The Man She Left Behind (7 page)

Read The Man She Left Behind Online

Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
12.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Leigh replaced the lid on the box. Her hand held it over the recycling load, then shifted it suddenly to the keeper pile. Sometime she’d go through the box more carefully. Perhaps Sam or even Jamie would like the pictures of Jen. She checked the time, realizing she only had enough to take a quick shower before walking into the village for lunch.
When she pushed open Howard’s glass door, noting the new “sports bar” look, Leigh took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. Then she heard someone call her name and saw Trish waving from a large corner table, around which sat four other women, including Mary Ann Burnett.
Damn.
Leigh pasted a smile on her face and walked toward them.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Trish explained, “but I thought it would be wonderful for you to see some of your old gang. Mind you, it was pretty hard rounding everyone up.”
I bet. Lunch with Leigh Randall? Gosh, sorry, but I’m terribly busy.
The faces were familiar, but none of the women had been close friends. Leigh nodded politely as Trish refreshed her memory, introducing the other women and ending with Mary Ann.
“’Course you two have already met up. Mary Ann was just telling us about the article. It’ll be in the paper Friday!” Trish beamed.
“I have to talk to you before I send it off. About that last question.” Mary Ann narrowed her eyes at Leigh. “You know the one I mean?”
How has your life changed since prom night?
Leigh was damned if she was going to try to answer that now. She sat down and fiddled with her purse before hanging it over her chair. “Sure,” she finally said. “Give me your number and I’ll call you.”
The expression on Mary Ann’s face registered dissatis-faction with that arrangement, but fortunately she didn’t press the point.
Leigh glanced around the table. All faces were set intently on hers. They seemed friendly, she thought, although more curious than kind. At first, in the dim light of the restaurant, she’d been unable to attach names to them, but now she began to recall the grades they’d been in and their relationships to other students in her own class. Trish had graduated almost five years before any of them and so had known them all as youngsters. Mary Ann had been in Spence’s class along with another of the women—Fran?—and the two others were sisters, one the same age as Leigh and one a couple of years younger.
When Leigh smiled, they broke into a buzz of questions about New York and her career in banking.
“You always were smart at math,” one said. “Gee, I don’t even know what an investment banker does.”
“You spend other people’s money,” Leigh replied. “It’s quite easy and very pleasant.”
They all laughed. By the time the waiter had taken orders, the tension had eased enough for Leigh to feel comfortable. The women brought Leigh up-to-date on life in the village—who’d married, who’d left and who’d stayed behind. As she’d expected, most of her peers had left Ocracoke after college and returned periodically to vacation or visit family. They told her about the local environmentalists who were fighting to keep the island from erosion, groups who wanted to promote tourism and others who wanted to keep life in the fishing village as simple as it had always been.
“The place has already changed enormously,” Leigh said. “I couldn’t believe the number of motels and guest houses.”
“But there’s still no Laundromat,” one of the women put in.
The others laughed. “Who cares?” someone asked.
“Right, you are. We can always use wash buckets and cistern water,” Trish said. “If it was good enough for our mothers—”
“Oh, please,” Fran moaned, “spare me the islandpioneer bit.”
“At least the lighthouse is still functioning,” Leigh observed. “It was good to see a familiar landmark that hadn’t been altered.”
“Yes, and it still manages to save people, too. Imagine all the shipwrecks and drownings this island has witnessed,” one of the sisters murmured.
For a moment Leigh was oblivious to the silence that had fallen on the group at this last remark. She’d been checking the bill to determine her share, and when she looked up, everyone else was studying the contents of glasses or coffee cups. Then she recalled the last part of the sentence, sensing at once that it had come out unintentionally.
She decided to ignore it. Lunch had been more enjoyable than she’d anticipated and she didn’t want to spoil it. “I hope we can do this again before I go back to New York.” The cheerfulness in her voice prompted a round of agreement, and the tense moment passed.
“Will you stay until the house is sold?” Fran asked.
“I don’t know. I planned to be here no more than a couple of weeks, and I suppose if I’m lucky things will move quickly.”
Trish pursed her lips. “Perhaps. Though the market hasn’t been terrific the past couple of years. For cottages and bungalows sure, but for a place as big and...”
“Ramshackle?” Leigh offered.
Trish flushed. “No, I wouldn’t have chosen that word. But Windswept Manor is the kind of place that needs a lot of maintenance.”
“I know. That’s one reason I’ve decided to sell it. But maybe a big family from the mainland will want it as a summer home.”
The others nodded. “Yes,” Fran said, “if it’s priced right, it may go very quickly. The season hasn’t really started yet.”
Leigh took her portion of change from the waitress and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s hope so.”
As the women were leaving the restaurant, Mary Ann took Leigh aside. “Here’s my card,” she said, handing over a small embossed business card. “Please give me a call before five. Then I can fax the rest of the story in.”
“Will I get a chance to read it first?”
Mary Ann hesitated. “I guess I could read it to you over the phone. Unfortunately I’m too close to deadline. You know how it is.”
Leigh nodded, though she didn’t feel like letting Mary Ann off the hook. “Over the phone will be fine,” she said. When she turned away, Trish was waiting to speak to her.
“I hope you don’t have to leave right away. Faye is supposed to be coming for a visit soon and she’d love to see you. Is it possible for you to take a longer leave from work?”
Leigh hesitated. She thought back to the day she’d gone in to see her boss about taking two weeks’ leave.
“Take a month,” he’d urged. Then, leaning almost conspiratorially across his desk, he’d lowered his voice and said, “To be truthful, Leigh, you look like you could use a long holiday. You’ve had a tough couple of years and I wouldn’t want you to crash.”
