Heartache Falls Part 18

"Alison Timberlake, please."

It was the same voice who had answered the call she'd placed earlier in the week. Bracing herself, she said, "This is she."

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Timberlake. This is Paul Harrington's a.s.sistant. He asked me to let you know that he's unable to get away a day early after all. If you still want the meeting, we'll need to leave it for tomorrow as scheduled."

Well, shoot. Afraid this might be the case, Ali had made her decision beforehand. "That's fine. I appreciate your letting me know. I absolutely do want to keep the meeting, and I'll plan on meeting him tomorrow morning at ten at the Bristlecone, just like we'd planned."

"Excellent. I will let him know. Good-bye."

Ali disconnected the call, closed her eyes, and sighed. She wouldn't make it home for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters event tomorrow. Mac wasn't going to like that.

That evening she climbed the stairs to the workroom carrying four dozen a.s.sorted chocolate candies, knowing LaNelle would scold her for bringing a potential mess into the workroom, but also aware that sometimes a girl simply needed her chocolate.

When she arrived, Rose, Celeste, and Sarah were already there. Ali took one look at an obviously stressed Sarah and asked, "Is it your mother or Lori?"

"Mom. She had a little bit of a spell while at the store and ended up lost in the library."

"Someone is staying with her tonight, I trust?" Celeste asked.

"Yes. Linda Townsend. Could we not talk about it, please? I really need to kick back and relax."

Ali handed Sarah a box of chocolates. "Here, have two. You need them."

The evening sped by in pleasant company, but by nine o'clock Ali knew she'd better get back to the carriage house and call home. All in all, she'd rather invite the black bear that had wandered onto her porch yesterday in for tea than make this particular phone call to her husband.

Driving home from work, Mac was not a happy man. Today had been a real bear.

It wasn't enough that he couldn't enter or leave the courthouse without some idiot snapping his photograph, or that the prosecution team should be fired for stupidity and the defense team jailed for bad acting. Oh, no. He also got to deal with the Hollyweird people. What had Louise been thinking, giving his phone number to Court freaking TV? So what if his "leading-man good looks" appealed to the favored advertising demographic? Louise should have known that he had no desire to be "Judge Mac," especially since he already had his fill of those types due to the grief they were causing Ali. But no, even his silver-haired secretary had fallen for this celebrity nonsense. It was pitiful.

Dangerous, too, as he'd discovered during the lunch break.

Two or three times a week, Mac walked to the deli a couple blocks away from the courthouse and grabbed a sandwich. Today, right after he'd placed his order for a turkey sandwich, a man showed up brandishing a gun.

At first, Mac had thought he'd stumbled into a robbery, but when the nut job starting shouting about earned-run averages, he'd realized that the word fan truly was short for fanatic. The fellow actually got a shot off before the deli owner pulled a baseball bat, appropriately enough, from behind the counter and felled the attacker with a swing for the bleachers.

The only saving grace in the entire situation was the fact that the paparazzi weren't on hand to photograph the whole thing live, and the one cell phone video that popped up on YouTube didn't include Mac in any of the shots. Still, it made for a long, c.r.a.ppy afternoon.

Arriving home to an empty house didn't improve his mood any, either. "Ali should be here," he told Gus as he let the dog inside. "Any day a man gets shot at while at work, his wife should be around to kiss him when he gets home."

This was where she belonged, not up in Eternity Springs. He needed her. He wanted her. She should be here.

He hit the b.u.t.ton on the answering machine as he flipped through the mail. Fifteen messages from friends. He'd already talked to the kids, calling them as soon as he'd realized the event was going public. Perversely, he hadn't phoned Ali. He told himself he didn't want to interrupt her workday, but in a moment of self-honesty, he admitted that he waited for her to hear the news and call and fawn over him.

One of the messages on the machine was from her, though it wasn't fawning. All she said was that she was on her way to quilt group but would call when it was over. Obviously she hadn't watched the news today or talked to the kids.

