Beauty Queen (27 page)

began walking for the front of the house, leaving Rebecca to stare at his back. He hadnt heard a word shed said.

She and Dad never really talked again that weekend; after all, his advice was dispensed, and he seemed more interested in what Robin and Jake were doing, what Grayson and Cole were doing. Where Mom was, what Rachel was doing in the UK again.

It was, strangely enough, as if that weekend was meant to point up a few fundamental facts to Rebecca, like what was wrong and had been wrong about her relationship with her father since she could remember. He had never cared what was going on inside of her. For all of his philosophical bullshit, the bottom line was about appearances. Her looks, her marriage, her son. .. This business about not wanting her to make mistakes was a liethe truth was that he didnt want her to embarrass him. God, she was sick of appearances!

When Dad and Jake took Grayson and Cole fishing, and Grandma and Grandpa were out on the porch having lemonade one afternoon, Rebecca asked Robin, Have you ever noticed that Dad is more concerned with appearances than he is the real us?

Have I noticed? Robin laughed. Did you forget? He hired me for appearances. Dont tell me youre just now figuring that out didnt you ever wonder why he was so hot for you to do the Miss Texas thing?

Yeah, Rebecca said solemnly, I guess Im just now figuring it out.

With a playful punch to the arm, Robin asked, Whats with you, anyway? Youre so mopey.

I dont know. Its just that... remember when Dad was really sick, and he handed down that ultimatum?

Ah, but there were so many, Robin said with a roll of her eyes. Which one?

The one about how we had to learn to stand on our own two feet, figure out the important things, or hed ...

Cut us off, Robin finished for her.

Right. Well... I am trying to stand on my own two feet, but hes worried that I am going to be a kept woman or some ridiculous thing like that. He doesnt really care who I am or how I feel, just how I look to the rest of the world! He wants me to set up as some retiring social butterfly and do nothing but look after Grayson, because in his mind, thats what I am supposed to be doing.

So? What else is new? Dad has always known whats best for us without bothering to know us at all, Robin said, almost cheerfully, having come to her conclusions about the old man and having moved on with her life.

It wasnt so easy for Rebecca. But I want him to care, Robin. I want him to see me for who I am.

Robin shook her head. My advice? Dont care. Dad is never going to see you like you want him to see you. Hes never going to see anyone or anything other than exactly what he wants to see. But it doesnt matter what he thinks. Its your life, and you arent living it for him. Be who you are, Rebecca. And be happy. Life is too short to do anything else. If you give what he thinks a second thought, you will only make yourself crazy. Trust me on this one.

Rebecca nodded, but she couldnt do what Robin suggested, because she was already crazy.

So what about that guy? Robin asked, munching on some of Grandpas peanuts.

Rebecca glanced at her from the corner of her eye. What guy?

The Brad Pitt gorgeous one, Robin reminded her with a grin.

Nothing, Rebecca said, and picked up her sketchbook and pencils and walked outside.

Chicken! Robin shouted after her, but Rebecca kept walking, out onto the porch, down the steps and across the lawn, where Frank, Bean, and Tater picked up her scent and came trotting out from their nap under the porch. They walked down to the river, where Rebecca propped herself up against the smooth bark of a weeping willow. From this vantage point, she had a vista of spring wildflowers, grazing cattle, and tall cottonwoods rustling over the rivers

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfullysave a very heated argument between Robin and Dad about the Houston Astros, which drove Rebecca outside again. By the time

edge. The sight of it so soothing, bringing back myriad youthful memories when she and Robin and Rachel would come down here, talk about boys, paint their nails, and dream of happy ever afters.

She opened the velvet box, took out a pencil, and picked up her sketchbook.

She stared at the thick paper, trying to dredge up the memory of how it felt to take a pencil in hand and let whatever it was inside her flow out onto the page. There was a time that it had taken no conscious thought at all, just pencil and paper. Only now ... now it felt impossible. She didnt have the slightest idea where to begin.

Tears clouded her vision, and she was struck with the desperate notion that she had given up all that she was to be Buds wife, including this part of her. She had believed his promises, had believed in their future. Now she had nothing left that she didnt have to rebuild.

