For All Their Lives (55 page)

“Okay,” Casey muttered.

Izzy was perched on the edge of her desk. “He said I should make my own decision,” she said to the chimp. “So, I'm going with the mail first.”

There was no such thing as a mail tray at Tri State News. Mail was unceremoniously dumped into a cardboard carton that said EGGS in big red letters on the side. It was full, Casey saw. “Shit!”

Most of the letters were to the news anchor, Matthew Cassidy, who couldn't be bothered answering them. The job was left to Casey and Donna, a girl who came in part-time. Casey liked reading Cassidy's mail. A lady named Ettie constantly wrote to tell him about his ties and suggested he wear red once in a while. She went on to say he looked like a somber Baptist minister. She saw it then, under Ettie's letter. It was a long white envelope that said U.S. Senate on the upper left-hand corner.

Casey slit it with the letter opener. She didn't want to destroy the envelope. She was back in Vietnam reading a letter from Mac. Her eyes filled when she read the short note, which ended with, “Call my office to set up an appointment that will be mutually convenient.” It was signed Senator Malcolm Carlin. She recognized his handwriting. She looked at the telephone number and instantly memorized it. She scanned the list of the various prestigious committees he sat on. “Well done, Mac,” she whispered.

Her hand was on the phone a second later. You'll get his secretary or an aide. Senators never answer their own phones, she told herself over and over as she waited for the ringing phone to be picked up. A man answered, identified himself as Phil Benedict. Mac had called him Benny. “Senator Carlin, please. This is Mary Ashley from Tri State News in New York.”

“Yes, Miss Ashley, we've been expecting your call. The senator isn't available right now. They're taking a vote on the Senate floor. I can have him return your call later.”

“No, no, that isn't necessary. My time is free for the month of December, so if he can fit us in, we can work around his schedule. Do you handle his appointments, Mr. Benedict?”

“As a matter of fact I do. The senator and I were discussing this yesterday morning. Sunday is good for the senator. Monday too, but if, as your letter stated, you would like Mrs. Carlin and Jenny in the footage, it will have to be Sunday. They leave for South Carolina on Monday. The senator is booked up for the rest of the week. He only has a few hours the following week on Wednesday, and then he leaves for South Carolina too, to spend the holidays with his family. You said you require footage there. So, let's see, we can give you half a day on December twenty-first. You might like that. The plantation will be decorated for Christmas, and I understand there is to be a huge party for the children. Is any of this agreeable with you?”

Casey scribbled furiously. “Sunday is fine. Monday is fine too, but we need shots of Mr. Carlin with his family in the Senate building. Is it possible to do that first thing Monday morning? You said Mrs. Carlin is leaving on Monday.”

“She's leaving mid-afternoon. The senator set aside time to take her to the airport. First thing Monday morning will be fine.”

“Which half of the day on the twenty-first, on the plantation?” Casey asked briskly.

“The afternoon. The party starts at four. The senator is playing Santa.” He laughed. Casey didn't.

“What time on Sunday?” Casey asked.

“I think you can pretty much pick the time. The senator wants the interview done at the guest cottage. The main house is being closed up, even as we speak. Give me your phone number, and if there's any change, I'll call you immediately. Your home phone number will be helpful too. We tend to work late around here, and we just might need to call you late at night.”

Casey gave him her phone number. “Let's say ten o'clock Sunday morning. I'll be down with the camera crew tomorrow evening.”

“I guess that settles it then. It was nice speaking with you, Miss Ashley. You're certain you don't want the senator to call you back?”

“Yes, I'm certain,” Casey said sharply.

“Good-bye, Miss Ashley,” Benedict said coolly.

“Good-bye, Mr. Benedict,” Casey said stiffly.

Casey looked at the scribbled notes and then at her watch. It was eleven-thirty.

In less than forty-eight hours she was going to see Mac Carlin.

She started to tremble.

