The Sea of Aaron (15 page)

The information on Carolyn Allard and Martha Cates did check out. Carolyn had given birth to a son eleven years ago and had promptly turned him over to the care of her then-boyfriend's mother after the two had broken up. There was nothing suspicious about Carolyn's death, either. It was confirmed that she had deliberately hanged herself in her jail cell, using a dress sash as a noose. She had not been considered high risk, and therefore had not been placed under suicide watch. Other than negligence by the prison guards, there was nothing left to be said.

As far as Mrs. Cates was concerned, the woman was a widow, a harmless sixty-year-old, church-going grandmother on disability, who owned a house and was raising her grandchild because her wayward son was incarcerated long term on several drug trafficking charges. The grandmother did not have much in the way of money, but neither she nor the child were in danger of starving, and they weren't totally on public assistance, either.

Satisfied that Valerie was completely safe, Aaron didn't bother to report the details to her and hoped she wouldn't ask him about it. In his opinion, getting involved with a whining stranger was an unnecessary nuisance. It would be best if she just forgot about Martha Cates and her grandkid. The two would survive. Besides, with such a nefarious background, the kid was probably going to end up behind bars like both his parents, and that being the case, Gordon Allard wouldn't have bequeathed him anything anyway.

Aaron had also had Valerie's landline phone number changed to an unlisted one, so Mrs. Cates wouldn't be able to reach her, should she get the notion to call again.

Over breakfast, a mere two hours before he was planning to fly out of JFK to cement the Comoros Island airfreight deal, Valerie mentioned it.

“Aaron, what about the Allard case?”

“Everything checked out.” He rose and placed his coffee mug in the sink.

“Then Carolyn definitely committed suicide, and she really does have a son?”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn't have just
told
me, instead of making me ask?”

The aggravation in her voice was clear, but he had neither the time nor patience to deal with her attitude now.

“Let's not make an issue of it. We can talk about this when I get back.”

Valerie bit her lip, visibly censoring what she wanted to say. “And when do you think you'll be back?”

“Three days tops.”

Yes, she was definitely displeased, and while it would be nice to make amends, there wasn't enough time.

Resigned, she took hold of his gray silk tie and drew him close. “Have a good trip,” she said.

He kissed her, picked up his briefcase, and left.

***

Hours later, while sitting at a table in a crowded fast food eatery listening to Jasmine reprimand her four-year-old stepson, Valerie found herself feeling disgruntled. They had just gotten back from the Meadowlands after seeing a matinee performance of the Ice Capades, a show which Morgan, the well-mannered older child, had enjoyed. But it had obviously not been pleasing to Diego, who'd kept Jasmine constantly up and down during the performances.

“Diego, for the last time, I said no.” Jasmine grasped the wayward child by the hood of his jacket and tugged him back to the seat. “You wanted a chocolate shake, and you haven't even finished that. You're not getting strawberry.”

“Why can't I?” Diego demanded, his eyebrows knitted furiously over his angelic face. The boy was child-model gorgeous with longish blond, curly hair and aqua-colored eyes. However, that ethereal beauty could be deceptive, like right now. For once, Valerie wished Jasmine would give him a good swat on his cherubic backside. It was a good thing she and Noah had a well-trained nanny to help take care of the kid. Unfortunately, she was currently off on vacation.

“So where did you say Aaron went?” Jasmine asked, once she had Diego seated.

Valerie closed her purse as Diego's hand ventured toward it. “Comoros, or something like that. He ends up in places I never even knew existed.”

Jasmine smiled mockingly. “Oh, I believe Noah said something to me about that deal. At least you can be thankful that this is just something to do with Avian International freight and not…um, some military thing.”

“I'm not exactly complaining, but he could have waited. I mean, we've only been together for two days since he got back from Belize and there is so much to do right here. How does he expect me to go around checking out real estate without him? He's going to have to be happy with the choice, too, and so far I haven't seen anything that even remotely suggests us.”

“My mom can have a house built for you,” Morgan piped up. “She's a really good architect.”

“Of course she can, sweetie,” Valerie said, affectionately fingering one of the girl's long braids. “But building a house from the ground up takes a lot of time.”

Jasmine beamed at her daughter. “I'm glad someone appreciates my talent.”

Valerie's thoughts flickered back to Aaron. Everything had been near perfect with them as long as they stayed in the bedroom and didn't talk too much. She didn't like the implications of this. She definitely didn't want the purely physical to become the defining characteristic of their relationship. Yet she was realizing already that she was going to have to carefully pick her battles with him and time them appropriately.