Hungry because he never did get his turkey sandwich but too tired to cook, he ordered a pizza, then opened a beer and sat down in front of the television, remote in hand, watching an ESPN Cla.s.sic college football broadcast of the 1993 Sugar Bowl. After this trial, baseball might be ruined for him forever.

The phone rang shortly after the pizza came while Mac shared the crust of his first piece with Gus. Expecting it to be Ali, Mac didn't check caller ID before answering. "h.e.l.lo."

"h.e.l.lo, Mackenzie," said the familiar, smoky voice.

Mom. He closed his eyes. He should have expected this when he'd answered her letter. He should have known that she wouldn't settle for a long-distance form of communication. "How did you get this number?"

"The Internet is a grand invention."

"I'm not listed."

"No, but it's amazing how much one can learn with a birth date and social security number."

Mac closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "What do you want, Brenda?"

The pout in her voice hummed along the phone wires. "What happened to Mom?"

That's the question I've always asked.

He waited her out and she finally said, "Okay, if you're going to be that way ... I'm in a bit of a bind."

Surprise, surprise.

"I'm afraid I've lost my job-the poor dear pa.s.sed on last week-and the rent's due."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she'd helped the "poor dear" along on her way, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I was hoping you could spare a little cash."

Of course. What else? He was surprised it had taken this long for her to ask.

Before answering her letter, Mac had considered the probability that this request would be forthcoming, and he'd prepared a response. Although he'd expected to do it by letter or maybe email, not the phone. "Brenda, where are you?"

"Oklahoma. Tulsa, Oklahoma."

Oklahoma was too close. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the end table. "I will pay your rent this month. Give me the name of the place."

"You can just send it to me."

"Yes, I could, but I won't. Name and address of the landlord?"

Following a pause, she said, "Well, aren't you just a little pain in the a.s.s."

"I'm willing to help you, Brenda, to a point. However, I won't be lied to. If you want my help, you need to be honest with me."

She waited a moment, and he imagined the wheels spinning in her head. Mac put the chances of truth coming out of her mouth at less than fifty-fifty. "All right," his mother said, sighing heavily. "I didn't want you to learn this. It's embarra.s.sing. I'm with a man and he's abusive. Not physically, so the cops can't do anything, but mentally. I want to get away from him, and I've been squirreling money away so that I can leave."

Mac knew then that he'd been a fool. One thing about his mother, she'd always been smart. She could figure the angle on any situation and make it work for herself. Obviously he had to rethink his position on what sort of help he was willing to give her. He had to figure out the point in his own mind where soothing his conscience became extortion. "Listen, Brenda. I'm in the middle of something here. Call me this time tomorrow and I'll have something for you."

He disconnected the call without allowing her the opportunity to argue, then shoved himself off the sofa and began to pace his office. Anger and annoyance churned through him. He didn't need this. Not today. Not any day. He'd kept this life separate from that life for a quarter of a century. When he first started dating Ali, he'd told her his mother was dead! Imagine how she'd react if Brenda showed up on the doorstep now. Ali didn't abide lies, and if she were to discover one this big, at this particular point in their lives ...

It wouldn't be good. It would damage the marriage.

Yet if she were here right now-where she should be-he just might confess all. He could almost see himself laying it all out, telling her the truth about his childhood, his teenage years. Admitting what he'd done at his mother's behest.

h.e.l.l, if Alison were home right now, he might even admit what he'd done to her, back when he'd still been his mother's son.

Right at this moment, the idea of doing that didn't sound so bad. Maybe that's what he should do. Just get everything out in the open and see if they could survive it.

"Doesn't matter, though, does it?" he muttered aloud. "She's not here. She's not home. I get shot at today, my serpent of a mother slithers out of the past, and my wife is up in Eternity Springs playing Mountain Susie Quiltmaker."

