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“I—I don’t know if you heard,” she said, her voice still somber and husky. He wondered if she’d been crying again. Who made her cry these days?
“Heard what?”
“About Lillith. Lillith Griggs. I mean, she became Lillith Griggs, you knew she and Jacob got married, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I knew that.” He and Jacob had been good friends back in law school. Jacob still kept in touch, still wrote now and then, though of course he didn’t admit that to Lillith, who had, like Kelly, been one of Sophie’s bridesmaids and therefore subscribed to the official position that Tom Beckham was scum. “What about Lillith?”
“She was in a car accident. Three days ago.”
“Is she all right?”
“No.” A wretched pause. “She was killed.”
The waiter came over then and held a check for Tom to sign. He scrawled something, almost glad of the distraction. He needed time to absorb the news.
He hadn’t known Lillith well, but she’d always seemed much more…alive than most people. She was always the one laughing, playing practical jokes like wearing stiletto heels to the rehearsal so that the lineup by height suddenly seemed all wrong. She was a beauty and a brain and a class clown all in one. What kind of automobile accident had been savage enough to extinguish all that?
“I’m sorry to hear it,” he said carefully, glancing over at O’Toole, who was tonguing around in his empty drink, trying to hook a piece of ice and suck any lingering vodka from its surface. O’Toole met Tom’s gaze over the glass and frowned, pointing at the telephone.
Tom covered the mouthpiece with his palm.
“We’re done here, O’Toole,” he said, though he knew that those four words might well undo all the goodwill he’d spent the past hour building.
O’Toole put his glass down slowly, giving Tom an incredulous look. “Damn right we are,” he said. He tossed his napkin on the table, scraped his chair back loudly and walked away.
“Tom, are you still there?”
Tom took his hand off the telephone. “Yes. Sorry. How is Jacob?”
“He’s a mess,” Kelly said. “That’s why I’m calling. The funeral is tomorrow, and he asked me to let you know. He hopes you can come. I do, too. He needs a friend…and you seem to be the one he wants.”
It was subtle, but he could hear how inexplicable she found that fact to be.
“Okay,” he said.
There was another pause. “You’ll come?” She must have been expecting an argument.
“Yes,” he said. “Tell him I’ll be there. What time is the funeral?”
“One. We’re all meeting at the house and riding together. His house.” She took an audible breath. “But Tom…if I tell him you’re coming, if I get his hopes up, and then you—”
“I’ll be there.” He heard the doubt quivering in her silence. He couldn’t blame her. She couldn’t know that, since he’d left Cathedral Cove, he had never made a promise he didn’t keep. Of course, he made damn few promises.
“Kelly, I’m telling you I will be there. Have I ever lied to you?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Not to me.”
“Then trust me,” he said, and in spite of himself a wry note crept in. He could feel his tilted smile nudging at his lips. But come on. Had anyone on this earth ever spoken a more ironic sentence? “I’ll be there.”
KELLY KNEW BETTER than to trust Tom Beckham, so she couldn’t understand why she was so upset when he didn’t show up at the funeral home, or at the graveside service.
She was just mad at herself, that was all. She should never have told Jacob that Tom was coming. He had kept glancing over his shoulder at the service, and now that they were back at home, every time the door opened he looked up expectantly.
She stood in the kitchen, carefully pulling the plastic wrap off plates of deviled eggs and pans of meat loaf, and trying not to feel a little angry with Jacob, too.
But darn it. He had friends, lots of them. People who really cared about him, people who filled his house and his refrigerator, people who called and stopped by, who prayed at his side and cried at his side and loved Lily almost as much as he did.
Why weren’t they enough? Why did he need Tom Beckham, too?
Why did anyone need Tom Beckham?
The door opened, and to Kelly’s surprise a lovely blonde walked in, dressed in the most elegant little black funeral dress she’d ever seen. It was Samantha Mellon, Sophie’s little sister.
“Hi, Kelly,” Samantha said softly, brushing her long, silky hair back behind her shoulder and smiling. “They told me you were in here. I thought maybe I could help?”
Kelly stuffed the plastic into the trash can, wiped her hands on a towel, and reached out to give Samantha a hello hug. It was very sweet of her to come—and probably somewhat risky. Over the years, her mother and brother had developed an intractably hostile attitude toward every one of the young men and women who had been in Sophie’s wedding party.
