- -
- 100%
- +
“No, don’t leave me…I’m afraid. You tell me.”
How could he? He didn’t know. She winced as he took her hands. “You’ll go to heaven.”
“What’s heaven like, Allen?” She closed her eyes, her breathing raspy. Then she was back again, fighting to stay alive long enough to find her answers.
He groped for lessons from his childhood: the memory of his grandmother talking about heaven. “It’s a pretty place,” he said. “I know that. Streets of gold. A river of life.”
It kept coming back, thoughts he had ignored for years, and doubted for some of them. He saw desperation in her eyes and longed to comfort her. “There’s no pain there, Adrian. No tears.”
“How do you know?” Her words were barely a whisper.
“My grandmother. She believed all of that”
“No tears?” With great effort she lifted her hand and touched his bristled chin. “Won’t I cry for you, Allen?”
He held her hand against his lips. “Not half as much as I will cry for you.”
As he stood in his living room, his hand shook visibly as he put the tumbler down again. He gripped the shelf as he thought of Adrian asking, “Will those I love be there?”
“My grandmother is there.”
“No one else?”
He nodded, tears coursing down his cheeks. “God,” he had said. “God will be there. And his Son.” His grandmother had said the Son would be on the right hand of the Father—that He would be there to greet His children.
The oxygen had bubbled as Adrian gasped for air, her breathing so labored that Allen held his own breath. “Don’t leave me,” he begged. “I love you.”
Slowly she focused on him, her eyes more glazed now. “How do I get to heaven, Allen?” she whispered.
On the wings of angels, his grandmother had said. But he wasn’t certain. He didn’t know where truth ended and his grandmother had improvised on her picture of eternity. But he did remember Grams declaring, “The way to heaven is through Jesus.”
He leaned down, his face on the pillow beside Adrian. “Jesus is the way. You won’t go alone. Jesus is here to go with you.” He was quoting his grandmother again, and saw a flicker of hope in Adrian’s glazed eyes. “Jesus,” he repeated.
“Jesus,” she said. She pushed the oxygen prongs aside. “Hold me, Allen,” she had cried.
And he did, tenderly, lovingly, gently caressing her, his cheek pressed against her own. Ten minutes later the nurse gripped Allen’s shoulder. “It’s over, Mr. Kladis. Your wife is gone.”
He stared now at Adrian’s photo on the mantel. “She’s gone, Mr. Kladis,” he repeated solemnly.
To heaven? Yes, he was certain Adrian had been borne on the wings of angels—surely his grandmother had told the truth—and that she was safely there now. Pain free. With not even a tear for him. But in the eleven months since her death, he had shed enough tears for both of them, buckets of them in the shower, more as he lay in the empty bed alone, crushing her pillow against his chest
After her death, work became his salvation. He poured himself into the planned merger between Larhaven and Fabian. During Adrian’s illness, the merger had been tabled. Now, with the threat of a third party bidding for Fabian, Allen had attacked the project with renewed energy.
He ran his hand over his bare chest, willing the tightness to go away. Unraveling to his height of six-foot-two, he secured the strings on his jogging pants and walked back through the house. He stopped to fill his tumbler with an iced soft drink before reaching the bedroom. The king-size bed remained unmade, the spread sprawled on the floor, his pillow pounded to shreds. He had turned out to be a poor housekeeper these last eleven months, depending instead on the woman who came in three days a week.
He grabbed the merger file from the dresser, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto his veranda that overlooked Lake Washington. Sinking into the chaise lounge, he stretched out his lanky legs and propped his feet on the iron railing. Business magazines were strewn on the porch. He felt useless, weary at thirty-nine, empty inside. With a sigh, he carelessly dropped the merger file on the floor.
Even from where he sat, an eddy—a violent little whirlpool—swirled, spinning out of sync with the rest of the lake. It was headed nowhere, with nothing but dark churning depths beneath it. His life had been on replay all day, one scene after the other, hitting him full force and then dropping into the bitter pools of memory. It hadn’t been this intense lately, but he guessed the upcoming anniversary of Adrian’s death had much to do with his mood.
