A Kiss Too Late

Just when she thought she’d have to blurt out something–anything–to break it, Adam nodded toward the opposite side of the garden.

“Your mother seems upset,” he remarked.

Jen followed the direction of his gaze to where Beth Hillard was deep in consultation with the Reverend Kiley’s wife. Jen, too, had already noticed the subtle lines of strain on her mother’s face. Usually Beth appeared so on top of things, an optimistic manager of people and events. But at this moment Beth wasn’t managing anything, not even her own wedding rehearsal. She just stood there, listening to the pastor’s wife and looking almost…anxious. Jen couldn’t help being worried about her mother; Beth simply wasn’t the type to succumb to prewedding jitters.

“You’re very observant,” Jen said to Adam. “Most people wouldn’t realize anything’s wrong with Mother. They’d just think she was being a little restrained.”

“We both know that your mother being restrained is enough of an oddity,” Adam said dryly. Jen couldn’t help smiling at that, and for a moment she and Adam seemed to share something–a sort of insider’s knowledge, born of their long history together. But then Adam spoke again, and this tenuous sense of intimacy vanished.

“Maybe I’m not so observant,” he said. “One thing escaped me entirely–the fact that you want to be an actress, Jen.”

She glanced at him. “How on earth…? Uncle Thomas, I suppose.”

Jen should have expected something like this, particularly where Uncle Thomas was concerned. He was the most sympathetic of her relatives, and she had a habit of letting her guard down around him. Of course, sooner or later someone in her meddlesome family had been bound to find out. She’d just hoped that she’d have a bit more time to establish herself in New York before it happened. She hadn’t wanted anyone judging or dissecting or analyzing her plans until they were a little more substantial, a little more shaped.

Now Jen glanced over to where her two great-uncles sat together on a wooden bench among the delphiniums. They looked so…old. They were both officially retired, although they still spent long hours at the offices of Hillard Enterprises, keeping an eye on things. It had to be difficult for them, knowing that the family business must pass into younger hands. Worst of all, there were no Hillard heirs to take over. William had never married; Thomas had gone through two marriages and a few volatile love affairs without producing any progeny. Jen had never been able to envision a career in shipping, and she’d supplied no children who could eventually do the job.

The familiar guilt swirled over Jen, the stifling sense that the whole burden of the Hillard name rested on her, and that she had failed to carry it. She’d refused to have kids with Adam, she’d divorced him, she’d gone off to New York to pursue her own idea of happiness… By Hillard standards, she’d been amazingly selfish. Yet her own choice had seemed clear. She could either continue being selfish, or suffocate–

“Don’t look so disgusted with your great-uncles,” Adam murmured at her elbow. “If Thomas pokes his nose into your life, he’s just hoping for some excitement. Not to mention the fact that he genuinely cares about you, Jen. And William…William is very concerned that someone in New York might hurt your feelings. You know how sensitive he is about artistic rejection.”

Oh, yes, poor Uncle William and the novel no one would publish. It was a famous family story, although William himself refused to talk about it anymore. Jen suspected, however, that William still guarded that manuscript somewhere, the pages moldering away in a desk drawer or ancient filing cabinet, a constant symbol of his failure. William hated rejection of any kind, and somehow he’d seemed the most hurt of anyone when Jen had left for New York.

Damn. Jen had been afraid it would be like this coming back to Newport, all the old guilt and the old tenderness taking her over. Because no matter what, she truly did love her great-uncles and her mother. She cared about them and worried about them and wanted desperately for all three to be happy and well. She just couldn’t live with them.

“You don’t need to appeal to my better sentiments,” she told Adam in a low voice. “I’m not completely unfeeling, you know. It’s just that– Don’t you realize, Adam? For the first time in my life, for the very first time, I’m doing something on my own, without help from my family, from you, from anyone.” She wondered at this sudden impulse to explain things to him. How would he possibly understand? Adam stood here now, stroking his mustache in a judicious manner as he observed her. It was a disconcerting gesture on his part–first of all, because it gave her the unaccountable desire to reach out her fingers and stroke his luxuriant mustache herself. That was distracting enough. But Adam really did seem to be contemplating her in judgmental fashion, like a professor wondering how to bring a recalcitrant student into line. It put Jen immediately on the defensive, giving her even more knots of tension in her shoulders.

