Читать книгу: «Valentine's Dream»

Prologue

“We’re taking off, bro.”

Carter Morrison, who’d been quietly observing the poised woman in conversation on the other side of the room, turned at the announcement to find two men and a woman waiting to say goodbye. He’d met them before, years earlier, and knew them by name. They were colleagues of his best friend, Benson Haley.

“Gotta get back to work,” the second man said apologetically.

“Hey, glad you could make it. Sorry we had to meet up again under these circumstances,” Carter said, shaking the hands offered to him by the two men.

“This is rough, but Grace seems to be holding up,” the first man observed.

“She’ll be fine,” Carter said confidently.

“Benson was a great guy,” the second man added. “I didn’t know what to say. Wish her well. You know.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” said the woman, shaking her head in disbelief. “One minute he’s making all kinds of plans for the mayor this fall, and then he just—”

“It’s a tough thing to say, but the mayor is going to fill Benson’s spot and move right on,” Carter cut in quietly, not wanting to hear again the blunt way in which his friend’s sudden death was being described.

Benson Haley had dropped dead at the feet of three reporters while making a statement on behalf of his boss, the mayor.

“I know you’re right, my man, but it’s not going to be so easy for Grace. She’s got two young kids, a house, a mother-in-law. Damn,” the first man muttered and then looked shame-faced at his blasphemy. “They hadn’t been married all that long, right?”

“Five years,” Carter replied.

“Well, at least they had that. Hardly anyone stays together that long anymore,” the woman commented. She then caught the gaze of one of her companions, who silently signaled her not to go there.

Carter didn’t have to watch the exchange to know where the remark was coming from. The innuendo was not unreasonable, but it was off base. He’d heard some of the rumors that the deceased had stepped out once or twice on his wife but didn’t know if they were true or not. Nonetheless, the thought caused Carter to shift his attention and covertly scan the room. He spotted the object of their discussion, Benson’s widow, Grace, standing near an occasional table that was top heavy with an extravagant floral arrangement from the mayor himself. Appearing serene, if a bit tired, she was listening and smiling benignly at the emotional testimony of her late husband’s assistant.

“Benson said something recently about you moving back to New York from...”

“Chicago,” Carter responded, bringing his gaze around to the trio, watching as they searched for and found the tickets to retrieve their coats on their way out of the midtown club. “Not just yet. I’m doing some important work there, for the moment.”

The first man chortled. “Chicago? Too damn cold,” he said, once again catching his irreverence too late.

“Maybe he has family there,” the woman suggested to her companion.

“I don’t,” Carter corrected. “I just can’t make a move right now.”

“Give me a call when you come back,” said the woman, smiling at Carter coyly. “Let’s get together.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” one of the men added.

Carter watched until all three had left the salon before turning to look for Grace once more, Benson’s former coworkers immediately forgotten.

She was shaking the hand of a relative from Benson’s side of the family and kissing another, who was also preparing to leave. Then a couple, neighbors from the Westchester enclave where Grace and Benson lived, approached, waiting for Grace’s attention. Carter silently monitored the interaction and her response. While Grace appeared sad and pensive—even numb with grief, which was perfectly understandable—it was hard for him to tell how she was really doing under the strain of the past week.

He tried to imagine what it must have been like getting the call that notified Grace of her husband’s collapse while at work and then rushing to the hospital an hour later, only to be told he was already gone. Carter wondered how she’d felt learning that Benson had died almost instantly, felled by an aneurysm, even before the call to her had been placed. Afterward, she would have had the terrible task of calling her mother-in-law, Marjorie, to tell her that her only child, her beloved, handsome and brilliant son, was dead. And there was Grace herself. How was she doing?

Carter looked at the time and checked out the remaining guests. He saw Grace’s father, Ward Mathison, chatting and laughing with several former classmates of both Benson and Grace from NYU, where they’d gotten their undergraduate degrees, and where they’d met. Ward caught his gaze and nodded briefly, continuing with his conversation. Carter paced along the side of the room, thinking that he should leave as well. He guessed that after a week of ceremony, testimony, tears and the prevailing shock that hovered over everyone, Grace probably just wanted to be alone.

Grace’s simple two-piece black ensemble made her look elegant and slender, and offset her tan complexion. Her only makeup, lipstick, had worn off during the past few hours. Her hair, which was as long as when he’d first met her five years earlier, was brushed back from her face and rolled into a neat twisted knot at the back of her head. She wore no other jewelry besides her engagement and wedding rings, and both sparkled on her left hand, an ever-present reminder. She had been appropriately named, Carter thought, as she gracefully handled everyone else’s surprise, grief and memories. What would she do with her own?

Carter raised his gaze to Grace’s face to find her studying him as well. He looked for signs of distress but saw only wide-eyed bewilderment, a kind of stunned appeal. Their mutual regard narrowed the distance between them across the salon, but only for a few seconds as someone else claimed her. He watched as Grace sat with the guest, patiently attentive while they expressed their condolences about her husband.

Carter stood alone. He knew he should be leaving. He wasn’t sure what more he could do here now that the memorial service was over. But something kept him slowly circulating around the room, reluctant to say goodbye. He looked around for Benson’s mother, Marjorie. Not seeing her, he was sure that she was sitting alone somewhere, closeted with her pain. He’d always liked Marjorie. Perhaps she was a little too devoted and maternal, a bit too much the stage mother to an ambitious son, but Carter admired what she’d managed as a single parent. She’d raised a son and kept him out of the seductive clutches of street life and away from other bad influences.

