The Night Remembers (20 page)

Quickly, she straightened the sketches and notepads spread out across Adam's dining room table, sorting them into haphazard piles according to size. She gathered up her coloring pencils with a swoop of one hand, dropping them into the earthenware mug that served as a pencil cup and then leaned down, blowing eraser crumbs off the smooth mahogany surface, not even noticing that they fluttered to the floor.

"There," she said, smacking her palms together as if to dust them off.

She picked up a coffee mug and a plate smeared with the dried remains of her breakfast and carried them out to the kitchen, adroitly stepping over the telephone extension cord, which stretched from the corner of the dining room table, across the floor, and down the hall to Adam's den. Leaving the dishes in the sink for Mrs. Drecker to do when she came in, Daphne hurried back down the hall to the bedroom.

No longer excessively tidy and impersonal—except after Mrs. Drecker had just left—the bedroom definitely looked lived in. A satin mule lay halfway between the bathroom and closet doors, a pale yellow teddy lay in a crumpled heap under the bedside table. A bright salmon-pink scarf trailed from a half-open dresser drawer and three cats sprawled across the middle of the unmade king-sized bed.

Daphne claimed long-term kinship with two of them; Queenie, the aloof gray Persian, and Mack, the fat orange marmalade so named because of his resemblance to a truck, were strays that had taken up residence in her New York apartment years ago. She had brought them with her on her last bi-coastal trip at Adam's urging because Elaine, who had been taking care of them during Daphne's increasingly lengthy absences from the Big Apple, was allergic. It had taken them less than a week to settle into Adam's house, and now they treated it as their own.

The third drowsing feline was a half-grown kitten, christened Tiger for obvious reasons, who had wandered up the front walk one foggy San Francisco night not too many days ago, begging for food. He had been fed and offered shelter for the night and, knowing a good thing when he saw it, had decided to stay.

"Don't bother to get up, guys," Daphne said, passing by the bed on her way to the closet.

Tiger slit one green eye open, yawned, and went back to sleep. The other two didn't even move.

Daphne rummaged around in the closet, shifting through the "few clothes" that were taking up more and more of Adam's rack space as she tried to find something that would be appropriate for both office hunting and a protest march. Nothing seemed quite right.

She finally settled on a pair of camel slacks, a casual ivory silk shirt, and a heavy knit wrap sweater as protection against the breezy May weather. She was just stepping into a pair of low heeled tan-and-brown spectator pumps when the doorbell rang.

"Ah, Mrs. Drecker. Finally," she muttered, trying to thread a slim tan leather belt through the loops on her slacks as she hurried toward the front door. The belt loops weren't cooperating. She came to a stop in the hallway and twisted around, trying to see what the problem was. The doorbell rang again. "I'm coming, Mrs. Drecker," she hollered as she fumbled with the belt. "Wait just a second."

And wait Mrs. Drecker would, even if it took Daphne ten minutes to get to the door. The housekeeper had her own key but she had refused to use it ever since the Friday morning when she had walked in on Adam and Daphne fixing a late breakfast—and wearing only one towel between them. Daphne couldn't help smiling as she remembered the scene.

Adam had been standing at the kitchen counter, playing cooking school instructor as he demonstrated the proper way to make a pot of coffee. Daphne, in sole possession of the towel, was making toast. Neither of them had heard the front door open—Adam had got to the part about grinding the beans—and it took Mrs. Drecker's startled shriek to alert them to the fact that they were not alone.

Adam had snatched up a dish towel and, blushing like a bride, held it in front of his hips as he sputtered an apology for being naked in his own kitchen. Mrs. Drecker, after one horrified, admiring look, had turned her back to them, her hands over her face for good measure. Daphne, giving a tiny gasp of surprise, had been convulsed with laughter.

"Oh, Adam! The look on your face!" she said, still giggling helplessly as they stumbled into the bedroom. "The look on
her
face! You'd think she'd never seen a naked man before. And you, backing down the hall with that dinky little towel in front of your... your privates. You looked so... so..." She collapsed onto the bed, holding her sides as the laughter shook her, making it impossible to speak.

