Janelle Taylor (25 page)

He smiled, remembering how he and Grammy had loved to eat at the local diner back in DeLisle, much to his parents’ frustration. According to his mother, the place was germ-laden; according to his father, Somervilles could afford to frequent finer establishments. All true, but nobody could beat a blue plate heaped with hush puppies and chicken-fried steak.

Beau and Jordan settled into a booth adjacent to one that was occupied by a family of three: mother, father, and toddler boy. He saw the child painting the table with mashed potatoes, watched the mother dunk her paper napkin into a glass of ice water to clean the mess while the father looked around for the waitress and the check.

It was a scene he had lived.

Jeanette, who’d had a lumberjack’s appetite despite her petite build, had loved to eat in places like this. So had Tyler.

Oddly, today, watching the little family in the next booth didn’t spark the usual gut-wrenching pain inside Beau. Today his memory didn’t chill him—it wrapped him in a warm, nostalgic glow merely tinged, but not infused, with the familiar sorrow.

The waitress came over to them. She was a faded blonde with deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that betrayed years of sun and smoking. Setting down water and menus, she asked, “You two need a few minutes before you order?”

Beau looked at Jordan.

“I do,” she said.

He knew what he wanted without opening the menu,
but he needed a few minutes, too. Anything to prolong this time with her.

He waited to ask Jordan about Spencer until the waitress had gone back to the kitchen. The moment he spoke the child’s name, her eyes clouded over.

“He’s with his uncle,” she said simply.

“Phoebe’s brother? The one he barely knows?” For some reason, that notion disturbed him.

“He barely knows us either, Beau,” she pointed out. “I called Curt from the hospital. He got the first plane that was able to get down here when the weather cleared. He wasn’t even angry that I hadn’t told him Spencer was with me when I called him from Georgetown. He was only grateful his nephew is alive.”

Beau stared at her, his mind swerving back to those tense days before North Carolina. “You called him from Georgetown?”

She gasped and clasped a hand to her mouth. “I forgot… you didn’t know. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I made the call, Beau.”

He contemplated that. “Why was it a mistake? If you didn’t tell him you had Spencer, what did you say?”

“That I was sorry about Phoebe,” she said miserably. “But as soon as I heard Curt’s voice on the other end, I knew I shouldn’t have called. Phoebe had told me not to tell anyone where Spencer was. She must have known that Gisonni would be watching her brother closely, tapping Curt’s phone, even.”

“How do you know that he was?”

“I heard clicking on the line. I was sick about it. If I hadn’t called, they never would have found Spencer with me.”

Beau could see the blatant guilt and regret etched on her face. He knew what she was going through,
how she was tormenting herself over one irrevocable misstep—one that might have led to disaster.

But it hadn’t.

Spencer was alive. They were all alive.

Her mistake hadn’t been deadly.

Perhaps the phone call hadn’t even been the trigger that set Gisonni’s hit man on their trail.

“Jordan, did you ever stop to think that maybe the phone call wasn’t how they found us?” he asked gently, understanding and needing to ease her pain.

“What else could it have been?”

He shrugged. “We’ll probably never know. Maybe somebody followed Phoebe to your house that night. Maybe they ransacked the Averills’ house and found your name and number in her address book. Maybe they found out you were Spencer’s godmother. None of it really matters now, does it?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I keep telling myself that I should have been more careful. Calacci saw your car parked in front of my town house. He traced the plates. He talked to your partner….”

“I know.”

When they spoke yesterday, Ed had told Beau about the phone call from a potential “client.”

I tried to tell you someone had called looking for you when I talked to you that last day, Beau, but you hung up too fast.

Of course he had. Because he thought Ed suspected he wasn’t at the beach house alone, and that that was what he was going to say.

In trying to protect Jordan and Spencer’s whereabouts, he had unwittingly helped the cunning killer set the trap. If he had allowed Ed to tell him about the stranger’s inquiry, he would have realized far sooner that Jordan and Spencer were in peril.

“Look, Jordan, we both made mistakes,” he said slowly. “But we both did what we thought was right at the time. Neither of us meant to put Spencer in danger. How could we have known any better? How could we have behaved any differently?”

She looked down at the tabletop. “I just keep thinking that I should have—”

“No,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand. “No should-haves. Should-haves will torture you. Don’t torture yourself, Jordan.”