“I can’t figure it out,” Adam said after a moment. “All those years of ours together and I never once suspected that you wanted to be an actress. How could something like that slip by me? Just tell me that.”

Jen folded her arms. “It annoys you, doesn’t it? Finding out that something about me was outside your control. But it’s not that simple, Adam. It’s not like I went around all the time wishing I could be an actress and hiding the wish from you. For such a long while I pushed the whole idea away. I mean, it seemed so foolish, so impossible. I’d never acted in my life. I had no reason to believe it was something I could do…” Her voice trailed off. Once again, she was explaining too much to Adam. It made her feel more foolish than ever, but somehow she had to finish.

“It wasn’t until…until our marriage got into serious trouble that I started thinking about what I really wanted to do with my life. And that was when I knew I had to give it a shot. I had to see if I could be an actress. I had to know I’d tried at least. So that’s what I’m doing now. I’m trying.” She didn’t mention the immense insecurities about the endeavor that assaulted her every day–every minute, really, if she was honest. But she was going ahead. She could be proud of that much.

Adam continued to study her. “You’ve been away from me a year,” he murmured. “An entire year, all that time attending acting classes and going to auditions. But your life is still a mystery to me. I don’t know what you’re doing to support yourself. I don’t even know if there’s a new man in your life.”

Jen flushed. She could feel the heat rising through her body, reaching her face, staining her cheeks. More confusion churned inside her. She simply could not admit the truth about that to Adam. In the year she’d been in New York, she hadn’t been with any other man. Oh, she’d gone on a few dates, that sort of thing, but nothing serious. And that was part of the problem. No doubt she needed to be with another man, someone who could erase the memory of Adam’s kisses, the memory of Adam’s caresses….

Jen felt her flush deepen, and she had to glance away from Adam. She was thirty-two years old, and yet she had known only one lover in her life, one love. No wonder Adam still had such power over her senses. But she hadn’t met anyone in New York who attracted her the way Adam did. It was a hopeless circle. Jen almost laughed thinking about it, even though it wasn’t a particularly humorous situation.

“So I’m being nosy,” Adam admitted, when she didn’t answer him. “So I’ll stop. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

This was a surprise–Adam’s backing off before he obtained what he wanted. Jen glanced at him suspiciously, but it seemed at last the rehearsal was starting. The groom had reappeared, the violinists and cellist had finally set up, Jen’s mother looked comparatively more composed, and Reverend Kiley had opened his prayer book with a flourish.

As best man and maid of honor, Adam and Jen were obliged to walk down the aisle together, the aisle in this case being the flagstone walk that traversed the length of the garden. Twelve years ago, Jen had walked down this exact same path in her beaded silk wedding gown, a great-uncle ready on either side to give her away.

“Steady,” Adam said, as if reading her thoughts. He placed his hand under her elbow. “Remember, you’re not the one getting married in two days. You don’t have any reason to be nervous this time around.”

“I’m not nervous,” she muttered back. “Not in the least.” Jen stared straight ahead and saw the pastor smiling nostalgically at her and Adam. Reverend Kiley, after all, had been the one to perform their wedding ceremony all those years ago. How many other memories would assault Jen before this rehearsal was over?

Just then she heard a beeping noise, as if her own agitated pulse had suddenly acquired sound. The noise, however, was coming from Adam. He had one of those obnoxious little beepers, it seemed, heralding some important phone call.

Adam frowned, but he excused himself to use the telephone inside the church. The rehearsal came to an awkward halt, and Jen reflected wryly that she’d just been abandoned while walking down the aisle.

Adam returned a few moments later. He glanced at Jen and then at the rest of the wedding party. “I’m very sorry, but there’s something of an emergency at the newspaper. I’ll have to drive into Boston. Please go on without me. I’ll have Jen fill me in on what I miss.”

All Jen could do was stare at him. She saw the expression on his face, the focused intensity that always came to him whenever he spoke about his newspaper. So things hadn’t changed over this past year–not at all, it seemed. Adam couldn’t take even a day or two off without the Boston Standard intruding.

He gazed at Jen for another minute or so, his expression growing enigmatic. But then he turned, striding away, going out through the garden gate–and vanishing from her sight.

CHAPTER FIVE

A DAM COULD TELL that something was wrong with Russ Billington. He could tell that, not by looking at Russ, but rather by examining the story in front of him. For years, Russ had been one of Adam’s best reporters, dependable for his accuracy but also for his ability to bring unusual insight to just about any story. However, this one was neither accurate nor insightful. Adam glanced up.

