Key Of Valor

Chapter Fourteen

By twelve-thirty, Zoe was installing the track lighting in Dana's bookstore. They'd made the decision to concentrate on one area of the building that afternoon until the final details in that section were complete. In a fast contest of rock, paper, scissors, Dana had won the round.

"It makes sense to me." Dana filled a small spin rack with greeting cards. "There's more room at Brad's place, and he has a cleaning service. He's also been known to cook in a pinch. You could concentrate on the key, and your salon, and let everything else go until the end of the month."

It was logical, Zoe admitted. It was even sensible. But… "It's not as simple as that. How can I follow through on the idea that my house may be a part of this if I'm not in my house?" "Has that taken you anywhere?" Malory asked her.

"No, it doesn't seem as if it has, but it's only been a couple of days since I started working that angle."

When this was met with silence, Zoe lowered her arms and sighed. "Okay, I know I should have felt something by now if it was important. But I can't be positive."

"Sounds like avoidance to me," Dana said out of the side of her mouth.

In defense, Zoe slanted her a long, steely stare. "It is not avoidance. It's… caution. And it's not the same as Jordan staying in your apartment while the two of you wait to move up to the Peak, or Malory moving in with Flynn. You're engaged. And I've got Simon to think about."

"Brad's crazy about Simon," Malory pointed out.

"I know that." She lifted her electric screwdriver to finish attaching the track to the ceiling. "But that doesn't mean we should pack up and move in. I don't want Simon confused about me and Brad—the sex—or getting used to that big house and all the things , and the attention, and the, well, the everyday accessibility to Brad."

Malory stopped shelving books. "Is it just Simon that you don't want getting confused?"

"No." She let out a sigh as she passed Dana the screwdriver. "I'm trying to be comfortable with my feelings, to keep them within reasonable limits. There are a lot of reasons for that."

"I'm looking at you, and I'm not seeing a woman who puts limits on herself."

Zoe took the light Malory held up, then clicked it smoothly onto the track. "You think I should do this."

"I think you should do what makes you happy. And sometimes doing what makes you happy is harder and scarier than doing what's safe."

Though she was a long way from certain about what would make her happy, or what was just going to scare her brainless, Zoe broke routine and picked Simon up from school.

"I thought I was going over to Mrs. Hanson's."

"I know." In a now practiced move, Zoe eased her shoulder out of the way as Moe shoved his face through the seats to greet Simon. "I called her. I wanted to talk to you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"I don't know." Brows arched, she asked, "Are you?" "No, I swear. I didn't do anything."

She parked the car, waved to Mr. Hanson, who was in his front yard raking leaves.

"Okay, then. Let's go inside and have a snack and chat."

"Moe." Loving the game, Simon piled out. "Cookie!" he shouted and laughed himself silly as Moe raced like mad for the front door.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think, when Moe has to go back home, Flynn will let him come visit?"

"I bet he will." She paused at the door while Moe vibrated. "Simon, I know you want a dog of your own. Why haven't you asked me?"

"Maybe we can't afford one yet."

"Oh." On the little clutch in her heart, she opened the door and let Moe bullet toward the kitchen and cookies.

"They cost money to buy. Even if you get them from the pound, I think you have to pay something. And you gotta buy food for them and toys and stuff. And they need shots from the vet. But I'm saving up so we can get one. Maybe next year we can get one."

Not trusting her voice, Zoe nodded. She hung up her coat, and Simon's, using the time to compose herself. When she got back to the kitchen, Simon had already dumped his book bag on the floor and pulled a biscuit out of the box for the now desperate Moe.

She poured Simon a glass of milk and got out an apple to slice to keep her hands busy while she talked.

"You know I'm trying to do something important, trying to find a key."

"For the magic people."

"Yes, for the magic people. I'm trying really hard, and sometimes I think, well, today I'll find it. And others, I don't think that at all. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need help."

"Do you need me to help you?"

"In a way." She put the apple slices on a plate, added some grapes. "Bradley wants to help me, too. And the magic people told me it's important that he help."

"He's pretty smart."

"You like him a lot, don't you?"

"Uh-huh." He reached for an apple slice as she set the plate down. "You do, too, right?"

"Yes, I do. Bradley thought he might be able to help me better if we stayed at his house for a little while."

His face inscrutable, even to his mother, Simon watched her as he munched apple. "Live there, with him?"

