A Love for All Seasons (4 page)

She chuckled. “You know, that man in London they called The Ripper, his first name was Jack, too.”

“All right, all right. I get the message.” He couldn't fault her for being cautious, even if
he
knew his motives were pure. He just wanted to make sure she got safely inside her apartment. He wouldn't trust himself if she invited him in.

“Let me make sure I've got it,” he said before repeating her telephone number. When she nodded he said, “I won't forget it.”

“G'night, Dev. And thanks for the walk. I feel a lot better now.” She unlocked the front door to the building rather smoothly and slipped inside the vestibule, leaving him to stand and watch her through the glass window as she passed the mailboxes and headed for the stairs. He hoped she'd turn and wave to him, but she didn't. Maybe she thought he'd already gone.

Or, he thought with a sinking heart, maybe she just wasn't interested enough to want to.

Behind That Locked Door

S
omehow
Alicia managed to drag herself up the stairs. Her knees felt like they would buckle at any moment, and she panted as she fumbled with her keys. Eventually she managed to turn the key in the Medeco lock on her door and get inside.

She'd rented this fourth-floor walkup apartment for a song four years ago. It had been in deplorable condition then, but after putting considerable work into it, it truly felt like home. And it was cheap.

She did a quick inspection of the studio, suddenly grateful to Rhonda for insisting she help with the cleanup. The leftover food had been put away, the counters wiped down, and as a result nothing imperative had to be done tonight. She could go to sleep without guilt and simply do a quick clean and vacuum in the morning, before she left for her mother's.

Out of habit she carefully hung her clothes up and tossed her undergarments in the hamper inside her large walk-in closet. She pulled on a button-down-front flannel sleep shirt, then removed the oversize pillows that covered her daybed and climbed between the covers. She realized too late that she'd forgotten to get her sleep pillows out of the closet, so she angrily kicked the covers off and got back up again to retrieve them.

The moment she laid down the second time her thoughts immediately went to Jack Devlin. What was it about him that unnerved her so? Usually at social functions she had no more than two drinks, and not particularly strong ones at that, like wine spritzers. On the other hand, tonight she'd consumed so many Kamikazes she'd lost count. She never drank this much, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Jack Devlin lay at the root of her behavior.

Clearly, she'd had an effect on him as well, a more traditional one. She hesitated when he asked her out, torn between curiosity and apprehension before the former won out. How could it not? Every time he said her name her body tingled.

Still, she wasn't sure whether or not she should see him again. She certainly had a demanding schedule, between work and her mother's illness. She really didn't need another complication in her life. Surely Jack Devlin, a man she'd never seen in her life but who had an almost haunting familiarity about him, represented an upset to a demanding but manageable life….

 

Her head felt a little heavy when she awoke at eight the next morning, a fact she became painfully aware of when she tried to sit up. She raised her hands to steady her head, expecting it to be as wide as a football, but surprised to find that it felt like its normal size. Instantly she remembered the events of last night and the tall stranger who made her react so oddly.

Slowly she pushed her body up until she reached a standing position, supporting herself with a hand on the tall headboard. She'd purchased this daybed at an estate sale in Westport after she rented this apartment in a deplorable run-down condition and did enough work in it to make it habitable.

She still remembered the first day she'd come to look at the apartment that had been her home for more than four years. She'd taken one look at its filthy linoleum floors, its walls full of holes, and the flood-damaged kitchen floor and prepared to walk out, cursing the rental agent who told her about this place, but then the landlord named an incredibly low rent figure. That number enticed her to take a closer look. The landlord preferred to rent the apartment in its present condition at a substantially low rent to a tenant willing to work hard to restore it than to make the repairs himself and rent it at market rate.

Alicia decided that the thousand dollars or so it would take to rehab the studio apartment would be well worth it. She'd recently invested in the court stenography business of her childhood friend Shannon Anderson, and she preferred not to make that long commute to Connecticut every day. Besides, she wanted to offer more than financial backing to the business. That meant she had to attend school to learn how to do court transcription and how to edit the transcripts, a process called “scoping.” If she took classes in the evening she wouldn't have so far to travel to get home. Her new field of business couldn't be learned in a few weeks or even months; it would take at least two years.

