“That’s no way to think,” Bryan muttered to himself in disgust. Pessimism had never gotten anybody anywhere.
Pushing himself up out of the desk chair, he stretched and cast a cursory glance over his shoulder at the image of Arthur Drake that hung on the wall. He would unravel this mystery as he had unraveled dozens of others over the years. But he needed a clear head to do it.
He had run himself into the ground, spending his days searching for the gold and his nights watching out for signs of Wimsey, not to mention their other nocturnal visitor. What little time he’d spent in bed he’d spent making love to Rachel, trying his best to bind her to him in the most elemental way he could, trying to show her with his body how much he loved her. He couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that his message wasn’t getting through. Or maybe she was simply ignoring it.
Even though they hadn’t argued again, neither had things been the same as before their fight. There was a tension straining their relationship. Bryan could sense the invisible barrier Rachel was erecting layer by thin layer between them. She might have forgiven him for his harsh words, but she couldn’t forgive him for believing in things that couldn’t be seen or touched. And the harder he tried to convince her that his outlook was a better one, the farther she drifted away from him.
She had been working as hard as he, slaving over the state of Addie’s finances and struggling with Addie herself, fighting a futile battle to repair her relationship with her mother before it was too late.
Standing by the French doors, Bryan heaved a sigh. Outside, the morning had turned blue and beautiful. He flung open the doors and drank in the scents. The air was fresh with the tang of the sea and the sweetness of sun-warmed grass and wildflowers.
It was the kind of day meant for playing hooky. It was the kind of day meant for picnics and handin-hand walks, for taking leisurely drives along the shore and making love under the afternoon sun. It was the kind of day too many people let pass by, sure that another would come along at a more convenient time in their lives. Bryan knew for a fact that wasn’t always true. You had to enjoy life moment to moment because tomorrow was a promise that wasn’t always kept. Too many people waited until it was too late, then looked back on their lives with bitterness and regret.
He couldn’t let Rachel be one of them.
Determination giving him a fresh burst of strength, he strode to the desk and picked up the telephone.
“My word, that’s a lovely color on you, Abbey,” Aunt Roberta commented. “Just lovely. And the feathers are really you. Don’t you think so, Rebecca? I think they’re really her.”
Rachel sighed wearily and raised her head, looking past the sea of bank statements, bills, and canceled checks spread out across the dining room table to where her mother sat in a pool of yellow light near the window, glowering at her.
Addie wore another of her nondescript loose housedresses and had an emerald-green feather boa draped around her neck. In her hands she clutched a pottery ashtray the size of a Frisbee, and every so often she thrust it beneath Roberta’s cigarette to catch the fallout. Roberta sat in a rocker beside her, pumping the thing as if she were out to set some kind of record. Smoke billowed from her nostrils, giving the impression that her boundless nervous energy came from a combustion engine.
“For goodness’ sake, Rowena, you look exhausted!”
“I’ve had a lot of work to do.”
“Stealing my money,” Addie muttered.
“There isn’t any money to steal, Mother,” Rachel shot back. Gritting her teeth, she tamped down her temper. “I’m trying to help you. I came back here to help you.”
Addie narrowed her eyes. Her lips thinned to a white line of disapproval. It made her so angry to see Rachel going through her business papers. It made her angry to know she couldn’t have gone through them herself because they made no sense to her anymore. She certainly didn’t want Rachel sifting through them looking for yet another way to humiliate her and snatch away a little more of her independence.
“She’s not my daughter, you know,” she said to Roberta.
Rachel rolled her eyes.
Roberta’s black brows arched up. “She’s not? I thought she was. Bryan said she was. He told me Ramona was your daughter.”
“Ramona who?”
“Your daughter.”
“I don’t have a daughter. Pay attention here, Roberta,” Addie said crossly, smacking the woman on the arm. “After all the sacrifices I made for my daughter so she could go on to greatness as a soprano, she ran off with a nightclub singer.”
“Oh, my gosh, Althea,” Roberta whispered in shock, crossing herself with her cigarette. “My gosh.”
Rachel tuned out. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with her mother today. She had been on the telephone half the morning with a woman from the California Health and Welfare Agency, discussing financial aid for people with Alzheimer’s. The bureaucracy was incredible, the benefits negligible in relation to the expenses a chronically ill person faced. She had to consider Addie’s loss of income, housing costs, medical costs, cost for in-home help or respite care, the normal costs of living, taxes, miscellaneous expenses. And somewhere down the road she would have to deal with the expense of putting Addie in a nursing home.
As badly as she wanted to care for her mother herself, Rachel realized that would eventually become impossible. Addie’s condition would inevitably decline to the point where she would need constant care and supervision, and Rachel would not be able to provide that and keep a job as well.
She planted her elbows on the tabletop and rubbed her hands over her face. Already the strain was getting to her. What was she going to feel like after months, even years of this? Despair welled inside her at the prospect of a bleak, joyless future.
Bryan.
His name drifted through her mind as if someone had whispered it low and soft in her ear. Warmth cascaded through her, enticing, like forbidden fruit. It was strange, but just thinking about him relaxed her.
“Come along, angel,” Bryan said briskly.
Rachel’s head snapped up. Cautiously, she turned to look at him as if she didn’t quite believe he would be there. But there he stood, looking rumpled and sexy in his snug jeans and faded Notre Dame sweatshirt.
“Come along,” he said again, taking her by the hand and tugging her out of her chair.
“Where…?”
He flashed her a brilliant smile, “To play hooky.”
Rachel dug her heels in. “Bryan, I don’t have time to play hooky.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
There was definitely something steely and predatory about his smile, reminding Rachel that there was a great deal more to this man than what so pleasingly met the eye. A shiver danced through her at the glint of determination in his deep blue gaze.
“Bryan, I would like nothing more than to take a day off, but I have responsibilities.”
“They’ll still be here when we get back.”
“Bryan, honey, what are you doing with Rhonda?” Roberta asked.
“I’m abducting her, Aunt Roberta.” He let go of Rachel’s hand, quickly bent and put a shoulder to her stomach, and heaved her up, wrapping his arm around her wildly flailing legs. She squealed in surprise.
“Oh, well, fine, dear.” Roberta smiled and waved her cigarette at them. “Have a nice time!”
Addie stuck her tongue out at them.
Bryan frowned at her and turned back toward his aunt, balancing Rachel on his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. He gave Roberta a meaningful look. “You and Addie keep each other out of trouble, okay?”
“Trouble! My stars, honey!” She cackled and coughed. “What trouble could we get into?”
“I shudder to think,” Rachel grumbled. She wriggled on Bryan’s shoulder as he carried her out of the room and down the hall. “Bryan, neither one of them should be left alone.”