Forbidden (23 page)

“That was about three years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Fitz opened the door. “That’s how it is with some people. They have a hard time letting go. See you around ten?”

“Fine.” Adam locked the door, then slowly walked to the window. They were ten floors up on the north side, facing Central
Park. The September evening was warm, and he could see people strolling along from Fifty-Ninth toward Fifth Avenue. The street
lamps were on, cars were moving, horse-drawn carriages showing tourists the sights.

He wished he had someone he wanted badly to be with, a woman who’d take his hand and go walking with him amid the window-shoppers,
maybe stop for an ice-cream cone at Rockefeller Plaza. He wanted someone to share his thoughts with: someone who’d listen
and respond; someone who cared about
him,
not the job he had or the job he might get next; someone interested in the person, not the position.

He’d known someone like that once, and he’d lost her. He had no one to blame but himself. The woman whose bedroom he shared
wasn’t to blame, either. It wasn’t Diane’s fault that she didn’t fulfill his dreams.

Some people have a hard time letting go, Fitz had said. You got that right, little brother.

Adam stepped out of his shoes, then turned off the lamp. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes.

How was it possible to feel so alone in a city of eight million people? he wondered.

Sitting on her bentwood rocker at Richard’s bedside, Liz stared at the small ceramic Christmas tree on his nightstand. She
and Sara had set it up a week ago and hung garlands here and there and even placed an inflated Santa in the corner to lend
a bit of holiday cheer. On Christmas morning the two of them had come in, arms laden with gifts and wearing smiles of false
gaiety that didn’t fool anyone. All three had tried desperately to pretend everything was normal.

Nothing was.

Now, two days later, it was apparent that Richard was failing rapidly. He’d already beaten the odds, still here seven months
after Dr. Emerson’s prediction last May. Reaching to take his cool, thin hand in hers, Liz could scarcely bear to look at
the changes those months had brought about in her husband.

Pain had etched deep lines in his face, and his skin was like parchment. He’d grown steadily weaker and hadn’t had solid food
in weeks. The intravenous needle attached to his
arm seemed like a permanent fixture. He slept most of the time now, and often moaned aloud at the pain even the strongest
medicine could no longer alleviate. At times he would ramble, mumbling to people only he could see, his mind roaming in the
past, or perhaps the future. He sucked on ice cubes occasionally and had moments of clarity where he found the energy to say
a few words, though the effort cost him dearly. Liz lived for those precious moments when they could still communicate.

She rarely left his side except to bathe and change, to force down some food she really didn’t want, and to give comfort to
Sara, who was already mourning the father she adored. Molly and Dr. Emerson all but begged her to get rest, but she was content
to doze on her rocker while Richard slept. There’d be plenty of time to sleep when this was all over, and she knew it would
be soon.

She glanced out the window at a winter moon and shivered involuntarily. It was three A.M., that loneliest of hours. Sara was
asleep in her room, as was the day nurse in the guest room next door. Liz leaned forward as Richard shifted slightly. She’d
had a lot of time to think over these long weeks of her self-imposed vigil. She’d gone over the days and months and years
of their marriage in her mind and realized she had few regrets. They’d had a good life together, and she fervently wished
it hadn’t had to come to this end.

Richard’s eyes opened, glazed with pain. Slowly they cleared, as if he’d willed them to, and he focused on her. Despite the
agony she knew he was in, he smiled. “You’re still here,” he managed in a voice that was barely a whisper.

Rubbing his hand, she gave him her own smile. “You know I am. Save your strength. Do you want a little water?”

He did, and she held the bent straw to his lips as he managed to swallow a little. He closed his eyes as if drained of all
vitality, and she thought he’d drifted back to sleep. But then he looked at her again.

“I see a white light… down a long tunnel… not long now.”

She would not insult his intelligence by contradicting him. “Are you in pain?” she asked.

He denied the obvious, for both their sakes. There was nothing anyone could do about it anyway. “Thank you… years of happiness.”

Eyes bright, Liz leaned closer. “It is I who should thank you. And I do.”

He waited for his labored breathing to ease some. “One day… when time is right… thank Adam for me… I love Sara always.”

