Future Perfect (20 page)

Winter, spring, summer and autumn, he’d be there all year long. She could picture them out in the yard, building a snowman with the … children? She could imagine them with children, Juliana realized with a start.

She smiled, picturing sweet-faced babies and toddlers with curly black hair and deep-blue eyes.

She could imagine her love for Webster growing stronger as the years went on. She could imagine standing by his side, his arm around her, her arm around him.

She could imagine a happiness unlike any she’d ever known. And it would be happiness, not merely contentment.

All or nothing, he’d said.

Heaven help her, Juliana thought. She was going to marry him.

The morning sky was overcast with heavy gray clouds. Juliana paused outside of Webster’s door, but there was no sound from within. Slowly, she turned the knob, pushed the door open, and peeked inside.

The shades were drawn, and the room was dim. Webster lay fast asleep in the middle of his bed, one arm thrown up over his forehead. The blankets were a rumpled mess around him, as if he’d been tossing and turning.

Juliana quietly backed out into the hall and closed the door. She’d let him sleep. She was feeling well enough to run out and pick up a load of firewood downtown, and she wanted to check in on Liz.

She smiled. If Webster was still asleep when she got back, she’d wake him up.

Webster stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. God almighty, he was hungover. This was what he got for staying in a house where all they had to drink was brandy. A hangover from drinking too much brandy was much nastier than a good, clean beer hangover. Well, maybe not, but it sure seemed that way right now.

Slowly he rinsed his face and brushed his teeth, and then went downstairs in search of coffee. He found a pot on the warmer and poured himself a cup.

There was no sign of Juliana, but he didn’t expect to see her. No doubt she was hiding up in her room. Hiding from
him
.

He was so depressed. How could she not want to marry him? If she really loved him, how could she bear for him to leave? His stomach churned at the thought of not seeing her every morning, of not being able to hold her in his arms at night. How could she not feel it, too?

Unless she didn’t love him.

Sure, she said she did, but no two people had exactly the same interpretation of a word. When he said, “I love you,” he meant that he couldn’t live without her, that he burned for her, body and soul. Maybe when she said the same words, she merely meant that she enjoyed being with him, that for this moment in time, he gave her pleasure.

Or maybe it had all been a lie.

He took the jewelry box with the engagement ring out of his pocket and stared at the faded velvet cover. He might as well put it back in Alicia’s room.

But her door was locked.

He went back into the kitchen and slowly sat down at the table. Opening the box, he looked at the beautiful ring. Juliana wasn’t going to marry him. And he didn’t want anything less from her.

This was what he deserved for being stupid enough to fall in love in the first place. Love didn’t work. It just didn’t work.

He had to get out of here. He had to pack up his things and leave. He couldn’t stay, not another minute.

Webster snapped the jewelry box shut. He’d leave this in the office, inside Alicia’s desk drawer.

The tiny office was dark, and there was no overhead light, so he switched on the small lamp that sat on the first of the two desks. Juliana’s desk.

There was a folder open, and as he glanced down, the letterhead from the
Boston Globe
caught his eye. He picked up the letter, reading it quickly.

Then, frowning, he read it again, more slowly this time.

It was standard correspondence, and it announced the impending arrival of one Webster Donovan, representative from the
Boston Globe
. The letter went on to inform the Misses Dupree and Anderson that Mr. Donovan would be reviewing their establishment for an upcoming article and accompanying book on New England’s bed and breakfasts.

All this time, Juliana had known he was the reviewer, and she’d never said a word.

In a sudden flash of memory, he could hear her voice telling Alicia, “I’d do
anything
for a good review.”

Anything?

Like maybe seduce the reviewer? Like maybe pretend to be in love with him?

Webster’s eyes moved to the date of the letter. In typical bureaucratic inefficiency, it had been sent weeks after his arrival date. Still, even if the mail was outrageously slow, Juliana had to have received this letter before they’d first made love.

