|
|
"If we could have a spotlight, please!"
The crowd in the ballroom glanced around themselves as the overhead lights went low, and a bright spotlight panned the tables.
"The name of our first co-chairperson for the annual Azalea Children's Charity Drive is someone well known to all of us. His tireless efforts in this community have provided beautiful, lasting works of architecture for us all and hundreds of homes for those less fortunate. Michael Helms." The room was swamped by applause, a thunderous wave that sent one man to his feet from a front table, to the podium beside the speaker.
Michael Helms was tall, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He was a man who exercised more than his mind for a living. He'd grown up working in his father's construction company then continued a hands-on policy with his own firm. Long hours in the hot sun had tanned his skin and bleached his already fair hair nearly white.
He looked uncomfortable in the harsh spotlight, but only two women in the audience looked beyond his name and his handsome face to notice that he fidgeted in his tuxedo. And one of them looked away, pretending not to have seen it.
"Michael, we're pleased to have you here with us!" Ross Honeycutt shook his hand. He was president of the town's local Chapter of the Better Business Bureau. He smiled for the flurry of camera flashes with the practiced face of a politician.
"Thank you, Ross," Michael replied in his deep voice. "I'm happy to be here."
Ross smiled again for the cameras then turned back to the podium. "And for the name of our second co-chairperson. This lady has only been back in town for six months but she's set us all on our ears. She has done more than her share to help the good people of this town. I'm sure you all agree that she's earned her spot on the charity drive. Please welcome Dr. Kathryn Richards."
There was a distinct difference in the applause. Some of the sequin-gowned women and well-dressed men actually sat back in their elegant chairs and didn't clap their hands. Instead, they murmured among themselves and frowned, watching in disapproval as the woman in the bright red dress slowly made her way from the rear of the ballroom to the front.
The three people who were left at her table whistled and got to their feet, trying to make a difference in the obvious lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the crowd.
Dr. Kathryn Richards held her shoulders back and her head high. Her curly black hair was held in place by a glittering clasp that allowed some of the curls to escape across her pale shoulders. The bright red dress, a flag of courage and bravado, clung lightly to her too slender form. Her attitude said, 'I know you don't want me here but I don't care.'
She walked to the podium, not looking at the man who had been designated her co-chairperson. By the time she shook hands with Ross Honeycutt, the applause had died to nothing and whispers buzzed around the ballroom from the interested spectators. The huge room fell strangely silent as she turned to them. "Thank you, Ross," she said, then adjusted the microphone on the podium to match her slightly smaller height. "I just want to say that this would indeed be an honor if I hadn't spent the last six months fighting all of you tooth and nail just to survive in this town."
Ross Honeycutt swallowed hard and smiled brilliantly as the cameras flashed on the colorful woman at the podium, condemning them all.
Michael smiled and shook his head, keeping his place beside the podium. Time had made Kathryn more beautiful than he'd remembered but it hadn't dulled her tongue or changed her tactics. She had all the finesse of a steam-roller.
"But I accept this obligation because I believe in the Azalea Children's Charity. I will do my best to help with the fund-raising as well as continue my fight to raise Olympia's awareness of the need that exists for compassion. Thank you."
There was a riot of approval; whistles and foot stomping, from the back table where her friends sat, as well as a polite, if less enthusiastic, smattering of applause from the rest of the audience.
The co-chairpersons stood at the podium together for the photographers. Ross Honeycutt wedged himself between them. They all smiled and were blinded by the flashes of light.
Ross congratulated both of the recipients, then took the microphone again, smiling at the crowd. "Okay, folks, there's plenty of music and dancing left. The night is young. Remember to buy your tickets for the events happening over the next two weeks. This year's drive is sure to be exciting."
No one disagreed with that statement. Anyone who'd lived in Olympia for more than five years waited in breathless anticipation to see what would happen next. Sparks were sure to fly. No one wanted to miss a thing.
It was tradition at the opening ball of the Azalea Charity for the co-chairper- sons, always a man and a woman, to dance the first dance after being named to their positions. The tradition dated back to the first Azalea Charity Ball in 1853 when the waltz was danced for the first time in Olympia. Not since 1902, when Miss Annabelle Wilson curtly refused to take Mr. Ralph Simpson's hand for the dance, had a crowd watched with such expectation.
The crowd hesitated to take to the floor, an obvious undercurrent of watchful curiosity. All eyes were trained on the couple coming down from the podium.
Was his hand on her back to guide her down the stairs? Or push her?
Had Amy Washington really seen Dr. Richards kick Michael Helms in the shin before they walked around the podium?
Michael held out his hand to the woman beside him, ignoring the buzz. "Shall we?"
"Only to disappoint them," Kathryn replied with a glittering smile as she swept her dark gaze across the waiting crowd. Vultures.
"Of course," he agreed pleasantly.
She went into his arms and the bright ballroom was quiet around them as the music began to play. She held her back as stiff as any board and kept her distance from his chest. They moved together, silently at first, while the strains of the traditional waltz floated across the room. Disappointment was audible. It came as a great sigh that swept through the glittering room. People turned away and began to talk. A few couples started to dance.
"Sharp and deadly as ever, Kathryn," he observed without missing a beat.
"Thank you," she responded politely. "You know I don't believe in illusions, Michael. But I thought I was gentle with them tonight. I could have said so much more."
"And I'm sure you will," he murmured, nodding to several friends who congratulated him as they passed each other during the dance.
"I think I know an opportunity when I see one," she rallied. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here tonight."
Michael hadn't been looking at her. He hadn't allowed himself to really look at her since she'd arrived that night with her friends. It didn't make his awareness of her any less. He looked at her then, his eyes following the flawless oval of her face, the determined line of her lips and her angry dark eyes. The cascade of glossy black curls touched his hand where it rested on her silky dress, whispering against his skin. It drew his attention to her delicate shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts.