“I have to go to the baf
room
,” Diego announced abruptly in a half-whispered monotone, while scooping off the pickle, onions, and most of the ketchup from his cheeseburger and smearing it on the table. “I have to go to the baf room!” He shouted loudly the second time, so loudly that strangers turned to look at them and Jasmine's face flushed.

“I'll take him,” Morgan volunteered quickly. She got up and tugged the sleeve of the younger one, who glowered and trotted off with her as proudly and arrogantly as a peacock. Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief and dutifully began cleaning up Diego's mess.

“He's having one of his bratty days,” she said apologetically.

One?
Valerie thought but didn't say. She didn't feel like rubbing it in, but Jasmine's attempts to discipline the kid were totally ineffective. Even Jasmine's nine-year-old daughter handled him better. “Maybe you should be a bit more firm,” she suggested

“I'm trying, but it's hard. I don't want to have to spank him.”

Valerie shook her head. “I don't know, Jas…and you're expecting another.”

“Must you remind me?” Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Hopefully number three will be a lot calmer than number two. D worries me sometimes.”

“Well, I wouldn't worry too much. I mean, he's only four, and kids do outgrow phases.”

Valerie had been waiting for this slot when she and her friend were alone, out of the range of little ears, so they could have an adult discussion, but suddenly her own trifling issues with her new husband had diminished. Aaron was, after all, just being Aaron, and she was becoming more aware that Jasmine's life wasn't completely idyllic, either. How easy was it to be a stepmother to a little boy whose biological mother had died under very troubling and traumatic circumstances? She shuddered to think about it.

“I still want a wedding reception for you two,” Jasmine said, breaking the silence. “How about at Renaissance Hall?”

“Good place,” Valerie agreed. “Might be difficult to get Aaron to cooperate, though.”

“Maybe Noah can talk him into it.”

“We'll see. But that can wait. Right now, I'm still trying to figure out what I should do with the Allard money.”

Jasmine shrugged. “How about investing it in Avian stock? Business is booming and because our guys are behind it, it's not likely to go belly-up anytime soon.”

Valerie smiled. “Good idea. But I still can't help thinking about other, less materialistic options.”

She went on to tell Jasmine very briefly about Carolyn and her surviving son, just as Morgan and Diego returned.

“That's a tough one,” Jasmine said. “What are you going to do?”

“I've been wanting to visit an old patient of mine in Nanuet anyway, so I think I just might call her tonight to let her know I'm coming tomorrow. While I'm in Rockland County I'll pay Mrs. Cates a visit as well.”

“Speaking of calling, what's with your home phone?” Jasmine asked. “I tried to call you several times this morning and was told that your number was disconnected.”

Valerie got out of her car and carefully navigated the walkway. She had called Martha Cates twenty minutes ago, hoping she wouldn't be up to the visit, but that had not been the case. Martha was definitely at home and eagerly waiting.

“I'm surprised but so glad to see you,” Martha said, opening the door for her to enter. “I never dreamed you'd come. I appreciate it. I really do because I know most people wouldn't.”

“Apparently I'm a little crazier than most people,” Valerie said wryly. “As you know, I was a friend of Mr. Allard's. Because of that, I couldn't get his grandson off my mind.”

Martha did not look anything like Valerie had pictured her. She was short, round, and much younger-looking than her sixty years. Her brown-skinned face was smooth and unmarred by the passage of time.

“Brandon's in school right now, so we can chat. He doesn't know anything about this. And I want to make sure that you know this has nothing to do with me. I don't want anything for myself.”

Valerie nodded and accepted a seat on the couch in the modest, neat living room, which boasted a fireplace that probably had not been used in years. On the mantle were dozens of photographs. A well-worn Bible and Bible-based literature covered the coffee table.

“I want to do the right thing,” Valerie said. “But before I make a decision, I need to know some things about your grandson.”

“Of course. Brandon is nothing like my children.” She shook her head. “I hate to say it, but every one of them went bad. Not my grandson. I guess God has a way of working things out. He's the best child I ever raised. He loves going with me to church. He gets good grades in school, and he doesn't run all over the street getting in trouble like most of the kids in the neighborhood.”

“I'm so glad to hear that,” Valerie said, wondering how much Martha was exaggerating. “Could I see some pictures of him?”

“Sure.” From the piano, Martha removed what was obviously a recent school picture. “I don't mean to say that Brandon is an angel,” she continued, as though trying to read Valerie's thoughts. “I mean, he is a boy, and he does get into mischief from time to time, but it's just small things.”