It was what she had said to him on the deck that night.

Don’t torture yourself, Beau.

By uttering those words, he now realized, she had given him permission to heal after so many years of blaming himself for something he couldn’t have changed.

She looked up at him. He saw in her eyes that she knew what he was thinking. That she had recognized the words he had repeated back to her.

“You’ll never know how much you helped me that night, Jordan,” he said softy. “I haven’t talked with anybody about the … accident.”

Accident.

That was what it had been. An accident Nobody’s fault.

“You couldn’t carry that burden of guilt around forever, Beau,” Jordan said.

“And you can’t, either,” he said simply.

There was silence for a long moment.

Then Beau asked her the question whose answer he was dreading. “Did Curt tell Spencer about his parents?”

She nodded, her eyes somber. “A social worker was
with them to help—” Her voice broke. She reached for a napkin from the metal holder on the table and wiped her teary eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He placed his hand over hers. “It’s okay. I know. This is hard.”

“I want to be with him. I keep wondering if he’s afraid. And if he’s even asked about me.”

“Of course he has, Jordan,” he said with conviction he didn’t feel. He knew as well as she did that Spencer had kept his emotional distance from her from the moment Phoebe left him in Jordan’s care.

“No. You were the one he bonded with,” she said. “But there were a few times, on the last day, when I felt like he might be willing to let me in. Then everything exploded, and now I’ll never know what it would have been like to feel as though he didn’t hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Beau said. “He was scared and confused, and he took it out on you.”

“But he didn’t take it out on
you.
You knew how to reach him. You knew exactly what to say and do. Of course, you would have. I mean, you were a …” She trailed off and looked down at the scarred Formica tabletop.

“I was a what?” he asked, wondering if he even wanted to know what she was going to say.

“A dad,” she said softly, looking up at him. “You were a dad.”

He waited for the usual current of grief to sweep him off to that bleak, lonely place. But this time, for some reason, it didn’t come.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For reminding you.”

“I think about Tyler every second of every day,” Beau
told her. “I don’t have to be reminded. And you know what? I need to think about him.”

And maybe even talk about him,
he realized. So many years of happy memories had been shut away in the dimmest recesses of his mind, shadowed by the omniscient recollection of those last dark moments in the midnight waters of the bayou.

Maybe it was time to push that one away….

To bring the other memories out into the light at last.

“There were so many things we used to do together,” he murmured, his thoughts drifting back, back, back …

“Like what?” she asked gently

Memories began flooding him. Happy, long-obscured memories.

“I carved him a little boat once,” he said, smiling. “Out of an old chunk of wood. My grandfather had taught me how to whittle and I hadn’t done it since I was a kid, but I made Tyler that boat for the bathtub-he used to love to take his bath, you know? Not like some kids. He never complained … and it actually floated. The little boat I made.”

Jordan squeezed his hand.

“Jeanette made a little sail for it out of an old handkerchief of my mother’s,” he went on, “only Tyler didn’t like the sail because it had lace on it. Only a little shred of lace, but he said it made his boat into a girly boat. And I agreed.”

He laughed at the recollection of Jeanette’s feigned indignation, of her dismay and Tyler’s thrill when Beau cut up a perfectly good pair of jeans and made a denim sail for the boat instead.

“You folks ready to order?” the waitress asked, materializing beside their table once again, pad in hand.

“I need another second,” Jordan said, reaching for the menu.

“How about you, hon?” The waitress looked at Beau.

“I’ll have fried chicken, mashed potatoes with cream gravy, corn, biscuits, lemonade, and a slice of pecan pie for dessert,” Beau rattled off without hesitation.

Jordan looked up in amazement. “You didn’t even look at the menu.”

“I didn’t have to,” he drawled with a grin, suddenly feeling lighthearted. “This is a good old-fashioned Southern diner, and I’m a good old-fashioned Southern boy, remember?”

“You know what? That all sounds great. I’ll have the same.” Jordan closed her menu with a snap.

They grinned at each other as the waitress left.

And for a fleeting moment, Beau wondered what it would be like if he could sit across from her at every meal. Forever.

Just as quickly as it had come, the thought vanished, leaving in its wake a familiar trail of regret. He only thought he wanted her because …

Because why?

There were a zillion reasons.

Because she was a beautiful woman.

