Twist of Fate

  "I wish Tom was here." Julia opened her eyes, her expression wry. "I'll bet you asked him if he would come, and he said that since he wasn't welcome during Sam's lifetime, he didn't think he should come now."

  "That's pretty much what happened," Kate admitted. "Are all mothers psychic?"

  "It's part of our job description." Wearily Julia rose to her feet. "I can't blame Tom for not coming to the funeral, not after the way Sam behaved. That man could be so impossible..."

  Her voice trailed off. Kate guessed that she was remembering the fracture of her family, an event so searing that even a decade couldn't ease the pain. Wanting to avoid that subject, Kate said, "When things settle down, you must visit us in San Francisco. Tom and I would both love to have you for as long as you want to stay."

  "He invited me for a visit when he called last night. Perhaps I'll take him up on that." Julia brushed back her hair with shaking fingers. "It will be nice to...to get away."

  Kate considered suggesting that her mother not return to the gathering below, but Julia would never abandon an event in her own home. Inspiration struck. "Didn't you always say a hostess should be able to make all her guests feel utterly welcome, and then get rid of them when she's had enough?" Kate gestured toward the frost-patterned window. "This is Maryland--all we have to do is hint that it might snow and people will vanish quicker than you can say 'white terror.'"

  Her mother's expression lightened. "Let's do it."

  Kate gave her mother a thumbs up sign. Julia returned it, managing a faint smile.

  Together they left the office, Julia wearing the calm expression Kate saw daily in her own mirror. The lines in her mother's face brought her maternal grandmother to mind. Kate had a swift mental image of a chain of mothers and daughters going back through the generations, sharing stoic strength and support and inevitable conflicts. Someday, if she was lucky, Kate would have a daughter of her own.

  But that was another subject too painful to contemplate. Emotions firmly under control, she followed her mother down the sweeping stairs.

  Chapter 2

  Kate had returned to the living room--Donovan could sense her presence. Awareness of her had prickled under his skin all day. A good thing he'd been run ragged dealing with the aftermath of Sam's death so he hadn't seen her until the funeral.

  Ending his conversation with a teary Corsi cousin, he topped up his ginger ale and surreptitiously watched as Kate made the rounds of the room. She had the same effortless grace and welcoming charm that distinguished Julia. Relatives and longtime family friends beamed at having her among them again.

  He toyed briefly with the idea of approaching her and saying something pleasant and casual. After all, it had been almost ten years. They'd both gone on to full, productive lives. Kate was an architect in San Francisco, and he had found emotional and professional success as Sam Corsi's second-in-command.

  Then Kate glanced in his direction. As their gazes met, a jolt ran through him. He whipped his head away as if he'd been caught stealing. Better to let sleeping dogs, and ex-wives, lie. His resolution was reinforced when he saw Val Covington speaking with Kate. Of Kate's close school friends, only Val still lived in Baltimore and had been able to attend the funeral. He was glad for Kate's sake, since she needed all the support she could get, but Val and Kate together were a combination he would avoid at any price.

  The crowd thinned rapidly, speeded by rumors of snow. Donovan was considering leaving himself when he turned, and saw Kate bearing down on him with a determined, let's-get-this-over-with gleam in her eyes. He stiffened, no longer sure he wanted this encounter, but it was too late to escape.

  He felt a curious duality. On the one hand, Kate was utterly familiar, the woman he'd loved with the total abandon possible only for the very young. At the same time she was a stranger, shaped by a decade of events and people he knew nothing about.

  But he would have known her anywhere, despite the years that had passed. Her coiled blond hair set off by a somber black suit, she was even lovelier than she'd been at eighteen. Of course he noticed--it was a biological reaction. They'd gotten married because of roaring mutual lust, and that hadn't evaporated merely because the marriage had ended in an explosion more devastating than dynamite.

  Halting a yard away, she said coolly, "Don't worry, I'm not armed. I thought it was time to be terribly, terribly civilized and say hello. How are you, Donovan?"

