Birthright (2 page)

The Bennetts took their seats. Despite the crowds, he spotted the back of Lily’s head, her hair pale against the gray-blue of her jacket.

“If you’re looking for money for your program,” his mother suggested, “you ought to ask Lily. She’s got more than she’ll ever spend in this lifetime.”

He would never go to Lily for anything. “Maybe her father’s still giving out money,” he muttered under his breath, recalling Dr. Bennett’s regular visits to the Mazerik apartment when Aaron had been a kid. The good doctor would sit in the kitchen with Aaron’s mother for a while, talking quietly, and then he would find Aaron watching TV or reading a comic book, and he’d ask stilted questions like “How are you doing in school?” Or, “Do you have any hobbies?” Or, “Boy, you’re growing fast. Do those sneakers still fit you?” Aaron would mumble a response, and Dr. Bennett would return to the kitchen,
hand Aaron’s mother an envelope filled with cash and leave.

Aaron wasn’t supposed to know about the cash. He was supposed to think Dr. Bennett had come only to eyeball him so his mother could save the expense of taking him in for an official physical examination. But from the living room, he could see through the doorway that Bennett was giving his mother money.

Lynn Kendall, the minister of the Riverbend Community Church, stepped up to the pulpit and the organ music ceased. “Thank you all for coming here today,” she said. “For joining together as friends and neighbors to remember Abraham Steele.”

A hush as thick as fog settled over the crowd. Aaron glanced behind him and noticed people standing three deep at the rear of the chapel. Turning forward, he again caught a glimpse of sleek blond hair, as if a hundred people weren’t jammed into the pews between him and Lily. He clenched his jaw to keep from swearing.

“Everyone in Riverbend knew Abraham,” Lynn continued.

Settling herself against the hard wood back of the pew, he stretched his legs. Clearly the pews hadn’t been designed for the comfort of anyone over six feet tall. He banged his shin against the pew in front of him and stifled another curse.

“You all know that Abraham’s great-grandfather Gideon founded Riverbend, and that the Steele family has always been the heart and soul of this town. Many of you knew Abraham as the president of the bank. He helped you to finance your homes and businesses. He helped you to teach your children how to
save their allowances. Abraham also supported our community through his patronage of our stores. You never saw him driving out of town to shop at one of the big chain stores near the highway. No, if he needed penny nails, he bought them from Mitch Sterling. If he needed socks, he went to Killian’s. If he was in the mood for a cup of coffee, he’d head right on over to the Sunnyside Café.”

Aaron glanced at his mother. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and her lower lip trembled, as if Steele had been her dearest friend and not just someone who used to stop in at the café for a hit of caffeine.

“I’ve invited several people who knew him to share their memories with us today,” the minister said. “If any of the rest of you would like to join in, please step forward and let us reminisce with you. Ruth?” She gestured toward one of the Steele sisters, who rose slowly and crossed to the pulpit.

Looking solemn but determined, Ruth adjusted the microphone, then cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “My brother could be a pain in the rear end,” she began, and the room filled with laughter.

Aaron made another attempt at straightening his legs, this time sparing his shin a bruise, and listened as Ruth Steele described her brother in his youth, relating his escapades, his stubbornness, his arrogance—and the generous heart that lurked beneath his imperious demeanor. She declared that no one in Riverbend worked harder or loved the town more than Abraham; no one felt closer ties to their community. She mentioned Abraham’s profound grief at the death of his wife thirty years ago, and the pride
he took in his son, Jacob, who grew up to be a top student and a star basketball player.

And didn’t bother to come home for his father’s funeral.
It went unsaid, but Aaron suspected the entire congregation was thinking it.

Ruth Steele sat down. Her sister leaned her gray head against Ruth’s shoulder.

One of the tellers at Abraham’s bank got up and talked about how kind Abraham had been to her when she was having a difficult pregnancy. “The doctors said I had to stay off my feet for the duration of the pregnancy. Not only did Mr. Steele hold my job for me for all those months, but he bought a crib for my baby.” Her eyes shimmering with tears, she sat down.