Because she knew how to make greens the way his grammy had.

Because he had bonded with her in a way that he hadn’t bonded with a woman since Jeanette.

Because being with her and Spencer had almost been like being with Jeanette and Tyler again.

That was it.

The reason he couldn’t
let
himself want her. He knew that what he’d felt out there in that storm when he was trying to reach her wasn’t about her.

It was about him.

About his twisted sense of guilt and responsibility.

About his irrational longing to replace what he had lost.

“What’s wrong?” Jordan was asking, watching him intently.

“What do you mean?”

“You were looking so happy, and then all of a sudden it’s like this dark cloud came over you.”

“Oh … I just… I just remembered something.”

“What did you remember?” Her eyes searched his for meaning.

Why I can’t let myself get involved with you. Why this has to be over.

“Nothing,” he said, and looked away.

Jordan walked into the hotel lobby less than an hour later, the lunch with Beau having left a sour taste in her mouth.

Lord knew it wasn’t the food. Beau’s order had been right on target. All of it—the chicken, the gravy, the pie—had been delicious.

But it didn’t go down very easily when you were sitting across from a person who suddenly seemed like a stranger.

They had eaten quickly, and when the meal was finished, went their separate ways—he to the police station to meet with Detective Rodgers, and she to walk the few blocks back to the hotel.

When they parted on the street in front of the diner, Beau had simply said, “Maybe I’ll catch up with you back at the hotel before you check out. What room are you in?”

She told him, but added, “I won’t be there much longer than it will take me to pack my bags and check out.”

“I thought your flight wasn’t until later.”

“It’s not. But I’d rather hang around the airport than in that room.” There was something depressing about the starkly decorated low-budget room with a view of the courtyard pool, its water littered with storm debris and having taken on a greenish algal cast.

Beau didn’t hug or kiss her, but only gave her a detached little wave before striding off down the street.

She didn’t know why that should have caught her by surprise. After all, what did she expect? A long embrace? A passionate promise to see her again?

Beau was essentially a stranger. Or if not technically a stranger at this point, then a mere acquaintance at the very most.

Shared turmoil and responsibility for Spencer—and, okay, a few passionate interludes—had created a false sense of intimacy between them.

So why couldn’t she accept that for what it was? Why did she feel as though there should be more between them? Why, now that the rest of it was over, couldn’t she accept that they were over, too?

He’s everything I don’t want in a man,
she reminded herself.

He didn’t come close to matching the image she had created about her imaginary future husband. Beau was incredibly handsome, a billionaire playboy, a busy, successful professional—the kind of man who couldn’t possibly be content with a wife who canned her own jam, sewed her own curtains, and planted her own flower garden—or at least would do all of those things if she could. That would be heaven for her.

Beau, on the other hand, was used to a far different lifestyle….

But so are you,
Jordan reminded herself. She was totally absorbed in her career these days. She didn’t have time for any of those things, let alone a husband. Or babies.

A husband?

Babies?

Beau had already had a wife. He’d had a child.

To assume that she could fill the void in his life—or that he even wanted to fill it again, especially with her—would make her a fool.

So would thinking that she was cut out for a man like him.

She sighed as she crossed the air-conditioned lobby toward the elevator bank. She passed the small sitting area with its meager furnishings—a couple of uncomfortable-looking vinyl-upholstered chairs and a low, fingerprint-dotted glass-topped table covered with outdated magazines. Water had seeped in when the flood waters rose during the storm, and the pale green carpeting gave off a dank, mildewed odor.

She would check out of this place, thank goodness, and she would go back to her life, and she would be content.

She promised herself that after a few days …

Or maybe a few weeks …

She wouldn’t even miss Beau.

Or Spencer.

But her heart wasn’t listening to the hollow reassurances of her inner voice.

Her heart knew better.

“Jordan!”

She looked up, hearing a male voice calling her name.

Her first thought was that it must be Beau, coming after her, wanting…

Wanting what?

It didn’t matter.

Because it wasn’t Beau. It was Curt, Phoebe’s brother, stepping off the elevator. He was carrying a suitcase with one hand, and holding Spencer’s small clenched fist in his other.

Jordan noticed that the little boy looked even more diminutive than usual next to his tall, broad-shouldered uncle.

“Hi!” she said, waving, pasting a happy smile on her face.