Valerie didn't hear a word she'd said because her heart nearly skipped a beat when she looked at the photo. Brandon, a bespectacled mocha-complexioned boy with curly, dark brown hair, bore a very marked and uncanny resemblance to the late Gordon Allard. There was no way anyone could have ever said that he wasn't an Allard grandchild. He looked smart—introspective without appearing nerdish.

“He's quite handsome,” she said.

Martha beamed. “He gets good grades in school, but he really likes history and math, and he loves to read.”

This struck her, too, because Mr. Allard was definitely a reader and a history buff. “Mrs. Cates,” she said slowly, “how did Brandon take his mother's death?”

There was a silence for a moment. “Um, I still have a hard time talking about this. He was sad, but he didn't have much of a reaction at all. You see, the last time Carolyn actually came to see Brandon he was five years old.” Noting Valerie's disturbed expression, Martha continued. “She was ashamed of her life. She told me she didn't want to mess him up. She did keep in contact with me, though.”

Valerie felt sadness for Carolyn again, wondering why she had gotten to the point of suicide when a good lawyer probably would have been able to get the more serious charges against her dropped.

“In her last moments,” Martha's voice quavered, “Carolyn just wanted to do something right for her son.”

Valerie stood up and replaced the picture on the mantle. “We can probably have a trust set up for Brandon. But I just want you to know that Carolyn was wrong about her grandfather. Brandon's color would not have been an issue. If he had been allowed to know him, he would have loved him and given him the inheritance himself.”

“I really appreciate this…I mean, whatever you choose to give Brandon. Thank God there are some people still left on this earth who aren't self-serving and greedy.”

Valerie wondered how unselfish she would have been if she hadn't married a wealthy man. “You'll be hearing from me again, after my lawyer has sorted out the details.”

“May I have your number?” Martha asked.

“I thought you already had it,” Valerie said.

Martha looked embarrassed. “I remember you told me not to call you, but I kind of did once and the line was disconnected.”

Aaron,
Valerie thought, recalling that Jasmine had mentioned something similar about not being able to reach her home phone. The master protector had changed her number without even telling her. “Let's just keep things the way they are,” she said to Martha. “I promise I'll get back to you.”

Four days later, Aaron returned home in the afternoon. He wasn't in the best of moods because even though the deal had been successful, it had required a lot of unnecessary negotiations. There were few things more wearisome to him than having to socialize and lay on the false charm. He detested that aspect of business—absolutely loathed being in the company of wealthy, high-minded despots, who traveled about in limousines and Lear jets and turned their noses up at the very people whose burdened backs allowed them to be in their lofty positions.

In truth, Avian International didn't need the contract at all. The small islands scattered between Mozambique and Madagascar were just a tiny feather in their huge cap, but the territory was strategically significant to Avian's covert operations division. The more access Global Defense Forces had to foreign airspace and shipping lanes, the better. And this was the last and final one sought.

Desiring to find privacy at home, Aaron touched the doorknob and heard the sound of voices inside. Valerie had company. Frowning, he fought the instinct to turn around and go straight to his much more spacious Manhattan apartment, but he realized that he was going to have to start thinking more as a couple than as an individual. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, couldn't find the right one, and knocked instead.

“Aaron!” Valerie exclaimed, opening the door and enfolding him in a welcoming embrace as they stood in the tiny foyer. “I was worried about you.”

“That wasn't necessary.” He held her close, breathing in her subtly citrus scent of hair shampoo and exotic perfume.

“But I was expecting you yesterday.”

“The business took longer than planned.”

“You didn't even call. And you know I can't reach you.”

“
Valerie
,” he said tersely.

He felt that she was crossing the line and being way too intrusive.

As they stepped into the living room, Aaron saw that the visitors were not strangers but Noah's wife Jasmine and their obnoxious younger kid.

“It's good to see you, Aaron,” Jasmine said with a genuine smile. “Major lifestyle change since we last talked, huh?”

Aaron nodded wryly. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, I'm not about to interfere with newlyweds. We're getting ready to leave soon.”

“Don't rush on my account.”

“No…seriously. I have to pick up my daughter from school in about an hour anyway.”

He nodded and then smirked as the brat, Diego, who had been lying on the floor noisily flinging toy cars all over the living room, literally froze in position and then started to tremble. In his peripheral vision, he saw the kid stand shakily and back away from him, creeping cautiously to the couch where he sat down quietly and hid his face. Aaron ignored him, said a few more words to Jasmine, and then vanished down the hall to the bedroom.

