A Different Light (24 page)

“Mr. Wolmar, has Council addressed Mayor Moran’s recommendations relative to the UCC’s request for the buildings on Fourth Street?” Quentin stood in the first row, a small notebook in his hand.

“Mrs. Moran has made no formal recommendation to Council on that issue.” Wolmar’s sly smile made her stomach turn. “Nor, for that matter, on any other issue since she took office.”

“
Bastard,
” Athen muttered.

“Councilman, Mayor Moran gave every indication that the city was willing to work in concert with the UCC …” Quentin persisted.

“Mrs. Moran has, regrettably, acted well beyond the scope of her authority. May I remind you, Mr. Forbes, only Council is authorized to dispose of or transfer title of any city-owned property. It would take a majority vote on Council to approve any such motion, a majority, I feel confident in saying, Mrs. Moran will not have, even if she should succeed in having the issue formally presented to Council. And, as I’m sure you know, only a member of Council may introduce an issue for discussion and vote. Since Mrs. Moran has no support on Council, it is highly unlikely this matter will go any further than it already has.”

“Why unlikely? It would appear the plans for the shelter have been well received throughout the community,” Quentin pressed.

“The issue has no support on Council, Mr. Forbes,” Wolmar stated emphatically. He appeared to be done with the matter, but could not resist one final jab. “Mrs. Moran has, unfortunately, needlessly raised the hopes and expectations of the kindhearted and well-intentioned, and she has done so publicly. It could be said that she has, as the expression goes, stepped in it. Yes, Mr. Rand, you had a question?”

Athen’s face flushed scarlet with rage, her eyes stinging from the effort to blink back the tears of anger and humiliation. She was not oblivious to the fact that Wolmar had persistently referred to her as
Mrs
. rather than
Mayor
Moran, an intentional slight, she was certain, as if publicly stripping her of her office. Only the reporters had used her title in referring to her.

“What is Council’s main objection to the UCC proposal?”

“I think that’s a fair question, deserving of a straightforward answer, sir.” Jim flashed his best campaign smile.

“Council is, I should tell you, in the process of studying a highly intriguing option for that piece of property. Now, keep in mind that taken as a whole, the city owns several blocks in that area. The proposal we’re looking at would increase revenues to the city by adding to its tax base, not drain the city’s already limited resources, as Mrs. Moran would like to do.”

“Can you give us some further information?”

“I feel—that is, Council feels—it would be premature to make any announcement at this time. But rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, as soon as there is something more concrete to disclose, you will be fully advised.”

“Who is behind the other option?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Forbes?” Wolmar visibly bristled,
his brows forming one straight line across his forehead as he leaned forward on the podium and peered down imperiously at the source of the irritation.

“I said, who has proposed the option that you mentioned?” Quentin’s eyes narrowed as he studied Wolmar’s expression and awaited a response.

“Why, City Council, Mr. Forbes.”

“Who specifically made the proposal?” Quentin repeated, only to have Wolmar turn his back on the pretext of giving his attention to the next question.

By this time Athen was on the floor directly in front of the television, fists clenched as tightly as her jaws, cursing alternately in Greek and English as she watched Wolmar slide oh so smoothly into her domain.

The conference was coming to a close, and for just a few seconds the camera lingered on the front row. Quentin Forbes was slowly returning his pen to his pocket, his eyes following Wolmar, his expression deadly. It was the first time she had seen him turn that icy glaze on anyone but herself. That Wolmar was the recipient gave her no small amount of pleasure.

 15 

Athen had intended to go right back upstairs to take a shower after the press conference, but she remained on the sofa to lick the wounds Wolmar had inflicted upon her. How could she show her face at City Hall now that he’d announced her supposed folly to the entire city?

She wondered which sound bite the evening news would dwell on. Would they run and rerun the part where Wolmar had reminded everyone that she, as mayor, had no authority to commit city-owned property, or the part about how she had been irresponsible to the fine folks who’d been duped by her into believing that the long-awaited shelter might in fact become a reality?

And what of tomorrow’s papers? She could barely wait to see Quentin’s article. He’d have a field day with her, she was certain. Her cheeks flamed as though the fever had returned, and she began to feel extremely sorry for herself. She sat and cried her eyes out until she heard Callie come in through the back door.

“Mom, I’m … hey, great, you’re downstairs. You must be feeling better. Did you watch TV?” She threw her books on the nearest chair. “Were you crying? Your eyes are all red.”

“No, of course not,” Athen said, trying to cover, “it’s just because of the cold.”

“I don’t think they were so red this morning.” Callie leaned closer for a better look.

“They weren’t open so long this morning.”

“If you say so.”

Callie went into the kitchen for a snack and to let the dog out. She returned with a glass of milk in one hand and an apple in the other.

“Since you’re feeling better, do you think I could go over to Nina’s for a while? There’s a big test tomorrow. Nina said we could study together and she could help me with the stuff I missed while I was out.”

“Certainly. Go.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I’ve been fine all day,” insisted Athen. “Almost good
as new.”

“You won’t be good as new until you’ve had a shower and changed that nightshirt,” Callie reminded her with a grin. “I think you’ve had that old yellow nightshirt on since last week.”