“Are you trying to tell me something, Reg?” Leigh had managed to make her comeback sound breezy, but anxiety crept up her throat.
He’d shrugged, insisted he was only considering her best interests, but Leigh had left with the sense that some junior workaholic was already lurking outside her own hard-earned and coveted office.
Trish was smiling, waiting patiently for an answer.
“I might be able to swing it, Trish,” she said, adding when she saw the rush of excitement in the other woman’s face, “but I can’t make any promises.”
Trish patted her arm. “I’m hoping you’ll be here. Now, can we get together later in the week?”
“That’d be great,” breathed Mary Ann, who was still lurking about. Before Leigh could reply, the two women swished away to say goodbye to the other women waiting by the restaurant door. She felt overwhelmed and could almost envision the days ahead as one long round of social events. She doubted she was up to it.
More opportunities for more innocent remarks. More memories.
No, she thought, best to stick to her original plan. In and out. Quickly.
“You go ahead,” she called. “I want to use the ladies’ room before I leave.” Leigh waved and turned away to find the washroom. It was downstairs, and on her way in she paused in front of the mirror in the sink area to brush her hair and apply fresh lip gloss. She took her time, reluctant to be offered a ride home when she preferred to walk—alone. Then she headed for the door leading into the toilet section, deciding to make use of the facility, after all. A woman’s loud complaining voice stopped her.
“It was, too, Leigh Randall. I’d recognize that raven head anywhere. Didn’t I sit behind it for a week at the inquest?”
“That was fifteen years ago, Phyllis. She could be a redhead by now for all we know.”
“It was her, I tell you. I’m going to call Trish Butterfield the minute I get home to find out how long she’s going to be here.”
There was a heavy sigh. “What does it matter now? Let the past go.”
“Never!” the other voice hissed. “You wouldn’t be saying that if it had been your daughter who’d drowned!”
Leigh stepped back from the door. The familiar sensations of panic were beginning—the pounding heart, the frenzied surge of adrenaline telling her to run, contradicted by the leaden numbness creeping up her legs. Now she could scarcely breathe and next, she knew, would come the terrifying hyperventilation. She forced her legs to keep moving and escaped just as the inner door swung open.
The woman’s voice—Laura’s mother, must be Laura’s mother—was still raving inside, but Leigh willed herself up the stairs to the main floor.
Don’t stop. Stay calm. Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out.
Sunlight streamed through the glass front doors and she stretched out her palms to push, sending the doors crashing against the jambs and raising nearby heads. Leigh stumbled into the parking lot, blinded by light and tears, legs pumping and asthmatic heaves bursting from her chest.
Then someone was at her elbow asking if she was okay and guiding her toward a bench beneath an oak tree at one side of the parking lot.
Leigh sat down and closed her eyes, concentrating on the breathing exercise that she knew would bring everything back into focus again. When she turned to thank her rescuer, all she saw of him was his back as he walked toward Howard’s. But it was a back she knew, even in the sun’s glare.
“Sit there,” Spencer ordered over his shoulder.
By the time he emerged seconds later carrying a large tumbler of ice water, Leigh had -herself under control.
“Drink it slowly,” he instructed, handing her the glass and sitting down beside her.
“I’m okay now, really.”
“Drink.”
Leigh took a sip and then held the glass against her face, tempted to pour it down the front of her halter-top sundress.
“Here.” Spence pulled a red-and-black-checked bandanna out of his shirt pocket and, taking the glass from Leigh, dipped a corner of the bandanna into it. “It’s all right,” he said, glancing at her, “this is clean.”
Then he squeezed out the wet corner and very gently dabbed at Leigh’s forehead.
“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
“Nice?”
“Wonderful.”
He sponged her cheeks, and touched each closed eyelid so softly Leigh wondered if she’d imagined it.
“That’s terrific. Thank you very much.” Her eyes flew open.
Spence held up a palm. “Wait. I’m not finished yet.”
Leigh watched him dip the bandanna into the glass again and wring it out. “I’m curious. What’s with the bandanna?”
“I always take one when I go out on a charter. Some guys forget to bring a sunhat or they need something to mop up the sweat from a tough catch.” He caught the look on her face. “That’s why I use a cloth—it can be washed. Now, why don’t you rest your head against the back of the bench while I—”
“I’m fine now, Spencer. Seriously.”
“Humor me.” He pressed an index finger lightly to the center of her brow and tilted back her head.
She felt the damp cool cloth sweep over her face again and then begin to brush down the length of her neck. Leigh held her breath. The bandanna patted the shallow dip where neck and collarbone met, paused and stroked a delicate line of moisture to the top of her sundress, resting lightly at the hollow between her breasts. Something brushed lower, against her breasts. Leigh gasped and shot up.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “The end of the bandanna came loose.”
Leigh could feel the heat returning to her face. “Well, I think I’ll drink some of that water now, if you don’t mind.”
Spence handed her the glass and shook the cloth loose. Then he extended his other arm and planted the bandanna firmly against the nape of her neck. “The most important spot,” he said.
Leigh plucked the scarf away and handed it to him. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
“What was it?” he asked. “You stumbled out of Howard’s as if a pack of wild dogs was after you. Couldn’t be the heat. Howard just got a new air-conditioning unit.”
Leigh swirled the melting ice cubes around in the glass. After a moment she said, “I don’t know. Maybe something I ate.”
Spence narrowed his eyes. She could tell he wasn’t buying her story.
“At Howard’s? Maybe we should go and report it.”
“No! I’m not going back in there.”

Other books

The Sage by Christopher Stasheff
Love in Bloom by Sheila Roberts
The Wolf Prince by Karen Kelley
Darkship Renegades by Sarah A. Hoyt
Dance of Death by Edward Marston
The Dead of Sanguine Night by Travis Simmons
Lightning and Lace by DiAnn Mills