The Man She Left Behind (23 page)

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Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
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“Not just the phone book!” He could almost feel his blood pressure rise. “He checked tax records and birth registrations. No Janet Bradley anywhere.”
“Maybe she changed her name.”
“Then it would have to show up somewhere.”
Leigh turned sideways in her chair and crossed her arms. She refused to look at him. “I’m very upset that you just went and did this without talking to me about it, Spencer. It was presumptuous of you.”
He couldn’t hold back a grin. “You always were one for big words.” Then he leaned closer to her, softening his voice. “Leigh, you have a right to be angry at me. I accept that. I should have talked to you about it, but it was an impulsive thing. I was hanging around this waiting room with nothing to do. I saw the phone and—”
“And you always were impulsive,” she retaliated. “Acting as though you ran the show. Never having to confer with anyone. Never having to accept responsibility.”
“What is this? Are we talking about Janet or about how I behaved when I was a teenager?”
Leigh fluttered a hand in the air. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re talking about.” She folded her arms on the table and lay her head on them.
Spencer’s stomach heaved.
What’s happening here? It’s not supposed to go like this
. He reached out a hand to the crown of Leigh’s head. She didn’t budge. “Leigh, I’m sorry. I’d never intentionally hurt you. You know that, don’t you? Because you
should
know it by now. Especially after the last two weeks. After...everything.”
Silence. He withdrew his hand. “And isn’t it better to find out the truth about Janet now?”
She lifted her head. Her eyes looked tired and redrimmed. Shadows had suddenly appeared beneath them. “I don’t know the truth about anything anymore, Spencer.”
The admission hit him in the solar plexus.
Does that include the other night, too, when we...
He wiped a hand across his face. The sick feeling in his stomach persisted. He had to leave. He pushed back the chair and struggled to his feet. From the doorway he looked back one more time. “Leigh?”
But she refused to look at him.
Is it happening all over again?
he asked himself. Then he smacked the palm of his hand against the door frame and left.
 
“NOT AGAIN,” Leigh moaned.
The front door clattered. She roused her head to see the clock. Barely nine. Spencer was out fishing. Couldn’t be Evan, she thought. Janet? She moaned again and slumped back onto the pillow. Janet was not a person she wanted to face after the night she’d just endured. But the noise was increasing, instead of going away, so Leigh staggered out of bed where she’d fallen, robe and all, hours after Spence had walked out.
Drained of energy, she cracked open the front door and peered blearily through the screen. Jamie.
“Leigh! Something’s wrong with Grandpa. He won’t wake up. Can you call for help?”
Leigh unclasped the screen door and pushed it open. “Come in, Jamie. The phone’s on the kitchen table. You call while I get dressed.” She ran upstairs.
By the time she’d thrown on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed a slurp of water from the bathroom faucet to finger-brush her teeth, Jamie had made his call. He was bobbing impatiently from one foot to the other and sweat beaded his brow. He’d been running hard.
As they headed for the door, Leigh realized she would be running, too. Janet had her car. She swore softly and followed Jamie down the drive. By the time they reached the lane leading to Sam’s place, she was gasping for air. The faint wail of a siren drifted up from the village.
“Volunteer fire,” Jamie panted. He took the porch steps two at a time and was inside and standing beside Sam’s bed when Leigh reached the bedroom doorway.
She looked across the room at Sam. His head lolled on the pillow; his mouth was slack, lips edged in blue. Too late. Too late. She moved slowly toward the bed and felt the first roll of pain hit, curling upward into her chest and throat, filling every part of her.
“Oh, Sam,” was all she could say. Leigh held out her arms and Jamie tumbled into them, holding on tightly while his body heaved with sobs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
L
EIGH WAS STILL HOLDING Jamie when the volunteer fire truck arrived. They were pushed aside while two men administered CPR. Within minutes Sam’s tiny cottage teemed with people attempting to revive him, including Sam’s local doctor, who’d been summoned from the medical clinic. But to no avail.
At nine-forty-eight Sam Logan was pronounced dead. Leigh took Jamie onto the porch while people bustled about inside. The sense of hushed urgency had gone, along with the strong indomitable spirit that had been Grandpa Sam. Leigh knew that hours from now the full significance of that loss would hit. But for now she was only aware of a yawning emptiness.
“I feel strange,” Jamie whispered, sitting next to her in a wicker chair. “Kind of like I’m floating in a big black pool. I see everything around me—I can hear the surf, those guys inside and stuff—but it’s like nothing’s touching me.”
“Is this the first time you’ve lost someone close to you?”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine life without Grandpa Sam! I didn’t see a whole lot of him most of my life ’cause my mom and I were always moving. But he always wrote—every week! Did you know that?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. There aren’t many people like Sam in this world.”
“Nope.” Jamie sighed.
Silence stretched time, so that when Sam’s doctor came onto the porch, Leigh visibly jumped. She thought everyone had left hours before. He took her aside, suggesting Sam be left in his own bed until someone from the funeral home in Hatteras arrived. He’d taken the liberty of calling the nearest one and hoped the family wouldn’t mind. Leigh nodded, half-aware he’d included her in his reference to family.
When the fire truck pulled away, Leigh said, “Jamie, we can go to my place and wait for the funeral people and your dad, or wait here. What would you like to do?”
“I want to stay here with Grandpa. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
“When’s Dad coming?”
Spencer.
“Do you know when he’s expected back?”
“Sometimes he’s out all day.”
“Does he have a shortwave radio on the boat?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I’ll see if someone can contact him.” She pushed open the screen door and went inside. Then Leigh remembered Sam had no telephone and she’d left hers at home. She also realized that because she’d been away from Ocracoke so long, she had no idea whom to call. She didn’t even know who Spencer’s friends were. Overwhelmed by these obstacles, she plunked down on the sofa and wept.
Then Jamie was sitting next to her, patting her shoulder and comforting her. When Spencer swung open the screen door moments later, they both looked up, teary-eyed, their arms around each other.
“Where is he?” Spence asked, his voice tight with pain.
Leigh pointed to the bedroom.
When Spence returned, his face was drawn. He seemed calm and in control, Leigh noticed, except the end of his nose was red and his voice husky.
“The doctor called me as soon as the clinic was notified by the fire department. He had the number of a buddy of mine with a shortwave. Fortunately I wasn’t far out.” He stopped, seeming at a loss for words, and stared down at the two of them.
Leigh stood up. “I think you two may want to be alone for a while. Sam’s doctor said he contacted a funeral home in Hatteras and someone would come soon. If you want to, you can wait at my place.”
Spencer rubbed his hand across his face. “I think I’ll stay until the hearse gets here.” He glanced at Jamie. “Son, would you like to go with Leigh?”
“I’d like to stay with you—if that’s okay?”
“Sure.” Spencer smiled at Jamie. Leigh had a sense that he wanted to hug him as readily as she had but didn’t know how. She moved toward the door.
“Leigh!” Jamie called. He was standing next to his father. “Thank you for helping me. For coming with me and taking charge. I was too scared to think straight.”
She smiled. “So was I, Jamie.” She placed a hand on the door.
“Leigh?”
This time it was Spencer. His face was tight, almost closed. Yet she saw warmth in his eyes. “Yes?”
“I want to thank you, too. For being there for my son—and for Sam.”
The pull of his eyes drew her away from the door. She dropped her hand and took a step forward. But then Jamie blurted, “What about Mom? We have to call Mom.”
Leigh stopped. The glow in Spencer’s eyes extinguished. He shook his head and looked down at the floor. Then he muttered, “Yeah. I’d better call your mother.”
Leigh slipped out the door.
 
