Lover's Lane (32 page)

45

THE NEXT MORNING CARLY LEARNED IT WAS POSSIBLE TO wait tables on three hours of sleep.

Not that she’d want to do it every day, but by the time her shift was over, she still had energy to spare. Jake had called the house before she left for work just to say good morning. His voice teased her like a seductive caress, made her long to invite him over, tempted her to call in sick.

But there was breakfast to make, Chris to drive to school. Just because she was in danger of losing her heart didn’t mean she could lose her mind. Life had taught her to be more practical than that.

Besides, Jake said he had work of his own to catch up on and that he’d likely be busy all day, but he promised to call her before dinner.

After her shift she was energized rather than exhausted, and since the Potters had invited Chris to go along with them to an early movie and dinner in San Luis Obispo, she headed home to take advantage of a couple hours alone to paint.

With her radio tuned to her favorite jazz station, she walked into the studio with Beauty on her heels, opened the windows to let in the afternoon breeze, thankful that the heavy overcast had burned off before noon. The sky was a flawless blue backdrop for a gull that winged its way over the rooftops, headed for the ocean.

Her senses were buzzing. She felt more alive and aware than she’d been in a long time. Not only did the sky seem bluer, but the air fresher and the deep greens and golds on the hills brighter. When she realized she was smiling for no reason, she shook her head.

Happiness frightened her, maybe because she’d been such a stranger to it as a child, maybe because it tended to come in such temporary bursts. She likened it to the sand dollars she sometimes found on the beach, pretty but fragile and rare.

As she moved through the familiar motions of uncovering her painting, squeezing paint onto the palette, choosing a brush, she couldn’t help but be reminded that if it weren’t for the pending petition hearing, life would be perfect.

Yesterday, the very thought of facing Anna at the hearing would have terrified her, but after opening up to Jake last night, after giving him her trust again, she had gained a new level of confidence in herself and the future.

Viewing the painting of the Spanish widow sitting alone on the bluff, Carly’s heart filled with empathy, as if she knew the woman’s thoughts and feelings. She always painted the figures in her oils the way they appeared in her mind. She gave the images control of her imagination as she let her creativity and inspiration flow.

But with this particular piece she wondered if perhaps she had let fear alone dictate her subject. The woman sat isolated, staring out to sea, dejected, abandoned. Perhaps punished by fate.

Was it a self-portrait?

Did the woman draped in the mantilla really represent her, alone without Christopher? Without Jake?

Perhaps, she thought, as she dipped her brush into the paint, it was time she took control of her work the way she had decided to take control of her life.

Minutes melted into hours. When Carly finally looked up it was almost five. She wiped her brushes with linseed oil, set them aside and stepped back to look at the painting again. She smiled and nodded, finally satisfied with what she’d added.

She refilled her glass of ice water and walked into the living room in time to see a black Lincoln Town Car pull up out front. She locked Beauty in Christopher’s room and went immediately to the door. Her hand tightened on the knob. Staring through the screen, she watched a man she hadn’t seen for almost six years step out of the long, sleek black automobile. Dressed in a dark suit and highly polished shoes, he paused long enough to straighten his cuffs and smooth his crimson tie before he started toward the door.

“Ms. Nolan.” He nodded in her direction, waited expectantly, as if he thought she would actually open the door. “I’m Arthur Litton. We met in Borrego Springs a few years ago.”

“What . . . what are you doing here?”

“I see we’re going to dismiss with the formalities. Of course, I’m here on behalf of Anna Saunders. I’d like to come in and talk to you, if I may?”

Carly glanced outside. His Lincoln glistened in the sunlight with tinted windows all around, a dark, threatening presence intruding on what had been an otherwise perfect day.

“I have a lawyer. Call him.” She started to close the door.

“When your son ran away last weekend, it made the news in Los Angeles and cast disparaging light on your credibility as a mother and your ability to care for Christopher.”

“I don’t see the point of your visit, Mr. Litton.”

“Oh, I think you do. This shouldn’t take long.” He stood perfectly still, as if determined to remain long after she closed the door in his face.

Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and opened the door. “You have exactly five minutes.”

When Litton strode confidently inside, Carly felt like she’d just let in the Trojan horse. She didn’t invite him to sit, but he did anyway, right in the middle of the sofa. He opened his briefcase.

“The case we’ve built in favor of our petition is very strong. In fact—”

Just then there was another knock at the door, insistent and repetitive.

“Excuse me.” Carly opened the door. It was Etta in a red wig reminiscent of Lucille Ball. A gold satin robe covered with embroidered Chinese dragons dipped off one of her thin shoulders. Standing there clutching a glass measuring pitcher, she looked like something out of an old film noir movie.

Etta lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is everything all right?”

Carly hesitated. Just when everything seemed so right for a change, just when the fragile idea of hope had begun to bloom, fate had delivered Anna Saunders’ lawyer in a Lincoln Town Car.

“I’m a little busy right now, Etta. Maybe you could come back later?”

Etta tried to see through the screen. Her eyes were huge. She held up the measuring cup.

“I
really
hate to bother you, but I need two cups of flour. It’ll just take a second. If you don’t mind, dear?”

Carly glanced over her shoulder at Litton, who looked perturbed. She doubted he’d ever seen anyone like Etta, let alone considered someone so eccentric worth his time.

Carly smiled. There wasn’t an unkind or selfish bone in Etta’s body.

“Come on in, Etta.” She swung the door wide and let her neighbor in. “This is Mr. Litton. Mr. Litton, this is my dear friend and neighbor, Etta Schwartz. Why don’t you two chat while I get Etta some flour?”

Arthur Litton stood and stared at the diminutive lady in uncomfortable silence. Etta, on the other hand, had no trouble launching into conversation with him.

Carly took her time taking a tin canister off the shelf and scooping out two cups of white flour. When she walked back into the living room, Etta was in the middle of debating the use of butter over Crisco in chocolate chip cookies.

“Here you go, Etta.” Carly handed her the measuring pitcher. “What are you making?”

“Scones. The little ones with the currants. People think currants and raisins are the same thing, but I use currants. Then I’m doing a batch of brownies. From a box.” She lingered, looked over at Litton as if about to say something more, then she smiled at Carly.

“Don’t worry about a thing, dear.” Etta reached over to pat Carly’s hand and rolled her eyes in Litton’s direction.

Carly wondered what was up with Etta, who usually only baked when she was nervous. She took her time ushering her neighbor out and closed the door.

Litton was on the sofa again, reaching into the briefcase when the phone rang. He pursed his lips and frowned at the phone across the room.

“I’ll let the machine pick up.” She wanted him out of here and the sooner she heard what he had to say, the sooner he’d leave.

When the phone stopped ringing, they both listened to her own outgoing message. Then the recorder clicked on.

“Carly, this is Geoff. I know you’re in there. Pick up.”

She shrugged at Litton, waiting for Geoff to give up and hang up.

“Carly? I’m
not
hanging up. Pick up the phone.
Pick up
the phone!
”

Litton had his hands on a file folder. Carly jumped up and walked over to the phone, clicked it on.

“Hi, Geoff. What is it?”

“Are you all right?”

“Things have been better.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “Anna Saunders’ lawyer is sitting about ten feet away right now.”

“I can be over in twenty minutes.”

“It’s all right, really.”

“No it’s not. I’m stuck here. A tour bus of Germans just drove up and parked right out front. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” she mumbled.

“I’ve got to go. They’re lined up to buy note cards.”

“Okay.”

When he hung up, she clicked off and frowned at the portable in her hand. Weird.

She walked back to where Litton was holding a manila file on his knees.

He straightened his already straight tie. “Do you think there’ll be any
more
interruptions?”

She shrugged, tempted to smile.
Welcome to my world.

“You never can tell,” she said.

Let him wait. He’d invaded her home and her fragile peace of mind. She sat down in the rocker and studied him. He looked older, his face fuller. Far less intimidating than he had seemed to her six years ago. Maybe because she was older and not as easily intimidated. Maybe she was stronger, knowing she had the support of a host of friends who cared, confident because she had put her heart on the line when she let Jake into her life, and though her heart was a bit battered, it was still intact.

