Sara's Song (20 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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Dressed in the ratty flannel robe that she'd had since her first year of college, Sara puttered around the kitchen mixing the batter for pancakes, frying bacon, and perking coffee. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day; Carly's, too.
While the bacon drained, Sara turned on the seven-inch television set Carly kept on the counter to hear the early-morning weather reports. Carly was big on raincoats and umbrellas and liked to be prepared for all kinds of weather conditions. She on the other hand, couldn't care less, but voices in the kitchen this early in the morning sounded comforting. To her it was like having a real family who talked about the day's up coming events.
She didn't want to be an old maid. An old-maid professional. An old maid doctor. It was time for lights and sounds and people in her life. Nellie and Carly were both right. She needed a life. Dallas Lord was going to give her the kind of life people only dreamed about. Her heart skipped a beat and then another. Life was going to be so good.
Sara rubbed at the corner of her eye.
I wish I knew if Dallas loved me. He cares, I know that. But, I want to hear the words
.
I
need
to hear the words.
Would he say them at some point? They could be wonderful companions for one another. Tina Turner was right, what did love have to do with anything anyway? She'd had love not once, not twice, but three times, and what did it get her? Heartache and misery, that's what. At least she knew where she stood with Dallas. Things would be in the open, and there would be no pretense. Life would be whatever she made of it. And that wasn't so bad.
“What are you doing up so early, Sara? You should be sleeping till noon these days,” Carly said. “Ah, pancakes. My favorite. Are we having warm blueberry syrup and melted butter?” She snitched a slice of bacon and danced away as Sara was about to swat her hand with the spatula. “Oh, oh, listen. There's been another plane crash. Shhh, I want to hear.” Carly turned the volume louder on the small television set.
“How many pancakes, Carly?”
“Shhh. I think you better turn off the griddle and come here, Sara.”
“You listen for both of us. I hate seeing stuff like that. How many pancakes, Carly?”
“Sara, get over here!”
Sara wiped her hands on the towel she was holding. “All right! Is it someone we know? Oh, dear God!”
“You
can
handle this, Sara. Take deep breaths. That's good. Now, drink this,” Carly said, her own face as white as her sister's. Her hand when she handed over the glass of brandy was just as shaky as Sara's.
Shaken, Sara clutched the squat glass of apricot brandy, her knuckles whiter than snow. Coughing and sputtering, she gulped at the fiery liquid. “Maybe there is some kind of horrible mistake. Dallas called me from the plane. He was so excited about everything. How can he be . . .
dead?
”
Carly poured coffee. Her voice was quiet, hushed, when she said, “There is no mistake, Sara. The crash is on every single news channel. A reporter from CNN was in Vegas on vacation. They broke the story first. Think, Sara, should we be doing something? Do you think we should go up to his house? When Mom and Dad died you handled everything. I don't know what . . . maybe we should call Nellie. She's good with . . . you know, times like this.”
Sara stared off into space. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the clock over the refrigerator. “Get my purse, Carly, and bring the battery-operated recorder in the desk. I want to play something for you.”
Carly returned to the kitchen within minutes. She watched as her sister fit the small cassette in the machine. She listened, her eyes filling with tears. When the machine shut off, she said, “Sara, that was so beautiful.”
“Dallas told me I shouldn't play this for anyone. I think he meant . . . while he was . . . alive. It was supposed to be our song. You know, just for us alone. He even gave it a title, ‘Sara's Song.' He said maybe when we were old he'd release it. It was supposed to be my wedding present.”
Carly sat down opposite Sara. She leaned across the table. “I can't think of anything more beautiful or wonderful. Yesterday it was worth millions. Today . . . today it just became priceless.”
Sara wiped at the tears on her cheeks with the napkin clutched in her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn't mean to sound crass. What I meant was you have something in your hand that is priceless. You should probably put it in the vault. Playing it now will only make things worse. That's what you're going to do, right, play it over and over?”
“He can't be dead, Carly. Dallas was the most alive person I ever met. Being a doctor, I know how fragile life can be. He lived each day the way most people only dream of living. He was so excited because he and Adam had this really great conversation. We were . . . going to go to South Carolina to spend Christmas with him.”
“What are you going to do about Dallas's brother?”
“Do?”
“Yes, do? He'll be flying in soon, you can bet on that. Are you going to go up there? You know, introduce yourself, ask if there is anything you can do?”
“No. I'd just be in the way. I really don't think I can handle any of that right now. It would just be a reminder of what might have been. We don't want our lives invaded. Maybe we should think about going somewhere for a little while. Something has been hanging over my head for a month now. Dallas ... what he did . . . said was, he had this eerie feeling that Billy was always with him, waiting. He said ‘waiting,' Carly. Like, you know, he had this premonition. He really spooked me. Most times I could jolt him out of it when it looked to me like he was becoming, for want of a better word, obsessed. I'm just so relieved that he made things right with his brother. For Adam's sake as much as his own.”
Both women jerked upright in their chairs when the phone on the wall behind Sara shrilled to life. Neither made a move to answer it. Finally, Carly reached for the phone. She muttered a cautious, “Hello.”
“It's Nellie,” she whispered. Sara shook her head.
“She's devastated, Nellie. No, we're fine. Of course we'll call. I'll stay with her all day. I'll have Sara call you later.”
Carly put down the phone and turned to her sister. “Don't make a liar out of me, Sara. Be sure to call Nellie later.”
“Carly.”
“Yes.”