  "I've been better. The last few days..." His voice broke as he remembered the moment when the Jefferson Arms had collapsed in front of his eyes. "I'm so damned sorry about Sam, Kate. Losing a parent changes...everything." As he knew from hard experience. He'd lost both his parents before he turned seventeen.

  "I'm learning that." Her lids dropped over her shadowed eyes for a moment, concealing any vulnerability. "But you're as entitled to condolences as I. You saw him every day. His death will leave a much larger hole in your life."

  She was right; Sam had been probably the most important person in his world. He stared at the glass in his right hand. "Hard to imagine PDI without Sam. He wasn't just the founder, but the heart and soul of the place."

  She took a sip of white wine. "How did the accident happen? I thought that caution was the official religion of Phoenix Demolition."

  "Damned if I know, Kate. We were taking down an old apartment building outside of Washington. Strictly a routine job. Something triggered the blast when Sam was making the final sweep."

  "Any idea what set off the charges?"

  He shook his head in frustration. "I really don't know. Some stray electricity, I suppose. That's always a danger when there's a cold, dry wind, but even so, it shouldn't have happened. The state fire marshal is investigating, but so far no conclusions."

  "I'm sorry, Donovan. Both that he's dead, and that you were there. It must have been a nightmare."

  The image of the collapsing building seared his mind again, as it had done repeatedly for three days. "I keep wondering if there was something I could have done."

  "Maybe it's better not to know." She glanced down at her wineglass, subtle highlights shimmering across her glossy blond hair. Several heartbeats passed before she raised her head. "You're looking well." Her gaze went over his formal suit. Quite a bit different from the jeans she'd usually seen him in. "You've made the transition from wrecker to executive very nicely."

  "Don't let the outfit fool you. I'm really just a construction worker." He offered a tentative smile. "Or rather, destruction worker."

  So politely that he wasn't sure if it was a dig, she said, "Quite in line with your natural talents." She started to turn away. "Good to see you. Now if you'll excuse me, there are some other people I must talk to."

  "Wait." He raised a hand, suddenly unable to let her go without acknowledging the abyss that lay between them. "Ten years ago you left so fast that I never had a chance to say that...that I was sorry."

  Her brown eyes turned black. "Don't worry, I knew that. You were always sorry."

  He flinched as if she'd slapped him. There was a long, tense silence. Then she bowed her head and pressed her fingers to the middle of her forehead. "Sorry, Patrick. I shouldn't have said that. But I do not want to talk about this, now or ever."

  She turned and walked away, her slim frame erect and unyielding. He drew a slow breath. Kate had only called him Patrick when she meant business, so the subject of their ill-fated marriage was permanently closed. He supposed he should be grateful.

  Yet his mind could not be stopped as easily as the conversation. How many times had he dreamed of seeing her again? Even after she walked out on him, he'd been sure that if they could talk, if he could apologize, explain, everything would be all right. He'd searched for her with increasing urgency even after she filed for divorce.

  Not until much later did he learn that she'd left immediately for San Francisco. He'd never had a chance of changing her mind once she decided the marriage was over. Typical Kate--a long period of tolerance and good nature until she r
eached the breaking point. Then she'd slammed the door shut forever.

  Once he realized that, he'd shattered into bleeding pieces. If not for Sam, who'd treated him like a beloved son, he might not have survived. He probably would have ended by crashing his car into a lamp post at ninety miles an hour, like his old man had.

  Now Kate was physically within touching distance, and emotionally further away than ever. His gaze followed her through the room as she moved from group to group, giving people the chance to tell her what Sam had meant to them.

  Her black tailored suit was the exact opposite of what she'd been wearing the night they met. He'd been parking cars at the Maryland Cotillion Ball, where young ladies of good breeding were presented to society. When the job was offered, he'd been incredulous that such events still existed. He accepted because his college scholarship covered only tuition so he worked as many hours as he could spare to earn book and spending money. Besides, he was curious about how the other half lived.