“What exactly do you want, Mr. Litton?”

He opened the folder.

Suddenly there was a quick knock, and the door opened. Jake walked in and tossed a manila envelope on the Formica dining table and crossed the small living room space in three strides. He glanced down at Litton before his gaze touched her.

“Are you all right, Carly?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Etta called Geoff. He called Selma. She called the Potters, and they called my cell and told me there was an emergency.” He looked at Litton. “Luckily I was in the car and already on my way over. What’s going on?”

“Mr. Litton was telling me that he has built a very strong case in Mrs. Saunders’ favor.”

Jake’s gaze hardened as it shifted to Litton. His mouth flattened into a taut line. “Mr. Litton shouldn’t even be here at all, and he knows it. He could be disbarred for contacting you personally.” Then he told Litton, “Carly has a lawyer. Call and threaten him.”

“I’m here at the
specific
request of my client.”

“Then maybe you should have told your client to go to hell and gone through the proper channels.”

Seeing the look on his face, Carly was afraid Jake was going to lose it altogether. She jumped to her feet.

“Jake—”

“You don’t have to put up with this harassment, Carly. Call your lawyer. He’ll tell you how unethical this is.”

Anger emanated from Jake in waves. Even if she hadn’t been able to feel it, it was etched on his features. He was holding his temper by a slender thread. He glanced down at her, then walked over to the table where he’d left a nine-by-twelve manila envelope and picked it up.

Outside, a car door slammed. Jake walked back to her side just as there came another knock at the door. Expecting Etta again, Carly was dumbstruck when she saw Anna Saunders standing on the porch.

For a second, no one moved, not Litton, not Jake. Carly smoothed her hands down her jeans and walked over to the door.

“May I come in?” Anna was conservatively dressed in a tailored black suit that showed off her trim figure and stylish hair.

Carly held the door open as the woman stepped inside, paused to look at Litton and then Jake. The lawyer was on his feet, a florid red stain slowly creeping up his neck and face.

Anna ignored both men, focusing solely on Carly.

“How is Christopher?”

Carly read genuine concern in Anna’s eyes.

“He’s fine. The Potters took him to an early movie and dinner.” She glanced at her watch. “He should be home any minute.”

There was a second or two of awkward silence between them before Anna turned to Litton.

“When you insisted I wait out there in the car, you promised this was only going to take five minutes.”

Carly had never actually seen a man squirm before, but Arthur Litton appeared to do just that.

Jake stepped closer, silently supporting her with his nearness.

He told Litton, “Carly isn’t about to give in.”

“Arthur!” Anna’s hands tightened on her purse. “Why haven’t you done what I sent you in here to do?”

“Are you sure you want to continue in this vein, Anna?” Jake held up the manila folder in his hand. “If you are, I’ll be forced to turn the information I have here over to Carly’s lawyer.”

“Jake, what’s going on?” Carly couldn’t tell if he was bluffing, nor did she have a clue what might be in the envelope.

Anna’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

“Before you married Charles Saunders your name was Anna Riley, am I right? You were born in Delano, in the San Joaquin Valley?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I was.” Anna stared at the envelope as if Jake were holding a live grenade.

“If you don’t drop the petition for guardianship, if you plan on dragging Carly’s reputation through the mud, then the information I have on your own background gets presented as well.”

“I was only a teenager . . .” Her eyes were bleak. All color had drained from her face leaving behind two spots of rose blush.

Jake glanced Carly’s way before his gaze hit Anna.

“Sometimes teenagers make mistakes, don’t they?”

Visibly shaken, Anna ignored both Jake and the envelope. Her hand went to the diamond heart at her throat as she turned to Carly.

“I didn’t send Arthur in to threaten you. I sent him in to tell you that I want him to file for a dismissal. After what I went through those terrible hours while Christopher was missing and long afterward, I thought things through and I want this over and done with before my grandson gets hurt.”