As best Kelly could understand, Mrs. Mellon and Sebastian felt that the bridesmaids and groomsmen had all abandoned Sophie after she’d been jilted. True friends would have stuck by her, defended her. If they had, Sophie might never have ended up in an institution.
Was that true? Kelly’s memory of that time was clouded with misery and guilt. It was true that the friendships had ended when the wedding fell apart, but whose choice had that been? Had Sophie avoided them because they reminded her of a day so horrible she couldn’t bear to relive it? Or had they avoided her, the way you might instinctively avoid someone whose luck seemed to have turned spectacularly bad?
Some of them had tried to make contact in the weeks after Tom disappeared, Kelly was sure of that. But Sophie hadn’t been willing. Or maybe she just hadn’t been ready.
Maybe they should have tried harder.
Kelly hadn’t been able to try at all. A huge wall stood between them. She always wondered if Sophie knew about the night that Kelly and Tom had…
Just as she’d always wondered whether that night had played a part in the tragedy that came next.
But there was no one to ask. Tom was gone, and, soon after, Sophie was lost to them, too.
Kelly and Samantha hadn’t seen much of each other through the years—things would always be too awkward for that. But Kelly was still fond of her.
Suddenly she remembered what Lillith had been saying right before the accident. That Sophie had been let out again.
“Sam, Sophie didn’t come with you, did she?”
Samantha’s gray-blue eyes widened. “Of course not. Sophie is—” She hesitated. “She’s still in North Carolina.”
In North Carolina. Is that where the newest mental-health facility was? Over the past decade, if the grapevine could be trusted, Sophie had been in and out of five or six different resident institutions.
So did that mean Lillith had been wrong? Did that mean the light in the tower window hadn’t been Sophie after all?
“She hasn’t come home? I heard that she had.”
“No, she’s not up to being on her own right now. The doctor said, with the anniversary coming up so soon…” Samantha looked perplexed. “Who told you she was?”
“I think Lillith had heard it somewhere.”
Samantha shook her head sadly. “The gossips must be at it again. I think the anniversary always stirs things up, don’t you? But frankly, this terrible accident would be so hard for her. Just this once, I’m glad she’s not here.”
Kelly reached out and touched Samantha’s hand. Poor Sam. Now that Sebastian had married and moved to Raleigh, Sam was living alone at Coeur Volé with their mother, who had never been a picnic but who had become even more eccentric through the years.
Sam looked amazingly like Sophie these days. All the Mellon siblings looked similar—the lush blond hair, the deep-set eyes, the sex appeal and the elegance. Sebastian and Sophie had often been mistaken for twins. They were only a year apart and they had an intimacy that seemed almost preternatural, the kind you sometimes do see in twins.
Samantha was five years younger, and it wasn’t until she grew up that the striking Mellon looks displayed themselves. Now the only real difference was in the eyes. Sophie’s and Sebastian’s were a dramatic peacock blue, and they sparkled with an essence of danger, a flash of the untamable. Sam’s eyes were light, and her gaze was gentle, almost humble.
It made Kelly’s heart ache to look at her. This was what Sophie should have been.
“Well, anyway, I’d love some help,” Kelly said. “So many people have brought food. He’ll never eat it all, so we might as well use it up today.”
Samantha nodded and began efficiently stacking small sandwiches on a large silver plate. “He seems very weak,” she said. “It’s so terrible. It’s obviously broken his heart.”
“Yes.” Kelly blinked back moisture. This wasn’t her tragedy. This wasn’t her day to cry. But it was hard. A week ago she’d been in this kitchen drinking coffee with Lily from these same cups. “I suppose time will help. It’s still so new.”
“When I talked to him just now, he told me he was waiting for Tom Beckham.” Sam looked over at Kelly somberly. “Is that true, or is it just wishful thinking? I didn’t think we’d ever see Tom in Cathedral Cove again.”
Kelly sighed and slid the rest of the potato salad into the refrigerator. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “He asked me to call Tom, and I did. Tom promised he’d be here, but—”
Samantha smiled ruefully. “But historically Tom’s promises haven’t really been worth much.”