There was a moment of shock, then a feeling of rightness, as if a guilty burden had been lifted from her. She should have
guessed, as intelligent and intuitive as Richard was, that he’d known all along. “I will, if it ever comes to that.”

His nod of acknowledgment was almost imperceptible. “And you… always in my heart.”

Through the long months, she’d not let him see her tears, but she was helpless to prevent them now. “You will always be in
my heart, too, darling.” A sob she wished she could have held back broke free as she carefully laid her head on his chest.
“Oh, Richard, Richard.”

Slowly he moved his free hand to touch her silken hair for the last time.

Adam stared out through the tinted windows of the limo as it made its way along the wet coastal road toward Pacific Beach.
A chilly January rain was falling, bringing early nightfall. The sky was thick and heavy with gray clouds, and the sea churned
restlessly. His own emotions were in a turmoil as well.

He’d returned just yesterday from a three-week fact-finding trip through six major cities in Europe, and jet lag still had
him in its nasty grip. It was Friday, and with the weekend looking ahead, he hadn’t felt like heading back to Washington
just yet. He hadn’t told Diane just when he’d be home. It was probably unfair to her, but after weeks of having people constantly
in his face, he needed to be alone awhile.

They’d sold the house outside Sacramento shortly after Keith’s death; neither he nor Diane was able to handle the memories
there. He didn’t particularly like the Georgetown apartment they’d rented and Diane had refurbished, but he also hadn’t seen
a house he wanted to buy in the D.C. area. What he really wanted was a house on the sea in California.

So he’d flown to San Diego and checked in at the Del, thinking he’d make a few calls and spend the weekend house hunting.
But he’d been surprised when he’d called Fitz this morning and learned that Richard Fairchild had died shortly after Christmas.

He’d honestly liked Richard, and though he’d heard he’d been ill, he hadn’t known it was that serious. He wondered how Liz
was holding up. He really should call her.

The day had slipped away from him as he’d finished up some paperwork, and suddenly it was late. On an impulse he’d decided
to visit her rather than calling first, since he had the Special Services limo at his disposal. As the driver turned onto
the Fairchilds’ street, Adam recognized the pillared house straight ahead. The last time—the only time—he’d seen it had been
nearly ten years ago when Richard had thrown him that fund-raiser dinner-dance.

A lot of water under the bridge since then, Adam thought as the driver pulled into the circle. “Wait here, please,” he said,
stepping out into the rain. He dashed up the three wide steps and rang the bell. He heard the sound echo through the house,
but nothing else.

I was pretty stupid, just dropping in, he thought as he stood there, feeling more foolish by the minute. Then he heard faint
footsteps, and the door swung open.

He hadn’t seen Liz since his son’s funeral nearly three years ago, except in his errant thoughts. Her auburn hair
hung to just past her shoulders, and her dark eyes looked huge in her much thinner face. She wore an oversize black sweater
over black slacks and Garfield the Cat slippers. She gave him a long look, then a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Adam. Please come in.” Liz stepped back, observing the limo in her drive and the look of awkward discomfort on Adam’s face.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“You,” he answered quietly. “I’m so sorry about Richard.” He reached for her hands, found them almost cold. “He was a fine
man.”

She blinked quickly and nodded. “Yes, he was. The finest.” She closed the door. “Let’s go into the den. I’ve got a fire going.
It’s bone-chilling cold tonight.”

He followed her, slipping off his raincoat and folding it over a chair in the large foyer. “I thought you had help. I’m surprised
you answered the door.”

She curled up on the end of the brown leather sofa and watched as he settled on the opposite side. “I let them all go just
last week. We’ve had nurses and others around for over six months. I got so tired of having people everywhere.”

He knew her to be thirty-seven, yet she could have passed for years younger, even with the new sadness on her features. “Surely
you’re not planning to stay in this big house by yourself?”

Apparently he’d forgotten about Sara, but then they’d never met. Liz hoped they wouldn’t tonight, for Sara was upstairs in
her room. “I have a housekeeper here during the day, and a lot of friends who’ve been wonderful.”

