Memories of Love (2 page)

“I’ve seen your daughter, Mr.
Hollings, and she’s just what these scumbags are looking for.”

“I’m so sorry to have to relay this
news, Grant. We’ll do everything we can to help you get Sarah situated in a
good school, wherever you go.” Mrs. Craig stood up.

“If you get a line on this guy or
need help, please call me.” Detective Parsons handed him a card. Detective
Shoemaker did the same.

“Thank you. Thank you for your
concern. Mrs. Craig, I’ll be in touch.” Grant pushed to his feet.

He and Evelyn walked down the hall
toward the front door with the detectives.

“Hey, I wish we could keep every kid
safe, but that’s impossible. The number of creeps and lowlifes seems to grow
every year,” Detective Shoemaker said.

Grant smiled weakly at the
policeman. “My law firm has a branch in New York City. We could go there. I’ll
ask for a transfer today.”

“Perfect place to go. Damn hard to
find you there,” Detective Parsons put in.

Grant nodded, his expression grim,
as he shook hands with and thanked the men. They parted company at the exit.

“I don’t think we should overreact,
Grant.” Evelyn turned to look at him.

“Are you crazy? The police just told
us to get out of town. I’m going to talk to Sam
Smithers
right now and request a transfer.” He picked up the pace as he headed for his
car.

“But, Grant.” Evelyn put her hand on
his forearm.

“No discussion. Case closed. We’re
leaving. From now on, pick up Sarah from school yourself, Evelyn. No
babysitters.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Aren’t you concerned about our
daughter’s safety?”

“Of course, it’s just that it’s such
a disruption…I’m not the kind of person who…well, I’m not spontaneous. I don’t
like change.”

His expression softened. “I know,
Evie
. It’s a lot to ask. But we have to keep Sarah safe.
You understand, don’t you?” He took her hand as they walked together.

“If I get the go-ahead for New York,
Sarah and I’ll move there first. I’ll take my sister, Jane, with us. She can
help us get settled into an apartment, find a school…all the stuff you hate.
You can take your time here getting things together and saying goodbye to your
friends. Then all you have to do is grab a small bag. I’ll even hire movers to
do the packing. Fair enough?”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” she
muttered. Grant put the car in gear and maneuvered through the heavy D.C.
traffic. His hand shook slightly. He was preoccupied, not focused on the drive
or the other vehicles.
Sarah! My life
would be over if anything happened to you. And how could I ever face Carol Anne?
I promised her I’d keep you safe.

* * * *

On the
Metroliner
from D.C. to New York City, Mid-September

Grant woke up to a hand gently
shaking his shoulder. He snorted, rubbed his eyes, and then looked around.

“You okay?”

He nodded, peering out the window.

“Dreaming about her again?” His
sister, Jane, had an annoying way of zeroing in on just what was on his mind,
whether he wanted her to or not. Only two years younger than he, she had his
dark good looks and the same sharp brain. Although they had fought like cats
and dogs as children, as adults they were devoted to each other. Even more so since
the deaths of their parents.

Grant didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.
Jane knew because they had talked about it.
Argued
is more like it.
He remembered the most heated flare-up which had happened while
they were strolling by the Lincoln Memorial, seven years ago.

“She
left you. Stop holding a torch for her!” Jane fairly screamed at him.

“Can
you control your heart? I can’t. I’ve tried, and it’s no good.” He stuffed his
hands in his pants pockets.

“Then
try harder! This is eating you up. You’ve lost weight.”

“And
you holding a torch for Jason Sumner wasn’t the same thing?”

“That
was high school, Grant.”

“So?
You were torn up over him for two years.” He plopped down on the grass.

She
joined him. “Yeah? Well, I got wise. I haven’t been like that since.”

“You
haven’t loved anyone like that since, either.” His voice softened.

“And
I don’t miss it. The heartache, the drama…”

“The
love. The affection.”

I’m
sorry, Grant. I am. I loved her, too. Carol Anne was…is…amazing. But she’s
gone, big brother, and you’ve got to get on with your life.” She put her hand
on his arm and stared into his eyes.

“I
am, Jane. I’m getting married.” He trained his gaze on a dandelion proudly
raising its head among the green blades.

“For
all the wrong reasons.”

“Maybe.
But my kid’s not going to grow up without a dad.” He picked up a twig and
snapped it in two.

“Ah,
Grant. Always the responsible one.” She sighed.

“You
know I can’t leave Evelyn.”

