Mountain Song Page 13

  “I don’t have to. I can tell already that you’ve been going about this all wrong. So whatever conclusion you’ve come to is sure to be well off the mark.”

  “What?”

  Claudia sighed, a long, weak breath that took nearly all her energy. She sank into a chair, looked up at Andy from under heavy lids.

  He was dressed for battle, tie knotted perfectly under his scrubs. His expensive Italian shoes were polished, and at the Egyptian cotton shirt cuff protruding from the faded aqua hospital cotton scrubs, his gold watch flashed importantly.

  She didn’t have it in her to fight him much longer.

  “You said you let your emotions interfere with your thoughts,” she tried to explain. “That’s so...you. You never understood that sometimes your emotions are the truth. That your first reaction tells you everything you need to know.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t fit neatly into the Oprah School of analysis,” Andy shot back, sarcasm masking his anxiety. “Maybe I should have brought my psychotherapist along to help me sort through things. You say I should trust my emotions. Well let me tell you, Claudia, I was feeling at least a dozen things at once. If I gave myself over to that, I’d be a certifiable schizophrenic.”

  Claudia shook her head sadly. “You’re always diagnosing, but you probably don’t even notice some of the emotions in your heart. You’re missing the ends of the spectrum, Andy. You spend your whole life in the middle, where it’s safe.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Have you ever felt joy, Andy? I mean real, pure joy, where you wanted to dance and sing and didn’t care who saw you?” She caught the flicker in his veiled countenance. “What about rage?”

  “I’ve been angry.”

  “No. You’ve been irritated. That’s as far as you allow yourself to go. There’s a difference. I bet there are a thousand shades of anger you’ve never explored.”

  Andy’s jaw worked. “If you’re trying to goad me into exploring them now, you’re on the right path.”

  “What about love?” The words came out without thought, her lips shaping them with quiet melancholy. Well, what about it? That was the real problem, after all, wasn’t it?

  As the seconds ticked past, Claudia realized Andy had no answer for her. He sat down at the other end of the couch, leaned his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers together. Stared at the floor. When he spoke, he didn’t look up.

  “I came here to tell you that I understand I have certain...responsibilities. That I intend to meet my obligations, present and future, to the child.”

  The child. Yesterday Paul had spoken of Paul only as “it”. With mirthless irony, Claudia considered that Andy was making progress.

  But not enough. He was way, way short of caring enough for Claudia to consider allowing him any closer to Paul.

  There was one way to make sure the distance between them stayed so wide that she wouldn’t ever have to worry about Andy again. One way to send him reeling so far and so fast that even these belated feelings of responsibility wouldn’t bring him back.

  She would do it. It would take everything she had, tax her heart and her acting abilities to the limit, but for this last challenge, she’d give it her all.

  She forced a curve to her lips, knowing full well what she was doing. That smug, self-assured half smile had served her well, long ago, when there were suitors to be toyed with and girls to be upstaged and hopes to be dashed and hearts to be broken.

  She’d use it this one last time. Put an end to this hopeless exercise and sever her ties to Andy forever.

  “That’s so thoughtful, Andy, but truly, Paul’s needs are being well taken care of.”

  There, that wasn’t so bad. The Voice, the cool liquid pour of it, long shelved. She crossed her legs, twined one foot behind the other, stretched a narrow wrist and looked at her watch. Up went the chin a little, and her small sigh conveyed boredom. Not obvious boredom, of course; that would be crass. Just enough so that a man as intelligent as Andy couldn’t miss it.

  “I’m—sure they are. What I meant was...”

  She saw she’d hit her mark. Stung, Andy had recoiled, drew back his shoulders from her direct hit. As he regrouped, uncertainty clouding the deep jade of his eyes, she ran her fingers through her hair, played with the ends of a wayward strand. She focused her gaze on a far corner of the room, visualized her closet at home, mentally sorted her clothes—a trick she’d invented during college to appear to pay attention in class.

  Her professors, to a one, had been fooled.