  The ball was held at a historic theater in midtown Baltimore. Though the location wasn't particularly glamorous, the guests made up for that. He got a kick out of watching proud fathers and anxious mothers arriving with their daughters. Since the evening had been mild for December, the debutantes didn't have to swaddle up like Eskimos. Even the plain girls glittered like diamonds in their pristine white dresses. He hadn't known Maryland had so many natural blondes.

  That is, if they were natural blondes. He knew damned well that none of them were as innocent as they appeared. Most were college freshmen and there probably wasn't a virgin in the lot, but he enjoyed the illusion of a simpler, purer age.

  The Corsis arrived in a limousine. Julia was all aristocratic elegance, while Sam radiated the confidence of success and wealth. And Kate knocked him for a loop from the instant she slid from the limo, her blond hair swooped up, her slim neck decorated with pearls that had to be real, and wearing a smile that warmed the winter night. Grace Kelly at eighteen and wearing a frothy, snow-white dress.

  She was tallish, maybe five foot seven. A good height for him. He was so dazzled that he almost forgot to close the car door. Then Kate glanced over, not like a rich girl looking through a menial, but at him.

  "Thanks." And she winked. For that instant he felt as if they were the only two people in the world.

  He'd have followed her into the theater like a moth after a candle if her mother hadn't asked, "Did you remember your gloves, Kate?"

  Kate stopped and stared at her bare hands with dismay. "No. Sorry, Mother, I left them at home. I'm just not cut out for Victorian formality."

  Terrifyingly elegant but with an amused glint in her eyes, her mother murmured, "Why am I not surprised?" as she pulled a pair of gloves from her beaded handbag.

  Kate laughed. "For the same reason I'm not surprised that you came prepared."

  Donovan watched in fascination as she worked the white kidskin gloves over her hands and up to her elbows. They fit like a second skin. As her mother fastened several buttons at each wrist, Kate glanced at him, her expression saying, You and I know this is kind of silly, but I have to humor my parents. Then she glided into the building like a royal princess, her mother and father a step behind.

  As the next car in the line pulled up, he sent a last yearning glance after Kate, wanting to imprint that laughing image on his mind forever. Girls like her were not for guys like him, who parked cars and worked construction to earn college money.

  His imagination hadn't been good enough to guess the way the night would end.

  But that was then, and this was now. He turned away, hoping no one had noticed him staring at his former wife. The old Kate had been something special, opening her arms to embrace life with a blend of innocent trust and intelligence that had entranced him. Now she wore the same impenetrable calm that was so characteristic of Julia.

  Not that resembling Julia was bad--he loved his former mother-in-law. Despite her reserve, she had been a warm, supportive presence in his life. Not precisely like a mother--more of a wise aunt who accepted everything about him.

  But where Julia had reserve, Kate had wariness. And most of that was because of him. Oh, no doubt she'd experienced her share of ups and downs since their divorce, but he knew damned well that he was the one who'd destroyed that innocent openness. Over the years he'd done his best to fix his flaws, but nothing could change the past. Kate was a beautiful, excruciating reminder of the worst time of his life.

  Thank God she'd go back to San Francisco in a few days.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The rumor of snow had produced a general exodus. The last to leave was Kate's cousin Nick Corsi and his quiet, dark-eyed wife, Angie. Nick had worked for PDI for years until leaving recently to start his own demolition business. His face was somber. Kate suspected that like Donovan, he was wondering if it would have made a difference if he'd been at the fatal shoot. Death and guilt were natural partners.

  After giving her cousin a farewell hug, Kate closed the door against the piercing cold. With Sam dead and Nick out of the firm, Julia was the owner of PDI, and Donovan was the obvious choice to run it. He'd do as good a job as Sam. Maybe even better, because he was less volatile. Most of the time.

  She thought with a flash of bitterness that Donovan had done a lot better from their ill-fated marriage than she had. He'd acquired a second family and an exciting career, while she'd ended up three thousand miles away in a profession that hadn't been her first choice. It had taken death to bring her back to Maryland, and not only because she hadn't wanted to see Donovan. The greater reason was to avoid seeing how much she'd walked away from. Yet if she had to go through the dissolution of her marriage again, she'd probably make all the same decisions, so there was no point in self-pity.