He heard his brother’s footsteps coming through the veranda door. “Figured you’d be here. I just let myself in,” Nick said.
Nick slid a porch chair over beside Allen and dropped into it. “Thought you had company, big brother. Guess you were just talking to yourself.”
“When did you get back, Niko?”
“On the morning flight. Nonstop straight from L.A.—haven’t even checked in with the wife and kids yet.”
“You never make them top priority. You did travel alone?”
“Scout’s honor. Strictly business.”
“Did Fabian give an excuse for the misfired missile?” Allen saw his brother’s crafty eyes shift. “You didn’t step out of line, did you, Nick? The agreement with Fabian was to wait.”
“What’s done is done. McCormick blamed it on one of his vice-presidents. And Davenport swears the air force blew it.” He met Allen’s gaze for a second. “Allen, one of the first things you better do when the merger goes through is get rid of Davenport.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong is he’s a woman. Powerful, from what I gather. Her job should go, once we merge. Mark my words.”
“That’s my decision. McCormick we keep for a time. The next five names on their management team go. Straight off the top. That saves millions right off.”
“Good. The top five snares Davenport. She won’t like that.”
“A personal problem, Niko?”
“We had a few words about the missile going off.”
“Your problem. But if I find you had anything to do with firing that missile, Niko, you’re on your way out, too. But don’t worry, I’ll give you a good retirement settlement.”
Nick frowned. “I hate the way you play with my life. Allen, you have everything. Give me a chance.”
“I’ve lost everything that was important to me.”
“You’re still running Larhaven Aircraft.”
“Just keep that in mind. And, Nick, I’ve decided to take that Wednesday meeting with the Board of Directors at Fabian.”
“I tell you, Allen, I can handle it. Aren’t you worried about clashing with Eddie McCormick?”
“No. He works with us or he bows out gracefully.”
“Why don’t you do the same, Allen? Take a leave of absence?”
“And put you in charge? You’re not ready for the job.”
Nick glanced morosely out on the lake. “I can handle it.”
“Not the way I do.”
Nick—dependable? Somehow he had always managed to slip into class as the bell rang, or to arrive at the table by the time their father finished his perfunctory prayer. But trust Nick to run the business or make major decisions? Not good.
“I’m going to see this merger through, Nick. Larhaven still has a good reputation. Let’s keep it that way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t take over until I’m dead. That’s a promise I made to Mother. And with just three years between us, I’m apt to be around making decisions for a long time.”
“We never know when our time will be up, Allen. Look at Adrian.”
“We’re not talking about my wife,” he retorted.
For a few minutes silence hung between them like a dark cloud. Then Nick said, “Be glad you didn’t have kids, Allen.”
“I’d still have something of Adrian in my life then.”
“It’s not that Fran and I don’t feel sorry for you—”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“That’s why we haven’t given it I think my wife is right You can’t go on mourning. Get out. Go on a date. Make yourself available.” He tented his fingers. “Life goes on. Get on with your own.”
“I suppose you have someone in mind?”
“What about one of the gals at Larhaven?”
Allen had already gone that route. He saw no need to tell Nick that he had dated twice since Adrian’s death—both times a total fiasco, a botched evening, a wipeout One was with his attorney’s attractive new assistant While dropping off a file he had asked for, she boldly suggested having dinner together that evening. The other foolhardy venture was with a divorcee living in the condo above his. They had been picking up their mail at the same time. In the midst of inconsequential chatter, the girl fessed up to an empty fridge and a growing hunger.
Through both dates, his wife’s name seemed to worm its way into the conversation, and he knew that the evening was falling flat All he could do was to pick up the tab—hefty on both occasions—and to offer his date a safe ride home. One elected to go alone by taxi, and his neighbor rode in silence back to their building.
No, it just wasn’t the time yet to think seriously about a new relationship. He was still sorting out Adrian’s loss, trying to adjust to an empty condo and the terrible ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t that he would never marry again. To the contrary, he longed for companionship, needed it and knew deep down that he was not intended to live alone, that he was capable of another commitment. But not yet, not when he would still compare any other woman—no matter how lovely—to Adrian.