“Okay, Russ,” he said quietly. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Russ Billington sat on the other side of Adam’s desk, looking harried. Russ had been with the Boston Standard ever since graduating from college. He’d started out as a reporter, and he’d remained a reporter. He’d never wanted to move up, never wanted even to be an associate editor when the opportunity arose. As far as Adam could tell, Russ had liked his job, was good at it and hadn’t asked for much more from life. He’d seemed one of those rare people content with what he was doing. But now, well, the quality of Russ’s work had been steadily slipping for the past few months, and this was the worst so far.

Russ leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as if he suddenly felt tired. “I know it’s bad,” he said. “It shouldn’t have happened, I realize that–”

“It didn’t just happen. You wrote the thing. Lord, if Sandra hadn’t caught this, you could’ve caused us one hell of a mess. Think about it.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing–thinking about it,” Russ said with an edge of anger to his voice. Maybe he was mad at Adam, maybe at himself. Adam pulled the copy in front of him again. Russ had put together what should have been an in-depth story regarding recent problems with parole violators.

“Hell, Russ. This just isn’t like you. Usually you’re so thorough. But this reads like you just tossed it off. Obviously you didn’t try to interview one person who actually had any facts in the case.”

Russ stood up abruptly. To all appearances, he seemed the same as usual–a bit flabby around the middle because he kept making plans to get to the gym but somehow never managed it, his thinning hair cut just a little too short in back because he never made the effort to find a good barber. Yes, Russ looked just the same–but something had to be way out of kilter for him to write like this.

“Trouble with your personal life?” Adam hazarded. Not that Russ had much of a personal life. He was a long-term bachelor.

“Everything’s fine,” Russ muttered. “Just fine.”

“Health? Finances? Just spit it out, whatever it is,” Adam said.

“It’s nothing. Let it go. This won’t happen again, I’m telling you–”

“It’s already happened too many times. That’s why Sandra’s been checking your work so carefully. Russ, take some time off–two weeks to straighten things out. Because if you can’t straighten things out, I’ll have to let you go–permanently.” Adam spoke gruffly. He’d always been able to fire an employee when necessary, but Russ Billington was someone special. He didn’t want to fire the guy, but Russ needed to help him out with this.

Russ just stood there, face gone stony. “I don’t want any time off. All you have to do is give me one more chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Russ. Two weeks–that’s what I’m giving you. Make the best of it.”

Russ turned and strode out of Adam’s office, banging the door behind him. Adam leaned back in his chair, feeling more than discontented. It seemed to him that Russ might very well represent the problems with the Boston Standard right now. Russ was an excellent reporter who for some reason or other seemed to be burning out. And the Standard was an excellent paper also in danger of burning out.

Adam glanced around his office. It was large, messy and comfortable. The shelves along the walls were wide and deep, able to hold any number of books, magazines and newspapers. Adam’s desk was the bulky, green-metal type, big and solid, with enough space for all the pieces of computer equipment that sprouted from it like so many electronic mushrooms. The desk even had a few corners free for piles of research reports, as well as scatterings of layout designs, print tests and ad broadsheets. It was a capacious office, the sort of place where you could settle down to work and not be overwhelmed by your clutter. Adam liked it, liked spending hours surrounded by his own friendly chaos. At least, he’d liked spending hours in here before that odd restlessness had taken him over of late.

Adam stood and moved toward the blinds at the glassed-in portion of his office. They were the old-fashioned wooden kind that made a rattling noise and were always getting snarled in their own cords. Adam supposed he should replace them, but they’d been installed way back when his grandfather was editor in chief of the Standard.

Adam had lowered them earlier so he’d have some privacy for his talk with Russ. Now he raised them and stared out at the newsroom. It was late, and the day’s commotion had died down. Some of the reporters still worked at their desks, but tomorrow’s early-morning edition was already humming on the presses downstairs and most of Adam’s staff had gone home to eat a meal with their families. It occurred to Adam that he’d been eating dinner alone more often than not the past few weeks. It was usually a mediocre dinner, too. Either he’d grab some potato chips and a stale sandwich at the vending machines down the hall, or he’d go across the street to the café that overgrilled its burgers. His appetite for good food seemed dampened.