S
O THIS WAS
where Mac lived. Casey looked around at the grounds, trying to imagine him romping about as a child. He hadn't liked it here. That much she did remember. She wondered why he was moving, and if he was trying to run from his past the way she was.

“Do you suppose they know the door is hanging by one hinge up there at the big house?” one of the cameramen said, jerking his hand in the direction of the stately looking mansion, as they stood in the doorway to the house where they were to meet the Senator and his wife and child. “That's not going to look good if you want a front shot of the house.”

Casey adjusted the scarf around her neck with trembling hands which she immediately jammed into her bright red cashmere coat. She'd worked on her makeup for almost an hour this morning, trying to make it perfect. She'd brushed her hair for another hour before she swept it back with tortoiseshell combs. The crew had teased her unmercifully when she entered the hotel dining room to meet them for breakfast. To a man, the six-member crew joked that she was trying to impress the senator. They were dressed in jeans and heavy flannel shirts.
They
didn't have to impress anyone, they said. She'd bristled, but calmed down as soon as she had her first cup of coffee. She couldn't afford to act nervous or they'd never let her alone.

Thirty more seconds and she would see Mac. And his wife. The woman he lied about and their daughter. The woman he preferred to her. Anger rose in her then, hot and scorching.

She could hear his voice. The anger disappeared as suddenly as it arrived and left her feeling vulnerable. Introductions were being made. She was next. She fixed a smile on her face as she extended her hand in greeting. Her heart pounded in her chest. Dear God, he looked the same, exactly the way she remembered him. Their eyes met and she saw no recognition. For one brief moment she felt only relief and sadness, then the anger returned. She jerked her hand away and stuffed it into her pocket. “Senator,” she said coldly—so coldly that the crew looked at her in shock and disbelief.

Mac backed up a step, his eyes on the young woman in the red coat. “This is my wife, Alice. And this is Jenny.”

Casey smiled at the child before nodding curtly to her parents. She turned her back to follow the camera crew into the house. She could feel Mac's eyes on her back. She wanted to cry, to demand to know why she wasn't living here in this house with the two dogs bearing down on her instead of Alice. She reached down to scratch behind their silky ears. “And I'll just bet your names aren't Fred and Gus either,” she said in a choked whisper. She whirled around and demanded of Alice, in the same cold, hostile tone she'd used before, “What are their names?”

“Why . . . the dogs you mean?” Alice said. “Fred and Gus. Is it important?”

“People like to see pets. Pets reflect stability. But we won't use the dogs.”

“Why is that, Miss Ashley?” Mac asked curiously.

They were within a foot of one another, their eyes locked.
Liar. It was all a lie. You betrayed me. Liar. It wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. Liar.
“Because I said so,” Casey said. He senses something, Casey thought wildly. She could feel it.

Mac bristled then. He caught sight of the expression on his wife's face. God alone knew what Alice was thinking. “I don't have to do this show. Courtesy goes a long way, Miss Ashley.”

This wasn't going the way she had planned at all. Everyone was uptight. Alice Carlin looked as if she were going to take a fit any second. The child was starting to get restless. Mac was angry. The crew didn't know what to do—finish laying the cable or stop until this, whatever it was, was over.

“I think you should decide now,
Senator,
before the crew goes any further,” Casey said bitingly. Once again their eyes locked. “I didn't ask for this job, it was foisted on me.” She made the title “Senator” sound obscene.

“Then don't take it out on me,” Mac snapped. What in the name of God was wrong with him? In his life he'd never spoken to a woman like this. Not even Alice, in their worst moments. Their eyes locked again. Something strange stirred in him. She was scratching the dogs' ears again.
They
liked her. Dogs were shrewd judges of character. It was
him.
He was bringing out the worst in her, and he didn't know why.

“Who should I take it out on?” Casey retaliated.
You lied to me, you bastard. You said we would get married and live happily ever after.
For sure she was going to get fired, she thought. No, she wasn't. She was going to quit. In about five minutes.