Suddenly, Carter saw Marjorie emerge through a door that he thought led to a small library in the vast complex of the club. She was blowing her nose in a wad of tissues balled in her hand. A stout woman of average height and in her sixties, Marjorie was considered a pretty and curvaceous woman in her youth. She had given her life to nurturing her only child and with him gone, Carter knew Marjorie had aged virtually overnight. She straightened her back, but her shoulders were still curved from the weight of her loss. The perfect hairdo of her stylish wig was the only thing about Marjorie that was not in disarray.

“Can I get you anything?” Carter asked, placing a solicitous hand on Marjorie’s back and bending slightly toward her.

“All that food going to waste. It’s a shame, but I really couldn’t eat a thing,” Marjorie said, looking distressed at the very idea.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you something to drink. How about hot tea?”

Marjorie nodded and gave her consent with an absent gesture of her hand.

Carter walked silently across the carpeted floor. The room seemed so much bigger now that most of the guests had left. On his way, he once again searched out Grace. Finding her, he could see the first signs that the long afternoon, indeed the past ten days, was taking its toll. He could detect strain between her eyes and a tightening of her mouth, which prohibited a natural smile. She was absently twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger, sliding it up to the knuckle before pushing it back into place. Halfway across the room, Carter hesitated a moment before continuing. At the console table, which was laden with light refreshments, Carter poured hot water and made a cup of tea for Marjorie Haley. He carefully carried it back to her. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a seat by her side.

“Thank you, Carter,” she murmured. Her voice was hoarse and deep from crying. “I appreciate that you stayed to help with everything.”

Carter took her hand. “Benson was my best friend. He knew I’d do anything for him. I’m sorry that it came down to this.”

“Yes,” Marjorie said, her voice warbling and her hand trembling around the cup of tea.

“You’re going to be fine,” he soothed.

Marjorie raised her head proudly, her eyes red and watery and filled with despair. “The good Lord willing. He saw fit to take my child, but I’m blessed to have Madison and Becca. I don’t know what I’d do without my grandbabies.”

“And Grace,” Carter added, watching the older woman. “You know she’ll be there for you always.”

“We’ll see,” Marjorie said cryptically.

“I wish there was something more I could say to you besides I’m sorry. Benson was a good man, and he did you proud.”

“He could have become a judge one day,” Marjorie prophesied. “Maybe a senator.”

“Maybe.” He glanced around. There were only a handful of people left, but Grace was nowhere in sight. He stood up. “Will you be all right for a while? I’m going to check to make sure that everything’s taken care of.”

Marjorie silently nodded as she sipped her tea.

Carter headed to the same room that Marjorie had appeared from, but it was empty, as were the two small alcoves next to the fireplace. He proceeded through a passageway leading to a series of rooms. One was being used as a staging area for the preparation of the refreshments for Benson’s memorial service. A second room housed a photocopier, fax machine and several cartons of paper. The door of the third room opened, and a man stepped out, closing it behind him. He was carrying a sheaf of documents as he walked toward Carter.

“Yes?” the man inquired, raising his brows and blocking Carter’s way.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Haley,” Carter responded.

“She’s in my office, but I don’t think she wants to see anyone just now. It’s been an emotional day.”

“Yes, it has. I’m a close friend of the family. I want to make sure she’s all right.”

“She seemed a little weary so I gave her my office for some privacy. Can I help you with anything?”

Carter was amused that the man, in his own way, was being protective of Grace by running interference. “I’m just going to let her know I’m leaving.”

The man finally acquiesced and stepped aside. Carter waited until he had gone before reaching for the door. From within the room came the low but distinct sound of Grace crying. For a moment Carter considered leaving, weighed down with the feelings of loss, even his own. But as the sounds became more plaintive and heartbreaking, he went against what was perhaps the best thing to do under the circumstances. He opened the door and quietly slipped inside.

Grace was sitting, ironically, on a love seat positioned next to the door. She was hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into a tissue. It was pressed against her mouth, held in place by both hands. Her eyes were closed, but tears leaked beneath the lids to trail down her cheeks and through her fingers. For a moment Carter could do nothing but watch helplessly, mesmerized and miserable as he bore witness to what she was going through.

His jaw and throat tightened, and he felt a sudden anger that took him by surprise. He stood in front of Grace and squatted down on his haunches. He was so close to her that he could see the veins in her temple, filled with the coursing blood of stress and emotion. He could smell the faint but fragrant scent of her perfume. The tissue she held was sodden. Carter looked around for a box of Kleenex and placed it next to her on the sofa. He pulled several fresh ones from the top and carefully touched Grace’s hand to give them to her.

She jumped, her crying abruptly cut off as she opened her eyes, startled to find him there. Carter put his hands on her arms, gently rubbing them to calm her. She stared at him, her eyes wide, slightly red, and watery.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Carter said softly. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Grace suddenly got up from the sofa, stumbling away to stand next to a massive oak desk. Her chin trembled, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I’m not okay,” she said tightly.

Carter stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling foolish. She began crying again. “I know this is hard for you, Grace. Benson was a great guy....” She turned away from him. “I wish there was something I could do....”

With a great wrenching sob, Grace turned and looked at Carter. The expression on her face was more than he could stand. He barely had time to think about what he was doing before he opened his arms. Grace stepped into them and allowed him to hold her. Her crying was quiet now, but just as intense and poignant. Carter applied everything he could think of to comfort her. He slowly rocked back and forth. He softly murmured sympathetic but unintelligible words. He rubbed a comforting circle on her back. He closed his eyes, fully experiencing the weight of her in his arms. He pressed her face to his chest, absorbing her anguish as he fought his own.

“You loved him very much, didn’t you?” he found himself asking, holding his breath as he awaited an answer.

There was no response from Grace beyond her turning her head to rest a cheek against his jaw. The warm fanning of her breath was against his neck. That was, oddly, enough for Carter.

Neither of them heard the office door quietly open and then close a moment later.