Time had been more than kind to her. She looked as though it had only been yesterday that he had held her in his arms. But there were dark circles under her eyes. She was too fragile, too thin.
"You look beautiful, Kathryn. But tired. You haven't been taking care of yourself."
"You look the same as always." She returned the favor, looking into his striking blue eyes beneath the mane of white blonde hair. "Healthy, handsome, and strong. Nothing changes, does it?"
He swept her into a quick turn, taking pleasure in erasing the smug smile from her face. She caught her breath and his shoulder in surprise. Her eyes flew open wide and she glared at him.
"Everything changes."
They stared a moment longer, eyes locked on one another as they tried to fathom what the other one was thinking. They knew each other so well. Yet they were like strangers.
Intimate strangers, Kathryn reflected sharply, wanting nothing more than to come down hard on his instep and have the satisfaction of seeing him gasp in pain. But she had her own dignity to consider. And he knew it.
Another of Michael's friends stopped to congratulate him and glare at Kathryn.
"If looks could kill," Kathryn quoted when he had left them.
Michael laughed harshly. "Lucky for you that your armor is thick enough to repel rockets."
"I didn't think you'd go through with this," she said quickly, beginning to feel uneasy. Her eyes rested on the pearl button at the top of his shirt near his brown throat.
"You mean back out when I saw your name?" He asked, amazed that they still moved so well together. The dance was effortless between them, fluid and sweet. As their lovemaking had been. As their lives together should have been.
"I thought about it," she continued without hesitation. "I didn't know if I wanted to spend two weeks chained to your side."
"But the opportunity was too good to pass up."
"Exactly," she admitted without shame. Her dark eyes narrowed on his face. "What was it for you, Michael? I know you can't want to be with me anymore than I want to be with you."
That much was true, he agreed silently, glancing away from the beautiful woman in his arms. The memories were fresh and painful when he looked at her. It would never be long enough to forget everything.
"I do what I can to support the work the Azalea Charity does in town. I wouldn't back out of it because of...an inconvenience."
She laughed. "Is that what I am? An inconvenience?"
"No," he answered steadily, his eyes darkening painfully on hers. "But the memories are."
The laughter died from her face as she stared at him. It was too much, seeing the anguish in his bright eyes. How many times had she seen it in her own? Suddenly, it wasn't a game anymore. She wouldn't have thought that her heart could break again.
She would have turned and walked away from him but his grip on her waist and hand tightened. "Let me go!"
"If you walk away now, they'll all think you can't handle the next two weeks. They'll think you're a coward. Or worse. They'll think you're still in love with me."
"I don't care what they think." she snapped.
Michael laughed. "I know better."
She looked up at him angrily but kept dancing. "You think you know me so well?"
"I think I know you well enough to understand what you're trying to do. And I know that you don't like to lose."
"You're right," she agreed. "I don't enter a fight lightly. And I do play to win. This is a perfect opportunity to rally support for the clinic."
"You'll have plenty of occasion to tell everyone about your clinic in the next two weeks. The press will be a captive audience."
"But you don't approve?" She goaded him under her breath. "Help all the downtrodden in theory but in practice, try not to see their ugly, dirty faces."
"I don't have anything against what you're doing," Michael replied, his eyes intent on her face. "Unless it takes away from the charity drive."
"The charity drive doesn't help everyone in this town," she argued. "Not everyone in need is a child. There are many who need help that people like you, people who have so much, are unwilling to give."
He would have spoken, reacting to her clever taunt that dug under his skin and lodged in his chest, but he caught himself. He wasn't going to defend himself to her.
As always, she knew just where to push. He spent nearly all of his free time building houses for those who couldn't afford to buy them just to make up for his 'little rich boy' heritage. But it was never enough. And she still knew him well enough to see it.
"We aren't going to be helping the charity like this," he stated in disgust, starting to pull away from her. "If we're arguing for the next two weeks, we won't be able to function. It might be better to withdraw and let them find you another partner."
They stopped moving in the midst of the couples on the dance floor. Kathryn felt speculative eyes on her and heard a ripple of whispers beginning in the crowd around them.
Waiting to see if we'll strangle each other, no doubt, she guessed.
She sighed, knowing she couldn't let that happen. She'd decided from the start that she could handle the fact that she would be working with her soon-to-be ex- husband. Her pride wouldn't let her back down.
It was her turn to tighten her grip. She pulled herself closer to him. Their bodies were a perfect match; a bright splash of red against the somber black of his tuxedo. "Are you going to be the one to give them what they want?"
Michael looked at the bright red nails that tipped her long fingers as they caught on his shoulder. He raised one pale brow, his eyes questioning hers, then he relaxed and they started dancing again.
The whispering around them increased. They looked so good together. Did anyone recall why she'd walked out on him?
He looked at her, speculating on her motives. "Why would you care if it's me? No matter who your partner is, you'll have your moment in the spotlight."
She raised her head and smiled at him, her eyes measuring the planes and angles of his face. There was very little left of the young man she'd met and fallen in love with in college. He'd changed. Learned to hide his feelings behind those too blue eyes and that striking face. He'd grown into a man whose business flourished and whose past had returned to haunt him.
She had pushed herself against him to keep him dancing. Michael brought her closer. His hand splayed possessively across her hip. Her hand was cold in his. He could feel her heart beating in her chest, see the tiny pulse moving in her throat.
They were both tall, almost at the same height. They looked each other in the eye and saw the pain and anger that was left in their partner's soul.
She shouldn't have come back.