He yanked off his tie and tossed it on the bed. Even temporarily living here was not going to work. The room seemed claustrophobic, which was odd because he felt none of that when he was in the cramped quarters of
Saniyah II.
Of course, there was the knowledge that the vastness of the sea surrounded him, whereas here the walls were so thin, he could hear voices—not only Jasmine and Valerie's from the living room, but conversations and music from neighboring tenants as well. And now he could hear the resumed shrieks of Noah's brat, who had recovered from his trauma and was laughing and running amuck.

He changed into casual clothes, emptied the contents of his briefcase on the bed, and began to sort through the pages of a portfolio, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could hear was Jasmine saying over and over again, “Don't do that, Diego. Stop it, Diego. Sit down, Diego.” The kid would be quiet for two seconds and then resume his annoying behavior. Aaron slammed the briefcase shut and looked at his watch. A mere fifteen minutes had passed. He stalked back into the living room and nearly collided with the tiny culprit, who had both arms extended, and was spinning wildly around. The child gasped in alarm upon seeing him, stopped in mid-spin, and staggered dizzily, nearly toppling to the floor. Aaron caught him, steadied him, and then lifted him and plunked him down none too gently on the couch beside Jasmine. “Stay!” he commanded fiercely.

Valerie stared at him in mortified surprise and Jasmine blinked, indicating slight embarrassment, but she didn't jump to the defense of her stepson, who sat rigid with his lip trembling and his eyes squeezed shut, tears dribbling from the slits. Aaron went to the kitchen without saying anything else.

“Sorry about that,” Valerie mouthed, appalled.

Jasmine shrugged. “Don't apologize. Diego just got his pride wounded, that's all.”

Diego, still whimpering, burrowed his head against Jasmine's arm and put his thumb in his mouth.

“It's okay,” Jasmine whispered to him. “Next time remember to do what I tell you.”

And for the remainder of the visit, Jasmine and Valerie resumed their conversation without a peep from Diego, who remained seated like a perfect little gentleman.

***

“Aaron, do you mind telling me what that was all about with you and Diego?”

“I didn't hurt him,” Aaron said, seated at the table, focusing on the food in his plate.

“I know you didn't, but the way you treated him was just so…so harsh.”

“That kid is out of control, and he needs discipline.”

“Well, I agree, but he's a little boy, not a puppy, and it disturbs me that he's so terrified of you.”

“So I'll never make father figure of the year. Is that a problem?”

Valerie shook her head. Diego wasn't their child. They would never have one, so why did it matter? Jasmine certainly hadn't seemed upset by what had happened. Yet it bothered her that she was discovering more and more unflattering things about Aaron—things she knew she should have known and worked out before they got married. Was she regretting their decision? No. She still wanted him as badly as she had in the beginning, but she was becoming more nervous about what else was going to come out.

Aaron seemed totally oblivious to her thoughts, and he was also being particularly uncommunicative. He had been gone for four days to a foreign country and one would think he would have a lot to talk about. Why did he always force her to pry everything out of him?

“So how did your business deal go?”

“It went.”

Incredible.
Valerie stood up and put her plate in the sink. She left him alone in the kitchen and went out to the living room to sit on the couch. Was she overreacting? Maybe. Was it wrong to want to have a conversation with her husband? No, it definitely was not. Flouncing back into the kitchen, she swiped Aaron's plate from under him and was rewarded with such a startled, baffled expression that it was hilarious.

“What are you doing?” he asked, fork suspended in mid-air. “I'm not finished.”

Valerie laughed. “Are you going to bite me? Animals have been known to do that when someone gets between them and their meal.”

Aaron sat up straight and folded his arms across his chest. “Would you like me to bite?”

“No. But I would like you to talk. Where I come from, families actually have conversations over meals.” She set the plate back in front of him again.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Things, Aaron. Things.” She sat down at the table again. “I've decided what to do with the Allard money, for one.”

Did she see an eye roll then? She continued. “I'm setting up a trust for Gordon Allard's grandson. I went to visit Martha Cates and…”

“You
visited
her?”

Yes, she definitely had Aaron's full attention now. His eyebrows were knitted together in a scowl.

“I went to visit her,” she repeated, “and found out that she's a perfectly innocent grandmother raising a young boy who's
not
a delinquent. He gets good grades in school, enjoys going to church, and, what's more, he even resembles his grandfather.”

“Shouldn't you be checking out real estate instead of cruising around paying visits to strangers?”