“I don't know . . . what I mean is, I'm not sure I was in love with Dallas. I loved him. Being in love is different than loving someone. He ... I think he felt the same way. There were days when I was sure I was in love. Then there were days when I was sure I wasn't in love. Maybe I don't know what love means. God, I feel like someone wrenched out my guts. He said we didn't have to pretend with each other. He was going to build me a hospital. I let him convince me that life was going to be beautiful from here on in. He wasn't going to tour anymore. Cutting records, doing a benefit every so often, was his way of cutting back. He said he'd be home for supper every night. We were going to get some-pets and maybe think about adopting an older child. Not right away, though. He really loved this house. He wanted to know everything about us when we were growing up and where we all fit. Like where did we have the Christmas tree, where did we play our games, that kind of thing. He was so different. So sweet, so gentle, so very kind.” Tears flooded Sara's eyes as she struggled with her emotions.
Carly stared helplessly at her sister. “I didn't know . . . I thought . . . Listen, Sara, I'm having some trouble with all this. Are you saying you were going to marry him for his money?”
“No. In a way. God, I don't know. He seemed to
need
me. I guess in my own way I needed him, too. I don't honestly know if I would have gone through with the wedding. I was blowing hot and cold, more cold than hot. I feel so . . . empty and . . . guilty. I'm alive and Dallas is dead. I wanted to . . . you know, go to bed. I really wanted to make love to him. He thought . . . felt . . . I don't know, some kind of special respect for me. Old-fashioned. I thought it was sweet until my hormones kicked in. There was a point where I was really lusting after him and he . . . ignored it. He said when we were married we could live in bed. He was so old-fashioned where I was concerned. I do . . . did love him, Carly.”
“Things happen for a reason. We had this discussion so many times. You were the one who always said things and events were preordained. Are you saying now that's wrong?”
“No. I can't believe he's gone. I just can't.”
“Sara, don't fall apart on me. It's happened, and we'll deal with it together. I'm here for you the way you're always here for me. Let's shower and dress and be ready for whatever the day has in store for both of us. You go up first and I'll clean up the kitchen.”
Sara nodded, her gaze fixed on the small-screen TV.
Sara was halfway up the steps when she turned around and went back to the kitchen for the tape and recorder. In the living room she stopped at the desk and withdrew the envelope full of tapes she'd made with Dallas the day before Thanksgiving. In her room, she placed everything in the voluminous quilted shoulder bag she was never without. She didn't know why, but she felt less jittery and nervous knowing the tapes were safely in her bag.
In the bathroom, Sara sat down on the edge of the bathtub, dropping her head into her hands. She tried to conjure up Dallas's face behind her closed lids, but his countenance refused to materialize. She cried then because she didn't know what else to do.
Fresh from her shower, dressed, Sara started to cry again. With nothing better to do, she climbed into her bed to hug her pillow as she roll-called her life. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be happy the way her friends from school were happy, with their families. Maybe she was meant to go through life with only her career for fulfillment. Or was it that she was one lousy judge of character when it came to the men in her life. Where was the man who would make her pulses pound and her heart sing? If Dallas could do it once, someone else could do it again. She needed patience and she had waited patiently and now Dallas was gone. She would never, ever know, if he was the man she was destined to spend the rest of her life with. She thought he was. Was she wrong? And then the biggest question of all: Would she have gone through with the wedding or would she have backed out at the eleventh hour? She simply didn't know.
“Sara, are you okay?” Carly called from the foot of the stairs.
Sara slid off the bed. “I'm okay.” The clock told her she'd been asleep for several hours.
“Come on down. They're showing Dallas's brother. There is a film crew at Dallas's house. God, it looks like the world is camping outside his gates. His brother is going to make a statement. Hurry up, Sara.”
Sara sighed. What could Adam Lord say that would interest her? Nothing.
Wearily she walked down to the family room where Carly had the large-screen TV tuned to CNN, the volume turned high. She accepted a cup of coffee from her sister before she sat down in her favorite chair to stare at the man responsible for Dallas's Canyon River Band's financial success.
“So that's what a Great White looks like,” Carly murmured. “He's a hunk. That's a Savile Row suit, custom-made. I know that for a fact because Dr. Mitchell has one just like it. Fits him like a glove. Designer shades, a monogrammed shirt, handmade shoes. He's a walking bank account. He doesn't look to me like he's grieving. Does he look like he's grieving to you, Sara?”
“People react to grief differently. You know that, Carly. The man has to be in total shock. I know I am. So are you for that matter.”
“He looks pretty calm and cool to me. I don't think I like him.” Carly's voice was stubborn, petulant-sounding.
“You don't know him, Carly. You shouldn't say something like that.”
Sara stared at the man standing near the gates she'd driven through so many times. Overhead, helicopters hovered, men leaning out as far as they could with their cameras as they struggled to get the best shots while someone inside held on to them with ropes tied around their waists. The noise overhead was deafening.
And then Adam Lord took over the entire television screen. Sara felt herself flinch as she stared at the man who was Dallas's brother. She didn't realize her hands were clenched into tight fists until Adam took a step backward. His voice was cold and controlled when he said, “Push that mike in my face again, and it's your lunch.” He stepped back, adjusted the polished sunglasses. “Please, I'm asking all of you to respect our grief and our privacy for now. I realize you all have a job to do, but I have a job to do, too. Dallas was my brother. For now, please, just give me some space.”
The sun glared down on Adam's polished sunglasses. Sara wished she could see his eyes. A moment later he swung his lithe body into Dallas's Jeep, the one she'd driven so many times.
“Is it true, Mr. Lord, that Dallas was planning to get married? Tell us who she is. We'll find out one way or the other,” a reporter shouted.

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