Adam shot her a reproving look, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It isn't
that
funny," he said, trying to sound stern.

"Oh, yes it is," Daphne sputtered, pushing herself up to a sitting position as she struggled to get control of herself. "You looked so shocked! As if—" she wiped at her streaming eyes "—as if your virtue had been violated." The thought sent her into fresh peals of laughter.

Adam's smile broke through. "Do you think she'll quit?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, no! Not—" she hiccupped "—not as long as there's a chance of catching you in the buff again."

"Daphne."

"You mark my words," Daphne teased. "She'll be coming in extra early from now on, hoping to catch you in—"

Adam threw a pillow at her.

The doorbell rang again, pulling Daphne back to the present. Still smiling, she finished buckling her belt and hurried across the living room to the front door.

"Mrs. Drecker," she said, starting to speak before the door was halfway open. It wasn't Mrs. Drecker. "Oh, Sunny, come on in. I was hoping it was the cleaning lady. She's late this morning." She held out her arms to the toddler who was clutching the neckline of Sunny's T-shirt. "Hello, Mollie, me darlin'. How's my favorite redhead?"

The child changed hands willingly. "Mack," she said.

"Right this way." Daphne nuzzled Mollie's sweet powder-scented neck. "Come on to the bedroom." Daphne spoke around the child in her arms, leading the way down the short hall. "I haven't quite finished dressing."

"Isn't that a little, um, elegant for a protest?" Sunny said from behind her.

"That's just what I was wondering." She tossed Mollie onto the bed. "Don't bother Queenie," she warned. "It's been years since I've been to one so I wasn't sure what the current mode of dress is."

Wordlessly, Sunny raised her arms and turned, offering herself for inspection.

Daphne crossed her arms, head tilted consideringly as she took in Sunny's olive-green corduroy pants, camouflage T-shirt and Nike running shoes. She had a tomato-red cashmere sweater tied around her waist and a diamond the size of a small ice cube on the third finger of her left hand. Her inch-long nails were painted to match the sweater.

"Is that what every well-dressed radical is wearing these days? Camouflage and cashmere?"

"What? This old thing?" Sunny picked up a sleeve of her sweater. "Strictly utilitarian."

Daphne snorted and turned toward the mirror to fasten a pair of thin gold chains around her neck. The tiny star on one nestled in the soft hollow of her throat. "I guess I'll stick with what I've got on," she said, slipping a small gold hoop into her pierced ear. "If you can wear cashmere, I can certainly get away with flannel slacks. Besides—" she fastened on the other earring "—I've got to look at some office space this afternoon."

Sunny pounced on that immediately. "Office space? What office space? Are you finally moving Night Lights to San Francisco?"

"No, I'm not moving Night Lights to San Francisco," she replied, but that's
exactly
what she was thinking of doing—if things worked out the way she hoped they would. And there was no reason to think they wouldn't.

She and Adam had been getting along very well these past six weeks. Their relationship was calmer than it had been eleven years ago. More sedate. No, not sedate, she thought, not liking the image that conjured up. Adult, that was the word. Yes, more adult. Adam had mellowed nicely and she had become much less volatile. They had both grown up. They were careful of each other's feelings. Solicitous of each other's opinions. Why, they hadn't had one argument in all the time they'd been seeing each other again. Not even a minor disagreement.

Was that normal, she wondered.

"So why are you looking for an office?" Sunny prompted when Daphne just stood there, staring into space.

Daphne's eyes refocused on the redhead. "What?"

"If you're not moving Night Lights, then why are you looking for an office?"

"Because, uh..." It took Daphne a minute to remember what they had been talking about. "Because I've been spending more and more time in San Francisco—" she paused, catching the look on Sunny's face
"—
over the last year or so."
She emphasized the last few words but they caused no change in Sunny's expression. If anything, the redhead's know-it-all grin got wider.

