Miracle (18 page)

“What else is that I smell cooking?” he asked politely.

“Turnip greens.”

“Great. My favorite. So … you’re planning to go to the university this fall, Sebastien tells me.”

“Yeah.” She hugged herself, met his eyes for a second, then looked as if she might sway from one sneakered foot to the other. Sebastien moved past her to pick up a glass of wine from the island at the center of the kitchen. In passing he stroked a hand over her shoulders. The gesture might have been meant to reassure her. If it was, it worked, because she relaxed visibly. Jeff found the silent communication disturbing; it was so intense for two people who were completely unsuited to each other.

“What do you want to study?” he asked her.

“I’m not sure.”

“For the first two years she’ll be in a basic liberal arts program regardless of her major,” Sebastien interjected, pouring amber liquid into a fluted wineglass. “She has plenty of time to decide on a major.”

“Oh, I’ll study something respectable,” she added quickly. She sounded determined, almost adamant. “Maybe I’ll become a lawyer.”

Now that she’d managed a full sentence, Jeff did a double take over her voice. Besides having a pronounced drawl, she sounded like she was just coming down from a hit off a helium balloon. Cartoon characters had voices like this, not real people.

Recovering his train of thought, he told her, “Pick a more respectable profession than the law. Like stealing used cars or robbing old ladies. Why in the world would you want to be a lawyer?”

She turned beet red. “Well, I, uhmmm—”

“Ignore him. He has some personal reasons for disliking lawyers,” Sebastien explained. Once again he rested a
soothing hand on the girl’s back. She shot him a look filled with the kind of devotion one sees in an adoring pet—totally focused and sincere. Jeff cursed silently. A kid with an infatuation. This had more potential for causing Sebastien trouble than he’d expected.

Sebastien handed him a glass of wine. “One of the best zinfandels you’ll ever taste.”

Jeff made a dramatically derisive sound. “Domestic or imported?”

“Imported. And a de Savin label. What more is there to consider?”

“My man, I should take you to the wineries in California sometime. After you sample a little of the home brew you’ll lose that arrogant French attitude.”

“California pretensions do not make classic wines.” Sebastien included the girl in the repartee, nodding to her.

She grinned at him, abruptly open and unabashed. “We had better appear what we are, than affect to appear what we are not.” She spoke as if reciting.

Sebastien actually laughed, the unusual sound aimed solely at her. “You remembered. La Rochefoucauld.”

“I was listening real hard when you read that to me.” She chuckled, and they shared a private look that hinted at intimate conversations. Jeff sighed. God, this was ludicrous.

Jeff plunged ahead. “Well, Amy, if you and I are going to be housemates for a few days, I guess I better warn you. I’m bringing my collection of Ray Charles albums over here. I hope you can stand to hear ‘Hit the Road, Jack’ three or four times a day.”

She looked startled. “House … mates?”

Sebastien’s expression became dark. He shot a rebuking glance at Jeff. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

The girl’s cheerfulness faded. She seemed to contract, and by the time they reached the courtyard and sat down in wrought-iron chairs, she appeared ready to disappear into the plush gray pillows.

Sebastien held her gaze with unwavering, though not angry, eyes. “After I leave on Monday, Jeff will stay here with you. He’ll help you make arrangements to attend
school. He’ll make certain that you find a place to live on campus.”

She studied Sebastien in silence, her mouth an anguished line of control. “You think I’ll waste your money, Doc? You think I need a chaperone?”

“No. I think you need a friend. There’s a lot you don’t know. Jeff will make certain you don’t have any trouble.”

Jeff restrained a sardonic smile. Of course this babe could waste the money if nobody kept her under control. Women had that inclination anyway, regardless of age. His ex had left him owing twenty-thousand dollars in credit-card charges.

Jeff lifted a ladybug from its struggle on the slick tile floor to a safe spot on the leaf of a philodendron. That was the limit of his compassion for a female of any species.

“All right,” the girl said. She looked at Jeff, having regained enough of her dignity to eye him with a frown. “But I want you to know … I want you to understand, Dr. Atwater, that I don’t need much help. I’m not some kind of charity case you gotta feel sorry for.” She looked at Sebastien. “I want you to be proud of me someday.”

He was visibly moved. “I’m very proud of you already. I know you’ll do well.”

“And maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Perhaps.”

Jeff gave them both a sympathetic smile, the one he used on delusional patients. They couldn’t see how pathetic this situation had become, and how dangerous. No wonder Sebastien’s father was concerned enough to send Pio Beaucaire in search of professional help. The fact that Sebastien had
asked
him to take care of the girl eased Jeff’s guilt. This duty promised the perfect blend of personal and professional satisfaction.

The two hundred thousand dollars, of course, was merely a fringe benefit.

Sebastien placed the green silk scarf next to her face. “See? This is your best color. Exactly the color of your eyes.”

Amy stared into the oblong mirror atop a display case. She was too distracted to concentrate on her face, with its frown and stitched-up chin. Instead she looked at the reflection of a fantasy world behind her. Neiman-Marcus. She’d heard about this place. It was like being in church and made her want to whisper.

