But now the house stood before her in perfect repair. It was what it should have been, beautiful beyond anything Amy could have imagined. Jason had clearly made it his home.
Inside, she didn’t have time to look at much as Jason carried a tired, but still whimpering Max through the marble-floored foyer, through the living room, then down the corridor into the room that had once been Max’s nursery. It was preserved intact, just as it had been two years ago, everything clean and tidy, as though the baby who used it would be back any minute.
All in all, Amy thought, it was rather creepy.
Jason put Max down, the child looked about for a second, then he relaxed, and finally, at long last, he went to sleep.
“He cannot remember this place,” Amy said. “He was just a baby when he left.”
“No one ever forgets love, and he loved this house,” Jason said.
And he loved you, Amy wanted to say but didn’t.
For a moment Jason waited, as though expecting her to say something, but when she was silent, he said, “You know where your room is,” then turned away and went to what Amy knew was the same room where he’d stayed when it was her house.
When she was alone, she went into what had been her bedroom. It was a far cry from what it had been when she lived in the house, and she knew that only a professional decorator could have made the room so beautiful. Even down to the fresh flowers, it was heavenly. Exhausted from her struggles with Max, she did little more than visit the bathroom, then fell onto the bed.
So now it was morning, Max was still asleep, and she guessed that Jason was still sleeping in the spare bedroom.
“And we forgot Doreen’s furniture,” she said as she finished her tea, then she stood and stretched. She needed to get dressed so she could get to work. The murals needed to be done before the president’s visit, she thought, smiling.
In her bedroom she wasn’t surprised to find clean clothes, just her size, in the closet. And when Max woke up, she wasn’t surprised to find that Jason had already left the house.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“DAMN IT TO HELL AND BACK,” JASON SAID AS HE BANGED his fist on the steering wheel of the car. Just what did Amy think he was made of? He hadn’t slept ten minutes last night for thinking that she was in the next room. But his presence didn’t seem to have bothered her, for she slept heavily. Quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb her of course, he’d checked on her and Max four times during the night.
So now he was driving to the library, it wasn’t even daylight yet, and he faced days of working side by side with her. Yet every time he tried to tell her that he wasn’t engaged, that he still loved her, she cut him off. Why in the world hadn’t he tried harder to explain?
He’d better stop that or he’d go crazy. Sometimes it seemed that since he’d met Amy, all he did was regret his actions. Already he regretted hiring a juvenile delinquent to help paint the library. When Amy saw him and Jason saw her fear, he’d instantly regretted what he’d done. But then Raphael had tricked her, and . . .
“Oh, the hell with it,” he said as he swung the car into the library parking lot. Maybe he should do what his brother advised him to do and forget about Amy. Maybe he should find someone else, a woman who would love him back. A woman who didn’t run away rather than have to spend time with him.
When Jason entered the library, his jaw was set and he was determined that he was going to stay away from Amy and her son. Maybe it would be better if he went to the Bahamas for a while. He could return just in time for the opening of the library and—
No, he told himself, he was going to stay and fight like a man. Maybe what everyone said was right and he didn’t know Amy at all. She certainly didn’t look the same as when he’d known her before. Two years ago she’d been thin and tired-looking, and she had an air about her of helplessness that had appealed to him.
But this new Amy was altogether different. There was now an air of confidence about her. Yesterday she’d been quite clear about what she needed to paint the murals and who she needed and what was to be done.
“Mildred’s probably right, and I only like helpless people,” Jason muttered. “I’m sure that after I spend six weeks near her I’ll realize that I never even knew her and that the woman I thought she was is a fantasy.”
Smiling, he began to feel better. Yes, that was it. Before he’d spent just a few days with her and Max, and of course he’d liked them. As David pointed out they were in need of “fixing,” like one of the little companies Jason used to buy then reorganize and sell for a fortune. Amy and Max were like Abernathy. And the fixer inside him wanted to sort them out and do something with them.
Now that he had that solved, he felt much better. But then he looked at his watch and wondered when the hell Amy was going to get there, because, damn it! he missed her.
No, he told himself. Discipline! That’s all he needed. He needed the discipline of an iron statue. He was not going to make a fool of himself over Amy again. He wasn’t going to pursue her, lie to her, trick her, or in any way try to make her like him. Instead, he was going to be all business. They had a job ahead of them, and he was going to do it, and that’s all.
Right, he told himself, then looked at his watch again. What in the world was she doing?
When he heard her car pull into the parking lot, he smiled, then went into the office. He wasn’t going to let her think that he’d been waiting for her.
“Doreen, dear,” Amy said, as she handed half her sandwich to Max, “we forgot all about your furniture last night.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, looking down at her sandwich as though it were as appetizing as paper. “I didn’t think it would happen.”
“And why not, honey bun?” Jason asked.
Both Amy and Doreen looked up at him with startled eyes.
“Are you losing confidence in me already?” Jason asked. “Even before we’re married?”