"Well, stay at his house for a little while. Like a visit."

"Moe, too?"

At the sound of his name, Moe grabbed his beloved tennis ball in his teeth and wedged his wide head under Simon's arm.

"Yes, I'm sure Moe could come."

"Sweet." After giving the ball that Moe had dropped at his feet a kick to send the dog chasing it, Simon reached for a grape. "He likes it over there. It's fun."

"We'd be guests, Simon, so you and Moe—" This time she gave the ball a kick. "You'll have to be on your best behavior."

Simon nodded as Moe skidded across the floor, rapped smartly against the back door, then retrieved the ball. "Okay. Will you and Brad sleep in the same bed and have the sex?"

"What?" It came out in a squeak.

"Chuck says his parents have it in their bed, and it's right in the next room. He says his mother makes noises like it hurts."

"Oh, my God."

Munching grapes, his eyes sharp on his mother's face, Simon sent the ball and Moe across the room. "Does it hurt?"

"No," she said weakly, then cleared her throat. "No, it doesn't hurt. I think we'd better, you know, pack if we're—"

"Then how come she yells and stuff, and makes noises like it does?"

Zoe could actually feel the blood draining from her face, then flashing back again like fire under the skin. "Well. Um. It's just that some people get…" Oh, please, God, help me out here. "You know how when you're playing a game or watching one on TV and you're excited, so you… you yell or make noises."

"Yeah. Because it's fun."

"Because it's fun. Sex can be fun, but you have to be old enough, and you need to care about each other and want to share this with each other."

"Guys are supposed to wear a condom so you don't make each other sick or have babies before you want to." Nodding sagely, Simon finished off the grapes. "Chuck's father has some in the drawer by his bed."

"Simon McCourt, you have no business going into Mr. Barrister's drawer."

"Chuck did. He got one and brought it to show me. They look funny. But Brad has to wear one if he's going to have the sex with you, so you don't get sick."

"Simon." She had to close her eyes a moment. "Simon," she repeated. "We're not going to stay with Brad so we can have the sex. And when two people, two adults, have the kind of relationship that includes ah, being together that way, it's very private."

"Then Chuck's mom shouldn't be so loud." Zoe opened her mouth, closed it again, then just laid her head on the table and laughed until she cried.

When Brad arrived, she had a suitcase packed for each of them, a duffel stuffed with items Simon considered essential to his survival and another filled with what she considered essential to hers. In addition, she had the cooler loaded with perishables from her refrigerator and some of Simon's favorite cereals and snacks. Beside it was the best part of a twenty-five-pound bag of dog food along with a box crammed with Moe items.

"Are we going on safari?" Brad asked as he scanned the luggage.

"You asked for it," Zoe reminded him.

He nudged the cooler with his toe. "You know, I actually have food at my place."

"This will spoil if it isn't used. And speaking of spoiling, I don't want you to feel you have to cater to Simon, or to me, for that matter. He'll need to have rules and chores just as he does here. If he gets out of line, just let me know and I'll deal with it."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. I'm happy to fix meals for all of us, and we'll split the expenses for food."

"You want to cook, I'm all for it, but you're not going to worry about paying for half a loaf of bread."

"Don't you argue. I pay my own way or we don't go." She grabbed her coat, shoved her arms through the sleeves. "I won't pick up after you, but I will pick up after myself and Simon. Whenever you need quiet or privacy, don't be shy about saying so."

"Maybe I should write some of this down." He patted his pockets as if searching for a notepad. "I'm afraid there's going to be a quiz."

"You may find this hilarious now, but you haven't lived under the same roof with a nine-yearold boy and a dog before. You may need therapy by the end of the month. So, if you reach a point when you've had enough, just say so."

"Is that it?"

"One more thing. Simon and I had a discussion earlier, and I think we need to address—"

She let it drop as Simon rushed down the stairs with Moe. "Mom, I almost forgot the slime dragon."

"Simon, it's only for a few days. You don't need to take everything you own."

"Let's have a look." Brad held out a hand and took the hard plastic dragon. He found the mechanism, pressed it and watched a ribbon of pale green slime slide out of the dragon's snarling mouth. "Cool."

"I give up. Simon, let's start loading all this in the car."

It took considerable time and persuasion to settle Simon down for the night. Zoe couldn't blame him for jumping out of his skin with delight and excitement. The room he would use at Brad's was double the size of the one at home and boasted an entertainment center with its own TV.