  She returned to the living room, pausing in the doorway. Even with empty plates and cups littering every flat surface, she was soothed by the timeless elegance of her mother's lovingly polished antiques and the richly colored patterns of the Persian rugs. The design of the room was pure Julia, yet Sam had loved it, too, as a sign of how far he'd come from East Baltimore.

  Seeing Kate, Julia emerged from the temporary refuge of a wing chair. "Since Janet will be cleaning in here, Charles suggested we meet in the family room."

  Kate sighed. She'd forgotten that the lawyer had wanted to talk to them. As she and her mother crossed the sprawling house, she asked, "This won't take long, will it? Surely most of the estate goes to you. Given his disapproval of Tom and me, I assume that neither of us will get so much as a shilling for candles."

  "You should know better than to try to predict your father. Though it was hard for him to accept some of your actions, he never stopped loving you and your brother."

  Kate didn't really doubt that her father loved her, though he'd never forgiven her for divorcing Donovan and leaving Maryland. Over the years of her self-imposed exile, they'd made their peace. There had been visits in San Francisco and regular phone calls. Though their discussions didn't go very deep, they had become friends again.

  But Tom was a different matter. Sam hadn't spoken to him in almost ten years. Kate uttered a fervent prayer that he'd left her brother something--anything--as a gesture of reconciliation.

  The lights in the family room were restfully low, and Oscar Wilde, the elderly family sheltie, lay dozing in front of a crackling fire. This was the true heart of the house, and a more interesting showcase for Julia's homemaking skills than the formal living room. The solid, comfortable furniture she'd chosen when her children were small had survived years of bouncing, television watching, and Sunday newspaper readings. The pile of large colorful pillows in one corner had accommodated endless sprawling young bodies, since Julia had welcomed all of her children's friends.

  The wall around the fireplace was the family photo gallery, with dozens of pictures highlighting decades of living. Kate's gaze went from snapshots of Tom as an altar boy and playing lacrosse, to Kate and her mother working in a garden glowing with spri
ng flowers. Julia had the greenest thumb in Roland Park.

  Flanking the garden picture was a handsome portrait of Sam and Julia taken the night they went to a White House dinner, and a shot of Sam helping his mother move into the house he'd bought for her in East Baltimore, aided by at least twenty other Corsis, including Kate and Tom.

  Her gaze stopped when it reached her wedding picture. Lord, she and Donovan seemed young, and so happy that it hurt to look. It was characteristic of Julia not to remove that picture, or the ones of Tom. Good and bad, the history of the Corsi family was written on that wall.

  Kate blinked back stinging in her eyes as she remembered the good times. They all had a share of blame for shattering what had once been a happy family.

  As they entered, Charles Hamilton was closing the fireplace doors, his craggy face illuminated by the flames. In his late fifties, he had the same kind of lean, aristocratic build as Julia, and exactly fit the image of an establishment lawyer.

  he stereotype did Charles less than justice. Once, long ago, he and Julia had been engaged. It would have been an eminently sensible alliance between two blue-blooded Marylanders. Then Julia kicked over the traces and broke the engagement when Sam Corsi swept into her life. Instead of languishing from unrequited love, Charles had dismayed his relatives by swiftly marrying Barbara Kantor, a smart, tough, warm-hearted Jewish lawyer.

  Traditionalists predicted that both marriages would fail. Instead, both flourished, producing two children each. The families had always been close. Tom and Kate had been friends with the Hamilton daughters, Sandy and Rachel, almost from the cradle.

  Kate felt a pang as she thought of Barbara, whose down-to-earth directness had made her more approachable than Kate's own mother, who was sometimes too...perfect. Barbara had been killed by a drunken driver two years before, leaving Charles well qualified to offer Julia sympathy for the sudden death of a spouse.