Kathryn looked away first, trying to put a little space between them. Her mouth was dry and she felt light-headed. She didn't know him anymore. Anger and loss had made him harder, tougher. It was in the cool mockery of his eyes and the casual strength of his body as he held her. He wasn't the same man she'd left five years ago. She didn't know how far she could push him. Or herself.
"You want to prove that I don't mean anything to you, is that it?" he whispered, his face only a few inches from her own.
The music stopped. Kathryn tried to move away from him but he was stronger than she remembered. She could smell the clean male smell of him and feel his heart beating into her chest. Heat soared through her body and blossomed in her cheeks.
She looked up at him again and panicked, forgetting the crowd and the watchful eyes. Feeling only the heat building between them. Despite the friction and the time they'd been apart. Despite everything.
"Let me go," she growled.
"Is that it?" he demanded in turn, not allowing himself to soften at the plea in her eyes. "Is that what you want to prove?"
"Yes!" She exhaled the word on a raspy breath. "Yes!"
A shadow passed over his face and he let her go.
She stepped back from him, hoping her smile was in place and her heart would stop pounding. Her face was hot and the noise from the crowd was intolerable, crashing down on her like a wave.
"Good luck," he retorted, his eyes roaming freely over her face and body as though they meant nothing to him. "Let me know when it happens." He turned his back on her and walked away. But he'd held her too long, looked at her too closely. He took a deep breath and returned to his table.
Michael had only held Kathryn a moment too long. But it was long enough for the woman waiting at his table to take notice. "Was there a problem, Mike?" Susan asked as he sat down beside her and drank a large gulp of champagne.
"No," he denied. "No problem."
She studied him closely then glanced carefully at the woman he'd been dancing with as she gathered her friends and prepared to leave the ballroom. "Do you know the infamous Dr. Richards?" She asked.
He nodded, his face shuttered. "A long time ago. We were married."
"Married?!"
Ross Honeycutt stopped Kathryn from leaving and signaled to Michael to join them.
"One more shot of the happy couple," he enticed, putting the two together, their arms around each other's waists, their smiles held in place for the cameras.
The camera flashes were blinding and the crowd applauded as they smiled at each other then smiled again for the papers and television.
"Was there anything more you wanted to say, Dr. Richards?" one reporter asked, knowing who to watch for the next two weeks of the charity drive.
Kathryn glanced at Michael, as she had in the old days, when she might have said, What do you think?
He smiled slowly, surprised and pleased, despite himself, by the unexpected gesture.
Angry when she realized what she had done, Kathryn started to step away from his side to answer the reporter's question but Michael moved with her.
"Dr. Richards and I are both committed to using this opportunity to raise the awareness of the good people of Olympia to the needs of the less fortunate around them."
"Thanks," the reporter added, surprised at the joint statement. Seeing the look of annoyance on the pretty doctor's face, he knew there would be more fireworks from that department. The Azalea Children's Charity might actually be interesting this year!
Ross Honeycutt began to direct the reporters and photographers towards the other important members of the assembly, leaving Kathryn and Michael free to leave.
"I can handle my own affairs," she hissed as they turned away. "Don't help me."
"It seems, in this case, that your affairs have become my affairs," he retorted softly.
"Not in this lifetime!" she rebuked flatly, not caring who heard or what they thought. "Just play your part and I'll play mine."
Michael smiled but didn't reply. He walked away from her, returning to his table, knowing the fat had only just begun to hit the fire.
Susan was waiting anxiously for him. "You were married to her?! And you didn't tell me?" She had only lived in Olympia for the last three years. While she knew that Michael had been married, that his wife had left him, she never dreamed that his wife was Dr. Richards.
"It was a long time ago, Susan," he assured her with a sigh. He caught the movement of Kathryn's bright dress out of the corner of his eye. He didn't look at her.
"Maybe you should ask them to choose someone else," Susan suggested, thinking about the beautiful woman he'd held in his arms for that single dance. "You could do that, Mike. They'd listen to you."
"That's not necessary," he answered with a shake of his head. "I can handle it."
Having seen the long, intense looks between them and wondering if their conversation was going to resort to fighting, Susan doubted it. But she was a tactful woman. It had taken her months to get the owner of Helms' Builders to notice her, despite the fact that she had worked side by side with him decorating houses that he'd built.
Maybe there was another way around the problem, she decided, changing the subject and attempting to get him back on the dance floor...this time with her.
He obliged but his heart wasn't in it. He was unusually quiet and they left the first ball of the charity season before it was over, Michael pleading an early morning.
"I'm sorry I wasn't much fun tonight," he said when they'd reached her apartment.
"Don't worry about it," she whispered then kissed his ear, winding her arms around his neck. "Stay with me? I'll make you breakfast in the morning before you have to go."
"I don't want to leave my father alone," he lied kindly, knowing Kathryn and the past would be haunting his thoughts all night. Not sure if he wanted to share those ghosts with her.
"I understand," she responded slowly, seeing more than he thought. "Will I see you over the weekend?"
"I'll call you when I get home tomorrow," he promised, looking into her big blue eyes, his hand stroking her curly blond hair.
"Promise?" She asked, playfully tugging at his tie.
He saw the real question in her eyes but didn't want to discuss it with her.
Does she still mean something to you?
"I promise," he answered, dealing with the part he could handle. "As soon as I'm finished on the Randolph house."
"Okay," she relented, kissing his lips quickly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."
She kissed him passionately at the door, winding her trim body around his, inviting him to stay again with her eyes and her mouth. But there was no need for a reply.
He waited while she opened her front door and walked inside, then he walked back to his car. There was no moon and the night was dark. The skies had threatened rain all day and the clouds still obscured the stars.