Gus whimpered his support as Mac stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Although nothing stopped him from picking up the phone and calling her, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to call him, to fawn and fuss. He wanted Ali to be his wife and mother him. She mothered everyone else in the world. It was his turn.

But the phone didn't ring. Gus began to whine. Mac was seconds away from throwing something or kicking something when he decided to go for a swim. It took him forty minutes in the pool to work off his temper and the stress of the day.

When he returned to the house, it took exactly eight seconds for it to come roaring back.

The message light blinked on the phone. He punched it and heard his wife's voice. "Hi, Mac. Sorry I missed you. It's been a really busy day, a tough day, and I'm whipped and on my way to bed. I, um, need to let you know that I have a meeting with a California money guy in the morning that I'd hoped to move up but couldn't, so I won't make it to the Big Brothers/Big Sisters event. I'm really sorry, but this meeting is really important for Celeste and the sale of the Bristlecone, and I know you'll understand. Again, sorry I missed you. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Love you. G'night."

She had a hard day? Mac stood in his office, breathing hard, eyeing the answering machine like it was something dirty. He could call her back and have this out now, over the phone. After a moment of deliberation, he decided against it. This was a conversation they needed to have in person.

Instead, he unplugged the answering machine, picked it up off the desk and tucked it beneath his arm, then carried it out to the trash can behind the garage. He yanked off the lid, threw the machine inside the empty metal can, then slammed the lid back on. It clanged satisfactorily, and Mac went back inside the house and went to bed.

He let the dog sleep at the foot of the mattress.

THIRTEEN.

Ali first heard the news about yesterday's shooting when Gabe Callahan stopped her as she walked to her car following the stupid meeting with the egotistical Californian and observed, "After that excitement yesterday, I bet your husband avoids deli lunches for a while."

Ali smiled up at him. "What excitement yesterday?"

Callahan's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Let me guess. You didn't watch the news last night or this morning?"

"No, I didn't," she said warily.

He briefly summarized the incident, then added, "I guess Judge Timberlake took it all in stride if he didn't mention it to you."

Ali recalled the chaos of her day yesterday. "Mac and I played phone tag." She swallowed hard. "I haven't spoken to him."

Later, she didn't recall what she'd said to Gabe as she hurried to the carriage house and her phone. She dialed Mac's cell. The call went straight to voice mail.

Next she called his office. Mac was in court, but Louise caught her up on the frightening events. "Please ask him to call me as soon as he's able," Ali requested. "I just learned about the shooting, and I'm desperate to talk to him. I'll be on my cell. I'm leaving Eternity Springs now."

"Of course."

As the minutes and then hours pa.s.sed, her cell phone remained stubbornly silent. She told herself not to be surprised that Mac didn't call during the morning hours, but when time for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters luncheon came and went without a return call, her stomach sank. She knew her husband. He was angry.

The last two hours of her trip home pa.s.sed in alternating bouts of guilt and defensiveness. When the guilt controlled her, she imagined how he'd reacted during and after the attack. Mac would have been stoic, rea.s.suring to everyone around him, outwardly calm, cool, and collected. But in his heart, he would have wanted her to fuss over him.

In more than twenty years of marriage and forty years of daughterhood, she'd learned that no matter a man's age, his inner boy never entirely disappeared. The inner boy never outgrew his need for being mothered.

Since Mac hadn't returned her call, Ali knew his inner boy was probably pouting.

That thought jolted her into a defensive state of mind. If the man had wanted her to fuss, he should have let her know that something fuss-about-able had occurred. How unfair of him to a.s.sume she remained tethered to news outlets while she was working! Would it have hurt him to meet her halfway? Why couldn't he have called and said, "h.e.l.lo, honey. An insane man took a potshot at me today"? Was doing so asking too much? Really?

And why hadn't the children called? Not one of them? That made no sense whatsoever-unless he'd told them not to bother her. Had it been some sort of stupid test?