“Right. You wouldn’t believe how distant he sounded on the phone when I told him about Lillith.”
She didn’t mention that it had taken her two hours to get up the nerve to dial the number, and when he’d answered she’d found that she needed to sit down, because her legs wouldn’t hold her.
“Ten years,” she said. “We hadn’t exchanged a single word in ten years. And yet, throughout the call his voice was completely bland and impersonal. He might as well have been talking to his secretary.”
Samantha lifted one graceful shoulder philosophically, as if to say what did you expect?
Good question. It made Kelly feel ridiculous to admit that she had expected more. In the private photo album of her heart, Tom Beckham had been the most-often-relived memory, in spite of the ache it always brought. She had about a dozen pictures that never seemed to fade: Tom in the gardens of Coeur Volé, with roses behind him and the river at his feet; Tom dancing with Sophie, tall and handsome in his tuxedo, with Sophie’s silver dress flashing rainbows as she twirled under the chandelier; Tom turning to Kelly in the darkness, fierce and full of hunger…
She was a fool. While she’d been wistfully fingering those images, she’d assumed that he, too, took them out now and then and remembered. But apparently he’d long since thrown them away. As she should have.
“I heard that you were behind her when it happened,” Samantha said suddenly. “I heard you were with her when she died.”
Kelly looked up. “Yes.”
“That must have been awful. I’m so sorry. But at least—at least she wasn’t alone at the end.”
“Yes.” Kelly had thought of that, but she wondered how much comfort she had really been. Lillith had seemed dazed, already moving away from the blood and the fog and the hissing car. Her cold hand had not responded to Kelly’s touch. Kelly had been just inches away, but in every way that mattered, Lillith had died alone anyhow. Perhaps everyone did.
“Was she still conscious? Did she say anything?”
Kelly closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam, but if I keep talking about this, I’m going to fall apart, and Jacob doesn’t need that today.” She picked up the plate of deviled eggs and handed it to the other woman. “Let’s get the food out there, okay?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Samantha was embarrassed, her fair skin tinged with pink.
Kelly remembered how easy it used to be for Sophie to hurt Sam’s feelings. “Scram, brat,” Sophie would say, and Sam’s blue eyes would fill with tears. She had idolized her older siblings, and Sophie and Bastian had exploited that shamelessly.
“It’s okay,” Kelly said, giving Sam a warm smile. “Do you think you can grab that plate, too? Jacob doesn’t like meat loaf, so if it doesn’t get eaten today it’ll go to waste.”
“No problem.” Sam balanced both trays like a waitress, and Kelly took a deep breath and opened the kitchen door. She looked around, trying to locate Jacob in the crowd, which had swelled considerably while she was in the kitchen.
And then she saw him. He was at the door, shaking hands with a tall, dark, handsome stranger who wasn’t a stranger at all.
It was Tom Beckham.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE LIVING ROOM of the Griggs’ house was huge and airy, the perfect room for two energetic lawyers with a healthy combined income and a zest for entertaining.
One whole wall was ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked a sunny bricked garden, and the ceiling was at least thirteen feet high.
Upstairs, there were three bedrooms, three luxurious bathrooms and a billiard room—which would soon have become a nursery. And of course the kitchen was terrific, but most of the square footage of the house was found in this one gracious room.
At the moment, though, it didn’t seem big enough. The minute Kelly recognized Tom at the door, she felt short of breath, as if the room didn’t hold enough air for the both of them.
Samantha seemed a little taken aback, too. She paused just in front of Kelly. “He did come,” she breathed. “I can’t believe it.”
But then something strange happened.
Nothing happened.
No one gasped, no one froze with shock, no one jumped from his seat and pointed at Tom, screaming, “There he is! He’s the one!”
A couple of women glanced over toward the door—and then surreptitiously ran hands over their hair or adjusted their skirts more flatteringly around their knees. But, for the most part, Tom Beckham’s return to Cathedral Cove was a nonevent.
Though Sophie Mellon’s jilting and the emotional breakdown that followed were legendary in the Cove, Kelly realized that very few people in the room had ever met Tom Beckham or knew what he looked like. In their minds, he probably looked like a movie pirate, or a highwayman—someone bigger than life and as cold as the last stroke of midnight.
