Handful of Dreams Read online

  She set the pipe down. “Well, you were right about one thing…. I think I would have liked him if I’d met him under different circumstances.”

  But she hadn’t.

  The phone started to ring again, causing her heart rate to rise. Would it be David? Calling to tell her that even if she was a blankety-blank, he would see that the book received fair treatment? In his father’s memory, of course.

  “Yes?”

  It was Jerry, calling from a break at the emergency station. “It’s good to hear your voice,” he told her, adding a little anxiously, “You are all right, aren’t you?”

  “Fine, Jerry. Thanks for calling to ask.”

  “Well, it sounded as if you’d be okay, but you should always take care with a head injury. You should get to a doctor and have a checkup, you know.”

  “I’m okay, really, Jerry.”

  “Where’s David?”

  “David left early yesterday morning.”

  “He left?” Jerry sounded surprised. “Doesn’t sound like David.”

  “Why not?”

  “Leaving you after an injury and all—”

  “Jerry! Please listen carefully: I’m fine, I swear it.”

  “How’d you wind up in the water like that, anyway? Thank God he was there! You might have—well, you know. Susan, with Peter gone now, you really shouldn’t stay there alone. Every time a storm whips up, the house is cut off. And it’s so lonely out there.”

  “I like it, Jerry.”

  He was a dear friend, but he was about to launch into a lecture, so she decided to tactfully cut him off at the pass. “I’ll think about moving out,” she promised. “I’ve got some work to get done this next week, though, and then I’ve got to run down to New York. Afterward I’ll start thinking about my future.”

  “You really should,” Jerry cautioned her. He hesitated. “You’re a young woman, Susan, and you’ve spent so much time with age and death,” he said softly. “I understand how attached you got to Peter. He was a great guy—the greatest. I understand you having to care for your grandparents, and then your brother, but, Sue, you’ve got to live—”

  “I know, Jerry. I intend to. Really. And I do appreciate your concern.”

  He laughed. “But you’re busy! Okay, okay, I get the message. How about drinks with the crowd Friday night? Think you can squeeze us in?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” She chuckled softly. “I honestly have to get back to this galaxy this week. But I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay. Take care. Oh! I forgot to ask you. How did you get along with David?”

  “Like fire and wind,” Susan replied sweetly.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not. Why should I be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I spent summers with David. Everyone liked David.” Jerry chuckled, and she could imagine his homely but oh so pleasant grin. “I did, too, except during my flights of jealousy. You know, he had the greatest parents—Mary was like the perfect Kool-Ade mom. All the kids were always welcome. And David just eased through everything—the best grades, basketball star, baseball, soccer, tennis, you name it. And then he was so damned good-looking, too! But he always shared—and smoothly. Managed to get one of his dates for his friends all the time. Of course, I haven’t seen a lot of him lately, but it didn’t seem like he’d changed any. I went to New York once and gave him a call and he treated me just like royalty. Peter was like that. No matter how big he got, how rich, how influential, he was just the same.”

  “That’s nice,” Susan murmured, her fingers wound so tightly around the receiver, she thought she would snap it. For heaven’s sake, why hadn’t she just said that she had gotten along just fine with the great Mr. Lane? If there was anything she did not want at the moment, it was a glowing testimonial in his behalf!

  “Jerry, I’ve really got to go. Say hi to Mindy for me, and I’ll probably see you all Friday night. Oh, and Jerry, I’ve got a broken window upstairs. It’s boarded, but I need new panes. Can you check into it for me?”

  “Sure thing. Take care. And you should see a doctor, Susan. Bumps on the head—”

  “Are nothing to fool with.” Susan laughed. At last she hung up and sat staring at the phone, daring it to ring again.

  It didn’t. She retrieved her tea, stared at the phone several seconds longer, then convinced herself that she had to get back to Raoul and Lenora. The going was difficult at first. She stared at the page for at least five minutes, but then she forced herself to concentrate. And she was still so mad at herself that she managed to be coldly objective, drawing upon her own recent experience to give her characters a really wonderful night. At least she salvaged something out of that catastrophe!