Officer Garvey took the mike to let everyone know that years ago, when Abraham Steele had been serving as mayor, the police department had asked for funding for new uniforms, but the town’s budget was too tight. Abraham had personally paid for new uniforms for the entire department, but had asked Officer Garvey not to go public with this donation because he didn’t want people to think that he owned the police in any way.

As Garvey returned to his seat, Lily stood up and walked to the pulpit. She moved like a dancer, her posture regal and her shoulders straight, as if she was balancing a book on her head. She leaned toward the microphone. In a soft crystalline voice, a voice Aaron had never forgotten, she said, “When I was four years old, Abraham Steele gave me a tin box of watercolor paints, and he opened up an entire world to
me.” Then she turned away from the mike and glided back to her space on the pew.

That was it? A box of watercolor paints?

He recalled that Lily Bennett had been the class artist, always painting the posters for the school plays and the dances. She’d designed the cover of the yearbook. That first time Aaron had seen her, she’d been coming out of the art room. So maybe the box of paints
had
been significant.

More people stood up and spoke about Steele. Aaron’s attention drifted back to the side window, to that clear open sky, a blue as vivid as Lily Bennett’s eyes.

Lily Holden. The young widow. The
rich
young widow he could hit up for money, if he found the nerve. He’d already made money-raising pitches for the summer program to the school board, the town council, the Rotary Club. Just last month he’d paid a call on Abraham Steele himself. They’d sat in Steele’s office at the bank, a paneled high-ceilinged room so stately Aaron had thought they ought to be enjoying cigars and brandy, not talking about donations and loans. He’d described what he had in mind: a sports program for kids in town whose parents couldn’t afford summer camp. They’d learn skills, and more important, they wouldn’t spend the summer being bored and getting in trouble, he’d explained.

“That’s something you’ve had some experience with, Aaron, isn’t it?” Steele had said.

Aaron had been surprised that Steele knew about his background. But Riverbend was a small town. “Who better than me to know that sports can keep kids out of trouble?” Aaron had replied. “The high
school is providing the facilities—we’ve got the gym, the tennis courts and the pool. But I can only teach basketball. I’m not a certified swim instructor, and tennis…” He’d snorted. Tennis was a sport for rich kids. He’d never learned to play.

“How much do you plan to charge for participation in the program?”

“Thirty dollars a week per kid.”

“That’s a bargain.”

“This is for kids whose families can’t afford camp,” he’d emphasized. “If I charge more, it’ll price people out of the program. I’ve already got a list of families interested in enrolling their children. The fees will pay for the use of the school building, insurance and equipment.”

“Your salary?”

Aaron had grinned. “Let’s just say I’m deferring it.”

“I like your grit, Aaron,” Steele had said. Usually brusque, he’d seemed almost sentimental, Aaron recalled now, revealing that generous heart his sister spoke of from the pulpit. “I admire the things you’ve accomplished in your life. Leave your proposal with me and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Unfortunately, Steele had died before committing any funds to the program. So Aaron was back to grubbing for donations.

Why not ask Lily Holden? Just because she’d been a source of pain to him in school, just because she’d unknowingly driven him crazy in too many ways to count, didn’t mean she couldn’t put some of her late husband’s millions to good use helping the kids of Riverbend.

He’d never been short of guts. He could pay a call to the grieving widow and see if she would bankroll his program. She probably had no idea how he felt about her…Then again, maybe she did know. Maybe she knew why. And maybe if she helped him out with the funding, he would resent her a little less.

“W
AS THAT TRUE
?” Charlie Callahan asked, sidling up to Lily as she stood in the shade of a silver maple on the lawn beside the church.

She’d removed her jacket. The dry June heat made her arms sting, but the air was a good ten degrees cooler under the tree, and the leaves spread a dense mesh of shadows around her.

Her parents, she knew, would take forever to make their way to the car. They had to stop and chat with everyone who’d attended the service, starting with the Reverend Lynn Kendall, then sharing some private words with Ruth and Rachel Steele, then working their way slowly through the crowd, greeting everybody.

If Lily had come to the memorial service on her own, she could have driven herself home. Instead, like an idiot, she’d agreed to attend with them, and now she had to wait.