Sebastian, even dressed simply in charcoal-gray trousers and one of his white polo shirts with a tiny de Savin crest on it, radiated style in a way that said his money was old, very old. Sales clerks had stared pointedly at him, then at
her
, when they’d entered the store.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Sure.” She looked at herself reluctantly. “Green. Okay. I’ll remember.” She chuckled.

“What is it?”

“I never knew a man could be so good at picking out clothes.”

“The best clothes designers in the world are men.”

“But they’re gay.”

“Not all.” He looked at her wickedly. “Perhaps I’m gay.”

She burst into laughter and covered her mouth. Amy shook her head at him emphatically. “You’re not even
cheerful.
”

He sighed and laid the scarf over the shoulder of her T-shirt. It looked silly against such an ordinary background, she thought. But then, she looked silly shopping in Neiman-Marcus. “This feels wrong,” she told him, her humor fading. “Can we go now?”

He gestured at the bags piled around their feet. “We’re not finished.”

“Doc, I can shop by myself … later.” She pointed to the green scarf. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy everything in green. Even my underwear.”

“I thought you enjoyed getting out of the house.”

“I can get out all the time after you leave. I’ll
want
to get out.”

Subdued, they stood in silence, sharing a bittersweet look. He tossed the scarf onto a counter, then reached for her hand. “I hoped to postpone the inevitable. When we return I have to begin packing.”

A long, ragged breath slid from her throat. “Oh.”

“I can’t put it off any longer. It’s fairly simple—I’ll only take clothes and personal items. Pio—Monsieur Beaucaire—will arrange to close up the house and sell everything.”

“Just like that? You won’t keep anything?”

“There’s very little that’s important to me here.”

Including me
, she thought sadly. “What about your cars?”

“The Cord will be shipped back to France.” He shrugged, unconcerned. Amy knew she’d never understand what it felt like to be that rich. He reached into a pocket of his slacks and removed a set of keys, which he placed on her palm. “I thought perhaps you’d like to have the Ferrari.”

He led her out of the store, while two clerks trailed them carrying her new clothes. Amy said nothing after his announcement about the car. When they reached it she gave the keys back. “I can’t drive it. Not right now, anyway. You drive.”

He nodded. After they were seated inside the Ferrari’s plush interior, with the bright, hot sunshine of the August day beaming through the open top, he took her face in his hands and looked at her carefully. “Don’t you want the car?”

She shrugged, finally. “Sure.”

“Don’t overwhelm me with excitement. Try to control yourself.”

Amy took a deep breath. “I’d rather have a one-way plane ticket to Africa.”

She watched the impulsive words register on his expression, making his eyes turn cold. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?” She had to ask. She had to know, even if the question made him furious. “I wouldn’t cause any trouble. I’d do anything you wanted—”

“I want you to stay here and attend school.”

“But if you care about me so much, why—”

“The subject is closed, Amy.”

“No, no!” She shook her fists at him. “How can you be so wonderful to me … how can you give me all this stuff
and take me to bed and touch me the way you do and not ever want to see me again?”

“I told you from the beginning it would be this way. Nothing has changed. Don’t ruin our last two days with this childish questioning.”

“Don’t call me a child! You can’t—you can’t
screw
me like I’m a grown woman and then talk to me this way. I don’t care if you’re eleven years older than me. You’re not even thirty!”

“I am an eternity older than you are. And I’m not taking you with me to Africa. Now do you want to hate me and be angry for the next forty-eight hours, or will you accept reality?”

“Doc, why?” She was pleading with him. “Am I so awful that I’d embarrass you?”

He grabbed her hands and jerked them lightly, his expression strained. “No. I promise you, it’s not that. If I took you to Africa you’d be bored and restless. You would resent me for the hours I work. You’d feel homeless in a strange country—you can’t speak French, which is all you would hear in that part of Africa, except for the native languages—and you’d have no friends.” His voice curled around her like a whip. “You’d come to hate me.”

“Tell the truth. I’m too young. I’m not educated enough. I’d never fit in with the kind of people you come from.”

“You
are
too young. You
do
need more education … you deserve it. And yes, you’d never fit in, but I don’t
want
you to fit in with other people. I want you to be what you are, because it’s wonderful. I’ve seen what happens when someone who has a unique spirit is forced to change.”

“You’re trying to make it sound like you’re leaving me for my own good.”

“I am. Listen to me, Amy. You’re an adult. I’m treating you like one. Now act like one. Do what’s best for your future: Stay here and go to school.”

Her defiance sagged. It was useless to argue with him. She’d make a complete fool of herself and ruin what was left of their time together. But Amy asked grimly, “Do adults sleep together and then deliberately forget they ever met? Is that what it means to be an adult?”

He sat back in his seat, drained of fight as well, and rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes.”

“Does your mama know about this?”

“My mother is dead. I told you that the other night, remember?”

“It was a joke, Doc. You missed the point.”

“You see? Half the time, I don’t even understand your humor. You’d get tired of explaining it to me.” He fumbled the Ferrari keys, dropped them, and cursed viciously under his breath. Amy watched him in dull surprise. He wasn’t angry with her, he was angry with himself. The realization made her reach over and grasp his hand. “I’ll act like an adult,” she assured him. “But I’m never gonna forget you.”

He sat still, his eyes burning into hers. “You will. I promise.”

“I won’t.” She took the key and jabbed it into the ignition. “Let’s go. And be careful driving my car home.”