There was a desolate expression in Spencer’s eyes as he gazed up at her.

Jordan bent down to hug him. His little body seemed to stiffen in response.

“My mommy and daddy are dead,” he said dully.

A sob choked her reply. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

She looked up at Curt.

Phoebe’s brother was a kind person, she knew. Yet he was an imposing figure, with his salt-and-pepper hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and business suit. He was old enough to be Spencer’s grandfather, and he didn’t look like the kind of grandfather who would roll around and wrestle on the floor with a little boy.

Or know that little boys like their peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches cut into interesting shapes.

Or know what a Happy Meal was, and how to make one when there was no McDonald’s in the neighborhood.

“Spencer and I are leaving to fly back home now,” Curt said. “We’re going to—”

“No, we’re not,” Spencer cut in harshly, wrenching himself out of Jordan’s embrace. “We aren’t going
home!
We’re going to
his
house,” he told Jordan, heaving with sobs, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. “I don’t get to go home ever again.”

“Oh, Spencer,” Jordan said, stroking his hair, wiping her teary eyes against the shoulder of her T-shirt. There was nothing to say but, “I’m so sorry.”

She looked up at Curt. “Will you have custody, then?”

He nodded. “Reno and Phoebe named me in their will. Their attorney hasn’t contacted me yet, but Phoebe told me that they were going to do it back when he was born. She said that if anything happened to her and Reno, they would want Spencer to have a stable home and be with family…”

He trailed off, and she sensed an unspoken
but
hovering.

“You and Sue have two children, don’t you?” Jordan asked him, thinking she could remind Spencer that it would be nice for him to get to know his cousins.

He nodded. “Stephen is a junior at Carnegie Mellon, and Jessica will be starting her freshman year at Ball State in Indiana in August. She just graduated from high school last week.”

“So they’re both grown and out of the house,” Jordan said, still clasping Spencer’s head against her breast. She could feel him trembling and ached to do something more to comfort him.

“Actually…” Curt shifted, looking uneasy. He said in a low voice, as though he could somehow keep Spencer from overhearing, “This is a difficult time for me. Sue and I have been waiting for Jess to finish school so that we …”

“What?” Jordan asked when he trailed off again. She
wondered if they had plans to travel now that their kids were both in college. Or maybe to sell the empty nest and get a smaller place.

But surely they would welcome Spencer into their lives anyway. He was their flesh and blood. He needed the loving family environment that his aunt and uncle could provide, and his older cousins would probably be home on vacations from school.

Curt took a deep breath. “Sue and I are separating, Jordan. A legal separation. We’ve already had documents drawn up.”

She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.

It wasn’t that she felt more than passing regret for Curt or his wife, whom she had met only once, at their wedding in Pittsburgh, back when she and Phoebe were in middle school. Phoebe had been allowed to bring Jordan as a guest to the wedding, and the two of them had spent the whole reception giggling about their mutual crush on the wedding band’s handsome lead singer.

Back then, Jordan had been caught up in the whole romantic bride-and-groom scenario, never imagining that Curt and Sue would one day split up, as apparently they were now.

“Is it a trial separation?” she asked hopefully, thinking that maybe having custody of Spencer would draw them back together.

“No. Permanent. And it’s only a matter of time before the divorce.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jordan managed.

“It’s for the best,” Curt said with a shrug. “It’s actually been in the works for two years now, but we didn’t want to disrupt the kids’ lives. We thought we’d wait until
Jess was finished with high school and getting ready to move out. We had told the kids about our plans last week. They didn’t take it well. And that was right before I found about my sister. It’s been hell since then, dealing with the police, and the funeral arrangements, and wondering about Spencer, whether he was even alive…”

“I can only imagine,” Jordan murmured sympathetically.

She looked down at Spencer. Her dismay at the news about Curt’s marriage stemmed mainly from the realization that Spencer wouldn’t have a stable, two-parent home after all.

Surely Phoebe had never intended to have her only child raised in a distant city by her newly divorced, middle-aged bachelor brother.

And who would be a better candidate for custody? You, of all people?
she demanded of herself, feeling a familiar tug on her heartstrings.
You’re single, too. You don’t live in Philly, either. And you’ve never even been a parent

“Will you—will you be able to take care of him?” Jordan asked Curt, knowing she had no right to doubt his capabilities—that she was certainly in no position to judge, yet unable to help herself.