Rebecca looked at the tops of the cottonwood trees, bending and swaying in the afternoon breeze. Get it back, Matt had said. Just be.

Easy for him to say because he could just be who he was arrogant and kind all at once, caring in a weird, fascist sort of way, she thought with a little smile. Smart. Competent. Incredibly sexy. Of course he could believe in himself. She wished she could believe in herself like that instead of stuffing her spirit down, leaving it to lurk in her thoughts and heart.

A flicker of light caught her eye, and Rebecca looked up to the tops of the cottonwood trees again. Miraculously, her hand began to move. She blinked, looked down at the pad she was holding and saw the first marks of a tree. She dropped the pencil, wiped her eyes, picked up her pencil again, and looked at the leaves impressed against a bright spring sky.

Rebecca returned to her lake house, she was emotionally exhausted from her family and all the blasted introspection she had done.

She said good-bye to Grandma and Grandpa, then made hot dogs, Graysons favorite, for supper. Later, when Grayson settled down in front of taped episodes of Sponge-Bob SquarePants with the dogs, Rebecca went to her office with a pint of Ben & Jerrys to check her phone messages.

The first was left bright and early Friday morning by Tom. Hey, did you see the piece in the paper about us? Great job, Rebecca! Listen, could you come in next week? Id like to talk to you about a bigger deal. Im thinking of a big summer fund-raising bash that will leave the competition gasping! You know, one with some great live entertainment like Lyle Lovett... He rattled on about that; Rebecca jotted down a note to call him.

There was another early call from Bud, who, among other things, made a remark about the picture in the Austin paper. I hope you are finally moving on with your life, Bec, he said, which made her cringe, and then, And I hope you got a chance to mention Tom to your dad. Typical.

The last message, left just after ten on Friday, was from Matt. She smiled when he said, Mork, you home? Just the sound of his voice made her feel warm. Ah ... well. This is Big Pants in case you hadnt figured that out. So ... He paused there, drew a breath. Look, I know were not going there, but Ive got a couple of tickets to the lyric opera and I thought you might enjoy it. The thing is, Im not the most lyric guy in the world you probably already knew that and I could use someone to translate for me ... His voice trailed off again. She heard a faint tapping in the background. Okay, so if youre interested, its Sunday at six. Give me a call if you want to go. Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye, he said, and hung up.

Rebecca glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. She debated calling him, but decided not to, to stick with her instincts, and her instincts said this could never really go anywhere. Her curiosity about him was really nothing

more than the usual curiosity that comes after divorce. Shed read enough self-help books to know that a rebound affair was really not healthy, and this ... thing couldnt possibly be more than that. So no matter how much her heart was leaning in one direction, her mind was yanking her in another. Just dont go there...

When Bonnie Lear returned to her Los Angeles Brent-wood home from the gym Monday afternoon, there was a note on the door. Bealman Florists, it said. She turned the card over; a delivery man had left a message for her to call. Bonnie dug out her cell phone and dialed the number. The guy said he needed to come by and deliver.

Flowers? she asked.

The guy laughed. You could say that.

Bonnie looked at her watch. Ive got to run a few errands. Why dont you just leave it on the porch?

Its too big to leave on the porch, maam, he said.

Too big?

Maam, this isnt one order. Its like, dozens.

Bonnie paused in trying to fit her key in the door. Dozens? Dozens of what?

Roses. Listen, Im not too far. If you can just stay put for a half hour, Ill be there.

Okay, she sighed, and clicked off the phone. She walked into the kitchen, stared out at the backyard pool.

A quarter of an hour later, she heard a vehicle in the drive and walked out onto her front porch. It was not a small van, but a big delivery truck. The man hopped down out of the day cab, walked around to the back. Bonnie joined him there, peering over his shoulder as he reviewed several pages of a bill of lading. Then he unlatched the back and pushed the roll-away door up.

The sickly sweet scent was overpowering, knocking them both back a step. The truck was full of roses. Yellow, white, red, pink ... dozens and dozens of roses.