“I
know. I just wish… What difference does it make what I wish? Come on.” She
stood up. “Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”

Jane knew how much he still loved
Cara Brewster although he hadn’t seen her in five years. He looked across at Sarah,
his lovely seven-year-old daughter—his and Cara’s—sprawled out in the facing
seat, earplugs in her ears, nose in a book, twirling her long, blonde hair as
she read.

“Hungry?” Jane offered him half a tuna
fish sandwich. He shook his head and turned his gaze out the window. It was
raining lightly, covering townhouses and lawns with a kind of gray mist. He
watched raindrops race across the window as the train picked up speed. The
weather matched his mood.

“We’re leaving D.C. She won’t know
where we are,” he whispered to Jane.

“She’s had five years to contact
you, Grant. If she hasn’t by now…well, you know how I feel,” Jane sniffed,
unwrapping her food.

“There must be a reason. There must.
I tried to reach her a couple of times, but she was always on location. Never
home…” His voice trailed off. The familiar ache in his heart returned, as it
always did whenever he mentioned or even thought about Cara. He wondered if his
wife, Evelyn, knew. He had tried to hide his feelings as best he could. He
never talked about Cara, but his heart was hers, no matter what.

He had gone through with the
marriage to Evelyn when she became pregnant, out of duty, not love. After her
miscarriage, he had considered leaving—not because he wanted to hurt her, but
because he realized he simply couldn’t love a woman other than Cara.

In the end, he had stayed, hoping to
give Evelyn and Sarah a stable home. That was the least he could do for the
woman who agreed to take in his bastard child, Cara’s child—the one he didn’t
find out about until he was already married to Evelyn.

He had been furious and resentful
that Cara had not called to tell him she was pregnant. When she did call two
years later, she was deathly ill. Her mother had died suddenly in a car crash
and her younger sister, Grace, was in college. Cara was all alone, struggling
to take care of a toddler.

The rocking of the train soothed
him, making him sleepy. He closed his eyes, trying to catch a few winks, but
images of Cara haunted him. He turned to his sister “So where have you and
Evelyn picked for us to live?”

“Just me. Evelyn didn’t want to be
bothered with such details as selecting a good neighborhood or building. So I
picked The Stanford on the Upper West Side. It’s very fashionable there now, a
little funky in places, and there are tons of big apartments.”

“I take it there’s room for you to
join us for a while?”

“I can, if you wish.” Jane took the
last bite of her sandwich then opened a
Vitamin
Water
.

“I want you to have a life, too,
Jane. You don’t need to come. I have Evelyn to take care of Sarah.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He straightened in his seat. “What
do you mean?”

“I know she’s winding things up in
D.C., but she should be here with you, shouldn’t she?”

“We aren’t joined at the hip. I
don’t mind if she wants to spend time saying goodbye to her friends.”

Jane shrugged and took another slug
of her drink. As Grant gazed at his daughter, a smile crept over his face. She
was the spitting image of her mother.

“She reminds me of Cara—has her
grace and beauty,” he murmured to his sister. He had been able to see Cara from
time to time in her movies, and he hadn’t missed one. How ironic that he should
become a fan.
Her number one fan.

Jane shot him a dirty look. She
always did when he spoke affectionately of Cara.

“You used to like her,” Grant said.

“
Used
to—the operative word,” she grumbled.

“I’m not ready to hang her yet…not without
a trial. Seriously. There must be something we don’t know. I’m trying to give
her the benefit of the doubt, and your attitude doesn’t help.”

“I’d like to give her the benefit of
my fist. Leaving you high and dry, breaking your heart. Not even a phone call?”

“She’s been busy making twelve
movies. Doesn’t leave much time to chitchat.”

“Not even five minutes to spare?
Pfft
.” Jane waved
her hand.

“She had hepatitis when she gave us
Sarah. Too sick to care for her.” He kept his voice low.

“She didn’t even tell you about the
baby until then—until she was forced to,” Jane whispered.

“Don’t think I like the fact I
haven’t heard from her—and Sarah hasn’t. I keep trying to figure out why. It’s
not like her, not like her at all.” He shook his head, and Sarah glanced up
with a questioning look. He waved at her, and she went back to her book. “And
now, Cara can’t…can’t find us…”

“Remember, we had to come here—for
Sarah’s safety. It wasn’t a choice.”

“What’s to say the pervert taking
pictures of Sarah won’t follow us here?” Grant took a
Vitamin Water
and opened it.

“We’ve covered our tracks. The
police said he’d probably give up and look for some other child to stalk. Gives
me the creeps,” she said with a shiver.