“I'm going to take Jenny outdoors until you all . . . decide what it is you're going to do,” Alice said in a jittery voice. Mac nodded, his eyes never leaving Casey's tight, angry face.

When the door closed behind Alice and Jenny, Mac said, “Obviously something is going on here I don't understand. You didn't want this job, but you're here. Don't you like my politics? Is that it?”

“Actually, Senator, I don't like
you
,” Casey said tightly.

“Why?” This was so stupid, Mac thought. Why am I putting up with this? It was obvious the crew was wondering the same thing.

Casey smiled. “You're a liar, and I despise liars. I put liars right up there with used car salesmen, Senator.” There was such venom in her voice, Mac was speechless. The crew started to repack their gear.

“I do not lie, Miss Ashley. As a matter of fact I go out of my way so I
don't
have to tell a lie. I have never told a lie to my constituents.”

“Did I say anything about your constituents, Senator? Perhaps you should search your conscience.” Her voice was mocking now. Mac didn't know which was worse—her anger or this jaded mocking sound he was hearing. He felt like a fool. The crew thought him one too, he could see it in their faces. They might not approve of Mary Ashley's attitude, but their money was on their colleague. “You're a
politician
,” Casey said, and that summed it all up in her eyes. Mac's too.

Casey turned to the crew. “I'm going back. I'll call the office and have them send someone else down here who is more compatible with the senator. She turned to Mac. ”I like your dogs. I
really
like them. Good-bye, Senator.”

“Wait,” Mac said, desperate to know what was going on, certain he'd missed something important.

“For what?”

“Well, I . . .”

“Yes?” Their eyes locked. Casey smiled and did her best to fight back the tears pricking her eyelids.

“Do we . . . know each other? Did we meet somewhere, and was I rude to you? You . . .” He shrugged helplessly.

“You're not someone I want to know, Senator.” Her eyes were full now and would spill over momentarily. One of the dogs whined softly. She turned and left the house, blinded with her tears, running headlong into Alice and Jenny. She muttered an apology as she ran to her car. Alice stared after her until the car was out of sight, her face furrowed in thought.

She was about to climb the steps to the porch when the crew emerged. She listened to the apologies and heard the words “stress” and “overload” mentioned several times.

Mac was standing in the middle of the room, a totally hopeless look on his face. “I don't know what happened, Alice. We called off the shoot by mutual agreement. There didn't seem much point in going through with it. She despises me. I saw it in her face, and I don't know why. I hate it when I don't understand something.”

“Mac, did you put that box of pictures away yet?” Alice asked.

“They're on the desk. Why?”

She was back a moment later. Why was she doing this? Why was she helping her husband find a woman who would end her marriage and leave Jenny without a father? Because she cared about him and wanted his happiness, she realized. She had Jenny. Mac deserved to be happy, she told herself before she turned on the hallway light.

“Take a good look at this picture, Mac. This was the woman you knew in Vietnam. She's very pretty,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Now watch this.” She used Jenny's colored pencils. He watched with interest as Alice started to draw a bright red coat around the figure. With a yellow pencil she rearranged Casey's hair. With a fine-point pen she redefined Casey's new face the way she remembered it. “Voilà!” she said softly. “It was the tears in her eyes that convinced me. Eyes never lie, Mac. You can change the color, but you can't change emotion.”

“Oh, God. She must have gone through unbearable hell. They said she was dead. I promised . . . so many things. The only one—” he said, his voice cracking. “The only one I kept was the dogs. I would have gone through with the divorce, Alice. You need to know that. I did love her, and I wanted to marry her. I lied to her. I didn't tell her about you, and I couldn't tell her about Jenny. She didn't have a happy childhood. Her parents left her in an orphanage. She never forgave them. We all betrayed her: her mother, her father, me, and God knows who else.”

