"Scott," said Scott. "We just-"
"-and I'm Mary, Carolyn. Nice to meet you, again."
"Oh, of course. The Ides of March. How could I be so forgetful? You remember my son Patrick, of course? Back from the White House?"
"Well, sure we do," said Scott, casting John a look of profound doubt. "Um-hm. The White House?"
"Well, you know," said John.
"Top secret," said Carolyn. "Where on earth has my president gone?"
"He'll be right out, Mrs. Holt," said Joni, putting her hands on Carolyn's shoulders. "Here he comes, right now!"
Grateful for the diversion, John turned to watch. Holt walked across the lawn buttoning his blue blazer, looking out toward the ocean, lifting his nose like a dog to smell the air coming in from miles away. He moved deliberately, like a man willing to learn something with every step. He looked positive and alert, but preoccupied. John could see the worry lines in his forehead and the inward cast of his eyes as he stepped under the canopy, nodded to Fargo and Laura, then came toward the bar.
John moved to the edge of the canopy away from the house and watched the flat-bottomed crescent of a sun evaporate into the ocean. As always he waited for the flash of green; as always it failed to show. He walked out onto the lawn. To the north he could see the Valencia groves shimmering in the wind and the fading light. The western hillsides were autumn yellow with patches of green in the tight, shaded folds. The lake was buffed to a dull silver patina by the wind and the big Norfolk Island pine on the beach swayed with each gust. John imagined the wind whistling through Rebecca's bones, and then he unimagined it.
Adam Sexton walked up with a lovely blond woman he introduced as his wife, Odessa. She offered her hand and John shook it.
"Did you get my message?" Sexton asked.
John nodded. "Not sure what you were after."
Sexton looked at Odessa, then took John's arm and guided him outside the shade of the awning and into the sun. His voice was confidential now with none of his usual swagger.
"All I'm hearing is good things about you from Vann. He's taken. I think his daughter might be, too. I just want you to know that you've got a friend in court. I want you to know I believe you'd be good here. Whatever you're doing, you have my endorsement."
"What do you mean, doing?"
"Everybody's doing something. It's all a game. Everything. That's just a fact of life."
Sexton looked at him with an odd expression, a mixture of acknowledgment and acceptance. "So, whatever your game is, keep it up and play it well. There's room on Liberty Ridge for good people. People like you."
"Thanks, Adam."
"Keep your eye on Fargo, if you aren't already." With that, he clasped John's arm and returned to Odessa.
Valerie was coming across the emerald lawn. He watched her walk on the grass, her red high heels in her right hand. Her red dress with the white polka dots looked fifty years out of date, and unmeasurably beautiful on her. Her hair was up. When she saw him, she raised the hand with her shoes in it in greeting. Then she smiled and ran across the lawn to him, threw her arms around his neck and swung him around, kissing him on the mouth. Everyone under the canopy was watching.
"Hello, Mr. Menden."
"Miss Holt."
"Happy Saturday night."
"Back at you, young lady. Disengage. We're creating a scandal."
"I love a scandal. What's to drink?"
"More than enough to put you on your butt."
She looked at him sternly. "I can hold my liquor, young man. That runs in the family. Shall we join the party?"
John offered his arm in a formal angle and Valerie responded, running the bottom of her forearm against his, touching him very lightly. At the edge of the canopy she steadied herself against him and slipped on her shoes. He felt her weight tilt and her fingers dig hard into his arm.
Fargo was there. "You look really pretty tonight, Val."
"Oh thanks, Laney-Poo. What's that, your shrunken-head jacket?"
"This is it."
"You're a dark man, Lane Fargo, but I like you anyway, Against all my better instincts."
"Get the lady a drink," he said to John.
"What'll it be?"
"Gin and tonic, John. And double up on it, would you?"
When John came back with the cocktails, Fargo had just said something into Valerie's ear and Valerie had just started faking her laugh.
"Lane called you P-Boy," she said. "Because of your coat. Can't tell if you're a private eye or a cowboy."
"Stop it, Lane. I might bust a gut."
"No, really, I mean, what's that coat all about?"
"Warm in the winter, cool in the summer."
"Oh, I'm just teasin', John-Boy." He smiled his small-toothed smile and leaned in close to Valerie. "John's always got his panties in a bunch because I'm following up on him for your Dad. You know, verifying his character. Think he's got something to hide?"
Valerie eyed John playfully. "Everything."
"Me too! See, John-Boy, I'm not alone in suspecting that you're a character of low moral value."
"Oh, now I didn't say that," Valerie offered. "I think he's hiding
… hiding… genius, advanced moral development, and a big… heart."
"Doing one hell of a good job of it," said Lane.
"Some people are easy to fool," she said.
"Then I rest my case," said Fargo, kissing Valerie's cheek. "Watch this guy, now. And I'll see you later, gorgeous."
"Okay, Laney."
"You too, P-Boy."
"Fargone Lane," whispered Valerie, as Fargo attached himself to Scott and Mary Holt. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. Dad does."
Her dark eyes flashed and a mean little smile came to her lips. "I must learn to forgive and forget. We all should."
"Best advice I've heard lately. By the way, you look absolutely beautiful tonight."
"I like these clothes that are out of style. Don't know why that idea appeals to me so much."
Two hours later they were finished with dinner.
"Everyone have a drink?" Holt asked. "Then lift it to the United States of America and the freedoms that we have left."
Murmured agreements, clinking cocktail glasses.
"Here, here," he continued. "Lend me your kind ears for a bit. I've got some things to say."
John saw the young Holt Men step inside the canopy with dessert trays, then turn back toward the house at the wave of Vann Holt's hand.
"We're eating outside in the wind tonight because this is my favorite weather," he said. "Feels like God's own breath to me, but that's probably just me. Hell on the hair and skin, I know. Wouldn't want it blowing every day but you've got to enjoy it while it's here. One of my themes tonight-enjoy it while it's here."
Another round of mumbled assent, another meeting of glasses and nods. Holt stood.
"I want to start out by welcoming Scott and Mary from Utah. It's been exactly four years, eight months and two weeks since Scott and I have spoken. I know I disappointed you, brother. I was trying my best not to disappoint myself. That God of yours that I turned my back on is none the less supreme for my lapse. Stick with him. I don't expect his forgiveness. Would love to have yours, though. Don't say anything now. I'm not asking anyone for anything tonight. Except to hear me out."
John looked over at Scott and Mary, both statue-still and erect, both crimson in the face. Fargo was staring at him. Carolyn's gaze seemed infinite as the cosmos. Laura Messinger aimed a brittle smile up at Holt while her husband tried to study Scott and Mary as he sipped his drink. Valerie in her polka dot dress looked at John, then back at her father.
"It's important to me that we be together tonight," he continued. "You are my family. Both literal and extended. You are the people I love. You're my life. Carolyn-I love you the most. You were my beginning. You'll be my end. Thanks, girl."