Someone must really be in the doghouse, huh? the delivery guy remarked with a grin.

Goddamn him. Goddamn him! Is there a card? Bonnie asked, and the man handed her a stack of them. She opened the first one.

Please forgive me. I love you, Aaron.

She crumpled it in her hand and damn near threw it at the delivery man.

On the Friday after the Tom Masters Charity Bingo Bash, at the same moment Rebecca was suffering through the RV trip from hell, Matt was in his office, staring at the phone instead of getting stuff together for a hearing on the Kiker case.

He had already picked up the phone twice and put it down. This was a really stupid idea. Nothing was different with Rebecca hell; it was just a thank-you kiss that he tried to take a little further than she intended. Nothing to get all excited about and certainly nothing to make a fool of himself over.

He told himself he should really forget the whole thing and move on. Maybe call Debbie Seaforth. Which was why, then, when he picked up the phone a third time, he dialed Rebeccas number really fast before he talked himself out of it.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Shit. Matt was just about to hang up when the answering machine picked up and her silky calm voice was asking him to leave a message. Double shit he hadnt thought about that, and the

piercing beep signaling it was time to leave his message rattled him badly. Ah hey, Mork, you home? he blurted, wincing, and continued to wince until he had stopped blathering into her machine and had hung up.

Then he pounded his desk with his fist. This was bullshit he was acting like a little kid! Since when was he so unnerved by a woman? Never, which was why he really had to stop letting his balls do all his important thinking.

He got up, started going through the files, but was interrupted by the buzz of his interoffice speaker. Its your mother, Mr. Parrish, Harold said over the intercom.

Oh no. Matt loved his mom, but the lady could talk. Tell her Ill call her later, he said, clicked off, and walked across the room to a file cabinet.

The buzzer rang again.

With a sigh, Matt walked back, punched the button. Yes?

Im sorry to bother you, sir, but your mother is very insistent.

Harold would never know what an understatement that was. Okay, put her through, he said, and picked up the handset. Mom? Whats the matter?

Nothing is the matter, Matthew. But I was not in the mood to wait to find out who this lovely young woman is!

What woman, Mom? Matt asked absently as he thumbed through some files.

The one standing beside you, she said, all chipper. In the paper.

It worked; she definitely got Matts attention. What paper?

The Statesman, silly, Mom giggled. This morning I open it up and there you are, big as life smack dab in the middle of the Life section, standing behind that friend of yours who is running for office. But youre not looking at him. Youre looking at her. And what an interesting look it is!

Oh maaaaaan. His first instinct was to play dumb. Mom, shes just someone working on Toms campaign.

And besides, youve seen me in the paper with different women.

Yes I know, my darling son, but youre usually more interested in the camera than your date, she purred with all motherly privilege. And besides, / am not the one who is excited.

The little wave of panic was now spiraling into full mast. Okay, well, this is a delightful conversation, but Ive got to go. Ive got a hearing in an hour and I cant find the damn file

Oh, you run right along, honey. Im going to cut out the pictures so that you can look at them later. Three in all, if youre interested. Bye now!

Matt frowned at his moms little chuckle as she hung up. He sprang out of his chair, strode across his office to the door, and yanked it open. Harold! he barked. Bring me todays paper! He pivoted sharply and marched back to his desk.

Harold appeared almost instantly with the folded paper in his hand, which he laid in front of Matt, the Life section conveniently on top. You and Miss Lear look really marvelous together, he said admiringly. Page six.

He and who? Ben said from the door, wandering in as Matt yanked the paper open to page six.

Miss Lear.

The beauty queen?

Do you guys mind? Matt asked testily. Ive got to get ready for a hearing in less than an hour

Hey, I wanna see, Ben said, waltzing in to have a look.

Theyre fabulous pictures, Harold gushed. Really fabulous. How was the bingo bash, by the way?

The what? Ben exclaimed loudly.

Long story, Matt muttered, turning to page six to see what the rest of the world had apparently already seen this morning. Judas H. Priest, there they were, gazing into each others eyes. When the hell had that happened?