The apartment required long weeks of work, so Alicia had plenty of time to look for furnishings. She began attending estate sales all along Long Island Sound. When she saw this bed she knew she had to have it.

One of the reasons she liked it was that the four-foot-high head and foot boards shut out much of the light, providing a cocooned environment that felt safe and welcoming for a person like herself who had no enclosed bedroom. Its rather odd appearance, with only the high sides and no back, made it look more like an unusual sofa rather than a daybed, which were supposed to be low-key but were generally as easily identifiable as Smokey Robinson's falsetto. Once covered with an Aztec print throw and a dozen pillows of different sizes, shapes, and colors, most guests at her apartment weren't aware this odd-looking piece of furniture served as her bed.

Alicia stumbled a few feet to the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower would help clear her head.

She felt better when she emerged, dripping wet. How could people stand to drink large quantities of alcohol? She couldn't understand how anyone could function after waking up feeling like this.

She checked the time. Eight-forty. At least she hadn't slept the morning away. If she hurried she could catch the nine-fifteen at One-Hundred-Twenty-Fifth Street.

Isn't It a Pity

A
t
Alicia's direction, the taxi driver pulled over in front of a stately tan brick Georgian colonial set back from the road. The glistening water of Long Island Sound could be seen in the background. She didn't even have to look at the meter; she knew from having made this ride many times what the fare would be. She handed him the money. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks.” The cabby looked at the impressive house. “You work here, huh?”

She sighed. She'd heard this many times before. “No, actually, I
live
here.”

The cabbie chuckled. “Yeah, and I'm George Dubya.”

Having already placed her wallet back securely inside her shoulder bag, Alicia grabbed her nylon duffel bag and opened the cab door, slamming it shut behind her forcefully. She heard these types of remarks all the time, and they never failed to tick her off. No one wanted to believe that anAfrican-American family could reside in the fashionable Green's Farms section of Westport, one of many monied suburbs in Fairfield County. But Fletcher Timberlake, her father, hadn't believed in living small. A successful criminal attorney who served clients of all races at a time when African-Americans were just beginning to rise in the private sector, he'd become only the second person of his race to own a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. He didn't care whose eyebrows went up when he purchased this house over twenty-five years before. Most of the neighbors welcomed them, whether out of honesty or out of a wish not to be viewed as bigots.

Alicia smiled at the memory of her father. He truly had been larger than life, and he enjoyed himself right up until the day he died of a sudden, massive stroke.

She let herself in the front door. She put her bag down in the large foyer with its sweeping staircase. Before she could go into the living room on the left, a full-figured woman clad in a light blue blouse and navy slacks appeared in the doorway. Her concerned expression quickly turned into a smile. “Alicia!” she said happily, arms outstretched. “I'm so glad to see you, dear.”

“Hi, Martha!” Alicia warmly embraced the woman who'd worked for her parents since she was in college, probably about fifteen years now. “Didn't Daphne tell you I'd be up today?”

“She sure didn't. But she's been having a hard time of it lately. Your mother's illness has her worried and unhappy.”

“She also doesn't think of anyone outside her own little circle,” Alicia remarked. She regretted her words when she noticed the uncomfortable expression on Martha's face. After all these years, Daphne still treated Martha like a servant, but Martha simply regarded it as part of the job. She was much too conservative to ever complain about it, nor would she be at ease with anyone else speaking badly of Daphne.

Alicia changed the subject to put Martha at ease. “How's Mom feeling today?”

“About the same. Daphne is up with her. Todd and Fletcher are out somewhere. They took Lucky with them.”

Alicia nodded. Daphne's husband and son loved the gentle Irish setter that had been part of the household since the cocker spaniel that had been their childhood pet passed on. “No wonder Lucky didn't come to greet me.” Lucky had always been more attached to her than to Daphne, who, it was discovered soon after the arrival of their first pet, had an allergy to dog hair. Unfortunately, Alicia's studio apartment simply didn't have the space a dog of Lucky's size needed. Here in Green's Farms she had plenty of room to run around, plus she was well cared for. Her presence made it seem less like a house of sickness.