Tomorrow, if the weather held, he would be putting a roof on a house for Amos Randolph and his family with the help of sixty or so high school seniors who had been with the project from the start. They'd done a good job and the house was almost finished. Amos and Sophie Randolph and their five children would realize their dream of owning a home. Their children would have a yard to play in with green grass and a basketball hoop on the garage. It was something he believed passionately that every family had the right to expect, no matter what their income.
Yet, it was still a sore point for him that so many people had so little and he had been raised with so much. It was a mark that Kathryn found on her first try. How was he supposed to get through the next two weeks?
Does she still mean something to you?
He asked himself the same question that he knew Susan wanted to ask him. He started the car's engine and pulled away from the curb.
Before he'd seen Kathryn, before he'd held her in his arms again, he would have said 'no'. It had been a long time ago. The memories were too painful. He didn't want to think about that time in his life. Or the woman who'd shared it with him. He had vowed that he would never forgive her when he had screamed his grief at the moon. She was gone. He didn't want her back again.
Yet there was something there between them as they'd danced. Something that had stirred his senses in the old way and made him think about the good times. A specter of their fiery passion whose embers had refused to die.
He shook his head as though to clear it of that lingering trace of her perfume and put his foot down hard on the accelerator, heading for the edge of town.
Kathryn and her little group of supporters left the hotel ballroom on foot and walked the three blocks to the old brick building that served as both her clinic and her home.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me that he was your husband," her partner, Dr. Stephano Alario, said angrily.
"It doesn't matter," she told him plainly again, just as she had for the last three blocks since he'd found out who her co-chairperson was for the charity. "It's only semantics because the papers haven't been signed."
"How can you say that?" he demanded, staring at her while their two companions yawned and told them good night, leaving for their own homes.
Kathryn thanked them both for being there for her that night, ignoring Stephano.
"Does that mean I can come in later tomorrow?" Angela asked hopefully.
"Yes," Kathryn said, hugging the young woman. "You can come in at five-thirty instead of five-fifteen."
Angela and Marcy both laughed and said good night again. They'd already heard the beginnings of the argument that was about to ensue. There was nothing to keep them from their own beds. They'd hear it all tomorrow.
Stephano continued as though there hadn't been a pause between them. "How can you say that it doesn't matter?"
"I can say that because Michael and I haven't been together for five years. We've been apart longer than we were married," she responded tiredly. "He's not really my husband."
He shook his head and began to pace the plain gray tile floor. "When we talked about coming here, you said you wanted to set up this clinic for your home town, for the people who needed it. You wanted to model it after the clinic I started. You came to me with your dream and I agreed to help you try to realize it."
"I know," she said, sitting down on a hard chair in the clinic waiting room. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop him until he got it all out.
"Since we got here, there's been nothing but problems. We've both worked too hard to jeopardize everything because of your feelings for this man."
"I don't have feelings for him, Stephano," she returned wearily. "And you know how much your help means to me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I knew you'd think I couldn't handle it. And we need the publicity. You said so yourself. Once people know about the clinic -- "
Stephano slammed his fist down hard on the desk near the wall. "You didn't see the two of you dancing tonight! I saw the way you looked at him! The way he looked at you! Nothing's forgotten or forgiven between you! No matter what you say, you aren't going to be able to handle that!"
Kathryn stood up slowly, her purse and her shawl in her hands. "I know I cried on your shoulder too many times for you to believe this, Stephano, but he doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize anything. Have some faith in me."
"Kathryn -- "
She shook her head resolutely. "I'm grateful that you came here with me. Your help and support has kept me going for the last six months. But this charity campaign is an opportunity to make people notice what we're doing here. I'm not going to pass it up because Michael was dancing with me tonight -- or because you saw me dance with Michael tonight."
Stephano studied her carefully. "I think you're underestimating what you felt for each other. Emotions like that don't just fade away. Especially when there's bad blood between you."
"What we had between us died when Cetta died. There's nothing left but memories and most of them aren't good ones. I'm not going to fall apart because I have to dance with him a few times."
He was moved by the anguish he saw in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Kathryn. I know you're right about the publicity. It's what we've talked about since we got here. I just don't want you to let him hurt you again. I'd rather close the clinic and start somewhere else."
She turned away from him, trying to keep from losing control. The evening had become much more emotional than she'd planned.
She had returned to Olympia after five years to build a clinic in her mother's name. It would serve the poor and the people who worked the mills but couldn't afford insurance for their medical problems. It had been a struggle, but she was surviving; and when the opportunity had come forward to chair the Azalea Charity, she had grabbed it with both hands. The exposure for the clinic would be more in two weeks than she could muster for a year.
The one catch had been Michael. When she'd heard that he was going to be her co-chair for the two weeks, she'd almost refused. But it had been a long time; she'd consoled herself with that. She didn't care for him anymore. She had seen him only once in the six months that she had been back and that had been from a distance.
She had steeled herself for that moment in the hotel ballroom. Yet when she'd moved into his arms, there was still fire there between them. The fire of anger and pain that had separated them but there was also that fire that had brought them together. She could feel it course through her veins when she'd looked into his face and seen the new lines that time had etched there. It had made her respond to his touch when her mind was telling her that it wasn't possible.
"I admit that I'm nervous," Stephano said, putting his hands on Kathryn's thin shoulders. "I know you, Kathryn. And I think that you may be hiding the truth from yourself."
"What truth?" she asked, turning back to face him.
"That he still means something to you. That you didn't tell me that it was Michael because you wanted to see him again, to be close to him, even for a few weeks, without sacrificing your pride."
Was there any truth in that? she wondered, staring into Stephano's dark face.
"No!" She refused to even consider the possibility. "What I've done, I've done for the clinic. The next two weeks, I'll be working for the clinic and bringing awareness to the people of Olympia. That's all."
He sighed. "I won't argue anymore with you tonight. We both have early appointments tomorrow." He kissed her cheek lightly. "I care for you. I don't want to see you hurt."
