it had been resigned and pitiful.

“Things like Sam here. Man's best friend. I was told she was supposed to go into a Seeing Eye program, but the people that train the dogs said they felt Sam was too playful, and they didn't think she would outgrow her playfulness. With a Seeing Eye dog, you could get out and about on your own. There's a foundation in Austin that has trained people who will come here and mark off your stove, teach you to cook, and show you how to arrange your cabinets. And then, of course, there's Braille.”

“That pretty much makes this a ... hopeless condition. If I do that . . . it means I've given up.” He started to shake, his body trembling uncontrollably. Sam whined deep in her throat as she pawed Cary's legs, trying to get to his face so she could lick at it.

“It doesn't mean any such thing, Cary,” Val said gently. “It's
something
for you to do now. Something to get you through until things are more in your favor. You can't just vegetate. It's been five months.”

He was calmer now. Sam nuzzled his hand to get her ears scratched. Cary obliged. “I'll think about it. I'll have to ... psych myself up. I'm scared, Val. Piss-ass scared. I feel so helpless, and I'm so goddamn angry. Christ, I'm still trying to come to terms with Rand's death and ... Billie. It's all closing in on me. If I don't stick my neck out and just sit here, nothing else can happen. I'll . . . I promise to think about everything you said. And, no, I don't want you to hang around. Get on with your life. Check in with me, let me know how you're doing.”

Val bent over to hug him. “Thank you, Cary, for not asking.”

“I've known you for a long time, Val, and it didn't compute. I've never been judgmental. I think you know that.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. I think this might be a good time for me to take my friend here and leave before I start sobbing all over your carpet. Take care of yourself, Cary, and I'll be in touch. Say good-bye, Sam.” The retriever woofed happily.