Annoyed by his sarcasm, Valerie glared at him. “You've got some nerve. I
am
checking out real estate with no help from you, thank you. And I just took a few hours out of one day to
cruise
to Rockland County, which isn't even that far.”

He stood up, pushed the chair back, and emptied the remains of his plate into the garbage. “We'll be moving to Manhattan over the weekend,” he said. “This apartment is too small for the both of us, but you should keep it just in case.”

Valerie froze.
Move to Manhattan
?
Keep the apartment
? The way he had abruptly switched topics alarmed and confused her. “What are you talking about? Keep the apartment in case of what?”

“In case you have need for it.”

“Why would I have need for it?”

His expression was evasive. “In the event that you don't want to join me in Manhattan, you'll have the option of staying here when I'm away.”

Valerie stood up and took hold of his arm. “You're angry, aren't you? Angry that I went to see Mrs. Cates.”

“I'm not angry, but you could have given some indication that that's what you planned to do.”

She stepped away from him and threw up her hands. “I didn't plan it. Okay? Some things just happen. You can't plan exactly how you're going to react in every situation. We're all human and we're all individuals. Maybe getting involved with those people wouldn't have been your decision, but I'm not you.” She took a deep breath. “And as my husband, I don't recall you ever saying clearly that I shouldn't.”

She had him there. She knew she did. He hadn't given her a direct ultimatum. He had merely assumed that she would sense his position and not pursue it.

“And also while we're on this subject, you had no right to change my phone number without even telling me,” she continued.

Realizing that he had no verbal defense for that remark, either, Aaron concealed an escaping smile with one hand and reached out with the other to pull her close to him. “I apologize,” he said huskily. “And Manhattan's really not that bad. You might even like it.”

What am I going to do with you?
Valerie thought, once again allowing herself to be lulled into his embrace and sated with his kiss.
Why is it that even though I might win the battle of words, you somehow always win the war?

***

Valerie's first encounter with the Manhattan loft left her speechless. The place was beyond spacious, and so expertly appointed and designed that it seemed more for show than habitation. It boasted gleaming hardwood floors, a huge living room with expensive dark leather furnishings, a modern island kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, a small library stocked with law books, maps, and atlases, and a beautiful bathroom in onyx and gold, with a sunken-in tub and Jacuzzi. The hallway was lined with well-placed paintings of Central Park scenes in summer and autumn—Aaron's own works. And the master bedroom was enormous. There were also three additional rooms, one of which he used to store art supplies. Last, but not least, there was a small gym with workout equipment.

To sum it all up, Aaron's apartment was a man's place, designed for a man, but not by him. He told her he had neither the time nor the patience to decorate, so he had hired an interior designer. Looking around, Valerie admired the aesthetics and the space, but the clinical, museum-like coldness she absorbed from the atmosphere unsettled her.

When the theatrical curtains were drawn back in the living room, there was an awesome panoramic view of the metropolis, but all she could think about was the view he might have had if he had been home when the planes crashed into the twin towers. She stood near the windows, transfixed by the patch of blue gray from the distant Hudson River.

“Impressive, no?” Aaron said, standing beside her.

“Very.” She stifled an involuntary shudder, knowing instinctively that he had not been home on September 11. Had he been, he probably would have been among the heroes who perished that day.

“What are you thinking?” Aaron asked.

She slipped her arm around his waist. “Trust me. You don't want to know.”

Now she felt an urgency to find a house that would speak of home to both of them.

***

Sunday morning, Valerie went to church in Manhattan, rather than drive across the bridge to her old congregation. Aaron, who actually had nothing important scheduled to do that day, gave her one of his looks and declined when she invited him to accompany her. No surprise there. She left him sprawled out in the living room checking out the real estate section of the
New York Times
.

When she returned, they visited a realtor and went house shopping. The time spent on grand tours of available homes in the metro area was interesting to her, but unproductive. Aaron found it wearisome. He was bored out of his mind—so bored that she was both amused and irritated by his attitude. He accused her of being too picky.

Of course there were some decadently beautiful houses in their price range, particularly in the Connecticut area. But Valerie did not find McMansions appealing. She was convinced that she would immediately know their house when she saw it, and so far none of them had struck the right chord. The day was a washout and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to cajole Aaron into accompanying her on such a mission again. She had learned one thing, though. He honestly did not care. The choice was totally up to her.

“I'm sorry for putting you through this, but I just know the right house is out there. We just haven't seen it yet,” Valerie said as Aaron drove on the Long Island Expressway, heading back home.