Though she laid down the law in that area, she intended to keep her ear cocked for the sounds of the television post-bedtime.

She unpacked her own things, laying clothes in the cedar-scented drawers of an antique mahogany dresser, setting out toiletries on the acre of pale green countertop in the adjoining bath.

"Don't get used to it," she warned herself as she trailed her fingers over the delicate white lace of the spread accenting the four-poster she would sleep in.

It's just for a few days, she thought. Like a chapter in a faerie tale.

She looked up at the honey-colored wood that formed the coffered ceiling and wondered what it would be like to wake in the morning in this bed, in this room.

She zipped her empty suitcase as Brad knocked on the jamb of the open door.

"Find everything you need?"

"All that and more. It's a gorgeous room, like being inside a warm biscuit." Crouching, she scooted the suitcase under the bed. "It's tempting to have a few jumps on the bed like Simon."

"Help yourself."

Though she smiled, her eyes were troubled. She gestured to the yellow roses on the dresser. "Were you so sure you'd get your way?"

"I was sure of your common sense, and your commitment to follow through on the quest."

"You've got a way about you, Bradley." She trailed her fingers over the bedspread again. "A smooth way about you."

"Regardless, I wanted you and Simon as safe as possible. If I'd had to bully you to get you here, I would have. I appreciate you sparing us both that."

"If you'd bullied me, I'd've gotten my back up, which would've canceled out my common sense. Anyway, it's smarter to stick together."

"Good. Are you going to let me sneak in here in the middle of the night?"

Though she tried for a cool stare, she felt her lips twitch. "It's your house."

"It's your choice."

She let out a laugh, shook her head. "A smooth way. We have to talk. Can we go downstairs?"

"Sure." He held out a hand, and though he noted her hesitation, he kept it extended until she stepped forward and laid hers in it. "How about a glass of wine by the fire?"

"That would be lovely. Everything here is lovely. I'm terrified Simon's going to break something."

"Stop it. The day I was moving back, Flynn stopped by with Moe. The first thing that dog did was run through the house and break a lamp. It wasn't a national tragedy."

"I guess I'm just jumpy, between one thing and another."

"Go in and sit down. I'll get the wine."

There was a fire already blazing. He must have seen to that while she was unpacking. Like the rest of the house, the room looked settled and warm and interesting . All the little pieces, the things she imagined he'd collected on his travels, the art, even the way it was all placed.

It spoke of a man who knew what he wanted and was used to having the best.

She wandered over to study a painting of a Paris street scene, the sidewalk cafe with its cheerful umbrellas, the rivers of flowers, the dignity of the Arc de Triomphe in the background.

A far cry from her framed postcards.

And he'd sat at one of those busy cafes, drinking strong black coffee out of a tiny cup, while she'd only dreamed of it.

Brad came in with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses held by the bowls in the other. "I bought that a couple of years ago," he said as he joined her. "I liked the movement, the way the traffic's bunched up on the street. You can almost hear the horns blasting."

He tipped wine into one of the glasses, waited for her to take it. "We Vanes can't seem to stop collecting art."

"Maybe you should think about having a museum."

"Actually, my father's working on something. A hotel, a resort. He could fill it with some of his art, and have an excuse to buy more."

"He would build a hotel just so he has a place to put his art collection?"

"That, and enterprise. Art, wood, and capitalism are the Vane bywords. He's angling to find the right piece of land here in the Highlands, where it all began." His shrug was a gesture of easy confidence. "But if he doesn't, he'll find it elsewhere. Once B.C. knows what he wants, he doesn't take no for an answer."

"So you come by it honestly."

"I'll take that as a compliment. He's a good man. A little formidable, but a good man. A good husband and father and a hell of a businessman. He'll like you."

"I can't imagine," she said faintly.

"He'll admire what you've done with your life, what you've made. And what you're still building. He'd say you have grit, and there's nothing he respects more."

She expected a man like B. C. Vane would grill her like a hamburger patty if he ever discovered she was involved with his son.

"Do you love them? Your parents?" "Very much."

"I don't know if I love my mother." It spilled out before she knew she meant to say it, before she knew she thought it. "What an awful thing to say. I want to, but I don't know if I do."