She’d hoped no one would notice her hiding under the protective arch of the tree. But if anyone had to find her, she was glad it was Charlie. She’d known him since childhood. He was a River Rat, practically a brother to her. When he looped his arms around her and kissed her cheek, she felt safe.

“Was what true?” she asked back.

“Steele gave you your first watercolors?”

“Yes. My father was his doctor. Abraham used to bring me presents when he had medical appointments. Most of it was stuff I didn’t want—dolls, little bead bracelets—but the paints were wonderful. I loved them.”

Charlie grinned and nodded. She adored his grin—it was so familiar. Lord, it was good to be home.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “It’s great seeing you, Lily,” he said, his gaze so intense she couldn’t meet it. She searched for a glimpse of her parents in the throng of people who milled around the broad front steps of the church and let Charlie’s voice wash over her. “I can only guess how awful it was, losing your husband that way. I know you’re still broken up about it. But you’ve got friends here. You don’t have to hide.”

“I’m not hiding,” she said quietly, sifting all the emotion from her voice.

“You’ve been back, what? A couple of months, right? And this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

“I know.” She wanted to look at him, wanted to tell him the truth: that she was embarrassed for her friends to see her in such ghastly shape. They all knew her as Lily Bennett, the Girl Who Could Do No Wrong. And she’d blown it. She couldn’t bear to be around all those people who’d believed she had so much promise, didn’t want to see their faces when they learned she was such a failure.

“I’m still healing,” she said, pleased that it was the truth. Let them all think she was healing from the agony of having lost Tyler. They didn’t have to know she’d really lost herself. “I appreciated the card you sent, Charlie.”

“It was the least I could do. When I heard about the accident, I felt so bad for you being all alone in Boston.”

“I wasn’t all alone. Tyler’s family was there,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt. Her in-laws had been horrible to her after Tyler had died. They hadn’t been much better when he was alive.

But she didn’t want to think about that. Today was a day for remembering Abraham Steele, the town’s patriarch and her father’s friend. She’d had less trouble believing Tyler was dead than believing that Abraham was. He’d been the beating heart of Riverbend for so long. “I was sorry Jacob didn’t come back for the service,” she said.

“He hasn’t been back in years.”

“I can’t understand why he would have just disappeared like that. Maybe if he’d known his father was going to die…”

“We’re all going to die sooner or later,” Charlie said. “If he’d wanted to make up with his father, he would have.”

“You’re right. Still…I miss him.” Jacob had been one of the River Rats, as well—their leader, in fact, mostly because he’d been the oldest of the group. He’d been a devoted son, always respectful of his father, kindhearted and fair. What a shame that he’d never had a chance to reconcile with Abraham. Now it was too late.

“Tom didn’t come back, either,” she noted. Abraham’s nephew, Tom Baines, had spent his childhood summers in Riverbend, hanging out with the River Rats. But now he traveled the world as a journalist,
and Lily hadn’t really expected him to come back to town for the memorial service.

“It would have been nice to see him,” Charlie murmured.

She noticed a twosome working their way slowly down the church’s front steps. The woman was thin but determined in a bright green suit, her hair a shade of red Mother Nature had never intended. One hand manipulated a cane and the other clutched the arm of a tall younger man in a dark gray jacket and pale gray trousers. His hair was brown and in need of a trim. His chin was sharp, and his eyes, she remembered now, were a mix of blue and green, gold and gray, the color of the river on a stormy morning.

Aaron Mazerik.

She hadn’t thought about him in years. One quick glimpse of him, though, and she couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t. He’d been startlingly handsome in high school, dangerously handsome, handsome like a panther. The kind of handsome that could spring at you and leave you bleeding.

She’d been scared to death of him back then. Scared, but intrigued.

“Isn’t that Aaron Mazerik?” she asked, keeping her tone casual.

Charlie glanced toward the church steps. “Yeah. All grown-up, just like us.”

She shook her head in amazement. “I never would have guessed he’d be here in Riverbend. The cops would have run him out of town if he hadn’t had the good sense to leave on his own.”