The Saint (11 page)

Cullen loved that joke. He'd probably used it a hundred times. It
had
been Eddie's mother's car, of course. She'd let him have it for the price of the last ten monthly payments. It was a dumb car, a white minivan. But it was all Eddie could afford.

“Don't be such a fathead, Cullen. Get some new material.” Eddie toyed with the switch on the edger. “I'm working right now. I'll come by your house later and drop it off.”

“No, man, I need it now. I have to retype it on my own computer. Mrs. G knows my work. You are such a hopeless A student you probably couldn't mess up a semicolon if you tried.”

“Hey, don't worry. Just because I'm not a cretin doesn't mean I can't write like one. You said a C paper. You'll be lucky if this sucker gets that much.”

Cullen shrugged and looked at his watch. “I need it now, man.”

Eddie knew from long experience how stubborn Cullen could be. He shot a quick glance at the door to be sure Mrs. Tremel had really gone away. Cullen was such a screw-up no one would bat an eye if it was revealed he'd been cheating, but expectations
were higher for Eddie. His dad would kill him—but even worse, a lot of his teachers, and Coach McClintock, too, would be really shocked and disappointed.

“He-llooo?” Cullen sighed. “Now means now, man. Not after you get through picking your nose.”

Eddie put the edger down carefully and walked over to his car. He unlocked it, unzipped his backpack, and pulled out Cullen's paper. It was a C paper, all right. He'd even misspelled Tennyson, though Cullen would probably never notice that.

“There you go,” he said. “Now I think you owe
me
something.”

Cullen flipped through the four pages casually. “Bibliography?”

“Of course.”

Cullen tossed the paper through the open window of his car. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out three twenties. He looked annoyed now that he had to pay up.

“You know, I could get it on the Internet for ten bucks,” he complained.

Eddie wasn't impressed. “Yeah, and so could Mrs. G.”

They'd been through this before. Cullen shrugged, handed Eddie the money with a smile, then got back in his car and peeled away.

As he picked up his edger, Eddie felt an intense sense of relief mixed in with his usual guilt. That was the last job he'd committed to. Now that he had an extra lawn to mow, maybe, just maybe, he could finally get free of this quicksand.

But then he looked at Mrs. Tremel's house, and
his heart did a big, looping dive right down into his cross-trainers.

She was standing at the window, her blue bikini conspicuous in a ray of sunlight that found its way through the trees. She still had her drink in one hand, but she had her other hand on the curtain, pulling it aside for a better view.

She had, quite clearly, watched the whole damn thing.

C
LAIRE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN
surprised to see Principal Straine purring like a kitten and smiling at Kieran with the special warmth usually reserved for people who'd just written a very large check made out to Haversham Girls' Academy.

Kieran had that effect on most people even when he wasn't trying.

And today he was trying.

It had been his idea to make the drive to Richmond so that he could meet Mrs. Straine. “A preemptive strike,” he'd called it. “Let's invite her to the wedding. If she's there, she can't exactly doubt that it ever happened. And she'll be eager to tell everyone that she alone was important enough to make the A list.”

It made sense. So, though Claire dreaded the thought of Gillian Straine witnessing this charade of a marriage, she had agreed.

For once, the fates were on her side. Unfortunately, Mrs. Straine would be out of the country and unable to attend.

“I wish so much that I could alter my plans,” the woman said. “I'd love to be there to wish our Claire joy. But I'm afraid my commitments are of long standing, and I must honor them.”

“Of course you must. We wouldn't dream of ask
ing you to disappoint someone else on our behalf.” Kieran smiled, as if he admired her code of ethics tremendously.

“So…” Mrs. Straine relaxed a little, the first time Claire had ever seen her back actually touch the chair. Kieran really had melted her, hadn't he? “You and Claire have known each other a long time?”

Kieran took Claire's hand. “Oh, yes, for years. In a town as small as Heyday, everyone knows everyone. And, of course, I was her—”

Claire squeezed his fingers carefully. No one at the Academy even knew she'd had a brother. She had never mentioned Steve to anyone.

“—her biggest admirer long before we began to date. I have to admit, it was hard for me when she moved here to Richmond. Eventually it was simply too hard. I found that I couldn't live without her. After that, it all happened pretty quickly.”

He smiled at Claire. She smiled back, grateful that he had picked up on the problem so effortlessly. She squeezed his hand again, thanking him.

As she watched them, Mrs. Straine looked a little misty-eyed. Amazed, Claire wondered if there might be a thwarted romantic hiding under that buttoned-up exterior.

“How will you manage the distance? I know you said Claire intends to continue working here at HGA, but it's quite a long commute, isn't it?”