Kathryn nodded mutely and shivered in the damp cold of the musty old building.
"Good night, Kathryn," he said, starting up the stairs.
"Good night, Stephano," she spoke quietly. "And if I haven't said it enough, thanks for being here."
He shrugged. "As if I have somewhere else to be!"
Kathryn went to bed in the sparse little closet that she'd been able to claim as her own. It was the best they could do with the money she had raised to start the clinic. Even combined with her own money that she had saved during the course of the last five years, it was barely enough.
The old building was cold and the plumbing whistled during the night but it was a place to start. She had already treated hundreds of people who otherwise would have gone without medical care.
The sacrifice of her personal comfort meant nothing to her. The clinic was her life and her heart. She had worked hard to be there. Michael might be back in her life but he wouldn't stop her.
And that's what will get me through the next two weeks, she told herself tiredly, glancing at the red dress hanging on the wall. The light came in from the street outside, flashing a green and yellow 'POOL' sign across it. She had come too far to turn back. She closed her eyes on the thought, asleep at once after being on her feet steadily since six AM the previous morning.
But Michael's face and the sound of a crying child followed her into her dreams and when dawn paled the darkness over the city, she was already up, looking over her schedule for that day, a strong cup of coffee in her hand.
"He's very busy, Mr. Helms," his secretary told him with a dimpled smile. "If you'd like to wait -- "
Michael leaned down closer to her. "Tell him I'm here and I want to see him. He'll see me."
The secretary fluttered up from her desk, looking back at him with worried eyes before she opened the door to the inner office and spoke quietly to her employer.
"Send him in!" Michael heard him say and he wasted no time walking past the startled secretary.
"Mornin' Mike," Ross greeted him jovially. "Some blast last night, huh?"
"What's going on, Ross?" Michael demanded an explanation. "What were you thinking?"
"It was brilliant, wasn't it?" Ross acknowledged excitedly. "The lady doctor who's stirred up such a ruckus. And Michael Helms, the best thing to ever be raised up in this town! What a pair! What publicity!"
Michael's face clearly denied this jaundiced view. "What part did Charlie play in all of this?"
"I don't know what you mean, Mike. You know Charlie and I are old friends but that has nothing to do with the charity! I do what I think will bring in the most money. Add a touch of excitement. Make people want to attend each and every event so as not to miss a thing!" He chuckled and lounged back in his seventeen- year-old office chair. "In this case, it's you and Dr. Richards. It's as good as a soap opera!"
Michael glared at him. "You're ruining my life to sell tickets?"
Ross smiled at him. "Is that little lady ruining your life?"
Michael shook his head, refusing to be baited. "We both know my father would like to see Kathryn and me back together. He's wanted it since she left."
"Michael, I didn't know. I swear it!"
The younger man held up his hand. "Save it," he told him. "And tell my father not to try to screw around with my life!"
"Mike," Ross reminded him, a grin on his hang-jowl face. "You live with the man! I only see him once or twice a week for checkers or pinochle. Maybe the two of you should talk!"
"We talk everyday. But this needs to come from me, through you. I know what's going on and it won't work. You can tell him that."
Ross Honeycutt watched Michael leave his office, thinking about the day when he had helped him build a doghouse. He had been six years old and convinced that his dog could find a secret entrance with a hidden passage into the house.
"You didn't know what was good for you then, young 'un." Ross sighed with a shake of his head. "You don't know now." He grinned and dialed Charlie Helms' number.
Kathryn watched Michael leave the old red brick building but didn't hail him. He took off quickly in a work-worn vehicle, a few pieces of lumber sticking out from the back. He looked angry. She glanced up at the building, curiously, wondering what had gone on inside. With a shrug, deciding that it didn't matter to her, she started walking again. She was headed back to the clinic after visiting a patient in the hospital. Her old black bag weighed heavily on her arm.
It had been a long day and it was only slightly past noon. She knew the clinic would be filled with people and she was glad for their trust, but she was exhausted. It was hard being back home. She smiled slightly as she considered that well used word. Home. 'The place where you grew up. The house where your parents lived.' Hot summer nights and giggling at school. The countless little feelings that made one place full of memories.
And regrets, she sighed, trudging down the sidewalk in her white running shoes.
Olympia was where she grew up. Her parents had moved there when she was about two. The house on Tulip Court, the place she remembered living the longest, was still standing.
It was amazing, really. She and her sister had pretended that the sagging old roof was a cave collapsing in on them. They had to get the jewels -- usually their mother's earrings and an assortment of spoons -- out of the cave. There had been holes in the walls big enough for a cat to climb through, that her mother had covered with cardboard and painted over.
It should have been torn down when she was a child. It was unthinkable that people still lived there. She knew the family that was renting it from the mill. She had treated their little boy for nausea. She'd gone to the house and looked at the tire swing, still in the yard. Her parents had been gone for what felt like a lifetime. Her only sister had moved to New York years ago then died in a car accident on a crowded city street. She'd left no children of her own behind.
Sometimes, late in the night, she asked herself why she had come back. After her marriage had broken up, she had nothing holding her there. She'd left gladly, not looking back on the century old textile town with its shaded streets and tiny shops, its prejudice and greed. She hadn't planned on ever coming back again.
It was after meeting Stephano and working with him that she had started thinking about coming back. When she saw what wonders his clinic had created in the poor farming towns outside of St. Louis, she had begun to think about her own home town.
If there had been a clinic like hers, she thought, squinting into the sunlight, perhaps her own mother would still be alive.
"Dr. Richards!"
Kathryn turned and saw a woman running towards her, waving and yelling her name.
"Dr. Richards!"