THIS WAS THE UPSIDE of village life. The way people rallied around in a personal crisis or tragedy. Leigh remembered the same quiet parade of casseroles and well-wishers immediately following the accident that had taken the lives of her three friends fifteen years ago. It wasn’t until just before the inquest that the rumors and whispers had begun. The hints that Leigh Randall should been more assertive in her efforts to prevent the others from leaving the island that night Even that the stunt had been her idea.
The downside of village life
.
Leigh sighed. She took the tin of cookies, smiled and uttered an automatic thank-you. She’d been acting as unofficial hostess for Spencer all afternoon, receiving cards, flowers and food for the impending funeral reception tomorrow. Spencer and Jamie had followed the hearse to Hatteras to discuss arrangements for Sam’s funeral. Although final decisions would not be confirmed, Spencer told Leigh on the phone, until Jen arrived from Charlotte.
“She’s not sure about flights yet,” he’d said. “I was wondering if you’d go to my place later today. People have already started calling and sending things, and I have too many things to do.”
So Leigh found herself sitting on Spencer’s deck in the late afternoon, looking out over the Sound, but not really seeing it, and answering the frequent knocking at the door. She noticed quite a few raised eyebrows and fielded some indirect inquiries about why she was there. But in spite of the curiosity, Leigh had the impression that most people accepted her presence and some even shyly welcomed her back to Ocracoke.
She busied herself stowing food in the freezer and setting aside the rest for the funeral reception. Spencer had informed her that Jen would probably want her grandfather buried in Ocracoke’s small cemetery. When the telephone rang just before five, Leigh rushed in from the deck. Spencer had said he’d call back.
But the voice on the other end was female.
“Spencer?” There was a bewildered note to the word, as if the caller was confused by Leigh’s breathless hello.
Leigh knew the caller. “He’s...he’s not here right now,” she stammered.
“Oh. Who am I speaking to?”
“It’s me, Jen. Leigh.”
“Leigh Randall?”
And Leigh had to smile.
Do you know another Leigh?
“Yes. I’ve been back in Ocracoke for a couple of weeks now. I thought you might have heard.”
There was a stifled exclamation. “No one tells me anything these days, I’m afraid. So you know about Grandpa?”
Leigh hesitated. Obviously Jen knew very little about the circumstances. “Yes, Jen, and I want to tell you how sorry I am. Sam was a very special person.”
“I know he was, although some people think I haven’t appreciated him.”
The bitterness in the remark surprised Leigh. Jen had always been happy-go-lucky. Sometimes self-centered in her pursuit of pleasure, but always cheerful and optimistic.
Jen added quickly, “Anyway, no point crying about it all now. Will you tell Spence my flight gets into Hatteras about seven and I’ll be in Ocracoke about nine? I’ll be alone.” She stressed the last word, hesitated and said, “I hope I’ll get a chance to see you?”
“I suppose. I’ll be at the funeral. Would you like to hold the reception at my place?”
There was a slight hesitation before Jen murmured, “That would be nice. Thanks for the offer, Leigh.”
After they hung up, Leigh sat in the chair a few minutes longer conjuring up a picture of Jen Logan. But the only picture she could summon was of eighteen-year-old Jen, and the image was, oddly enough, still daunting.
Leigh was unprepared for the last callers of the day. She was getting ready to walk home, exhausted by the monotony of the small talk and most of all by the impact of Sam’s death. It was time to go home, close the door and be alone with her thoughts.
She didn’t recognize the couple standing in the doorway, but knew from the mix of facial expressions that they recognized her. After she thanked them for the plate of brownies, she was about to close the door when the woman spoke up.
“You don’t remember us, perhaps. It’s been a long time. We’re Jeff’s parents.”
Leigh couldn’t move. The familiar sensation of breathlessness began to expand up and around her chest. Her mouth went dry and her mind blank.
The woman gave a tentative smile. “We heard you were back in Ocracoke. Will. you be staying long?”
She shook her head. Then she ran her tongue over her lips and found her voice. “Only until I sell the house.”
They both nodded. Jeff’s father said, “That’s a shame. Too bad you can’t stay longer.”
The comment whirled around Leigh’s mind. She looked from one to the other. Their smiles were hesitant, but sincere. “I’d like to stay longer,” she ventured, “but I’m not sure yet what my plans are. Everything’s a bit up in the air—with Sam and all.”
More sympathetic nods. Then Jeff’s mother reached out a hand to Leigh’s, still clamped on the plate of brownies.
“We want you to know that we wouldn’t have a problem if you stayed longer. It’s nice to see you again. And it’s especially nice to see Spencer looking like a human being again.”
Jeff’s father laughed at that. There were smiles all round. Leigh thanked them and waved goodbye when they left. After closing the door, she leaned against it, weak-kneed. Then she smiled.
The upside of island life
.
 