Shocked by her own words, she lowered herself to the arm of a chair. "And my daddy, I haven't seen him in so many years. I don't even know him, so how could I love him? He left us. He left his wife and his four children, and he never came back."

"That was tough on you. Tough on your mother."

"On all of us," Zoe agreed. "But especially on Mama. It didn't just break her heart, it shriveled it up until it was all dry and brittle and there wasn't any juice left for us. When he left, she took off after him. I didn't think she was going to come back."

"She left you alone?" The sheer outrage of it vibrated in his voice. "She left four children alone?"

"She was wild to get him back. She was only gone a few days, but… oh, God, I was scared. What was I going to do if she didn't come back?"

"Wasn't there anyone you could've called, gone to for help?"

"My mama's sister, but she and Mama fought all the time, so I didn't want to call her. I didn't know if I should call any of my daddy's family, the way things were. The fact was, I didn't know what the hell to do, so I didn't do anything except mind the kids and wait for her to come home."

He couldn't fathom it. "How old were you?"

"Twelve. Junior was only a year younger than me, and he wouldn't mind me. Joleen, she was a couple years younger than him, so she'd've been eight, I guess, and she cried for a whole day. I never saw anybody cry like that before or since," Zoe said with a sigh. "Mazie, the baby, was five, so she didn't really understand what was going on, but she knew something was up. I couldn't hardly take my eyes off her for a minute. I didn't know what I was going to do if we ran out of food or money to buy more."

She shifted to sit in the chair, dangling the wineglass between her knees. "But she came back. I remember thinking how tired she looked, and how hard. But she was going to look more tired, more hard before it was done. She did her best for us. She did all she could, but I don't know that she ever loved us again. I don't know if she could."

She looked up at him then. "Those are the people I come from. I wanted you to know."

"Are you telling me that because you think it'll change my feelings for you? That if I find your parents irresponsible and selfish I'll stop loving you?"

Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass when her hand jerked. "Don't say that. Don't say something about love when you don't even know me."

"I know you, Zoe. Do you want me to tell you what I know? What I see, what I feel?"

She shook her head. "God. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know how to make you understand how this twists me around. How I'm afraid if I let go again, I could end up dried up inside, too."

"The way you let go with James Marshall?"

She sighed. "I loved him. Bradley, I loved him so much. It was like being inside a crystal bowl, where everything was so shiny and bright. It wasn't just something reckless, something careless between us."

He sat down with her. 'Tell me. I need to know," he said when she hesitated. "And if that's not enough, going back over it, with me, might be one of the steps toward the key."

"I'm not ashamed." She spoke quietly. "It's not that I'm ashamed, but that some of it—the things that happened, the things I felt—have always been just for me. But you deserve to hear it."

He touched the back of her hand, then let her go. "How did you meet him?"

"I guess you could say it was through our mothers. Mrs. Marshall, she had my mama do her hair. Sometimes she'd have Mama come out to her house before a party, or before she was going somewhere special, to do her up. Maybe I'd go along, give Mrs. Marshall a manicure, or do the shampoo. She was nice to me. She was always very kind, and not snooty. Well, not very," she corrected.

"She would talk to me, and she'd answer questions if I asked about the pictures on the walls or the flowers on the dresser. She'd ask me about school, or boys. And she'd always slip me an extra five dollars when my mother wasn't looking.

"James was off at school. I'd see him once in a while, but he never noticed me. And I'd look at his pictures on Mrs. Marshall's bureau. He was so handsome, like a knight or a prince, so maybe I fell a little bit in love that way. Girls do."

"So do boys," Brad added.

"Maybe. They gave a lot of parties in the big house. Mrs. Marshall, she loved giving parties. She hired me to help with the serving for some of them, and even bought me a good black skirt and a white blouse so I'd look nice. They had a party in the spring, and James was home from school. He noticed me."

She looked down at her wine as if she'd forgotten it was there. Gathering her thoughts, she took a slow sip. "He followed me back to the kitchen, and he was talking to me, flirting. I was so shy, and he made me clumsy. But he was so sweet about it. After it was over, and things were cleaned up, he drove me home."

She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. "I wasn't supposed to take rides from boys, so I shouldn't have let him drive me. I knew his mama wouldn't like it if she found out. And mine? She'd've skinned me. But I couldn't help it. Just like I couldn't help seeing him again. Sneaking out to see him, because his parents and my mama, they wouldn't have allowed it. That only made it more exciting, more wonderful. Like Romeo and Juliet. I was young enough, and so was he, to think like that. To slide right into love without thinking about anything else."