She recognized her as the woman in the sparkling, low cut white gown from the charity ball Friday night. She had been sitting at Michael's table. When Kathryn had left the dance, they had been sitting with their blond heads close together, talking intimately.
"Hello! I'm Susan Allison. I know you don't know me but I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?"
Kathryn looked at the pink-cheeked blond, her wide blue eyes dancing with health and exertion. And something else.
A perverse imp inside of her wanted to hear what Michael's latest 'woman' wanted to say to her. It might be interesting, she decided, sitting down on a bench stationed on the corner. For both of them.
"Thanks," Susan began, sitting next to her.
"What can I do for you, Susan?" Kathryn asked. "You seem to be in very good health."
"Oh, I am," Susan gushed. "I am. Perfect health. I play tennis a few times a week. I run on the weekends." She stopped and looked at Kathryn, her eyes fixed on her face. "I wanted to talk to you about Michael."
Kathryn smiled slowly. How had she known?
"It's nothing serious." Susan went on to explain. The sun glinted off the gold in her bouncing curls. The new spring leaves on the dogwoods formed a perfect background for her pretty face.
"Michael really wanted to be the chairperson this year. The Azalea Charity means a lot to him. He built ten houses last year for families who wouldn't have been able to afford their own homes. Families with children."
Kathryn nodded, and added sarcastically, "Isn't he a wonderful man?"
"He is," Susan agreed with a wide smile. "Really."
"I know," Kathryn answered, wishing she would get to the point.
Susan stared at her intently. "You aren't still in love with him, are you? I mean, that would be tragic!"
"Tragic seems a harsh word for it," Kathryn mused. "Perhaps naive or ridiculous. But no, I haven't been in love with him for a very long time."
Susan relaxed visibly. "I'm so relieved! I know he used to care a great deal about you. He's talked about you. And I know he still has feelings for you. Not love, of course. But you do still make him a little crazy. And that's why it's impossible for the two of you to share responsibility for the Azalea Charity Drive."
"Impossible?" Kathryn wondered. So, she made him crazy?
"That's why I've come," Susan explained. "To ask you to give up your spot. Before something embarrassing happens between you. Michael is very angry."
"Is he?" Kathryn inquired politely.
"He'd really like for you to step down -- but, well, you know him."
Kathryn surged to her feet, taking her doctor's bag with her. Her eyes blazed on the other woman's face. "Tell him I don't care. I won't step down but he's certainly welcome to leave."
"He just wants to have this over between you." Susan pleaded her case as Kathryn walked away. "Is that so much to ask?"
"If that's true," Kathryn began, pausing to look back at her, "ask him why he's refused to sign the final divorce papers."
Susan looked as though someone had struck her. "What?"
"You didn't know?" Kathryn smiled maliciously. "I've been trying to get a divorce from him for a year. Tell him that if he'll sign those papers, I'll step down." She turned and walked away, leaving the other woman on the sidewalk, her china blue eyes wide with disbelief.
Kathryn spent the remainder of the time walking back to the clinic chastising herself. Hurting Susan Allison had been like kicking a puppy. The other woman probably wasn't that much younger but she made Kathryn feel ancient.
Was I ever that young? she wondered, kicking at a rock that was on the sidewalk in front of her.
It wasn't Susan's fault that she believed Michael's lies. Certainly it wasn't the first time those blue eyes had fooled a woman. Hadn't she succumbed to them herself?
When they'd met in college, it was like a Cinderella story.
Michael was young and handsome, a football player with a wealthy father and a host of friends who hung on his every word. He drove a shiny new car and had plenty of money to spend. He knew all the right people, went to all the cool places. All of the girls knew who he was and they all wanted him.
Kathryn's mother had died the summer before she'd started college. Two years into her education, she was living on campus by working in the school library and the cafeteria. She had two pairs of jeans and three t-shirts to her name. Everything else had gone for expenses: for her mother's funeral, for books and tuition.
She rounded the corner in the library one day with an armful of books and walked straight into Michael Helms. It was like running into a wall. She bounced back and hit the floor, the books she held scattering around her like flower petals.
He smiled at her and helped her to her feet. He asked her if she was hurt. He apologized for being in the way and offered to help her pick up the books.
She knew his type at once. She'd been at school long enough to have seen him around with his flashy car. A dozen others like him had offered to 'help' her if she would 'help' them. She waved aside his apology and hoped he would go away.
His friends had laughed but he had patiently helped her pick up her books and looked down at her with that those devastating eyes and that wonderful smile. A look from him had chased away the other guys. He had asked her about her major and taken the books she'd had to the shelf for her.
She was impressed by his actions but when he'd asked her out, she'd refused. Flatly. She knew what came next and she didn't have the time or the energy for it. She'd only dated a few men since she'd started college. The dates had been disasters.
What she hadn't bargained for was Michael Helms' persistence. When it came to getting his way, he had no equal. He spent every day after that in the library. Everywhere she went, he was there. He managed to find her when she walked out of her classes and when she stopped for lunch.
After the first day, his friends stopped coming with him. Before she knew it, she was talking to him as though they had known each other forever. It seemed a natural progression that she should go out for pizza with him one evening after the library closed.
They walked to a small restaurant just off campus. That had surprised Kathryn and thrown her off guard. Maybe she'd been wrong about him. She'd expected him to show off with his car and his friends.
Instead, it was just him in a pair of worn jeans and a soft blue sweater. He was funny and charming. His eyes never left her face and he really listened when she told him about her plans to be a doctor and work with the poor. He didn't laugh at her or act like he was smarter than she was.
Michael wanted to build big houses with interesting designs and make enough money to build good houses for people who weren't able to afford them. He and his father had a dream about building a replica of a French village with smaller, picturesque houses and winding streets.