  It had started to grow dark outside by the time she finished with her pages, made herself another cup of tea, and carried the papers to the parlor, curling up on the sofa to reread, scratching in a correction here and there. She had done it! She had actually concentrated and was pleased and comfortable with the results. All she had to do was add in a word here—

  It was then that the phone started ringing again, shrilling so fiercely into her absorption with her work that she spilled tea over her pages. Letting out a soft oath, she ran back into the library, not thinking until her hand was on the phone, then getting furious with herself when her heart started pounding again. Was it fear? Loathing? Anticipation? She didn’t know, but it was ridiculous. She wasn’t going through this every time the phone rang.

  “Yes?” she said rather crisply.

  “Miss Anderson?”

  It was him. Her blood began to race through her system, hot and cold, hot and cold. She clutched the phone wire like a life-support system.

  “What do you want, Mr. Lane?” she demanded coolly.

  “I’ll give you two hundred thousand for your half of the house, Miss Anderson,” he replied smoothly. As smoothly and remotely cordial as if they had never met face-to-face. “It isn’t worth a quarter of that sum.”

  She started to laugh. “Talked to the attorneys again, have you, Mr. Lane?”

  “Yes, actually, I have. Well?”

  “No, Mr. Lane.”

  He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was a husky drawl that seemed to touch her physically. “Miss Anderson, think about it. Two hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. An awful lot of selling, you know.”

  She hesitated, desperately trying to create a bored and disinterested sound. “Mr. Lane, surely you’re aware that I have an income.”

  “Ah, yes! S. C. de Chance.”

  “And Susan Anderson, apparently at your insistence.”

  “I do call a spade a spade, Miss Anderson.”

  “Call it like you see it, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, Mr. Lane, I do believe you’re reaching the age for bifocals.”

  “Meaning, Miss Anderson?”

  “Not a thing, Mr. Lane.” She made a pretense of yawning. “Is there anything else? I’m not selling my interest in the house.”

  “What if I chose to move into it, Miss Anderson?”

  Susan laughed softly. “You’re not going to leave New York, Mr. Lane, and you know it. However, I am able to admit that the property is half yours. Anytime you wish to use it, you have only to let me know, and I will vacate the premises while you’re here.”

  “Miss Anderson, I never know when I might get the time to get away. If you stay there, you do so at your own risk.”

  “Risk of what?”

  “Being disturbed.”

  “Oh, you don’t disturb me, Mr. Lane. You only imagine that you do.”

  “Perhaps that will put things to the test, Miss Anderson. You might wish to reconsider. Two hundred thousand dollars is a ridiculously high sum of money.”

  “Is that a threat? You forget, Mr. Lane,” Susan said carefully, very slowly and sweetly, “that I considered you a charity case.”

  “I don’t threaten things, I do
them. And I haven’t forgotten a thing, Miss Anderson. Not a thing. Not even a moment. Think about it, will you? You might find it to your advantage to bend early.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I promise that I can be disturbing when I so choose.”

  “I’ll just bet you can, Mr. Lane. But you—” She broke off, suddenly chilled. “Are you planning on destroying the book?”

  “What?” He sounded puzzled, actually lost by her quick change of tone.

  “The book.” She tried to breathe evenly, tried not to care, but a year of her life had gone into it, Peter’s last year had gone into it, and it was just too damn important.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Your book is going to get royal treatment. Surely you suspected as much. I’d hardly let anything go wrong with something that so obviously traces my father’s life.” He hesitated, and she wondered if he was testing her in some way. “If you had any worries about the book, why didn’t you voice them during the weekend?”