He returned his gaze to the scenery
whizzing by his window. The beauty of the foliage, the charm of the houses
escaped his attention, which was focused on the changes happening in his life.

“We’ll have fun in New York.” Jane shoved
a sandwich in his hand.

“Evelyn isn’t looking forward to
it.” He unwrapped the food, suddenly hungry.

Jane sipped her
Vitamin Water
. “She’s complained from day one.”

“She’ll adjust.” He took a bite.
Or leave me, maybe. So be it.

“I hope so.” She sat back and closed
her eyes. “Last hour till we arrive. Need some shut-eye.”

Sarah looked up from reading for a
moment, flashing a brilliant smile at her father. He leaned over, passed her
half his sandwich, took her chin in his hand, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
She’s the light of my life.
They settled
back in silence for the rest of the trip, each in their own little world.

Chapter Two

Beverly Hills, California

Cara Brewster paced in the courtyard
of her spacious Spanish-style home on Benedict Canyon Drive. The five-million-dollar
mansion was meant to house her mother and sister as well as herself. But her
mother had passed away from injuries she sustained in a car crash five years earlier.

Grace Brewster shared the house
through her sister’s generosity. Although Cara was six years older, they were
close. In the movie business, real friends were hard to find, so Cara regarded
herself lucky to have Grace.

Only five feet three inches, Cara
had a knockout figure with curves in all the right places. Her long, flowing,
iridescent blonde hair had been chopped to shoulder length for a recent movie
role. Her body was barely contained by a sky blue bikini, which matched the
color of her eyes. A white, gauzy shirt that fell only to the bottom of her
behind shielded her fair skin from the harsh California sun.

The slap-slap of her pretty,
lavender sandals on the Spanish tile announced her arrival. Skip Bedloe—her
tall, blond, gorgeous, gay agent—sat in a chair, sipping chilled white wine.

“You’re going to wear a path in this
beautiful floor, Cara. Stop.”

“You want me to leave Los Angeles? Grant
won’t know how to find me.” She picked up a couple of carrots from a tray on
the table in front of him and munched on them absently.

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow at
her. “Like he’s been knocking down your door to talk in the last five years?
Not!”

“Don’t rub it in. What if something
happens to Sarah? He won’t know how to get in touch...” She chewed her lip.

“I’ll make sure you’re in all the
papers, hon. They’ll find you. Besides, nothing is going to happen to Sarah.
He’s been married now for years, Cara, and he’s not exactly combing the
universe, looking for you. You’ve got to get over him.”

Cara stood by the back gate and
gazed out to the hills, remembering the day seven years ago, when she had called
him to tell him she was pregnant. A frown creased her brow as the memory
flashed in her mind.

Excitement
and fear had blended in her blood. Unable to sit still, she paced in her tiny
apartment in an iffy section of Los Angeles. ‘I’m pregnant, Grant, with your
baby. No, let’s see, guess what, Grant? I’m pregnant. No.’ She shook her head.
Would he be happy? Would he be angry? Although it threw all her plans into a
cocked hat, Carol Anne was happy. She’d missed Grant, and somehow this
unexpected pregnancy made her feel closer to him.

But
she delayed calling him because she was afraid of what he’d say. Would he
demand she return to Washington to get married? Would he ask her to get rid of
it? No, never. Still, an unplanned child would disrupt his life as well as
hers. So she had chewed her nails, paced, taken long walks, and procrastinated
telling him. Now, she was heading into the fourth month, and she had to bite
the bullet and face him—at least over the phone.

Carol
Anne sat down, poised, ready to call. ‘What am I going to say? Just come right
out with it. I’m pregnant, Grant. Yes. With your child. Will he believe me? He
can do the math. Be direct. No bullshit. That’s the best way.’ She took several
deep breaths. ‘Will he want to marry me? Do I want to marry him?’ Of course!
Loving thoughts of Grant danced through her mind as she dialed.

Her
hand shook as the phone rang. Now the fear became real. For a moment, she could
hardly breathe. Then the unexpected happened. A woman answered.

“Hello?”
Carol Anne’s voice shook.

“Who’s
this?”

“Is
Grant there?” Her confidence evaporated.

“Who’s
calling?” The person at the other end was feminine but gruff.

“A…friend.”

“This is Grant’s wife. Perhaps I can help you?”

Wife? Cara’s hand went to her chest when she
heard those words. A tightness had spread there, cutting off her air.

“Hello?”
The woman demanded an answer.