Both women stared at him with their mouths hanging open.
“I was thinking, darlin’, that since I don’t have a lot of time . . .” Jason shifted the sandwich to his other hand and opened a newspaper that someone had left lying on the table. They were, after all, in a library. “How about this one?” he asked as he pointed to a photo of a big white farmhouse with a deep porch all around the front of the house. It was two stories with a full attic and three dormer windows across the front. Even in the grainy black and white photo the house looked cool and serene under the big trees that were at the sides and back of the house.
“You like it?” Jason asked as he took another bite.
“Me?” Doreen asked.
“Of course. You’re the one I’m marrying, aren’t I? Unless you’ve changed your mind, that is.” With that he winked at Amy, who still hadn’t closed her mouth. “You like the house or not?”
“It’s beautiful,” Doreen whispered, her eyes as big as the giant cookies Charles had brought in on a porcelain platter.
“Not too little? Too big? Maybe you’d like something more modern.”
Doreen looked at Amy as though for advice.
Amy cleared her throat. “If that house is in good condition, it’ll hold its value better than a new house,” she said softly.
“So what will it be, love?” Jason asked.
It was Doreen’s turn to swallow hard. “I . . . Uh . . . I, ah.” Suddenly she blinked hard, as though she’d made a decision. “I’ll take it,” she said enthusiastically.
In the next moment, Jason picked up his cell phone and called the realtor’s number. Amy and Doreen sat in silence while they heard him tell the man that he wanted to buy the house pictured in today’s newspaper.
Jason paused. “No, I don’t have time to see it. No, I don’t care what it costs. You do all that, just bring me the papers and I’ll give you a check.” He paused again. “Thank you,” Jason said, then turned the phone off.
“You can’t buy a house just like that,” Amy said.
“Sure I can. I just did.
Now, shall we get on with the painting? What color are these saddles supposed to be?”
“Purple,” Amy said, and she had no idea why she was annoyed, but she was.
Twenty minutes later a hot, sweaty man appeared with papers, saying that there had to be a title search and it was all going to take time.
“Anyone living in the house now?” Jason asked.
“No . . .”
“For how long did the previous owners own it?”
“Four years. He was transferred to California and—”
“Then I’m sure the title is fine.” Jason picked up a pen and paper, wrote down a number, then handed it to the agent. “Okay, then how about this figure to sell it and forget the title search?”
“Let me make a phone call,” the agent said, and five minutes later he returned. “You got yourself a house,” he said as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “I think that under the circumstances you should have these.”
Jason handed the keys to Doreen. “Now, what else do you need?”
As Doreen clutched the keys to her breast, she looked as though she was going to faint.
Of course no one had done any work while this was going on. And even Amy gave a bit of a smile.
At last I did something to please her, Jason thought, even if it did cost me six figures. And if it took giving a gift to Doreen to get a smile from Amy, then Jason was going to buy Doreen the whole state of Kentucky.
“I hate him,” Amy said to her mother-in-law.
“Calm down and tell me again what he’s doing.”
They were in the library, it was late, and Max was asleep on the little bed that Jason had purchased for him and set up so he could sleep while his mother worked at night. Amy was sanding as she talked, taking the rough edges off a fresco of an elephant draped in gold.
Amy took a deep breath. “I have been here one whole week, we live in the same house, work together all day long, but he pays no attention to me. None whatever.”
“I’m sure he’s just trying to proceed slowly. He probably—”
“No,” Amy whined. “The man doesn’t like me. If you knew what I’ve done in these last few days . . .”
“Out with it. Tell me all.” Mildred glanced over at her grandson and had the sneaking suspicion that he was awake. “I want to know everything that Jason has said to you.”
“That’s just it. He never says or does anything.”
“Is that elephant supposed to be red?”
“Now look what he’s made me do.” Amy grabbed a rag and began rubbing, which did no good, so she painted over the red with gray; it was going to be a very dark elephant. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. “I thought he wanted . . . Well, that he was . . . You said . . .”
“That he was in love with you and wanted to marry you,” Mildred said quietly. “He was. Is. I’d stake my hairdresser on it.”
Amy laughed. “Okay, so I’m being overly emotional. It’s just that, well, he’s a good-looking man, and I . . .” She glanced at Max, who had his eyes suspiciously tightly closed. “You know that red peignoir set they had in Chambers’s window?”
“The tiny one with all the lace?”
“Yes. I bought it, then made sure that Jason saw me in it. I acted embarrassed, but I could have been wearing my old chenille bathrobe for all he noticed.”
Mildred raised one eyebrow. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. He drank some milk, then said good night and went to bed. He didn’t so much as look at me. But then I’m no Doreen. She has curves that—”
“—are going to turn to fat in about three years’ time,” Mildred said, waving her hand in dismissal.
“Don’t say anything against Doreen,” Amy snapped. “I like her. And Max adores her.”