“Why don't you go on up, and I'll bring you something to drink,” Martha suggested. “What would you like? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate with whipped cream?”

“Hot chocolate sounds great. It's a little nippy out this morning. Thanks. Hey, how's Marvin and the kids?”

“Everybody's good. Tyrone is playing varsity this year, and Melody made the honor roll.” Martha beamed. “Marvin and I couldn't be prouder.”

“And deservedly so. That's wonderful, Martha!” Alicia glanced toward the sweeping staircase. “I'd better get upstairs. We'll talk later, huh?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Alicia picked up her duffel bag and raced up the stairs. The double doors of the master bedroom were open.

Fletcher's desire for the best also included his choice of a spouse. Caroline Pegram was the daughter of a family of undertakers who for generations had served African-American communities in five New England cities: Boston, Springfield, Hartford, New Haven, and Bridgeport. She'd been considered quite a catch, as beautiful as she was nice, with her high cheekbones and dark blue eyes. The up-and-coming Fletcher pursued her with steely determination, and he'd won her hand.

Alicia placed her bag on the floor and tapped on the door as she entered. “Hi, it's me.”

Caroline sat not in her bed, but in the love seat near the window of the huge suite, dressed in a coral-colored nightgown and matching peignoir. Despite her too-thin body and almost grotesquely swollen ankles she looked beautiful, Alicia thought.

“Hello there!” Caroline exclaimed. “We saw your cab pull up. What took you so long to get upstairs?”

Alicia bent to kiss the smooth, cool cheek. Her mother's hair had gone completely silvery gray in recent years, and someone—either Martha or Daphne, or even the nurse—had brushed it back neatly and caught it with a coated rubber band at the rear crown, pinning up the ends against the back of her head. Caroline Timberlake had been blessed with remarkable good looks, but weight loss had made her almost gaunt. Her prominent cheekbones kept her facial skin from sagging. When Alicia placed a hand on her mother's upper back she felt a prominent shoulder blade sticking through. It pained her to see her mother waste away before her eyes from heart disease.

“I spent a few minutes chatting with Martha,” she explained.

“That figures,” Daphne said, speaking for the first time.

“And what's that supposed to mean, sister dear?” Alicia asked, not put off by Daphne's droll tone. Her younger sister always had a complaint about this or that.

“Martha is our employee, Alicia,” Daphne said. “It's her job to clean up and look after Mom. It's not up to you to inquire about her family, but it
is
up to her to take care of ours.”

Alicia's shoulders squared. Daphne had never warmed up to Martha the way she had, but she wasn't about to be criticized for her good relationship with the woman who had worked for their parents since she was in college. “As far as I'm concerned, Martha is a member of this household who just happens to keep the house clean and organized. She's practically like a sister to me. Besides,” she added, “I'm no snob.”

“Meaning I am?”

Alicia good-naturedly held up a hand and twisted it at the wrist.

“Say what you want, but I don't think it's wrong to know one's place,” Daphne said defensively. Then she turned to their mother and said, “Don't you think so too, Mom?”

Caroline sighed. “I think you both have valid points. But because Martha has worked for us for so long she's much more than a housekeeper. The nurses who come in, I don't have too much to say to them, or they to me. They're just doing a job, and I'm just another patient. There's no history between us, and besides, the agency keeps sending different ones. But Martha has been a wonderful friend and companion to me, all the while not stepping outside of her role as employee. After all, Daphne, she's here keeping me company when you're at home with your husband and baby.”

Daphne looked at her mother through wounded eyes.

“Now, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty,” Caroline hastily added. “I just wanted to remind you how things are.”

“Personally, I think it's great that her kids are doing so well,” Alicia said. “Martha wants them to do better than she and Marvin did, and it looks like they're on their way. I'm glad for her.” Their son was a track star who also played basketball, and their daughter a talented gymnast. Both attended the local high school.

“Both of them will probably get scholarships,” Caroline observed, adding, “Martha is so proud.”