“Sure, I will,” he said with a bravado that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Spence? The two of us are going to find a neat place to live. I had already paid July rent for a condo I was going to move to, but kids aren’t allowed in that building, so I’ll find someplace else as soon as we get back.”

“What about—what will you do with Spencer while you’re at work? Will Sue be willing to—”

Curt was already shaking his head. “Sue is going back to school in August. For fashion design,” he added with
an expression of disdain. “She says she’s through raising kids. She’s done her duty. She wants to be free.”

Jordan wanted to cry for Spencer’s sake. Clearly, his aunt wasn’t going to lavish him with the maternal love he’d lost.

“There are lots of great day-care places where we live,” Curtwenton. “And he’ll be in school in no time—right, Spence? I’ll make sure there’s a full-day kindergarten in the neighborhood we move to, and if not, we’ll figure something out. Look, everything is going to work out fine.”

He said it as much to Spencer as to her, but she knew he wasn’t so sure about that. She could hear the strain in his voice, could see the tension in his face.

“Well, I’d love to have Spencer visit me,” she said, trying to muster cheerfulness. She patted the little boy’s head. “Would you like that, Spencer? You can come and see me in Georgetown sometimes.”

He lit up. Her spirits soared, then plummeted when Spencer asked, “Will Beau be there, too?”

“Maybe you can visit Beau, too,” Jordan said, deflating.

“He talks about Beau quite a bit,” Curt told her. “Are the two of you engaged, or are you just—”

“You mean Beau and me? Oh, we’re not a couple,” Jordan said hastily. “We’re just, uh…”

Just what?

“Friends,” came a voice behind her. “Good friends.”

She spun around.

Beau stood there. His mouth was grinning, but his eyes were fixed on her with a cryptic expression.

“Beau!” Spencer flew at him, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Where have you been? I didn’t think I would get to say good-bye to you!”

“Hey, I wouldn’t let that happen,” Beau said, scooping the child into his arms and squeezing him tight.

“What about Detective Rodgers?” Jordan asked.

“Wasn’t there,” Beau said simply. “He had gone out for lunch. They said he’ll be back later. I’m Beau Somerville, by the way.” He set Spencer down and offered his hand to Curt, who introduced himself.

“Curt has custody of Spencer,” Jordan told Beau in an
isn’t-that-great
tone for Spencer’s benefit.

“And I’m afraid we’ve got a flight to catch now,” Curt said, checking his watch and picking up the suitcase again. “Come on, Spence.”

“No! I’m not going with you!” Spencer shrieked, cowering away from his uncle. He ducked behind Beau’s legs, trying to hide. “Don’t let him take me away! I want to stay with you guys! Please!”

“Spencer, it’s going to be okay,” Jordan said, anguish ripping through her.

It was so unfair, so terribly unfair. What would Spencer’s life be like now? She was sure his uncle would try his best to raise him, but Curt was trying to pick up the pieces of his own life.

How could a little boy cope with the shattering loss of both parents when he would be plunked down in a strange environment? Stuck in a condo somewhere, and in day care, with a bachelor uncle he barely knew …

“I want to stay with you, Beau!” Spencer cried. “And with her.” He pointed a shaking finger at Jordan.

Her heart went liquid and pooled in her throat. “Oh, Spencer…”

“Spencer, look at me,” Beau said firmly, taking hold of the little boy’s shoulders and crouching down in front of him, at eye level. “Look at me and listen carefully.”

Spencer was crying.

Jordan was crying, too, silently, but unable to hold back the tidal wave of emotion a moment longer.

Curt stood by, looking helplessly stricken, as though uncertain how to handle the situation short of dragging the little boy out of the lobby kicking and screaming. Jordan prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but she didn’t see any way around it.

“Spencer, this isn’t going to be easy,” Beau said in a low, controlled voice. “It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Are you listening?”

The little boy nodded miserably, his shoulders quaking with silent sobs.

“You’re going to have to be braver than any boy has ever been, Spencer. Braver than you were out on that rock. Braver than a superhero, even. But I know you can do this. You’re going to make me so proud of you. And Jordan, too. And your mommy and your daddy in heaven—they’re going to be proud of you, too. They wanted Uncle Curt to take care of you. They knew he would give you a wonderful home and love you, Spencer. And he will.”