The jerk. Mac Timberlake needed to grow up. He shouldn't expect her to read his mind any more than he should expect her to tune into the news 24/7. All he needed to do was to place a call and tell her something had happened, and she'd have cancelled the meeting and hit the road within minutes. She might put her job for Celeste ahead of Big Brothers/Big Sisters, but her family always came first. Mac should know that.

He knew that until you left him to live in Eternity Springs.

At that, Ali shifted back into guilt mode and continued her drive. Approaching Denver, she placed another call to Mac's office. Reaching Louise, she said, "It's Ali again. Is he still in court?"

After a moment's pause, Louise said, "Let me see if he is available."

Well. Ali's mouth tightened into a grim smile. That told her he wasn't in court and that he darn well could have returned her phone calls but had chosen not to do so. Steaming, she briefly considered hanging up, but decided against replying to childishness with childishness. No matter the provocation.

Louise came back on the line and said, "Ali, he asked me to tell you he's in a meeting and will see you at home this evening."

Fine. Just fine. She forced a cheery note into her voice and said, "Thanks, Louise. You have a nice afternoon."

Upon reaching home, she greeted the dog, gave him extra treats from the dog treat jar, then went upstairs to her bedroom, where she took a shower, fixed her hair, and reapplied her makeup. Like any woman going into battle, Ali wanted to look her best.

When Mac saw Ali's car in the garage, he pursed his lips and blew a slow, silent whistle of relief. He hadn't really expected her to run back to the mountains just because he didn't return her phone calls, but Ali had surprised him more than once this past year or so. He was glad to find her home. The time had come for them to hash a few things out.

Unfortunately, he wasn't in any better mood for this today than he'd been yesterday. n.o.body had taken a shot at him today-not physically, anyway-but prosecutors on a tax case had annoyed him by asking for a continuance when they should have known better, and then the clerk had thrown the high-heat fastball directly at Mac's head by a.s.signing him the Hutchinson trial, a Denver Post reporter's wrongful-termination case that was bound to be yet another high-profile circus. It was exactly the kind of case Mac didn't want and didn't think he should have. He had expected that he and his colleagues would share the wealth regarding high-profile cases. His docket was as full as those of the other judges. Why did he get all the fun?

As Mac whipped the Porsche into the driveway and parked behind Ali's car, he lectured himself to accept this as part and parcel of the job-a job he'd wanted since childhood. He'd set his sights on a judgeship and he'd worked hard and he'd earned it.

In his mind's eye, a memory rose of Ali lecturing a crestfallen high school freshman who had learned that the varsity tennis team slot he'd won meant he no longer had time for guitar lessons. "The lesson here, Stephen, is to be careful what you wish for."

He switched off the engine and sat for a moment, his eyes closed, wondering why he was so unhappy. Was it the job? Was it Ali? Was it their marriage or the fact that she acted like a part-time wife?

Mac let out a sigh and grumbled, "All of the above."

He opened the door and exited the car, pocketing his keys. Then he walked to the kitchen door and stepped inside hoping to detect the unmistakable aroma of Ali's homemade red sauce, which would mean that she'd felt compelled to concoct a peace offering. Instead, all he smelled was pine-scented cleaner.

When Ali felt guilty, she cooked. When she was ticked off, she cleaned.

"Great," he muttered. "Just great."

He hung up his jacket and yanked the knot from his tie, then carried his briefcase toward his office. Down the hallway from it, he heard Ali say, "You're a doll, Zach. Thank you so much. I'll see you tomorrow."

The sheriff again. It was one too many annoyances on top of a day, a week, overflowing with them. His mouth set in a tight frown, Mac stepped into his office and saw that the contents of his bookshelves were scattered around the room. Ali stood on top of a stepstool dressed in running shorts and a scoop-necked hot-pink T-shirt. She held a dust rag in her right hand while with her left she lowered her cell phone from her ear. With the usual spot for his briefcase now occupied with books, he set the case down on the wood floor. Hard.