“Go after her or you'll lose her again. It's all right, Mac. Go after her,” Alice urged.

He tried.

He thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Of course it was Casey. The conversation now made sense. He drove like a maniac, certain he wasn't going to find her.

He was on the highway, passing the television van at ninety miles an hour.

Findherfindherfindherfindher.

Mac careened into the motel parking lot. Thank God he'd remembered Benny telling him where the crew was staying. There were no cars with out-of-state license plates in the lot. Should he wait? Was she driving a rental car or her own car? Did she stop here? Would she stop here? She'd only had a fifteen-minute head start on him. The way he'd been driving, he should have passed her along the way. If she was in the same emotional state he was in, she was probably halfway to New York by now. Jesus Christ, what should he do now?
I can't lose her again.
“I like your dogs,” she'd said. He should have picked up on the whole thing the minute she'd asked for their names.
Carlin, you are the stupidest man who ever walked this earth.

Mac was still sitting in the car when the van pulled alongside. He rolled down the window. “She isn't here. I don't have time to explain. Where would she go? You saw what happened back there. Would she drive back to New York or will she wait for you guys?”

“I don't know, Senator. She looked pretty pissed to me. I don't know what got into her. Mary's a hell of a nice person, and she's going to lose her job over this. Harper was real keen on getting you on film.”

“Look, do . . . Mary a favor and blame it all on me. Say I couldn't get it all together and had second thoughts. Hell, I don't care what you tell him, just don't blame . . . Mary. Will you do that?”

“Why not?” they said in unison. “She rented a car after flying down here. We met up with her. It was a Ford Thunderbird. Maybe she decided to drive all the way back. Try I-95. She's not. a fast driver. You can probably catch up to her.”

“Thanks,” Mac said, peeling out of the parking lot.

He didn't catch up to her. Or she hadn't been on the highway at all, but had gone to an airport or the Amtrack station and taken a plane or train back to New York.

He arrived in downtown Manhattan at five o'clock. There was so little traffic, he felt as if he had the city to himself. He even managed to find a parking space a block from Tri State News.

If he wasn't in such a flap, he would have laughed at the look of sheer terror on Steve Harper's face. “There's been a mix-up. I need to locate Miss Ashley right away. I need her home address.”

“Senator, I can't give that to you. It's against policy.”

“She won't mind. Trust me. I'll make sure she calls you, providing she's at home.”

“I thought she was with you in Virginia. Where's the crew?”

“She was. They're on their way back. I just drove faster. Okay, thanks,” Mac said, pocketing the address.

He knew he was too late even before the doorman told him Miss Ashley came in and went out carrying two animal kennels.

“Two?” Mac asked, swaying dizzily.

“Yes, sir, two.”

“Son of a bitch! Did she have a suitcase?”

“She went back for that. She put the kennels in her car and went back for her suitcase. She double-parked. I watched the car for her. Is something wrong?”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No. She said good-bye and slipped me twenty bucks. Real nice lady.”

You're a liar,
she said.
I don't like you. You're a liar.

Where would she go? She could be someplace as simple as around the corner and be lost to him forever. It was worth a try. Casey was the one thrown clear when the firebomb hit the jeep she was riding in. Who the hell was buried in France? Jesus, he'd wanted to believe, even tried to believe, but his faith wasn't strong enough. Lily must be the one in the grave. The thought didn't make him feel any better. Where would Casey go? Maybe Steve Harper would know.

“Christ, you missed her by ten minutes,” Harper said. “She barreled in here and handed me the two kennels and told me to take care of her pets. She said they loved Izzy and Izzy needed company. I said okay because Izzy is lonely. She quit. What'd you do to her, Senator? I know something went on down there, and here you show up demanding her address and ten minutes later she blows in here, gives me her dog and cat, and then quits. You know what, Senator? I don't want you on my show. She was crying. Now, I'm busy, so if you don't mind. . . .”