Last Whisper (45 page)

“Good,” he replied, trying to smile and looking at Jay. “Did you hear that, Corrigan? She’s going to be fine.”

But Jay made no response. In fact, he revealed no emotion whatsoever. He looked like a man in a daze. But Brooke understood his lack of expression. He was in shock. She had glanced up just at the moment he had been the one to shoot Stacy.

A paramedic came to Brooke and put a blood pressure cuff on her arm. “Where did you come from?” she asked Vincent.

“You have to be quiet, ma’am,” the paramedic said as he placed the end of the stethoscope against the inside of her elbow.

Vincent spoke to her softly. “Dad was missing. I’d been searching for him for hours when I finally found him about two miles from the house. He’d fallen into a ditch and his leg was broken. He was in a lot of pain and totally confused, but he’s going to be all right. After I got him to the hospital, I went to your apartment house to tell you what happened and I ran into all these cops and found out about Eunice. Harry wandered in from God knows where and fainted when he saw her. Broke his nose when he hit the concrete. I was in the lobby watching the cops question him and the paramedics
trying to get his nosebleed under control when I called you. You answered, but I couldn’t believe it when I heard what you were saying to Stacy. I held out the phone for the cops to hear, too. And here we are.”

“Just in the nick of time,” Brooke said weakly as the paramedic removed the cuff, then began tenderly touching her in the neck area and asking if she had pain, which she didn’t.

She looked at Vincent again. “Stacy. She was Zach’s daughter. She’s been planning this for over a year. I can’t believe . . .”

Vincent put his finger over her lips. “Don’t think about it now.”

She saw Stacy lifted onto a gurney. Conscious, Stacy looked over at her with those still-frozen gray eyes. “You ruined my life,” she said icily. “You ruined my life, and Mia’s life, and Robert’s life, and Eunice’s life, and—”

“Shut up,” Jay said finally in a dead voice. “For once in your life, just shut up.”

As they wheeled Stacy out, she never took that unnerving gaze off Brooke. At last Brooke dropped her head, unable to look at the woman she’d thought was her friend. “She’s right,” she muttered. “If it hadn’t been for me—”

Vincent put his hand under her chin and raised it so that she was looking directly at him. “You didn’t hurt anyone, Brooke.
Stacy
did. You are gentle, and kind, and strong.”

She looked at him for a moment; then tears welled in her eyes. “How about funny?”

“You’re a laugh riot.”

“Pretty?”

“Not pretty, gorgeous.”

“Smart?”

“You’re an Einstein.”

Brooke sniffed. “Well, I guess that about does it.”

“Not quite.” She looked at Vincent questioningly. He smiled, his teeth white against his tanned skin, his face only an inch from hers, so close she could feel his warm, sweet breath. “You’re the most fantastic woman I’ve ever met and I love you.”

From her carrier, Elise barked sharply. “And I love you, too,” Vincent called before he pulled the carrier over, opened the door, and set an ecstatic Elise on Brooke’s lap. “The two most beautiful blondes in the world. How could a guy help himself?”

Brooke opened her door at the same moment Jay stepped into the hall carrying a box. During the past week, she’d seen him only a couple of times in the lobby, but their eyes had never met. Now she was staring directly into his, and they were tired and bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept for a couple of nights in a row.

“Hi, Brooke,” he said in a toneless voice, his old, quick smile missing.

“Hi.” She swallowed, momentarily panicked about what to say. “I heard you were moving out.”

“Yeah. This place is too big for one person.” He shrugged and gave a short, sharp laugh. “That’s not true. I’m trying to escape my memories.”

Brooke nodded. “I understand.”

Jay stared down the hall, then turned and faced her. “I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t known how to apologize for all the awful things my wife did to you. I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” Brooke interrupted. “It’s not necessary, Stacy had an unspeakable life. She was sick. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, but it seems like an excuse. I just can’t believe that I lived with her for years and had no idea. Until the last week, that is. I thought she was acting strange, but I was so caught up in what was happening to you that I didn’t really analyze her actions as I should have. Still, I believed she loved me. Instead—”

“Jay, she
did
love you,” Brooke said quickly and forcefully. “She wasn’t incapable of love. She loved her mother, and she loved you deeply. I’m not just being kind. Hell, I certainly don’t feel like being kind about Stacy. You have to believe me, though. She fooled me about a lot of things, but she couldn’t fool me about her feelings for you.”

