Texas Heat (45 page)

 

Sawyer paced the apartment, wishing Adam were there. Marble followed her, her tail swishing furiously as she tried to rub against Sawyer's leg.

The nerve, the gall, the unmitigated gall of Maggie. How dare she come here and . . . and... Why had she come? To offer help, to pity her. To tell her Rand didn't want her, either. Was that supposed to make them friends?

No guts. It was true; she had no guts. A fifteen to twenty percent chance for success. Why bother? An accident on the operating table wasn't her idea of the best way to end her life. Even worse, what if she lived through the operation but came out a vegetable? It could happen. Still, if the operation was a success, she might live to see Cole grow to manhood. Riley, too. Maybe someday she could fall in love again. She might even get the chance to dance on old Maggie's grave.

“Get away from me, cat. I'm trying to think, and I have enough trouble without you crawling up my—” Sawyer broke off as she saw the bag. She bent down to pick it up, surprised at the weight. She unzipped the nylon bag and looked inside. Diaries. Old Maggie was really pulling out all the stops now. Well, wasn't she going to be surprised when she found out they'd been burned.

Breathing heavily, Sawyer hefted the bag and carried it to the fireplace. She was shaking the little books from the bag when Adam walked in.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“Burning Maggie's life. She must be out of her mind to think I'd want to read about her trashy life! Where are the matches?”

“We ran out,” Adam lied. “Don't do it, Sawyer. If you don't want to read them, okay, but don't destroy them. I'll pack them up and mail them back.”

Sawyer's foot kicked out, scattering the different-colored journals. She was pleased to see a fine dark ash settle all over them. “Go ahead. I have to leave now. I have an appointment with Nick.”

Adam looked up at Sawyer from his crouched position, one of the coffee-colored books in his hand. Sawyer noticed his thumb tracing the word “Diary” on the cover. “I didn't know you were seeing Nick,” he said softly. “I'm glad.”

“I'll probably stop after this visit. I don't like opening old wounds. I'm going to die, so what's the point?”

“You have a choice. Twenty percent isn't great odds, but—”

“Fifteen to twenty percent is what the doctor said. No guarantees. I could end up a slobbering idiot. Will you let me live here then? Will you wipe the spittle from my chin? Will you spoon-feed me? Will you put diapers on me if I wet my pants? Will you be able to look in my eyes and see nothing?. . . Well?” Sawyer demanded cruelly. “Answer me, Adam.”

“Yes.”

“You're lying,” she said, but she knew in her heart he wasn't. He would do all those things.

“Keep feeding on your hatred, Sawyer,” he said. “Just don't direct it at me. Direct it where it belongs, at yourself. Go on, see Nick, try to fool him. Or try to help yourself if you have the guts.”

“You sound just like my mother. What do any of you know about guts? Neither of you ever had a death sentence.”

“That's true,” Adam said, zipping the carry-on bag. “But you're copping out. You have a choice, and I'm going to jam that choice down your throat every chance I get. There's a lot of things I don't like in this world, but the one thing I cannot stand, cannot tolerate, is a quitter. You've got all of us plugging for you. The best doctors, the best medical care, the best goddamn support system in the world. But you—you're in a cold secret place full of hate and darkness. This is your ultimate end: get Maggie where it hurts. Die. Make her pay. Make her live with it every day after you're gone. But there's a kicker here. If everything you say about Maggie is true, she really doesn't give a shit, does she? She wins, but what does she win. Sawyer? She has it all now. So you won't really be getting back at her, will you?” He turned away, dismissing her. “Now get out of here before I really get mad. Nick charges for missed appointments.”

Adam picked up the phone when he heard the downstairs door slam shut. He was breathing as if he'd just run five miles.

“Nick? Adam. Listen...”

 

All the way to Hawaii, Maggie brooded about her meeting with Sawyer. By the time she disembarked from the L1011, she was a bundle of nerves, exhausted and drained of all emotion.