  But was Andy?

  “I believe I have certain legal obligations,” he continued coldly. “I’ll consult my attorney and ensure that I’m more than meeting them.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Claudia intoned with a wave of her hand. “I don’t expect anything from you. It would just be a mess of paperwork, far more trouble than it’s worth. Let’s keep this clean and simple, shall we?”

  Fury ignited in the smoldering depths of Andy’s gaze, in the iron lock of his jaw, and Claudia inhaled in deep relief. It was done. She’d played him with a practiced hand, and he’d fallen for it, never for the briefest second guessing how deftly she outmaneuvered him. It was almost too easy.

  “I’m doing this,” he muttered, “whatever the hell you want. The checks will begin to arrive as soon as I can make arrangements, I’ll promise you that.

  Claudia sighed, tightened her fists, then forced herself to relax her muscles. “If you must,” she said, feigning resignation. “I’ll have one of Dad’s lawyers set up some sort of account. Then you can correspond directly with them.”

  Andy’s jaw worked. He stepped back half a pace, appeared to change his mind, then anchored himself defiantly on his heels, crossing his arms on his chest.

  “It’s a drop in the bucket to you, is that it, Claudia?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, I didn’t mean to imply—” Claudia’s attempt at a light laugh came out all wrong somehow.

  “Tell me something. Just how rich would I have to be to merit the attention of the almighty Canfield clan?”

  “Now, Andy, this has nothing to do with—”

  “Because here I was stupid enough to think that just maybe after all those years it might not mean quite so much to you as it once did. Crazy, I know, but I thought maybe the dollar signs might not hold the same attraction they once did for you.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it?” Now hot, untempered fury flashed across his features. Minutes ago Claudia had accused him of never feeling true rage.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “I came here to do the right thing by my son. I’m a professional now, Claudia, maybe not a Park Avenue surgeon worthy of your ilk, but they do pay me a reasonable salary. I can get my accountant to document my net worth, if that’s what it takes. I assure you my checks don’t bounce...”

  As Andy ranted on, Claudia stopped hearing his words. She’d gotten lost somewhere back at “my son.”

  Words she’d given up hope of hearing. Dangerous words, that could rip open fresh wounds and tempt her into risking too much, far more than she could afford to lose.

  “...why you left me the first time. Maybe if I’d had that ‘MD’ after my name then—”

  “Enough.” Claudia held up a shaking hand. “Please. Send the checks. I promise you they’ll go into Paul’s college fund.”

  Suddenly the silence was back in the room, deafening now. Andy hesitated, seemed to want to say something more.

  And then he was gone, leaving her by herself in the room where other people waited for news of their loved ones, and from which Claudia had just banished her own beloved forever.

  “Woods? That you, man?”

  Andy jerked awake, nearly falling out of the molded plastic chair.

  “What the hell—I—”

  “Quiet,” Rick warned him in a low voice, pointing in the dim light at the bed. Slowly Andy remembered where he was, stood awkwardly and
rubbed at his temples. He gestured out into the hallway. Rick slipped out, and Andy followed behind and softly closed the door. The bright light in the hallway flashed painfully into his eyes.

  “I’m sure the patient needs rest, but what’s your excuse? Are you sure napping in the middle of rounds is a good idea?”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” Andy said irritably. “I just—Mrs. Ramsey’s showing signs of preeclampsia, and I was, you know...”

  “Watching her sleep? Come on, Woods. It’s under control. Besides, she’s in her thirty-sixth week, and the baby looks healthy. I don’t think she needs you at her bedside every second.

  “I just sat down for a minute. I’ve been having back pain from tennis, that’s all.”

  Andy stalked down the hall, his friend matching his pace, no doubt convinced he was losing it. Well, he hadn’t been asleep. At least, not for long. A few seconds, tops, and only because he hadn’t had a decent night’s rest since...well, for a good long time.

  Focus.