But he was ready to do battle with Nick because the subject had come up again. He didn’t need the advice of his younger brothers about his social life or lack of one.
“No dating, Nick. Not yet.”
“My wife has friends looking for an eligible bachelor.”
“I’m not a bachelor. I’m a widower.”
“You can’t let this drag on forever. Adrian wouldn’t want you to. With your mood swings, you’ll mess up the merger.”
“There was only one woman for me, Niko.”
Nick cocked his head, a touch of mockery in his gaze. “What about that romance of yours back when you were wet behind the ears? The one Dad got all fired up about? Doesn’t that count?”
This time the frown was Allen’s. “Maureen?”
Maureen. The sun reflected off the lake, a gentle breeze blowing across the water carrying him back twenty years in time. He could see her face, her beauty, her youth. He could even remember the curve of her mouth, the cut of her chin, the softness of her skin. And those wide violet-blue eyes had blown him away. For just a flash he felt that same searing pain that he had experienced when he went on shore leave, back to her hometown to find her. She was gone. Gone without a trace.
“Her name—it was Maureen Birkland, wasn’t it?” Nick asked.
“How did you know that?”
“Dad’s old file on her. He never did like her, you know. But she was some looker. Dad had a picture of her in the file.”
Allen nearly toppled out of the chaise lounge, but caught his balance, his feet straddling the chair. “What was Dad doing with a file on her?”
“You told him you were going to marry her.”
I was, he thought.
“That marriage bit was a shocker, I’m here to tell you. You take off for a ten-day surfing trip to California, and the next thing Dad knows, you’re not coming home. You’re getting married.”
“She was a sweet kid. What did Dad have against her?”
“He said she was a nobody, Allen. Poor family. No social standing. No money. No future. You know Dad. Only the best for his boys.”
Allen hadn’t seen it that way. They had met at a small café down by the beachfront. He was standing barefoot in the sand, his surfboard propped against the wall. He had just ordered a peach milk shake when he saw Maureen pushing her tawny hair back from her face and looking up at him with those magnificent eyes. He grabbed two straws and offered to share the shake with her.
She surprised him and accepted. They sat on the beach, side by side, as they drank the shake. Eighteen, not quite nineteen, he had toppled head-over-heels in love with her, his passions awakened in a way he had not understood. First love. And it had been real enough. She was working part time as a file clerk in a bank and going into her senior year of high school. Allen was bigtime. High school behind him, the job at his father’s aircraft industry hooked.
“We’ll get married,” he had told her on their third date, “and move back to Seattle.”
“Mother won’t let me. I have to finish high school first.”
Allen never hit it off with her mother. Mrs. Birkland had disliked him from the beginning. She knew his family was rich and didn’t believe his intentions toward Maureen were honorable. She told Maureen he was using her—”a summer fling,” she’d called it. But the more she opposed Allen, the more Maureen was drawn to him.
Nick’s words thundered again. A poor family. No social standing or money. No future.
It hadn’t mattered back then. He would stay in California and marry her. And his father had blown his lid. That’s one reason I joined the navy, he thought. To break Dad’s shackles, to guarantee my freedom. To find a way to support a wife.
“After you sailed to Cyprus, Dad flew to California to meet her. He figured anyone could be bought off. Must have worked.”
Stunned, Allen sat there. Maureen Birkland had been his first girl that summer so long ago, his reason for not going back to work for his dad. And his dad had bought her off. No wonder she wasn’t there when he went back to find her. After all these years, the realization still hurt.
Keep cool, he told himself. Don’t let Nick goad you. If Maureen hadn’t been bought off, Adrian would never have come into your life. With Maureen you had nothing but a few weeks. But at least with Adrian you had twelve happy years.
“Where is Dad’s file on Maureen Birkland?” he asked.
“In storage. Can hardly think of Dad tossing anything away.”
“I want it. Find it for me.”
“Forget that old file. We have more important things to worry about Your whole executive board thinks you’ll blow this merger unless you snap out of this grieving process.”
“Did you put that idea into their heads, Nick? You know I’ve been better lately. I’ll take care of my private life. Leave the Larhaven-Fabian merger to me,” he said acidly.