A rented Chevy station wagon was waiting for her, and she wasted no time settling herself behind the wheel. She turned on the engine and listened. It sounded tinny, kind of like a Ford sounded in the States. She tested the windshield wipers and horn, checked to see that the lights were where they were supposed to be. Automatic transmission. Everything seemed to be just fine.

According to the map, she should head for the north shore. She drove carefully, following the turnoff for a route through Kunia. The narrow road made her uneasy. It was very close to the Waianae Mountains and ran through endless fields of what looked like pineapple and sugarcane fields.

She was feeling more confident when she led the car through Haleiwa. She ignored the bridge to the north and turned left, past the harbor to the shore.

Maggie gasped in pure delight at her first glimpse of Hawaii's famous surf. The ocean was so blue it looked like a giant jewel. The waves were breaking clean, eight to ten feet high. Native Hawaiians were scattered all along the shore, stretching out fishing nets. Children were gathering shells, their honey-colored skin shimmering in the bright sunlight. It was so beautiful she wanted never to leave, but she had at least an hour's drive ahead of her.

She almost missed the turnoff. Lush hibiscus and a monstrous banyan tree, like a giant umbrella, shrouded the timeworn iron gates at the entrance to Ester Kamali's estate. The snakelike drive eventually widened and became circular, edged on both sides by regal palms standing sentinel. The house itself was long, low, and sprawling, and much in need of paint. But the sparkling Pacific was exquisite, a perfect backdrop. Maggie felt her breath hiss between her teeth.

She stopped the car and glanced down. The grass looked like dark green fur, recently trimmed. Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes and walked up to the house. She knocked on the door and then laughed, remembering no one lived here. She tripped back across the emerald meadow to get her purse, savoring the scent of plumeria.

Maggie slid the key in the lock, then panicked for a moment when it didn't turn. She tugged furiously, perspiration dotting her brow. When she heard the cooperative snick of rusty tumblers, she leaned against the wall in relief.

The hilltop house opened its arms to Maggie. It was large, yet not overlarge, and it gave her a cozy feeling of coolness and light. She worked busily, ripping off dust covers and dropping them in a heap in the middle of the floor. Every door opened to the outside. The French doors leading to the patio were sheltered from the sun and rain by the sloping overhang of a tiled roof. Beautiful gardens were part of every view and seemed to come indoors to blend with the light bamboo furniture and the vivid greens and whites of the walls. Graceful paddle fans were centered on every ceiling, creating a pleasant breeze. And the tang of the sea far below seemed to fill each room.

Maggie toured the house, removing dust covers as she went along. She felt refreshed by the scented sea breeze that billowed the sheer curtains when she opened the doors. The carpet in the bedroom was eggshell white, bringing into relief the dark tones of the native mahogany furnishings. The bed, headboard, and upholstered chairs were covered with a fabric of pale blue flowers scattered over a background of deeper blue. Here, too, a paddle fan beat the air in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

She crossed to the bathroom to find a tiled bath complete with tub, shower, and expanse of mirrors. Dusty towels of the palest blue hung from the racks.

Everything was so beautiful. She tried the water faucet. Good, the water had been turned on.

As she made her way back to the car to drive it up to the garage, Maggie wondered how it was possible to have two such beautiful homes in a lifetime. She tugged at the garage door, but it wouldn't budge. It didn't matter, she decided; the car could stay in the driveway.

She carried in her bags and headed for the kitchen. In the refrigerator she found juice, eggs, a loaf of untouched bread, bacon, and a bowl of mangos. She wondered who her unknown benefactor was—probably the same person who had turned on the utilities and manicured the lawn.

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and toured the rooms again, this time paying careful attention to what had been done. All the rooms would have to be painted, draperies and carpets cleaned. Everything had to be washed and polished, and the outside would have to be scraped and painted. So many things would have to be supplied or replaced—cookware, bedding, appliances ... Maggie sighed. Not today, though. Today was for savoring this paradise. A pity she wasn't going to be able to share it with Sawyer. But at least she'd be making everything perfect for her daughter. And then maybe, just maybe, Sawyer would rethink her decision. How could a person give up things like this in life? Perhaps the island would work some magic. She prayed it would.