She looked at Brad, and could read his thoughts. "You're thinking he took advantage of me, that he was using me, but it wasn't like that. Maybe he didn't love me, not the way I loved him. But he thought he did. He was only nineteen, and caught up in the romance of it the same as I was."

"Zoe, at nineteen, with his background, his lifestyle, he knew a lot more about… life than you did."

"Maybe. Maybe that's true, especially since I didn't know much of anything. But he didn't push me, Bradley. I don't want you to think that. He didn't insist or demand, and he wasn't any more to blame than I was. It just happened."

"And when you told him you were pregnant?"

She took a breath, long and slow. "I didn't even know I was for over two months. I wasn't very smart about that kind of thing. It was September before I was sure, and he was away at college. When he came home one weekend, I told him. He was angry, and he was scared. And I guess, looking at it from here, I can see it was already fading for him. Here he is, off at college with all those exciting things happening, and some girl at home he's already losing interest in comes up pregnant."

"Yeah, his bad luck."

She had to smile a little. "You're awfully hard on him."

"A hell of a lot harder if I had the chance." Annoyed, he got up to pour another half glass of wine. "Maybe part of it's jealousy. But the bigger part is knowing he let you go through this alone."

"He said we'd do the right thing, that he'd stand by me. I believe he meant it, even though he was scared and angry. I believe he meant it when he said it."

"Words are cheap."

"Yes, they are." She nodded slowly while Brad wandered around the room. "Someone like you, you'd have meant them, and you'd have followed through with them. Not everyone's built the same. And sometimes the right thing isn't what you think it is. I'm where I am because he didn't follow through, so it was the right thing. For me and for Simon."

"All right. What happened next?"

"He was going to tell his parents, and I had to tell my mama, then we'd do what we had to."

"But he didn't do it."

"Oh, he told his parents, just like I told my mother. Mama was mad, but a part of her was smug. I could see that part on her face when I told her. The part that was thinking it served me right for acting like I was better than the rest of them, and now I'd find out just what was what. Still, when Mrs. Marshall came around, Mama stood up for me."

Her chin came up now, a gesture of pride. "Mrs. Marshall said I was a liar and a cheat, a tramp who'd tricked her son into sneaking around behind her back. I wasn't going to drag her boy down in the gutter, and if I was pregnant it didn't mean the baby was his. Even if it was, she wasn't having him pay the rest of his life for falling in with me. She said more, things about how she'd taken me into her home, trusted me, and I was no better than a thief and a whore. She tossed a check for five thousand dollars down on the table and told me that was all I'd ever get. I could use it for an abortion, or whatever, but I'd never get another penny, and if I tried to get more, tried to see James again, she'd see to it that my family paid for it."

"You were carrying her grandchild."

"She didn't see it that way. She couldn't. And she would have made my family pay. She had the money and the power, and I had nothing to fight back with. She sent James away, I don't know where. I wrote him a letter that September, to the college, asking him what to do, what did he want me to do. He never answered, so I guess that was answer enough. I took the money, and the savings I'd squirreled away, and I left. I wasn't going to raise my baby in that trailer court. I wasn't going to raise him anywhere near the Marshalls. After Simon was born, I sent James another letter, with a picture of the baby. It came back unopened. So I put that aside, and I promised myself I'd look after my own. And I wasn't going to look for somebody to make things better, or different, or show me what to do. I wasn't going to look for somebody to tell me they loved me and they'd do the right thing."

He came back to sit, took the glass of wine she'd neglected out of her hand and set it aside. "You've proved you can make a good life for yourself and Simon. On your own. Do you have to go on proving it?"

"If I let this happen between us, and you walk away… I'm not brave enough to risk it. Maybe I would be if it was just me. But it's not."

"You don't believe I'm in love with you."

"I believe you think you are, and I know that no one would stop you from doing the right thing. Even if it wasn't right for you. So I'm going to ask you to wait until this month is over, until everything's less romantic and exciting, then see how we are together."

She was holding up a mirror, he thought, reflecting back what was between them to what had been between her and James. He struggled to find some understanding through the resentment. "I want to ask you one thing. Just one. Do you love me?"

"I can't help but love you, but I can help what I do about it."