“We're not sure yet.” Kieran leaned back in his chair. “I may stay in Richmond during the week, then bring her home on the weekends. Although…I have a lot of property and investments in Heyday that I really need to monitor. They're actually extensive enough to be quite a headache.”

He looked pointedly around the elegant room and then shot Mrs. Straine a knowing smile. “I'm sure you're familiar with all that.”

Claire gave him another mental round of applause. He didn't ordinarily brag about his assets—he rarely even mentioned them. He must have intuited that Mrs. Straine would treat the soon-to-be-advantageously-wed Clair better than the unprotected, single Claire. And that she was snob enough to love being treated as an equal, a woman who understood all about the trials of wealth and responsibility.

Best of all, the ties to Heyday would explain his extended absences when that became necessary.

“Yes,” Mrs. Straine said with a world-weary shrug of her shoulders. “Heavy obligations are a mixed blessing.”

She turned to Claire. “Are you sure you want to continue teaching? It sounds as if your husband would be happy to keep you at home with him.”

Rich enough to keep me at home, you mean.
But Claire just smiled. “I'm sure, Mrs. Straine.”

“She's determined to remain her own woman.” Kieran gazed at Claire. “It's part of what makes her special, so I know I mustn't try to change her. Actually, I've thought of buying a home somewhere in between.”

The meeting dragged on. Mrs. Straine ate the attention up like a cat with a saucer of milk. Apparently reluctant to let them go, she even gave Kieran about twenty minutes of advice about home buying that he pretended to appreciate.

Finally, though, they were free. Claire practically
ran to the car. Kieran followed more calmly, but his eyes were full of laughter.

He opened the door for her. “Thanks,” she said. She hesitated, then touched his hand. “You were great in there. You handled her perfectly.”

“Ah, yes.” He sighed and put his other hand over his heart. “Heavy obligations are a mixed blessing. But one does what one can.”

Chuckling, he climbed in, too, and put the key in the ignition. “So you think she's convinced?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Frankly, Mr. McClintock, it was something of a shock to see what a good liar you are.”

He turned to her, still smiling. “Who said I was lying?”

For a minute, behind the smile, she thought she saw something darkly serious.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…I actually am thinking of buying a house somewhere in between. I thought it might make—” He hesitated. “Custody issues a little easier.”

She didn't answer right away. She was briefly tangled up in a snarl of images. What exactly would their lives be like, once the baby was born, once the divorce was final?

They had agreed without any debate that joint custody would be the only answer. Her soul ached at the thought of juggling a child's heart between two homes, trying desperately not to break it. But it had to be done. She couldn't imagine denying Kieran the right to know his own child.

John Gordon, Kieran's lawyer, had made it clear he thought the lack of a prenuptial agreement was a
big mistake. She could only imagine his horror if he knew Kieran had also decided not to rush the decision about custody.

“Are you sure you don't want to have something drawn up before the ceremony?” She smiled a little. “You know I don't mind. There's still time. I don't mind if John Gordon knows about the baby. He could have documents ready in a nanosecond.”

Kieran shook his head. “We've been through this. If you're comfortable with the arrangements as they stand, so am I.”

“But John says—”

“I know you better than John Gordon does. If you had wanted to exclude me from the baby's life, you never had to tell me you were pregnant.”

That was true. She could have disappeared forever.

On her side, Linda Tremel had warned Claire that she was the one who was being naive. She'd warned that Claire should get something in writing, something that promised Kieran wouldn't try to shut her out someday.

But Claire simply didn't believe that Kieran would ever do that. In her heart, Linda Tremel probably didn't believe it, either.

Claire touched the exquisite ring Kieran had put on her finger less than a week ago. His mother's ring.

“I guess we've both made it clear we want this child to have the happiest life we can manage.” She steadied her voice. “Under the circumstances.”

He started the car. “Okay. That's settled, then,” he said. “Now, do you want to go by your apartment?”

When they'd decided to go to Richmond, she had asked him if he'd mind making the extra stop. She'd
been so emotionally knotted up when she left—she hadn't been thinking about what she might need for a wedding. The only thing she'd been thinking about was the doctor's note in her purse that confirmed her pregnancy.

Funny to remember that she'd thought she'd need it as proof. Funny to remember that, only a week ago, she had thought he might throw her out and call her a liar.

When they parked in front of her complex, she got out, bent down and looked at Kieran, who to her surprise was not moving from behind the wheel.

“I thought I'd wait here,” he said casually. “Unless you need me to carry something down for you.”

“No, no, there's nothing big,” she said, embarrassed. She knew what he was thinking. If he went in, they'd be together, alone, in the place where they had made their terrible mistake. He obviously didn't want to face that memory right now.

“Thanks. I'm sure I can manage. I won't be long.”

But the minute Claire opened the door, and the stale air rushed out at her, she wished she had asked him to come with her anyhow.