  Sylvia Ramsey’s worried battery of questions came back to him. Well, at least he’d been able to reassure her. This baby, her second, would be delivered by practiced, capable hands with all the benefits of modern medicine, and in all likelihood would be just fine.

  Andy winced as he remembered how Bob Ramsey had searched his eyes as he tried to reassure him, Bob’s obvious panic lessening some as Andy cited all the reasons that his wife’s condition did not signal great troubles for their child. Ramsey had finally left, gone home to care for their firstborn while his wife rested under observation.

  But Andy had a feeling he’d be back first thing tomorrow. The way he’d held his wife’s hand, stroked her hair...he was clearly devoted to his family.

  Unlike him. The full force of the truth hit him low in the gut. He’d given nothing to the pathetic family he’d unknowingly created. Other than the tiniest seed that set the process in motion, Andy’s contribution to a boy—his son’s—life had been nothing at all.

  “What’s going on?” Rick’s voice was cautious. “This have something to do with Grace Kelly?”

  “Claudia,” Andy said wearily. “Her name is Claudia. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

  “Not really. I was going to get some lunch but that can wait.”

  “Do me a favor. Go eat.”

  “Naw.” They arrived at Andy’s cramped office, and Rick eased past him, sliding into a chair and pulling a granola bar from a pocket. “You got any of those seltzers?”

  Andy shook his head in resignation, and lowered himself wearily into his own chair. He jerked open the mini-fridge and took out two cans.

  “You don’t have any of those raspberry ones...” Under Andy’s glare, Rick shrugged and popped the top of his can. “So, back to Claudia? You were saying?”

  “I wasn’t saying anything. There’s nothing to say.”

  His voice must have carried sufficient venom to make Rick back off, a rare event. His friend shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then spun slowly back and forth in an arc of a few inches while he wolfed down the granola bar.

  “Look, I’m honored that you chose me to dine with, but—”

  Rick waved his hand and shook his head vigorously as he swallowed. “No, hey, I wanted to talk to you about...about Mrs. Ramsey.”

  “She’s not your patient,” Andy rebuked him. Rick was grasping at straws, trying to get him talking. It might have been nice, in a way, that he was concerned. That someone was concerned about him. Except what Andy needed right now was to be alone. Totally alone, so he could concentrate all his energy on forgetting that Claudia had ever walked back into his life.

  “Yeah, but the risk of, you know...”

  “It’s just routine pre-term labor, that’s all. Look, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know, these lame attempts to cheer me up—”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rick said, tossing the bar’s foil wrapper in a high arc to he trash can. “You’ve never been Mr. Congeniality. I doubt I’ll ever change that. Just thought you might want to talk, or something.”

  “Oh.”

  For a moment no one said anything, but it wasn’t terrible. Wasn’t even weird. It was decent of Martinez to look out for him this way, even if it was totally unnecessary.

  And it was good to talk. Even if he wasn’t ready to talk about her.

  “You think you’ll ever have kids?”

  Rick raised his eyebrows, then considered the question, leaned back comfortably. “Yeah, I guess. Not any time soon, though. There’s no way I’m ready.”

  “Well, how would you ever know if you were ready?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d just know.”

  Andy shook his head. “Not good enough. There has to be reasons, logic. It’s a big decision.”

  “Yeah, with you it’s always logic. Okay, let’s look at it your way. I’d have to have found the woman, you know, the one I planned on sticking with.”

  Andy winced, then willed his features into an impassive expression. “Yeah? What else?”

  ”Well, I guess I’d have to give up those poker games.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And my Led Zeppelin CD’s. I hear babies don’t dig that stuff. They’re into classical. Mozart, I think.”

  Andy sighed. “Whatever.”

  “Nah, I’m just fooling with you. I don’t know. I expect it’s just like with the ladies. I’m figuring I’ll just know. You did, right?”

  “What?” Startled, Andy picked up a square Lucite cube, a giveaway from one of the pharmaceutical companies. He twisted it on one palm, concentrating on the spinning planes.

  “You knew when you met the right woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “Grace Kelly.”