Alicia sat in one of the twin rocking chairs that faced each other, to the sides and slightly in front of the love seat. “It's good to be here.”

“How was the party?” Caroline asked.

“It went well.”

Daphne grunted. “Same old faces. I don't see the big deal.”

“It isn't a big deal.”
Unless you want to make it one
. “I don't get bored with my friends. Like Mom just said, it means something to have a history together. And it just so happens there was a new face in attendance. Rhonda Robinson brought along someone new. A college buddy of Pete's.”

“And?” Caroline prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

“He seemed very nice, that's all.”

“Oh, no dear. That's definitely
not
all.”

Alicia felt grateful that Martha appeared at that moment, balancing a tray that held three mugs. “Hot chocolate,” she announced.

“How thoughtful of you, Martha,” Caroline said.

“Yes, Martha, thank you,” Daphne echoed, a little too graciously to be real. Even Martha appeared startled by the praise, which Alicia knew had been motivated by Daphne's desire to please their mother more than any sense of doing the right thing.

Martha set the mugs on coasters on the dark cherry wood coffee table. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” When all three women shook their heads, she took the tray and left the room.

Alicia hoped the conversation wouldn't return to Jack Devlin. She didn't even know why she'd brought him up in the first place.

Probably because you keep thinking about him
. Even now, just thinking of him made her want to check her cell phone, make sure it was working properly. Had he forgotten her number? She certainly hoped not. She knew she'd brazenly tempted fate by giving him her number when he had nothing to take it down with. She'd never be so rash if he had no other way to contact her, but all he had to do if he forgot was to call Rhonda and get it from her.

She noticed an anxious look on her mother's face and knew what put it there. That doggone Daphne, always having something negative to say. Commenting that her friendliness with Martha was inappropriate had been uncalled for. Why couldn't she be more considerate? Their mother was dying. She certainly deserved to have her last days filled with peace.

Therein lay part of the problem. While Alicia had accepted the inevitable, Daphne held on to the belief that their mother would recover. But Caroline's fate had been sealed when, at the age of seven, she contracted the rheumatic fever that damaged her heart valves. Alicia felt that Caroline feared the two girls would go their separate ways after she was gone. Six years apart, Alicia and Daphne had bickered their whole lives. Their father Fletcher had already passed on, and with both parents gone there would be nothing to hold Alicia and Daphne together.

Already their lives had gone in different directions. While Alicia still enjoyed her independence in her mid-thirties, Daphne took the traditional route, marrying her college sweetheart, Todd Scott, six months after her graduation. She announced her first pregnancy on her second wedding anniversary. Fletcher Timberlake suffered a fatal stroke shortly afterward, and eight months later Daphne named her infant son Fletcher after the father she adored.

The adoration had been mutual. Alicia had long since accepted that their father's youngest child had been his favorite, probably because Daphne was like a carbon copy of the wife he loved so much, while Alicia, if anything, looked more like Fletcher. But he provided for both his daughters equally in his will, and Alicia had the satisfaction of his telling her on his deathbed that he loved her and was proud of her.

Both Alicia's parents had been older than the parents of her friends. At the time of her birth nearly thirty-five years ago their ages were thirty-six and forty-two, respectively, which put them both past forty when Daphne was born six years later. Caroline told them years later that she had difficulty getting pregnant. It seemed so ironic that they could do everything else with success. “We had everything, but yet we had nothing,” she'd said wistfully.

“Mom, how do you feel today?” Alicia asked now.

“Oh, I'm all right. Yesterday the nurse brought me outside, but today it's a little cool for that.” A nurse came in nightly and stayed on duty overnight. A small balcony extended from the master bedroom, allowing Caroline to get fresh air without going downstairs. On the occasions when she did need to get down to the first floor, a chair lift had been installed on the wall by the back stairs that led to the kitchen.

“You're doing fine, Mom,” Daphne said encouragingly.

Alicia's cell phone began to ring. She quickly reached inside the special compartment in her purse that held her phone. “Hello?” she said, pressing the talk button without even checking the caller's identity.