Carol
Anne froze where she sat and struggled for breath.

“Hello?
If this is some kind of a joke…go to hell!” The angry words were shouted then
the line went dead.

Carol
Anne’s fingers turned to icicles as she gripped her phone. Married? Grant is
Married? It’s only a few months since I left.

Standing by the gate, Cara’s eyes
stung with unshed tears. All the feelings she had had at the time—shock,
betrayal, anger, abandonment, and confusion—raced through her body again. Her
chest constricted, her eyes watered, and her knees were weak. She quickly found
a deck chair and sank into it, her limbs unable to hold her.

“Cara? Cara?” Gracie tugged on her
sister’s sleeve. Cara looked up.

Grace shifted her weight from foot
to foot, holding a sheaf of papers. “Listen to this line!”

“Not now!” Irritation edged Cara’s
voice. “I’m thinking! I’ve got to decide about this play.”

“My life is important, too. I’ve
been working on this screenplay for three months, and it’s finally taking
shape.”

“I’m sorry, Gracie. I know you’ve
been working hard. I’m anxious to read the play, but I can’t focus today.”

“She’ll read it on the plane to New
York, Grace,” Skip piped up.

“What’s the big deal? Do the damn
play. Isn’t Broadway every actor’s dream?” Grace slouched down in a beach chair
to sulk. Skip stood up and sloughed off his shirt. Then, he hitched up his
trunks and walked toward the pool.

“She’s right.” Skip chimed in before
diving in.

“Like there’s nothing in this for
you, Skip?” Cara narrowed her eyes and glared at him when his head surfaced.

“Okay. Right. Commission. I get it.
But you’ve got a chance to act with Quinn Roberts. He’s such a hunk!” Skip
rolled his eyes.

That made Cara laugh. “You’re so
transparent!” Grace chuckled with her sister.

“Go ahead. Make fun of me. But I’d
do him in a heartbeat.”

“His wife might have something to
say about that!” Both women doubled over.

“Go on–make fun. You’re so mean.” He
pushed up on the side of the pool and leapt out, pretending to pout. Grace rifled
a towel at him. Catching it with one hand, he wrapped it around his waist before
returning to his seat.

“I’m sorry, Skip. I know you have a
crush on him, but he’s out of reach, hon.” Cara put her hand on his forearm,
trying to control the laughter bubbling up inside her.

“You could at least agree to do the
show, after teasing me so shamelessly.”

“Are you going to come with me?”

“Do you want me to?” He shot her a
questioning glance while he combed his thick, blond hair back with his fingers.

“Of course. I love traveling with
you.”

“We are compatible, aren’t we? Of
course, you have your young man on the side, and no one knows.” He grinned.

“I’ll have to say goodbye to Shane,
won’t I?” She chewed a fingernail.

“You always manage to replace them,”
Grace put in.

“Why don’t you give him to Grace?”
Skip smirked.

“A present? I wouldn’t know where to
put the bow!” Cara chuckled.

“I would,” Skip snickered.

Both women cracked up. Skip finished
his drink. “Please, Cara. I want to go to New York.”

“All right. You twisted my arm. I’d
love to do Broadway, but it’s a little scary, too.”

“You’ve done plays before, right?”

The smile fell off her face as old
words from Grant returned.
This is your
big chance. You’ll be great, Cara Mia. I’ve seen you act a hundred times.
You’re amazing.

“Only in D.C.” She gazed out at the
palm trees and the hills, shining in the sun.

“D.C., Broadway…no biggie.”

Cara dragged her stare away from the
view and back to Skip. “I’m in. When do we leave?”

“The script is finished. Rehearsals
start…hmm, let’s see,” he consulted his phone, “In two weeks. Can you be ready
by next week?”

“Of course. Grace, give me your
play. I’ll read it on the plane.”

“Probably spend five days saying
goodbye to Shane—in the bedroom,” Skip muttered.

“Jealous?” She arched an eyebrow at
him.

“And if I were?”

“Too bad. Find your own twenty-three-year-old
cabana boy who wants to act,” she chuckled.

“Wish I could, hon. Wish I could.”
He sighed.

“Gracie, darling, you’ll be here to
keep an eye on the house, won’t you?”

“Of course, sister dear. Where am I
going to go?”

“No wild parties.” Cara winked at
her sister.

“Someone has to be around to console
Shane.” Grace left the room, laughing.

“He’s all yours,” Cara called after
her. “What are big sisters for?” She smiled at Skip.