Jay glanced down at the box in his arms for a moment, then back at her, his eyes looking slightly brighter, maybe from a sheen of tears. “I’ll try to take your word for that.”

“Good.” Brooke hesitated. “How is she doing?”

“Her shoulder is healing as well as can be expected considering it was shattered. There’s no infection. They say she’ll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. Then it’s off to jail. I don’t know when the trial will be, but she doesn’t stand a chance. As a cop I say she doesn’t deserve a chance, but as a husband . . .”

“At least she’s alive, Jay.”

“Yeah,” he said absently. “At least she’s alive. I just wish your mother and Mia and Robert and Eunice were.” He turned abruptly and walked away.

Brooke stood in the hall, wishing she could call out something comforting to him, but she went blank. Maybe because there isn’t anything, she thought, feeling desolate for the good man named Jay Corrigan.

She watched Jay disappear into the elevator, then went back into her apartment. Vincent stood by the window in the living room looking down on the street. Elise sat by his side. “Pretty day out there,” he said without looking at Brooke.

“Beautiful. It’s hard to imagine that in a couple of months the days will be short and gray when winter is on its way.” She shivered. “I hate that weather. I always have.”

Vincent turned. “Me, too. It’s why I moved to California.” He glanced down at Elise, who seemed to have formed a strong attachment to him. “I have a suggestion. Let’s not waste this gorgeous day. Let’s go for a ride.”

“In your convertible?”

“Of course.”

“And take Elise?”

“Would you even consider leaving behind Elise with her passionate love of riding in convertibles?”

Elise looked at him, then at Brooke with what she would have sworn was desperate appeal. “I certainly wouldn’t. I’ll get her leash and my purse, and we’re on our way.”

Twenty minutes later they sailed down Kanawha Boulevard. Elise, ears flapping, sat on Brooke’s lap wearing an expression of what Brooke interpreted as rapture. A bright late-August sun glinted off the Kanawha River running parallel to the boulevard. Several larger boats moved gracefully over the water before a speedboat cut a swath through the pattern, throwing up water as it roared by with skiers behind it.

“Elise looks like she’d like to be out there skiing, too.” Vincent grinned as he looked over at the dog, whose ears had perked up in excitement.

“She’s putting on a show. She’d be scared to death if you set her on a pair of skis.”

Vincent pulled a face. “I believe someone once told me she’d be scared to death riding in a convertible, too.”

“Okay, I was wrong about that one. But not about skiing.”

“I’d have to see Elise’s reaction to skis before I believe you. I’m not sure you know your dog as well as you think you do, Miss Yeager.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and held Elise a tad tighter, afraid the dog was going to jump out of the car and head for the river to hitch a ride on the speedboat. Then an old memory popped into Brooke’s head. “My parents rented a speedboat for a day and Daddy skied. I was only four or
five and scared to death at first, but Daddy reassured me. Then Mommy skied, and within an hour, I was laughing and clapping and never wanted them to give back that boat.”

“That’s a great memory,” Vincent said. “And someday, when you have a daughter who actually stands on
two
legs instead of four, she’ll probably love skiing, too,” Vincent said. “Not to mention that if she looks like her mother, she’ll be a doll.”

Slightly embarrassed by the compliment, Brooke began furiously petting Elise and asked, “How’s your father doing?”

“Griping, grumbling, complaining nonstop, unsuccessfully trying to make my life miserable, but I’m so glad he’s alive after that dive into the ditch, I think it would be impossible for him to get on my nerves. At least for another week.” Brooke laughed. “He’s mastered those crutches in record time. I’m not surprised, though. Whatever Dad set out to do he always did faster and better than anyone else.”

Brooke waited a moment, then decided to broach a subject that might take some of the joy out of Vincent’s face. “All we’ve talked about the last few days is me and Stacy and that whole drama. We haven’t talked about yours.” Vincent looked at her quizzically. “What are you going to do about your father? Put him in a nursing home here in Charleston?”

“He says no and I’m tired of arguing with him.”