"All right, you can just wipe that smug, silly look off your face, Elizabeth McCorkle," Daphne said sternly, hands on her hips. "I've been thinking about opening a branch office out here for the last six months at least."

"Uh-huh," Sunny snorted.

"Well, I have. I have as many customers here as I do in New York, if not more. In fact, my line sells better in California than it does anywhere else. That's why I've made so many trips—"

"Uh-huh," Sunny said again, smirking.

"And it's much closer to Hong Kong," she pointed out. "So it will save me time and money in the long run. On freight and airfare and... so forth."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, dammit, I can't just keep spreading my stuff all over Adam's house," Daphne said, goaded into admitting the truth. Or, at least, part of it. "Mrs. Drecker is threatening to quit."

"Uh-huh."

"Well she is."

"I don't doubt that for a minute. Cleaning up after you has got to be one of the worst jobs in the world," Sunny conceded. "But—No, Mollie," she interrupted herself to correct her daughter. "Don't pull Mack's tail." She glanced back at Daphne, still grinning. "But that's not the reason you're relocating your business."

"Thinking
of relocating."

"Whatever." Sunny waved a manicured hand dismissively and sat down on the edge of the unmade bed to gently disengage her daughter's chubby fingers from the cat's twitching tail. "Mommy said 'No,'" she admonished the child firmly and then looked up at Daphne, her expression serious and concerned. "Is it really so hard to admit that you're still crazy in love with Adam and you'd give your eyeteeth to be married to him again?"

"Who says I want to get married again?" Daphne hedged, not bothering to deny the first part of Sunny's statement. They both knew it was true. "I'm perfectly happy with the way things are," she lied valiantly. "We have a... a modern, adult relationship and I—"

"Bullshit," Sunny said.

Daphne's eyebrows nearly disappeared into the curls on her forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I said bu—"

"I heard what you said." Daphne inclined her head toward the child. "Mollie did too."

"Mollie's heard me swear before, haven't you, sweetheart? Quit trying to change the subject. You're no more satisfied with this so-called adult relationship than I would be."

"That's not true. I'm very satisfied with it."

"Are you?" Sunny challenged.

Daphne managed to hold the redhead's gaze for about ten seconds. "No," she said at last. "No, I
hate
it."

"Then why are you putting up with it? Why don't you just tell Adam that you're tired of playing transcontinental footsie and you want to get married."

Daphne sank down on the bed beside her friend, a little half laugh catching in her throat. "If only it were that simple."

"Why isn't it that simple? You love Adam. Adam loves you. Ergo, wedding bells."

"Ergo, nothing. Yes, I love Adam. I've always loved Adam. And he loves me..." Her brow furrowed up in a frown. "I think," she tacked on, plucking at the crease of her flannel slacks with two fingers. "What he actually said was that he felt something
special
for me," she explained, recalling the conversation they'd had that night in his kitchen. "But that's not the point."

"So what is?"

"The point is, when Adam and I got married the first time it was because I talked him into it. Remember? I wouldn't listen to any of his arguments against it. We were too young, too different. We'd be poor. But I thought nothing mattered except that we loved each other, and I badgered and coaxed and pleaded until I was hoarse." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm ashamed to admit it but I even tried using sex to get my way."

Sunny's brown eyes brightened with prurient curiosity. "Is that what finally did the trick?"

"In a backhanded sort of way." Daphne laughed softly, remembering. "Adam always thought that he shouldn't have been sleeping with me in the first place. I was only seventeen when we met, remember? And still pure as the driven snow in spite of all that smart talk about liberated womanhood and free love. I think he felt vaguely guilty about leading me down the path to wickedness." Her eyes sparkled gleefully for a moment. "Completely forgetting, of course, that the first time I practically had to push him into bed." Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. "Anyway, when I threatened to cut him off until he married me, he said he thought abstinence was a good idea." Sh
e giggled, a delicious, utterly feminine sound. "And then I spent the next three days convincing him it wasn't."