He stared at Cara. “This is
emotional for you, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Is there any aspect of your life
that man hasn’t ruined?”

“It’s not like that.” She sank onto
a wicker loveseat facing the clear, aqua swimming pool.

Skip turned away from her, lying
back and closing his eyes. The sound of chirping insects and an occasional songbird
could be heard over the silence engulfing them. Finally, he stood up and walked
over to her. Plopping down on the cushion, he put his arm around her.

“Maybe it’s time to give up waiting
for Grant to call,” he whispered. “He’s married, babe.”

“How could I forget? Doesn’t mean we
can’t talk on the phone. Does it? He can tell me how Sarah is?”

“Let it go. You’re torturing
yourself.” He kissed her hair.

“I can’t. She’s my daughter…” Cara
clung to him, burying her face in his neck.

“I know, I know. Let it go. He has.”
He rubbed her back. Tears spilled from full eyes. Skip whipped out a
handkerchief and wiped her cheeks. “What would you do without me?”

“I don’t know.” She managed a small
smile.

He pulled her to his chest and held
her close. “If I had a magic wand…”

“You’d make it better,” she
finished. “I’d better start packing. Might be cold in New York.”

“Do I hear a shopping trip in the
air?”

“Do you want to come?”

“Only queer men do that.”

She put her hands on her hips. “When
are you going to come out of the closet?”

“When the world stops being
prejudiced, and my mother is no longer alive.”

“Some pair we make,” she said,
shaking her head. Cara pushed to her feet then kissed his cheek. “Thank you for
being my best friend.”

“Onward, Lady Cara! We’ll conquer Broadway.”

“I’m off to pack. Don’t get too high
on your good cheer, Skip.” She shot him a sardonic smile.

“Save the shopping for New York.
Bergdorf Goodman
, here we come. I’ll
take you to all the best places…
Henri
Bendel
,
Bloomies
…we’ll have a
blast.”

Cara retreated to her luxurious
bedroom. Airy, filled with soothing, desert colors, and a king-size bed, the
room had been decorated specifically to be a calming environment. Soft, muted,
earth-toned, ceramic tile floor, creamy walls, and burnt-orange bedspread. She
opened her immense closet and pulled down a large suitcase.

As she was selecting lingerie from a
drawer for the trip, her cell rang. “Happy Murphy here.”

“Hi, Happy. New pictures?” Cara
balanced the phone in her shoulder.

“Yep.
These’ll
be the last, Ms. Brewster.”

“The last? Why?” Cara sank down on
her mattress.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?” She pushed to her feet.

“Yep. Can’t find her anywhere. Not
at school, not in a week.”

“Did you try her home?”

“Not there either. The guy’s wife is
there, but no sign of the girl.”

“Huh! Imagine that.”

“I can send you what I have. That
okay?”

“Sure, sure.” She hung up.

Distracted, Cara sat down on the bed
again. She fell back and stared at the ceiling.
Where the hell have they gone? What’s happened to Sarah?
Her pulse
beat rapidly. Tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, my baby. Please be okay.”

A loud knock was followed immediately
by Skip bursting through the door. “I knew I wouldn’t catch you undressed…not
that I’m immune to the female body…what the…”

Cara lay prone, her arm over her
eyes as her shoulders shook.

He rushed over and scooped her up. “What’s
wrong, sweetheart?”

“She’s gone.” Cara fell limply
against his chest.

“Who?” He stroked her hair.

“Sarah. My little girl, Sarah. She’s
gone, and I have no idea where or why.”

“That bastard.”

* * * *

Washington, D.C.

In an office paneled in cheap
plastic made to look like wood, buried in the Southeast section of Washington,
D.C., Happy Murphy, private investigator, tossed a dozen photos of Sarah
Hollings down on his desk. He shared the small space with
Raco
Miner, who handled mostly divorce work. Lonnie Garson, a plump man with acne
and slicked back, dirty blond hair sat in a molded plastic chair, waiting for
Raco
.

“Damn,” Happy muttered under his
breath.

“What’s the matter?” Lonnie sauntered
over to
Happy’s
desk and rested his butt on the
corner.

“The end of a nice piece of
business.” Happy spoke more to himself than to Lonnie.

“Yeah?” Lonnie’s piggy little eyes
lit on the scattered photographs.

“Taking pictures of this kid. Looks
just like her mother, Cara Brewster.”

“The movie star?” Lonnie moved
closer, his gaze perusing the photos.

“Yeah. Kid moved away, and the job’s
gone south. Shit. It paid real good, too.”