  “I didn’t think the damn thing had anything to do with you during the weekend!” she snapped back, then bit her lip. He had been baiting her, and she had fallen right into his trap. “If I had suspected Puma was part of Lane, I promise you—”

  “That I wouldn’t have it, Miss Anderson? That’s rather childish, isn’t it? Publishers don’t meet all their authors, usually only the best-selling ones. And even then the contact between them is minimal.” Except in our case, David added silently.

  “I really don’t understand why you want—”

  “It’s a good book,” he interrupted curtly.

  “That’s big of you to say.”

  “No, Miss Anderson. It isn’t really. I say it with bitterness. You really bled my father right to the end.”

  “He wanted it written!” Susan exclaimed. “It was his idea, and when he found out I was a writer, he—” She stopped abruptly, wondering why she was defending herself, why she was so ridiculously close to tears. “I’m busy. Is there anything else?”

  “That’s it, Miss Anderson. Take care.”

  Susan heard the click of the phone, and still she gripped the receiver. “I’d like to bat him over the head with a brick!” she muttered. “I’d like to…” she paused, closing her eyes tightly, bracing herself. It was a pity that she couldn’t cast David Lane into the pit with the monsters in her latest book.

  Her mouth curled in a grimace of sudden pain. Jerry’s words came home to her with a cutting resolve. She needed to piece her life back together. She had been living for others as they prepared for death. If she could go back, she wouldn’t change a moment of it; she had gained too much. But she had loved and lost, and even learned to deal with loss. She was going to get out and live again. Forget the past pains and the past mistakes, the great mistake—David Lane.

  She dialed Jerry’s home number. Mindy answered, a little breathlessly, making Susan hope she hadn’t interrupted anything. Mindy assured Susan that she was thrilled to hear from her, that she had been worried all weekend.

  “Except that you were with David. And you couldn’t have been in better hands. Unless Jerry had been there, of course,” Mindy added loyally.

  Susan didn’t want to hear about David. “I just wanted to say that I would be glad to go out with you all on Friday,” she told Mindy.

  “Great! Hang on, Jerry’s saying something…. Oh, we’ll pick you up, okay?”

  “Why don’t I just meet you in town? There’s no reason for someone to have to drive out here.”

  “Yes, there is. Mrs. Hennessy’s house was broken into today. A guy with a mask shoved her around quite a bit.”

  “Is she hurt?” Susan asked anxiously. A frown tightened her brow. Crime was unheard of in this tiny northern town.

  “She’s going to be okay. Bruises, scratches, a lump on the head, but Jerry doesn’t want you coming in alone late at night. Okay?”

  There was a plea in her friend’s voice. “Sure, that’s nice of you both. I’ll see you Friday night, then.”

  “Eight o’clock?”

  “Eight sounds fine.”

  Susan hung up. She was going to go out with her friends and have a good time. She would work—totally professional at all times!—and when she wasn’t working, she wasn’t going to worry about anything. Especially not David Lane.

  Especially not David Lane, dammit!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE CROWD, AS JERRY called the group of friends, consisted of himself and Mindy, Lawrence Ewell and Carrie Smith—two more natives of the area—and Dr. Harley Richmond and his wife, Nora. Lawrence and Carrie had returned to Maine after painful divorces from separate spouses; Susan thought they would eventually leave again, that they only came home to lick their wounds. But, except for the Richmonds and herself, it was a group that had long known the ups and downs of friendship. They were warm and fun to be with. She didn’t feel like a seventh wheel at all in their company.

  They chose Badacini’s for dinner, a fresh fish place on the water. The food was good, and after the meal they trekked upstairs where a trio played a bit of everything and the dancers ranged from ten years of age to eighty.

  During the meal, during which they’d all passed their chosen entrees around the table for everyone to sample, Susan had been between Nora Richmond and Mindy. Nora had quoted humorous anecdotes about the things that came home from school in her children’s lunch boxes; Mindy had laughed about her and Jerry’s most recent attempts to begin a family themselves. The conversation had been pleasant and easy.