It was so dark, so stuffy…so lifeless. She felt the strangest reluctance even to enter the foyer, as if there were something to fear here.

After just a week in Aurora's lovely house, which was filled with charming clutter, priceless heirlooms and sentimental geegaws, Claire found this blank emptiness to be almost suffocating.

Had anyone ever really lived here?

The answer, of course, was no. What she had done in this apartment couldn't be called living. It had
been a form of mindless survival, and she had moved through these rooms like a cold, blind thing, leaving no warmth behind, hardly even disturbing the air.

But as she stood in the shadowed foyer now, she realized that in some intangible but profound way, everything was different.

She
was different.

It was as if the tiny life that slept unseen inside her body had brought her back to life as well.

She touched her stomach. Her child. And suddenly, without any warning, warm tears began to slide down her cheeks, like sap from the sweet, deep core of a frozen winter tree.

Her fingers couldn't actually feel any sign of the baby—it was too soon. But she knew that somewhere under her hand a little heart was beating, fast and trusting and sure.

And, because it did, her own half-broken heart had begun to beat again as well.

 

T
HE
R
INGMASTER CARNIVAL
and parade didn't officially arrive in Heyday for another week. But on that sunny Monday morning, just three days after Kieran had taken Claire to Richmond, just five days before their wedding, he took her downtown to see the Ringmaster announcement.

The scene bustled with all the excitement and chaos of a full-fledged circus. At noon the mayor would officially reveal Heyday's next Ringmaster and Ringmistress. Though Kieran knew Claire thought the whole thing was silly, he was glad she had agreed to come. He thought it was pretty silly himself, but, after having turned down the honor, it
would have seemed grudging for the two of them to miss the announcement.

Besides, he was pretty sure that Roddy, who used to poke more fun at the tradition than anyone, was going to be named Ringmaster, and Kieran couldn't wait to razz him about it.

The names of the five nominees chosen at Aurora's party had been sent to the Zebra Committee, which consisted exclusively of former Ringmasters. Former Ringmistresses weren't allowed to vote, which annoyed some of the more vocal women, like Aurora, who had been one. Now only the Head High Zebra himself knew the results.

The announcement was always a colorful event, complete with banners and music and balloons and strolling clowns to keep the audience's anticipation high. But the scene this year was even crazier than usual. In addition to the eager nominees, their families and friends, and all the chamber of commerce types who made so much money from this parade, the crowd now included a small but vocal contingent of protestors.

About a dozen young women stalked back and forth beside the gathering, carrying posters that shouted insults in stenciled red letters.

KEEP YOUR RING—I'M NOBODY'S MISTRESS!

HEYDAY—WHERE TIME STANDS STILL AND WOMEN STILL CAN'T VOTE.

Claire laughed a little as she read the signs.

“Wow,” she said. “I
have
been gone a long time. Has Heyday actually entered the twenty-first century?”

Kieran grinned. “Well, a dozen of us have, any
how. But that's better than last year. Last year there were only two brave souls out here chanting their hearts out.”

One of the protesters was a young mother, who carried a sleeping infant in a sling on her back like a papoose. She had taped a sign to the carrier that read, I'm a Girl, and in 18 Years, I'll Be Voting, Too.

Kieran laughed softly, and Claire smiled, too. He could tell that both of them were mesmerized by the sight of the tiny baby, her soft face pink and placid as she bobbed along to the rhythm of her mother's marching.

“I wonder whether it'll be a girl or boy,” Claire said quietly, touching her stomach almost unconsciously. She looked up at him. “It's too early to tell, but have you ever thought about that?”

He was almost ashamed to admit he hadn't. He didn't even entirely believe, just yet, that this wasn't all a dream. He supposed that, to the mother, the existence of the child was very real from the first instant. The mother's body altered almost immediately. Her normal cycles ceased, she developed tender places and morning sickness and God only knew what else. For the father, it was just an announcement, a word, a concept.

“It doesn't really matter to me,” he said. That much was true. If only this child could be blessed with health and happiness, he would be satisfied. And he made a vow on the spot to do whatever he could to ensure them both.

But suddenly, looking down at Claire's somber face, he realized that she had read his answer differently. She assumed he was indifferent because he
planned to have very little contact with the child anyhow.

Oh, great. He just couldn't get the hang of this. He would have explained himself a little better, but he knew too many people here. Everyone who passed seemed to want to shake hands and say hello.

Finally they were able to move again, but he noticed that she watched the protesters until they rounded the corner. He wondered if, as something of an outsider herself, she felt a certain sympathy with their cause. The whole Ringmaster Parade thing really was a throwback to the good-old-boy days.

“Everyone says you would have been the Ringmaster this year,” she said suddenly. “I'm sorry that you lost your chance because of our…situation.”