The kind of mythical man who could destroy a woman simply by not wanting her.
Looking at him now, Kelly realized that, in her mind, too, the same thing had happened. Tom Beckham had become an idea, not a human being.
She had forgotten real-life details, the little things that made him Tom, and not just the infamous runaway groom. Things like how long-waisted he was, which always made it look as if he were wearing his slacks low on his narrow hips. Like how the right side of his smile lifted slightly higher than the left. Or how he tried to keep his dark brown hair off his broad forehead, but never quite could.
“Kelly,” Samantha said quietly. “I think I’m just going to slip out the back, if you don’t mind. It’s awkward. I mean, I didn’t think he—”
“I understand,” Kelly said. Of course Samantha wasn’t eager to come face-to-face with Tom Beckham again. “I’ll tell Jacob goodbye for you.”
“Thanks,” Samantha said. “I’ll—I’ll talk to you soon.”
They both knew it wasn’t true. They had seen each other maybe half a dozen times in the past ten years. But it eased the moment, and Kelly appreciated it. She nodded, and watched as Sam set her plates down on a table, then retreated to the kitchen and, from there, presumably out the back door.
Kelly began to circulate with her platter of deviled eggs. Watching Jacob and Tom from the corner of her eye, she tried to subtly wind her way over toward the piano, the spot farthest from the front door.
But she wasn’t much of a strategist. When the room was this crowded, the large grand piano and the semicircular mauve silk sofa created a beautifully decorated dead end. She turned around and found herself staring at Tom, with no escape route in sight.
Damn him for being even more attractive than ever.
“Hi, Kelly.” His smile wasn’t big enough to be inappropriate at a funeral, but it still had that lopsided effect that always made him seem to be secretly laughing at everyone. “It’s been a long time. You look great.”
Like hell she did. She had been crying for four days, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup, in case she started crying again. Besides, she was thirty-two now, not twenty-two, and women didn’t just keep on getting better the way men did.
She was glad the half-empty deviled egg platter kept her from having to decide whether to shake his hand.
“Hello, Tom,” she said. “I’m glad you could finally make it.”
He obviously heard the implied criticism. He dropped the smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here for the funeral. I did try. But I was at the mercy of a very inconsiderate jury.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said briskly. “I’m sure Jacob understands.”
Tom glanced back toward the center of the room, where Jacob was sitting on the edge of an armchair, talking to Lillith’s parents. Lillith’s mother had her purse in one hand and a mangled tissue in the other. They had to fly back to Ohio, and they must be saying goodbye to Jacob. All three of them looked exhausted.
“He’s much worse than I expected,” Tom said. “I thought— He was always so tough.”
Kelly gave Tom a look. Hadn’t he learned anything in the past ten years? Hadn’t he found anyone he could truly care about?
“He’s still tough,” she said flatly. “But he loved Lillith. A lot. They had one of the happiest marriages I’ve ever seen.”
Tom’s smile returned, just for a flash. “Ahh,” he said. “But is that really saying very much?”
She chose not to respond to that. She wasn’t really shocked—he’d always had a cynical side. And life had a tendency to deepen cynicism, not eliminate it, especially when you weren’t even trying to fight back.
No, she wasn’t shocked, but she was sorry. She didn’t remember many of the things they’d said to each other back then—most of it had been silly and inconsequential, all the deeper meanings and growing awareness lurking between the lines. On their last night, though, he’d spoken one line she would never forget.
When he had finally accepted that they could never be lovers, not even once, he had looked at her with the bleakest face she’d ever seen, and he’d said, “I would have liked to know how it felt to make love to you—I might have built a soul out of a memory like that.”
Through the years, she had sometimes felt generous enough to hope that some other woman would bring him a memory like that. One untainted with the guilt and shame theirs would have carried.
“Have I offended you, belittling wedded bliss?” He arched an eyebrow. “Are you still such an idealist, Kelly? I heard you tried marriage out for a little while yourself. Was it all silver bells and scented bowers?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sure you know that Brian and I divorced two years ago.”
“Yes. Jacob mentioned it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was amicable. Brian and I are still friends.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Very civilized.”