The evening was over too quickly. She had a curfew, besides having to get up early to help serve breakfast at the cafeteria in the morning.
She remembered that it had been a warm autumn night. There had been a sliver of a crescent moon at the horizon. He had kissed her lightly when he'd left her at Ramsey Hall but he hadn't tried to push her any further.
Michael was nothing, she sighed, if not patient. He had just waited quietly for her to start thinking his way. In between, he had devastated her with his kisses and drawn her out of herself with his understanding. When he'd finally proposed to her, she had been lost.
She pushed open the clinic door, lost in her thoughts. Angela met her, clipboard and white jacket in hand.
"We're swamped," the girl told her. "It's this 'flu thing. Dr. Alario has seen three pneumonia patients already."
Kathryn stripped off her cardigan and pulled on the white jacket, glancing at the faces of the people who were waiting patiently to see a doctor. A little girl was crying at her mother's side, her pretty face flushed and eyes fever-bright.
Kathryn nodded, taking the clipboard. "Let's do it!"
She saw the little girl as her second patient. Her mother said that she was only four and that she'd been coughing for a few days.
"She got so hot this morning that my husband said I should bring her in."
"It was the right thing to do," Kathryn assured the woman. She turned to the child. "What's your name?"
"Cindy," the little girl said quietly.
"Hello, Cindy. I'm Kathryn. Would you like to sit up on this table so that I can see you better?"
The little girl nodded and Kathryn lifted her small form to the table. She was hot to the touch.
"Cindy, I'm going to listen to your heart and look in your ears and at your throat, okay? Then maybe we can help you feel better."
The little girl nodded and Kathryn examined her, telling her what she was doing and asking her questions about her family and her life. She let Cindy listen to her heart with the stethoscope and the little girl smiled.
Cindy clearly didn't feel well but she answered quietly that she had two brothers and a sister and a dog named Fred. She didn't like the pre-school where she went when her Mommy was working and she was looking forward to starting real school later that year.
When she was finished with the examination, Kathryn told her mother that the little girl had an ear infection and some congestion in her lungs. Her fever was high but not dangerously so and she explained that it was part of her body fighting the infection.
"I'm going to give you this prescription for antibiotics. You make sure she takes all of it, even if she starts to feel better. If she has any other problems, bring her back."
Cindy's mother nodded. "I don't have any money right now but when I get paid -- "
Kathryn touched the girl's pale face with a gentle hand. "Let's worry about getting her well. We'll worry about the rest later."
The woman bit her lower lip as she looked at her little girl. "I had insurance but it just got too expensive."
Kathryn's mouth tightened. "Do you work for one of the mills?"
The woman nodded. "For almost fifteen years."
Kathryn put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "When it comes up, vote for the union. For now, it's going to be all right. Don't worry."
"Bless you, Doctor." The woman touched Kathryn's hand with tears in her eyes.
"Take care of Cindy," Kathryn said finally. Then she looked down at the little girl. "I'll see you later. Get well!"
"Okay. Bye."
Angela took them to the front desk for a lollipop and a voucher for the medicine.
Kathryn saw six other patients, all with 'flu symptoms. Most of them worked at the mill. None of them had insurance or could afford the plan the mill offered on their salaries. Yet none of them had enough education to go out and find other jobs.
Kathryn treated their symptoms and listened to their fears. She changed the dressings on burns and sent an older woman, who was showing symptoms of Alzheimer's, to the hospital for tests.
She knew she had been fortunate in her relationship with the newly appointed hospital director. Aleese Simpson was a stickler for the rules but she was a good person.
The hospital was a county hospital that received funds for treating the indigent and those without health insurance. Aleese had confided to Kathryn that the hospital had never been able to reach into the community and draw out those people until it was too late for medicine to help. Between them, they were finding free insulin programs for diabetics and had collaborated on the beginning of a private fund for expensive medical equipment for home health care. With any luck, by summer, they would have a mobile health clinic.
It was a partnership Kathryn relished even while she condemned the community at large for their lack of financial support for the program. The mill owners still refused to upgrade the worker's houses. Insurance was still out of reach for most workers.
Angela popped her head around the corner and reminded her that it was nearly six.
"Six?" Kathryn asked, bewildered as she washed her hands after her last patient.
"You have that charity dance, remember? Seven thirty!"
She drew in a deep breath. She'd forgotten! And her dress --
"Mrs. Markland dropped off your dress about an hour ago. She said she'll see you at the dance."
"Thanks." Kathryn closed her eyes and said a silent thank you to her friend. She looked at her watch and decided there was just enough time for a quick shower before she changed and left for the dance.
The water in the building was temperamental. Sometimes there wasn't any hot and sometimes there wasn't any cold. Just like the heat. That evening, there wasn't any hot water for the first few minutes then there wasn't any cold. Then it shut off for a few minutes. When it came back on, Kathryn showered rapidly and dried off, wondering for the millionth time if there wasn't anything to do about the situation and coming to the same conclusion.
There wasn't enough money for anything except the patients. Maybe if they could get some donations flowing in, that would change, but they were limited by their contributions and grants. Some of the people of Olympia had been more than generous, including her friend Meg and her husband, Travis Markland. There were some paying patients. But so much more was needed. Drugs were expensive and even used equipment was hard to find at rates they could afford. They had rented some machines but they still ended up sending too many patients to the hospital. The problem was, many wouldn't go.
Kathryn looked at herself in the faded, full-length mirror that was pinned to the back of the door. Her mother had always told her that she had good bones. When she was a child, she wasn't really sure what she meant. Even as an adult, she was still puzzled.
She did have high cheekbones and a long neck. But her lips were a little too wide for beauty, in her opinion, and her eyes were a flat color, not quite brown and not quite black.