THE TELEPHONE CALL came while Leigh was taking a tray of sandwiches into the dining room. Someone in the kitchen, where the cell phone was, let her know.
She placed the tray on the table and wove her way through the clumps of people chatting, holding teacups and eating in every available space on the ground floor. A sea of black, with flashes of white shirts, flooded Windswept Manor. Sam had been a much-revered resident of Ocracoke Island.
Somewhere in that sea bobbed Spencer, Jamie and Jen like net floats cut adrift, Leigh thought. Coming together momentarily and then cast apart by another wave of conversation or new arrivals. Throughout the funeral and now here, in her own home, Leigh had purposely kept in the background. She’d performed every task quietly, seeking the reassuring comfort of the kitchen or her bedroom upstairs whenever she felt overwhelmed.
Trish Butterfield had rallied a handful of village women to work in the kitchen, leaving Leigh few tasks other than carrying and removing dishes. Jamie had smiled wanly a few times. He looked very grown-up in a suit, and the outfit and circumstances had instilled a quiet and considerate responsibility that Leigh knew must have made Spencer proud.
Jen’s appearance in the church had caused a stir. People had swarmed around her, greeting her with the respect that a granddaughter of Sam Logan’s deserved. Spencer and Jamie stood next to Jen the whole time, offering her arms of support and helping her into and out of cars and buildings. Leigh had felt a small tug of envy. Other than a curt hello and a thank-you for helping out the day before, Spencer had seemed to be avoiding her.
When she reached the telephone, Leigh ran up to her bedroom with it. Five seconds into the conversation she was grateful for the privacy.
“Ms. Randall? The Bennington Adoption Agency here, Eleanor Irwin speaking. I’m returning your mother’s call.”
“Pardon?”
“Your mother called us yesterday and didn’t leave a return number. I assumed she was still living in Ocracoke and so I dug out our old file for the number.”
“I don’t understand. My mother’s dead.”
Static filled the line. Then, “Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry. I’m a bit confused. You see, we had a call yesterday from an Ellen Randall. She identified herself as your adoptive mother and said you were interested in contacting your birth mother. My secretary took the information, but the phone number she was given was out of service.”
Leigh sat down on the bed. “My adoptive mother passed away last year. I don’t know who could have called you.” But she had a good idea. Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely hear the woman on the other end.
“Well, this woman knows a lot about you. She said we’d sent a letter years ago advising her that your birth mother wanted to make contact. And we had. Later I looked up the file and found the original inquiry logged by my predecessor.”
“What else did she say?”

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