She didn’t answer that, either. She couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her, or if that slightly snide tone was natural to him now. But there really wasn’t anything to say about getting into or out of a marriage that didn’t take them down a dangerous conversational road.
She shifted the platter, which was starting to feel heavy. “I guess I’d better offer these around,” she said. “But it’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it. I know Jacob would have been disappointed if you—”
The murmur of subdued voices that had been softly pulsing through the room was broken suddenly by the jarring sound of musical notes. Four of them, played on the piano.
Kelly and Tom both looked quickly. Jacob sat on the piano bench, his head lowered onto his arm, which was draped across the edge. With one finger, he stabbed at the piano keys. Four notes. Over and over.
Kelly knew that tune. It was the refrain of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.” Lillith had loved its jazzy, upbeat charm. Kelly could almost see her now, dancing out of the kitchen with a platter of perfectly roasted Cornish hen, which she’d just whipped up for the dinner party, singing, “Come on and hear, Come on and hear…”
Jacob kept playing. Everyone in the room was watching.
Kelly dropped the deviled-egg plate onto the coffee table and hurried over to Jacob. She knelt beside the piano. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was crying. The four notes grew louder, more strident.
“Jacob.” She put her hand on his arm, which was as hard as rock. “Jacob, don’t.”
His fingers paused, and as the seconds ticked away she felt the tension drain from his muscles. He lifted his head, and his face was running with tears.
“I haven’t slept, Kelly,” he said, as if they were alone in the room. “I can’t. I wake up, and she’s not there.”
“I know,” she said. Had he really not slept in four days? No wonder he couldn’t cope. “You miss her. But you need to sleep, Jacob. She wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick.”
“I don’t care what she wants,” he said, his voice harsh, though new tears kept coursing down his flooded cheeks. “She left me. She didn’t care what I needed.”
“Oh, Jacob. You know that’s not true.”
He buried his face in his arm again, unwilling to listen. Kelly scanned the room, checking all the shocked and pitying faces. Was Jacob’s doctor here? His minister? This was grief more profound, more complex, than she had any idea how to handle.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up.
Tom was standing behind her. He tilted his head slightly, asking her to move away and let him in. Reluctantly, she did so. At the very least, it would free her to call the doctor.
“Jacob, listen to me,” Tom said with a voice that was amazingly gentle. “Let’s go upstairs. You’re falling apart, pal. You’ve got to get some sleep.”
Jacob frowned, but to Kelly’s surprise he seemed to be listening. “How?” he asked, sounding like a child who would like to obey but doesn’t understand what’s required. “How?”
“Simple.” Tom held out his hand. Dangling from two fingers was a big gold-labeled bottle of scotch. He must have grabbed it from the liquor cabinet beside the sofa. “We’ll get wasted. We’ll drink till we drop, just like the old days.”
Jacob blinked. Tom reached out, hooked one hand under his friend’s elbow and urged him to his feet. Jacob nodded wearily. He rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the tears just as if he had a handkerchief, though his palm was bare.
He put his other hand on Tom’s shoulder. He already looked a little drunk, though Kelly knew it was simple exhaustion.
“Did I tell you?” Jacob frowned hard, staring with glazed eyes at Tom. “Did I tell you Lily was going to have a baby?”
In the back of the room someone sobbed softly.
“No,” Tom said, never relinquishing eye contact with Jacob. “You didn’t tell me. Come on upstairs, and let’s talk about it.”
When they were gone, and the voices in the room began to murmur again, Kelly turned and shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen. She put the heels of her hands on the blue granite counter and tried to take deep breaths. Help him, Lily, she prayed silently. Help him to go to sleep.
“You should stay away from that one.”
Kelly’s head jerked up. She had come stumbling in here, half-blinded by emotion. She hadn’t considered the possibility that the kitchen was already occupied.
What awful luck. It was Trig Boccardi, who lived next door to the Mellons. He had gone to high school with Sophie and Kelly, where he’d been the wrestling team’s star. His friends called him Trig, short for Trigonometry, the same way they might call a fat boy “Slim.”
He’d always been slow, but Kelly always wondered if he might have found himself in one headlock too many, because by the time he had gotten out of high school he was downright weird.