“So you’re going to get him a twenty-four-hour-a-day caregiver?”

“No. He won’t stand for that, either. So there you have it.”

“Vincent, you can’t just go back to Monterey!”

“Oh yes, I can,” Vincent said. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Shocked, Brooke stared at him with a slightly open mouth for a moment before she managed, “You
can’t
do that! Look what happened to him last week. If he’d lain in that ditch all night, he could have died.” Suddenly, she realized she had gone from shock to anger. “How can you even think of going off and leaving him?”

Vincent looked at her innocently. “Who said that’s what I was going to do?”

“You said you’re going back to Monterey.”

“Did I say I was going back alone?” Brooke stared at him. “Dad has agreed that he can’t go on living in that house alone, but he doesn’t want to be stuck in a nursing home in Charleston, either.” Vincent looked at her and grinned. “Brooke, he’s coming back to Monterey with me. They have nursing homes out there, too. As a matter of fact, there’s a really nice one just ten minutes away from my house.”

Brooke realized she’d been holding her breath. She finally let it out. “Oh, thank goodness. For a minute there you had me scared to death about Sam, and also thinking you were a completely irresponsible jerk.”

“And now what do you think?”

“Now I’m thrilled for Sam. I think the change will be wonderful for him. All he does is wander around that house he shared with your mother. It’s too filled with memories. He needs fresh scenery.”

“The same could be said for someone else, you know.”

“I suppose that would be your subtle way of referring to me.”

“Yes. Charleston has some beautiful spots and I know you’ve lived here all your life, but you have to admit it’s not exactly teeming with wonderful memories for you.”

“Well, no,” Brooke said reluctantly. “But I guess I have time to make new memories.”

“Here. All alone. No relatives. No friends—”

“Vincent, stop it!” she snapped. “You don’t have to rub in the fact that I’m not surrounded by loved ones.”

“Think you might feel better with at least two loved ones around?”

“Two? And just who would these two people be?”

“Dad. You do love Sam, don’t you?”

She was silent for a moment. “Yes. I guess I do. I have since I was eleven and wanted to become his daughter.”

“Well, I don’t want you to become my daughter, but how about me?”

“You?”

“Do you have any tender feelings toward me? Well,
maybe ‘tender’ was too strong a word. Do you think you can stand spending some time with me in the future?”

“Spending time with you?”

“Brooke, you’re beginning to sound like a parrot, repeating everything I say.”

“That was a lovely compliment.”

“I guess it didn’t help my case, did it?”

“And what would your
case
be?”

“To talk you into coming to California, too. Specifically, Monterey.”

Brooke looked at him in surprise. “You want me to come to Monterey?”

“You’re doing it again. The parrot thing.”

“I just . . . I mean . . . why?”

“Why do I want you to come to Monterey? To get a new start.”

“Oh.”

“And because I love you and I think you love me, too.”

“You love me—”

“Brooke—”

“I’m sorry. Broken record. Parrot. Whatever.”

They rode in silence for a few moments before Vincent said, “I
do
love you, Brooke. Am I right that you love me, too?”

She glanced at him, his black hair shining in the sun, his forest green eyes focused on her, their intensity belying the casualness of his smile. A nervous tension suddenly grabbed at her, as if trying to hold her back. For fifteen years she’d been so careful, so aloof, keeping her heart closed to everyone except Greta. Was it too late to change?

Vincent clicked the CD player. In a moment, the sounds of Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl” filled the car. Vincent sped up. They seemed to be sailing above the ground, the river sparkling and glinting beside them, the sky bluer than she’d ever seen it. As the wind blew her hair and the warm sun touched her face, Brooke felt freedom wash over her. She didn’t
have
to stay chained to the past. It wasn’t impossible for her to hold a man’s hand, to run in the night, to chase the
moonlight, like the couple in the song. It just had to be with the right man. And as she looked at Vincent, she felt the heart she’d tried to close for so long open wide, open happily.

Vincent glanced at her again and asked with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, “Well?”

Brooke smiled wider, more freely than she had for years. She shook her long, loose hair, tilted her head to look at him coquettishly, and shouted joyfully, “I do love you, Vincent Lockhart! Take Elise and me to Monterey and let’s live there forever!”