Again Mildred looked at the child and thought she saw his eyelashes flicker, and there seemed to be a crease forming between his brows. “So tell me what my grandson is painting in that room.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what’s in there, since he won’t let me see. Top secret. Secret from his own mother! And he won’t sleep at home even if Doreen stays with him because he’s afraid that if I’m here in the library alone, I’ll snoop.”
“And would you?”
“Of course,” Amy said as though that were a given. “I gave birth to him, so why shouldn’t I see his painting? It couldn’t be worse than what I saw inside his diaper after he ate the abacus. And, no, don’t ask.”
Mildred laughed, especially since she saw that the crease was gone from Max’s forehead and there was a tiny curve to his lips. Obviously, the child knew his mother well. “So what are we going to do about you and Jason?”
“Nothing. When this is finished, Max and I go home to . . .”
“To what?” Mildred asked.
“Don’t say it,” Amy said softly. “We go home to nothing, and no one knows that better than I do.”
“Then stay here,” Mildred said, and her voice was a plea from her heart.
“And see Jason every day?”
“See me with my grandchild!” Mildred snapped at her.
“Be quiet; you’ll wake Max.”
“You don’t think taking him away from his only living relative besides his mother will wake him? Amy, please—”
“Hand me that can of green, will you, and let’s talk about something else. I’m not running away this time; I’ll just be going home.”
But right now an apartment in New York City didn’t seem like home. With every day that she was in Abernathy, she was remembering things that she’d always liked about the small town. At lunch she made Max quit work and the two of them took a stroll through town so they could eat their sandwiches under the big oak tree at the edge of town. And as they walked, people called out to them to ask how the library was going and they teased Max about his secret room.
“Home” was taking on a new meaning.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AMY DIDN’T TALK TO MILDRED AGAIN FOR A WHILE because for the next ten days she was so busy that she had no time to think about anything whatever. She was existing on little more than four hours of sleep a night, and she was glad that, somehow, gradually, Doreen had taken over the daily care of Max. Amy didn’t know whether to be grateful or sad that her son took so well to being bathed by someone other than his mother, dressed by someone else and read to sleep by another woman. And she hadn’t had time to sit down with Max and hear what he had to say about spending so much time away from his mother.
Somehow, Amy wasn’t sure when or exactly how, Doreen had moved into the Salma house. And why not? Amy thought. It wasn’t as though anything private was going on between her and Jason.
After Amy had been in town only two days, Cherry Parker gave birth to a baby girl, and within two weeks Cherry had organized her whole household so well that she had her baby waking for only one feeding during the night (which David took care of) and Cherry was helping Jason to sort out the town of Abernathy in preparation for the library’s opening.
“I love you,” Jason said once after Cherry rattled off a list of things that had been done and were being done.
“Hmph!” Cherry said, but they could all see that she was pleased by his compliment. She was wearing a white Chanel suit, but strapped across her chest was a huge scarf that had to have been made in Africa, and inside, her newborn daughter was sleeping peacefully.
After Cherry returned to work, Doreen moved into the house with Amy, Jason, and Max and began to look after the little boy. By that time Amy had overcome her jealousy and was just grateful. Every morning Doreen saw that Max was fed whatever Charles had cooked especially for him; then she took the boy to the library. And each morning Max would take the key out of his pocket and make a ceremony of opening the door to the Abernathy Room, then disappear inside for the whole day.
Amy did, however, have a fit of pique once when Charles showed up and Max invited the chef into the “secret” room. Thirty minutes later Charles came out,
his eyes wide in wonder, but his lips were sealed.
“Did the boy’s father paint too?”
“I don’t know,” Amy said. “Why?”
“That boy got a double dose of talent, and I just wondered where it came from. Can I be here when the president sees that room?”
“Did you forget that you’re catering for him?” Jason shouted from the scaffolding, where he was on his back painting the ceiling.
“Right,” Charles said, then leaned forward to Amy to whisper, “How long has he been in this bad mood?”
“Since 1972,” she said without hesitation.
Nodding, Charles left the library.
It was well into the third week that Amy began to see what was happening between her and Jason. It took her that long to get over her annoyance that he was paying no attention to her, and she was so busy with the painting that she hadn’t had time to look and listen.
But by the third week they were all into a routine, and she began to see things. She wasn’t the only one who had changed. Jason had changed too, but she didn’t think he knew it. As the days passed, one by one, her objections to him were destroyed.
The first time it happened she hadn’t paid much attention. A little boy, about eight, tiptoed into the library and silently handed Jason a piece of paper. Jason made a few marks on the paper, said a few words to the boy, then the child had left the library with a big grin on his face.
The next day the same thing happened, then the next. Each time it was a different child, sometimes two children; sometimes as many as three interrupted Jason as he painted.
One afternoon a tall boy of about sixteen came in, shoved a paper under Jason’s nose and stood there with a look of defiance on his face. Jason wiped off his paintbrush, then went into the office with the boy and stayed in there with him for over an hour.