Nick had never learned when to back off. He sat there sullenly, twiddling his thumbs. “You’ve run the show for ten years ever since Dad’s death, even though you never wanted the job. Let me have a crack at it now.”
“Dad left the job to me because he knew I could handle it. You and Chris weren’t ready for it.”
“Chris doesn’t want it. I do.”
Nick was their father all over again. Greedy for power. Ready to cut down those who stood in his way. “Nick, I’m only going to say this once. I’m going to see this merger under way and running smoothly. Work with me or get out.”
The wind had picked up. He felt as empty as the whirlpool spinning on the lake, as though his life were swirling out of control. It was tough having your family oppose you. Perhaps Nick was right. Maybe it was time to resign and let his brothers take over.
How he longed to escape to a cabin on the river, do nothing. How he longed for inner peace. Peace like Adrian had found. But he didn’t know where to find it. And God, if He existed, seemed distant
Chapter Five
An hour down the Pacific Coast Highway from Maureen Davenport’s apartment, a young woman with Allen’s dark eyes and Maureen’s smile and long thick lashes stood by the window of her parents’ home, a bride’s magazine clutched in her hand.
Outside, a violent windstorm was piping through the canyon, howling through the tree tops, and rattling the windowpanes where Heather Reynard stood. The gusting wind swept everything in its path, bending sign posts, crumpling tree limbs like tissue paper. A few logs slid down the hillside and were swallowed up in the yawning mouth of a ten-foot wave that surged along the rocky shoreline.
Still Heather and her family were lucky. Last week it had been the fires raging out of control in the Silverado Canyon, flames leaping and bounding and turning the sky from a brilliant red glow to a smoky-gray. It had destroyed homes in its path and turned them to ashes, leaving hillsides charred with an ominous black canopy that had made both people and animals homeless. A hundred acres had already burned. With the winds tonight, the hot spots of the recent fires in the Silverado Canyon and the San Bernardino foothills could flare up and fan into raging infernos.
Heather shivered, the chill of the windowpane cold against her arms. Not one twinkling star could be seen. The only movement was the light of a jumbo jet. A smoky haze lined the horizon, and rain clouds hid the Big Dipper. But as she crouched lower and stared out the window, she saw a full hazy moon lying low in the sky, peeking out from the clouds, round as a yellow pumpkin.
“Oh, Brett,” she exclaimed, “come look at the full moon.” Her fiance crossed the room and slipped his arm around her slender shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he said, but when she turned to face him, he was looking at her.
“Oh, Brett!”
“You said that already.”
Brett. Martin, at twenty-six, was a foot taller than Heather, and seven years older, his height and broad shoulders rendering him a fortress of strength that pleased her. He was as fair-skinned and blond as she was dark. His eyes were wide-set, his brows thick, his smile full. Brett was not handsome, but she thought of him that way. Her own good-looking knight, so wholesome with his brown maple-sugar eyes, eyes that made her melt when he looked at her, the way he was looking at her now.
“Brett, the storm is worse. I don’t want you out in it.”
“Honey, I have to drive back to Los Angeles this evening.”
“Not in this wind. Mother’s making up a room for you.”
He sighed resignedly. “I have class at eight”
“And I want you alive so you can attend it. You can get up early. I’ll even set my alarm and make you breakfast.”
He looked doubtful. “Okay,” she told him, “Mother can cook it for you. But. I’m learning, Brett. By the time we marry, I’ll be a pretty good cook. Mother is determined.”
“With your unpredictable schedule with the airline, I hope she’s successful. And if not,” he teased, “I’ll talk your mom into moving in with us.”
“She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Is she still opposed to our marrying in August?”
“No, she’s resigned herself. She thinks I’m too young, but. I’ll still be too young when I’m thirty. Mothers are like that. And as long as I eventually finish college—”
The bride’s magazine slipped from her fingers. Brett stooped to pick it up. “Then what’s wrong, honey?”
“This miserable weather.”
“We have no control over that” He lapsed into his lofty seminary voice. “The storms and winds come from God’s storehouse. Oppose the weather and we oppose God.”