  “Yeah. If you say so.”

  “So, I’ll just know when it’s time to have a kid.”

  “You’re lucky,” Andy said quietly, the smooth plastic cube spinning into a blur.

  “Lucky?”

  “You’re good with them. With kids.”

  “What’s not to be good with? They’re kids, for cryin’ out loud. You just let go with the, whaddya call it, the inner child. Don’t you remember what it was like to be a kid?”

  Andy paused, then answered honestly. “No.”

  Rick shook his head, wonderingly. Sympathetically. “Man, I feel for you. Those were the best years. When you’re free. Every day’s waiting for you, no responsibilities. No one’s told you there ain’t any Superman.” He chuckled. “That’ll be something, won’t it? I can’t wait to toss a ball with my kid, like my Dad did. He always managed to make me feel like the majors would be lucky to get a piece of me.”

  Rick’s grin slowly died on his face as Andy didn’t answer. “What’s eating you, man?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sleep deprivation. Maybe I’m getting the flu.”

  “Maybe you need to get laid,” Rick suggested, but clearly his heart wasn’t in it. “Look,” he added, standing and cracking his joints, “take some time off. You’re really starting to look like you need it.”

  Claudia eased Bea’s cool fingers from her own, and gently laid her hand back on the sheets. The old woman had been cheerful and not very groggy at all when she came around. She’d kept up a steady repartee with the various physicians and nurses who came in to check on her, until she finally dozed off.

  Everything had gone well. The surgery had been textbook. Now they would just wait and see how much function Bea recovered. And if Claudia knew her grandmother, the woman would surpass everyone’s expectations.

  Slowly Claudia sat back in her chair, aware for the first time in hours of the stiffness in her neck, the steady hunger pains. When was the last time she’d eaten? She checked her watch: two o’clock in the afternoon already.

  She hadn’t seen Andy since the recovery room.

  Why hadn’t he come by? He and Bea were close—

  Claudia brushed away the thought. She would not dwe
ll on him. Bea was on her way to recovery now, and soon Claudia would be too, back home to New Jersey. Back to a life that was a little dull but very, very predictable.

  A sound at the door startled Claudia, and she jerked her chin up, aware of the pounding in her chest, all because it might be him.

  But when he door swung open it was a small wiry bundle of energy who shot through, straight into her arms, crying out “Mama!” at the top of his pint-sized lungs.

  For a moment Claudia forgot everything else as she swung her son into her lap and held him close, closer than she ever had before, because she hadn’t felt this alone since before Paul was born. She quickly swiped at the mist in her eyes as Paul pulled away and fired off a jumble of words.

  “Mama, they gave me wings on the plane! Not real ones like the captains have, but with sticky on the back, see? And Grandpa let me watch the movie even though it was for grownups. But there weren’t any swear words. Were you surprised?”

  “Oh, very, very surprised, my love,” Claudia said, smiling, inhaling his wonderful scent, baby shampoo and chocolate milk and play-dough. She laced her fingers with his small ones and glanced at her father, who stooped for a kiss before he turned his attention to Bea.

  “Didn’t seem right to keep the boy from his mother any longer,” Jack Canfield said gruffly.

  “I’ve never been happier to see the two of you. It was a lovely surprise, Dad. Paul, were you sweet for Grandpa?”

  “Yeah. Um, I think so.”

  “He was terrific,” her father said, his booming voice not quite concealing the anxiety and fatigue underneath.

  “Bea’s doing great, Dad.” Claudia rose, Paul wrapped tightly around her like a baby koala bear, his soft cheek pressed against her neck. “She was awake earlier. Talking up a storm.”

  As they watched, Bea stirred, then fluttered her eyelids.

  “Mom?” Jack’s hand shot out to grip Bea’s, and the lines in his face eased a little as her eyes slowly opened and she smiled at him.

  “That’s not your mom,” Paul said, frowning. “That’s Great-Gramma Bea!”

  “Oh, Sweetie, Gramma Bea is Grandpa’s mom.”