  But upstairs, when they were all seated around the circular cocktail table, the conversation changed. Jerry mentioned that he was sorry he hadn’t had a chance to see David Lane, and Carrie instantly picked up on it.

  She was a pretty woman of about thirty-three with large, soulful brown eyes and sleek chestnut hair cut in a slant across her cheek, a pleasant angle to her heart-shaped face. She looked at Susan with curiosity and no rancor.

  “David was here? Oh, what a pity! I’d have loved to have seen him myself.”

  “Rekindling old flames, eh?” Jerry teased, idly running his thumb along Mindy’s cheek.

  “Oh, you’re just jealous!” Carrie said, flaunting back lightly. She gazed at Susan again, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a good thing that Jerry cornered Mindy—and that she had a streak of kindness and pity in her! David had it all hands down when he was here! How is he?”

  “He’s … fine, I guess,” Susan replied a little stiffly. “I barely know him; it would be hard for me to say.”

  “I’ll bet he’s aged well,” Mindy murmured. Then she laughed. “Jerry’s right; when I was a kid, I had a crush on him that wouldn’t quit. What’s he look like? Any distinguishing gray at the temples yet?”

  “Ah, no. He’s still dark,” Susan murmured, playing with the lime in her gin rickey.

  Jerry chuckled softly. “I didn’t get the impression that Susan and David hit it off very well.”

  “You didn’t?” Carrie persisted, astonished. “David is impossible to dislike!”

  “Oh, no, he’s not!” Susan snapped before she could prevent herself. She smiled quickly, wishing she could have kept her feelings to herself. She looked across the table at Mindy. “Would you get your husband up on the dance floor with you, please? Then I won’t feel guilty about trying to steal him for a dance later.”

  Mindy chuckled. “Sure.” She and Jerry departed for the dance floor; the Richmonds followed them, and Lawrence charmingly assured Susan that he’d dance with her anytime she liked. And Carrie, too, of course.

  As the numbers went on they all changed partners a half dozen times. Susan wound up on the floor with Harley, who gave her a look of concern. “How are you, Susan? I mean, really, how are you?”

  She looked into his kind eyes with surprise. “I’m fine, Harley. Really fine. Why?”

  He shrugged, stepping on her toe as he moved awkwardly to the music. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I mean, you
’ve had more than your share of it. Coming to the clinic with Carl, then working the hospice with him. Your home life was watching your brother die. Your professional life was helping other people die. And when you finally left it, it was to go and help Peter Lane die. Susan, Peter’s gone now, and you’ve got to get on with living.”

  “Hey, Doc!” Susan protested, giving him a dazzling smile. “I was the psychology major, remember? The psychology major turned writer. I’ve been out of the hospice for a year now.”

  “You haven’t been out of it. You were with Peter. And your own social life consisted of those characters in your novels.”

  “I loved Peter. Peter was there when I did crack, when Carl died. He was the healer on that one, Harley. If I’m not being social now, warn me and I’ll try harder!”

  “Peter was the best,” Harley said softly. He stopped moving to the music and just looked down at her with the concern of an old friend. “That’s just it; you did love him. You were involved again. Susan, a person can only take so much. Of course you’re being social, but I meant that you should be a whole lot more social with someone than you could ever be with any of us! You need a good man, Susan—one who’s under forty! Please, Susan, tell me you’re not going to come back to work now!”

  She laughed reassuringly. “Harley, I guess I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, have I?” She tried to keep the edge of bitterness out of her voice. “I’m going to be a rich and famous author. It turns out that I sold Peter’s life story to Peter’s son, and if he’s on the up and up, David Lane intends to create a best-seller.”

  He frowned at her when Susan thought he should have smiled and congratulated her. “Did you ever tell David the truth about his father?”

  Susan lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “I never told David or anyone else. Peter wanted it that way.” She hesitated. “I almost told David once.” She looked back up at Harley, her bitterness shining brightly in her eyes. “I should have. I believe he thinks I excited his father to death!”