He sat back, angling toward her, wondering how long it had been since they’d been alone together. He nodded toward the colorful
slippers and smiled. “Cute.”

She smiled back. Sara had given them to her. “A Christmas gift.”

He groped for another safe topic. “I imagine you’re aware
that Molly’s been seeing Fitz. He tells me they’re good friends.”

“I think they are. Molly seems to be a one-man woman, and Nathan was that man, the louse; but she’s very fond of Fitz.” She
glanced at the tea things on the coffee table and remembered her manners. “Forgive me. I was just having a cup of tea. Would
you like a cup? Or I could make you some coffee.” She’d never known anyone who liked coffee as well as Adam.

“Tea would be fine.” He waited while she went to get another cup, then watched her pour. Her hands trembled slightly. It worried
him. “Are you all right, Liz?”

She handed him a thin china cup. “It’s hard to say. I feel disoriented and so very tired. Yet I can’t seem to sleep for very
long at a time.” She sent him an apologetic look. “But let’s not talk about my boring life. I read in the papers that you’re
considering a run for the vice presidency.”

He smiled again, the old boyish grin she remembered from their early time together. “Can you imagine?”

“Yes. I always thought you’d go far.”

Adam sighed heavily, unbuttoned his jacket, and leaned back. “I always wanted to. Funny, though, it’s not quite the kick I
thought it would be.”

“My mother has a saying, one that’s not terribly original, but she used it on me all the time I was growing up. ‘Be careful
what you want. You may get it.’ It seems to imply that the chase is more satisfying than the victory.”

“Maybe that’s it. I don’t know. Something certainly seems to be missing.”

She frowned, serious again. “What is it, do you suppose?”

You, he thought as his eyes met hers. Aloud he said nothing, just let her study his face.

She blinked, recognizing a raw need in his steady gaze. After a moment she looked away before he could see an answering hunger
in her own. “I don’t imagine any of our lives are perfect.”

Through the open door, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs, then hurrying across the marble tile. “Mom, I’m going…
Oh! I didn’t know you had a guest.”

From the first sound, Liz had frozen, her stomach plummeting to her slippered feet. Praying for she knew not what, she smiled
at her daughter. “Sara, this is an old friend, one you’ve heard Dad and me mention often. Senator McKenzie. Adam, this is
my daughter, Sara.”

Adam rose, extending his hand as the blond teenager came forward and shook it. “Good to finally meet you, Sara. The last time
I bumped into your father in Washington, he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Sara couldn’t quite manage a smile at the poignant reminder. “We miss him a lot.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Liz asked.

“Over to Justine’s. She’s coming for me and a couple of the others, and we’re going to hang around her place for a while.”

“Is her father home?”

Sara wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “Yes, Mother.” The blast of a horn sounded out front right on cue. “There she is.
It’s Friday, so is midnight okay?”

Liz nodded. “Please be careful.”

Sara glanced hesitantly from one to the other. “I could stay home if you’d rather, Mom.”

“No, it’s all right, really. I’m fine.”

Relieved, Sara smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Senator. Bye, Mom.” She skipped off toward the door.

“Take your jacket. It’s raining,” Liz called after her.

“Got it,” she yelled back.

“She’s lovely, Liz,” Adam said, sitting back down, “though she doesn’t look much like you.”

“She resembles my mother’s side of the family,” Liz said hurriedly, then picked up her tea as her mind searched for a change
of subject. “How’s Diane?”

Adam stared into his cup for a moment before answering. “Diane is… Diane. You’ve known her longer than I have.”

And that sort of takes care of that. She was equally glad not to be discussing his wife. “Is Fitz with you?”

“Not this time, but I’m lucky to have him, you know. He’s like a rock. People often comment that I’m the stronger, but I believe
Fitz is.”

She thought of her many phone conversations with Fitz, of the way he’d persuaded Diane to adopt a child for his brother’s
sake, and of the night of Adam’s accident when he’d called her and they’d both wept. “You’re both strong, but in different
ways.”

“I almost asked him to join me when we spoke on the phone earlier. I’m looking for a house, and I could use his practical
advice.”