“No, I have not.” Athen laughed.

“Okay, since the weekend. Either way, it’s time for a change.” Callie grabbed her book bag and leaned over her mother to kiss her on the forehead. “I’m real glad you’re feeling better.”

“Much better, thank you, sweetie.”

“I’ll be at Nina’s if you need me. Oh, I saw Mrs. Kelly outside when I came home. She said she’d drop off some more soup later.”

“Bless Mrs. Kelly.” Athen leaned back once more, and listened as the back door opened, Hannah came in from her excursion, and Callie slammed the door on her way out. Hannah frolicked into the living room and attempted to climb onto the sofa with her mistress.

“No way, Lumpasaurus.”

Thwarted, Hannah thumped onto the floor alongside the sofa.

After staring mindlessly at the ceiling for a few minutes, Athen picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. Reruns. Talk shows. Ditzy commercials. She turned it off again and thought about the shower she so badly needed. Now would be a good time.

She was almost to the top step when she heard a knock on the door. Hannah flew into the hallway, barking wildly.

The knocking persisted. Athen went back downstairs.

One hand on Hannah’s collar and one hand on the doorknob, Athen pulled the door open. On the top step
stood not the elderly Mrs. Kelly holding a pot of soup, but the totally unexpected Mr. Forbes, holding a large bouquet of multicolored flowers.

“I, ah, brought you some flowers.” He smiled somewhat weakly.

She leaned back against the door, hoping its wooden panels could absorb the shock.

“‘Get well’ flowers,” he continued, holding out the bouquet to her.

“Why?” Flowers from the man who had made crucifying her his life’s work?

“May I come in?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“Well, actually, no, Quentin.” She was in no frame of mind to spar with him.

He stepped into the small hallway as if he’d not heard her. Wide-eyed, she backed away from him as if he was visibly poxed.

“These should probably go in water.” He made a concerted effort to disguise his amusement as he eyed her disheveled appearance. She blushed scarlet as she recalled she was barely dressed and, by her own admission, smelled like a barnyard.

“Thank you, Quentin. I appreciate it.” She held her hands out to take the bouquet, hoping he would accept her thanks and then leave. She should have known better.

“Where would I find a vase?” The slightest smile played at the corners of his mouth as he glanced down at her bare feet, half a leg away from her bare knees. One foot instinctively slid atop the other.

“That won’t be necessary,” she protested as he walked past her, stopping to let Hannah sniff his hand. The dog wagged her tail approvingly.

“Really, Quentin, I can …”

“Nonsense. You’ve been sick. Go sit down. Here? In the kitchen?” He went into the next room, a large mound of yellow fur sashaying merrily behind him.

“Traitor,” Athen grumbled as Hannah’s wagging behind disappeared through the doorway.

“What?” he called to her from the kitchen. She heard the water running in the sink.

“Second cupboard from the back door.” She threw up her hands and returned to the sofa, painfully aware that she looked like an unmade bed. At least she could hide under the afghan, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about the unkempt web of hair that hung over her shoulders and halfway down her back in thick dark clumps. She fought an urge to pull the blanket over her head.

“Where would you like them?” Quentin returned to the living room with the flowers in a pale green vase.

“Anywhere is fine. How ’bout on the table right here?”

He placed the flowers where she directed. “So,” he said.

He seemed uncomfortable, standing as he was in the middle of the living room floor while she lounged like Cleopatra on the sofa.

“Say, those are beautiful paintings.” He pointed to a series of small canvases on the wall nearest the door. “The flowers look almost real.”

He stepped closer to look. “A.S.M. Did you paint these?”

“Yes.”

“They’re wonderful. I had no idea that you painted.”

“I don’t. I mean, I used to, but I haven’t in a long time.”

“You should start again. They’re really good. The
shading is exquisite, and the colors are …”

“Thank you, Quentin. Now, if you don’t mind …”

He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Dear God, what is he up to now?

She heard him leave the house, only to return in a flash with a brown paper bag.

“I thought it would be nice if we could visit over a cup of coffee.” He opened the bag without looking at her. Pulling the small table to a spot midway between them, he placed a cardboard cup in front of her and dumped small white containers of cream onto the table. “How do you like yours?”

“Light with half a sweetener.” She stared at him suspiciously as he prepared it to her preference, then opened the second cup and poured in some cream, all the while acting ridiculously nonchalant.

“Okay, Quentin, what gives?” she asked pointedly.

“I just thought I’d stop by and see how you are.”

“Since when has it mattered to you how I am?” What, she wondered, was really behind the visit? “And flowers? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Actually … well, it’s the only way I could think of to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Her eyebrows climbed halfway up her forehead. Had she heard correctly? “Are you
apologizing
? To
me
?”

“Yes. I’ve been every bit a … What was that Greek word you called me that day in the car?”

“Malaka?”
Amused in spite of herself, Athen leaned back against the sofa.

“Yes.
Malaka
. A jerk. I have been a jerk.”

“Do tell.” She tapped her fingers on the side of her
coffee container and tried to avoid direct eye contact. He was not, she had to admit, without a certain charm.

“Athen, may I sit down?” he asked.

She gestured toward a chair across the room. He took the one nearest the sofa.