She knew she was lucky that she and Meg were the same size. Borrowing Meg's clothes was what had decided her on undertaking the charity drive. Without her friend, she would have had to decline the honor.
Which may have been for the best, she considered, thinking about the sparks she and Michael had created. She hadn't wanted to create sparks or anything else with him. Yet when she looked at herself in the dress Meg had brought for her, she wasn't sure anyone would believe her. If the vultures had thought Meg's red dress was eye catching, she decided, looking at the stunning black dress she wore, they were in for a surprise.
The bodice of the dress was covered with tiny little black beads and dipped low across her breasts. The skirt hung in shimmering folds to end at her ankle. It was a romantic dress, a dress meant for dancing. She knew that was exactly what she'd be doing the rest of the evening. Her feet hurt and her head ached, but she knew the program. The first charity dance was set up with contributors paying for dances with the two chairpersons as well as other charity officials.
And it was always a big success, she recalled, groaning at the thought, as she put the finishing touches on her hair and make up, despite the overhead light flickering.
And Michael?
Unlike the opening ball at the hotel, Kathryn was worried about seeing him again. She wouldn't dance with him. She wouldn't get close to him. And she was going to give him a hard time for sending his girlfriend to ask her to resign from the charity.
What had he been thinking? She tried to guess, feeling he should know her better than to try something that obvious. It wasn't like him to send someone to do the job for him. He was always straight-forward. She had chided him once about being too good to be true. Years later, her words had come back to haunt her.
She glanced down into the dark street through the cracked upstairs window. Michael was just getting out of his car, staring up at the building. The light from the overhead street lamp clearly detailed his face. He looked up, as though he could feel her eyes on him. She hid behind the pretty yellow curtain she'd hung on the side of the window and looked down at him through it like a silly school-girl.
Stephano would have loved that response. She goaded herself into looking at the street again. Michael was gone. Think of the devil, she decided, and then hurried to finish getting ready.
It wasn't hard for Michael to make inquiries about his wife and her troublesome clinic. She hadn't wasted any of her precious six months back making both friends and enemies. He'd fielded a dozen phone calls that day from businessmen in the community. Wasn't there anything he could do to stop that hell-raiser? She was his wife!
Wife. The word was like ashes in his mouth, clouding his brain. Unbidden images of them together in the park; making love, standing at Cetta's crib, made him stand in the street an extra minute or two. He wasn't in a hurry to see her again that night. Yet, there he was, picking her up so that she wouldn't have to ride the bus. He was an idiot. If she tore him to pieces, he deserved it.
He knew her clinic was in one of the areas of the city that hadn't seen any rebuilding since the turn of the century. He hadn't realized how run down it had become until he went there to pick her up that night. The dark hulks of aging wrecks closed in on each other. Sidewalks were cracked and littered with debris. Most of the streetlights were knocked out. People were lying in doorways. There were foraging sounds coming from the alley next door that made him glad for the darkness.
"We're...closed," Angela greeted him as he walked in through the front door. She took a look at his immaculate tuxedo. "Oh, I bet you're not here to see the doctor."
He smiled. "As a matter of fact, I am," he corrected her. "I came to pick up Dr. Richards."
Angela drew in a sharp breath as she saw Dr. Alario from the corner of her eye. Not sure if she should leave them alone together, she hesitated to go and tell Kathryn that her ride was there.
"Angela," Stephano instructed in a quiet voice. "Go and tell Dr. Richards that Mr. Helms is here."
Angela looked quickly between them then fled from the room. Whatever was going to happen, she didn't want to be there.
"Mr. Helms." Stephano held out his hand to the other man. "Dr. Stephano Alario."
Michael shook his hand. "I've heard your name. You do an important job here."
"Thank you. Kathryn and I both work very hard to maintain this." He glanced around himself at the peeling yellow walls and the rotting door-frames. "Such as it is. It's not much but it is our dream."
Michael didn't miss the emphasis on the word our. He looked closely at the other man's dark face, seeing the enmity in his black eyes. There was only one reason Dr. Stephano Alario would look at him that way.
"Maybe the exposure from the charity drive will help you pick up some supporters," he suggested.
"That's what we're hoping." Stephano shrugged, his dark eyes glittering into Michael's narrowed blue ones. "We'll have to see how it goes."
Michael nodded. "Kathryn is the right person for the job."
Dr. Alario smiled, his teeth even and white. "Kathryn is Kathryn. Who would know that better than you and I?"
"She does move pretty much her own way," Michael admitted ruefully.
"That's true," Stephano agreed shortly, his eyes intent on Michael's face. "Although, now we move together. I wouldn't like to see her hurt because of it."
"I'm sure no one would, Doctor," Michael agreed hesitantly.
"I won't allow it!"
His meaning was clear but before Michael could say another word, Kathryn appeared, breathless from her sprint down the stairs, putting on her shoes as she reached the ground floor.
"Michael," she said as she glanced at Stephano. "I wasn't expecting you."
He shrugged. "I thought I'd swing by and pick you up. It's a long walk to the country club."
"I was going to take the bus." She wrapped the dress's glittering black shawl around her shoulders. "But this is fine. Thank you."
"Sure." He regarded Dr. Alario thoughtfully. "No problem."
The two men stood on opposite sides of the room, watching each other wordlessly, until Kathryn took a deep breath and broke the silence.
"I think we should go then. We're probably going to be late anyway."
Michael nodded his head and smiled at her. "Whenever you're ready."
Kathryn turned to Stephano. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He kissed her quickly on the lips. "Kathryn, you don't have to do this."
"Stephano," she entreated. "Don't."
He took a step back, moving his hand as though he'd been scalded, staring at her soft mouth. "I'll see you later then."
"Good night, Angela," Kathryn said to her assistant. "Get some rest."