“You’re preaching again, Brett,” she cautioned.
“That’s what. I’m training for, my darling.”
“But you’re not in the pulpit now, and I don’t want you to sound that way ever. It’s your openness and honesty that first attracted me to you, Brett. You’re too genuine to play a role.”
“Heather, all my life I’ve wanted to be a preacher. I’m a third-generation—”
“I want you to be what you want to be. But be yourself, Brett. Lost men and women are depending on you. They’ll like you better and trust you more if you don’t sound preachy.”
“Do you have someone lost in mind?” he asked.
She nodded. “A woman I’ve never met.”
“I’m not up to a guessing game. Who?”
“My birth mother. She may not know that. God loves her.”
“We just have to trust that she will,” he said confidently.
Heather fell silent. Faith and simplicity were easy choices for Brett. He really did credit the winds and storms to God’s storehouse. She leaned against him as his arm tightened around her.
“You look so upset, Heather. What’s troubling you?”
“It’s the guest list for our wedding. I want to invite someone and I’m afraid to tell you—and even more afraid to tell Mom and Dad.”
He winked. “Let me guess. That older flight attendant who gives you such a bad time when you work together?”
“No, but we’re doing much better now. Or maybe I’m doing better on the job.”
“Not your old boyfriend? We agreed not to invite him.”
“He’s coming anyway. His family and mine are old friends.”
“You want to invite someone you don’t know to our wedding? Then you’d better tell me.”
Her voice trembled. “I don’t think you’re going to like what. I say—but. I want my birth mother there.”
The storm had moved inside. The way Brett looked down at her now, there was no way that his maple-sugar eyes could melt anything. He was obviously displeased with her decision.
“You can’t be serious. What if she rejects you again?”
“That’s cruel.”
“She was cruel to leave you.”
“But. I won’t know why she left unless I try to find her.”
He turned to face her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “You said your birth mother. What about your father?”
“Have you forgotten? He died before I was born.”
“Do you know that for certain? Maybe he just ducked out. Some men are not willing to take responsibility.”
“It’s not like that, Brett. When I was adopted, Mom and Dad were told that he died in Cyprus on a peacekeeping mission.”
“The army?”
“The navy, I think. I—” she faltered. “I don’t really know. I used to ask questions, but. I could see that it hurt. Dad. Dad was afraid of losing me if I found my birth mother.”
Brett looked more perturbed than Heather had ever seen him. His usually cheery face was taut with worry, perhaps even a touch of anger. “Heather, I thought we agreed that we would be honest with each other, that we would make major decisions together.”
“I was afraid to tell you.”
“So why is it so important now to find someone that—”
“That never cared about me?” Her voice cracked. “We don’t know that. We don’t know why she didn’t want me.”
He touched her cheek. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
She groped for words. “Oh, Brett, you can’t protect me from everything. There might be reasons why they gave me away. Reasons why you and I shouldn’t have children.”
“I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “You know that. We’ve talked about it. Seminary first. And then a family.”
“And what if I get pregnant before you graduate? My birth mother was only seventeen.”
“Seventeen? But you’re almost twenty—and very mature.”
“That didn’t answer my question, Brett.”
“If the babies come before I finish seminary—before you have a chance to finish college—then we’ll welcome them. I can’t imagine a greater joy than you being the mother of my children.”
She was grateful to him. He was trying to stop the battle building between them, trying to protect her from the unknown. “That doesn’t change anything. I still want to find my mother,” she said again. “I must find her.” She looked up and met his gaze. “I want to start our marriage with the record clean, with the questions about my birth parents answered. Whatever it takes, whatever the outcome, I want to find the woman who bore me. I want to know about the father I’ve never seen.”
“But. Nan and Todd—they’ve been good to you. They love you.”
“I know that. They’ll always be Mom and Dad. My parents. But there’s a part of me that still feels a void inside.”
He drew her into his arms. “I thought. I made you happy.”
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him—a light, feathery kiss. “You do. I love you. But. I’d be so much more complete if I knew who I was.”
“You’re Heather Reynard. You’re going to be Heather Martin. That’s enough for me. Isn’t it enough for you, honey?”