Maggie fixed herself a light supper and spent the rest of the evening on the back lanai, drinking in the scent of the rich flowers. Jet lag claimed her at nine-thirty and she headed for bed.

She slept deeply and awoke at seven o'clock. She padded barefoot to the kitchen and made a cup of instant coffee, carrying it out to the back terrace to watch the graceful swell of the waves on the shoreline. In her whole life she'd never seen anything so beautiful. She could almost picture her mother and father here. How happy they must have been! And Thad—Thad was part of all this, too. Now she could talk to Mam about that time in her life.

When she'd had her fill of the Pacific jewel, Maggie reluctantly returned to the kitchen. Phone. She couldn't do anything without a phone. She picked up the white receiver and was rewarded with the buzz of the dial tone. Thank God. Now she could begin.

Twenty-one days later, the house was finished, inside and out. Maggie looked in her checkbook. She'd shelled out twenty-eight thousand dollars. But she didn't care; she would have spent three times that much.

The pantry was loaded with every staple available, the deep freeze filled with a side of beef. Maggie washed the crystal and dishes herself, piece by piece, then dried it all the same way. The only thing left for her to do was engage a housekeeper for the time the children would be here. One of the cleaning girls had said her aunt would be glad to take on the job.

Maggie walked through the rooms, delight written all over her face. Cole, Riley, Adam, and Sawyer were going to love this place. She opened a fresh bottle of wine and poured some into one of the fine crystal wineglasses she'd just bought. She toasted her efforts. Then she called Susan.

“It's done, Suse. I took pictures. Now I'm feeling at loose ends with nothing to do and I'm beginning to worry about the boys.” Susan's silence alarmed Maggie.

“What's doing with Ben and Luana?” Maggie asked, testing the waters.

“Everything's going fine,” Susan said, satisfied she could report truthfully. “The boys are behaving themselves—sort of an armed truce, if you know what I mean. I haven't seen much of Luana, thank the Lord. I'd really hate to lose Ben Simms at this stage of the game. Those modular units that Ferris and I ordered are going to be delivered by the end of the summer when all the foundation work is done. A representative from the company came down to check on the work. He told me how lucky I was to have such a conscientious man working for me. Everything that should be level is level, and all the corners are square.”

“That's nice, Suse.” Maggie hoped her voice conveyed some kind of enthusiasm. “About Luana, though. Do you know if Mr. Simms hired a tutor for her?”

“No,” Susan confessed, “but he's joined the church, and Luana goes to Bible class on Sunday. They both attend services, of course. He . . . he asked if we'd rent out the apartment to him when his work is done, but I told him there would always be work at the camp as long as he wanted it.” Susan hesitated. “I hope that's okay, Maggie. I really do need him. You know our funds are limited.”

“I know, I know,” Maggie said wearily. She was getting a headache. “As long as Luana stays away from the boys and they stay away from her.”

“Trust me,” Susan said.

“I do, but I get all queasy whenever I think about the situation. I guess I'm not as much of a freethinker as I thought.”

“You're Maggie.” Susan laughed. “I got a letter from Aunt Amelia the other day. She says she's well and coming to terms with things, whatever that means. And didn't I tell you Rand was in the country with her? That's where you should have mailed your letter, Maggs. Amelia said Rand was working too hard and holding long telephone conferences with his bankers and lawyers. Something about dissolving his interests in several companies without causing a run on the stock. I didn't understand what she meant. No other mention, Maggie. I'm sorry.”

A long silence. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears.

“Cary stopped by last week wanting to know if we'd heard from Amelia. Of course, I hadn't received her letter yet. He looked awful. I don't think he eats or sleeps. I can't believe Amelia is behaving so childishly, and I'm going to tell her that when I write.”

“We all do what we have to,” Maggie said softly.

“When do you plan to come home?”

“I think I'm going to stay on here another week or so and enjoy this place. Suse, it's so beautiful, it takes your breath away. First I'm just going to hang out on the beach. And then I might visit Diamond Head and take in Waikiki. I may even consider a side trip to Maui. I'll call you before I leave.”