Webster tossed the ring box down on Alicia’s desk and went upstairs.

His head was spinning. He had to get out of here.

*   *   *

Juliana pulled the pickup truck into the Beckwiths’ driveway, tapping her horn lightly. Chris and Jamey were playing in the empty garage, and they came running as she climbed out of the cab. Jamey started to launch herself at Juliana, then remembering her injured ribs, stopped and hugged her gently.

“What, no school today?” Juliana asked, kissing the top of Jamey’s tangled hair and moving into the open garage, out of the rain.

“There’s some kind of teacher’s conference.” Chris grinned. “That’s just fine with me.”

“Me, too,” Jamey said.

“Lucky devils. Is your mom around?”

“She’s lying down,” Chris said. “She’s not feeling real well, so I’m baby-sitting.”

He put such an expression of long-suffering on his face Juliana had to laugh.

“I
don’t
need a baby-sitter,” Jamey said indignantly, opening her mouth to give him an additional piece of her mind. But Chris was quick to back down.

“Sorry, squirt,” he said, his face sincere. “I keep forgetting that you don’t need a sitter now that you’re … five.” And then he turned away from Jamey and dropped Juliana the best deadpan wink she’d ever seen. He was better at it than his father was, and that kind of wink was Sam Beckwith’s trademark.

“Chris and I are doing a scientific experiment,” Jamey told Juliana. “We’re seeing who can fly the farthest, Barbie or Ken.”

“We think that Ken will travel the longest distance, since he has the largest body weight,” Chris
said. “But we’ll do a bunch of tests to make sure we’re right.”

“Well,” Juliana said, unable to hide her smile. “Don’t forget to take into consideration that Barbie is slightly more streamlined than Ken.”

Chris nodded seriously. “We didn’t think of that,” he said.

“On the other hand,” Juliana said. “Barbie’s long hair might create more drag.”

“My Barbie’s bald,” Jamey said. “I gave her a buzz cut last week.”

Kids.

She’d never allowed herself to think about it before, assuming that she’d be single all of her life, but she really, really wanted children. She wanted bright young faces, full of life and energy, full of laughter and an unquenchable need to discover the world.

She wanted Chris and Jamey, but they were already taken, so she’d have to make some beautiful children of her own. With Webster’s help, of course …

Juliana smiled. The more she got used to this married thing, the more she liked it.

“Yo!” Liz called from the kitchen door. “You gonna stand out there all day?”

“See you later, guys,” Juliana said, then went inside. “I thought you were lying down.”

Liz made a face. “I tried, but as soon as I got comfortable, the baby started working on his new tap-dancing routine.”

Liz looked tired, with signs of strain clearly showing on her face. “Will you look at those clouds?” she said, peering out of the kitchen window. “I really hope this rain doesn’t change to snow.”

“It’s not cold enough,” Juliana said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Liz agreed. “I just worry whenever Sam’s going to be driving late at night.”

“He’ll be fine,” Juliana said.

“I have got the worst bitch of a backache today,” Liz said, sitting at the kitchen table and resting her head on her arms. “Distract me, will you? Tell me about your romantic evening with Webster Donovan.”

Juliana put some water in the tea kettle. “Don’t you mean, my romantic evening with Webster and the Edgewoods?”

Liz sighed. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about the Edgewoods. They leave yet? They must’ve or you wouldn’t be over here.”

Juliana sat down across from Liz, pushing her hair back from her face. “Webster asked me to marry him.”

Liz lit up, her pleasure erasing all of the lines of fatigue that had been on her face. “Congratulations!”

“I told him no.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, but …” Juliana stood up to get the tea canister out of the cupboard. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to do it,” she said. She looked at Liz, smiling a little self-consciously. “I’m going to marry him.”

“All right!” Liz said, grinning. “Webster must be out of his mind, delirious with happiness.”

“He, uh, doesn’t know yet,” Juliana said. “I haven’t told him I changed my mind.”

Liz stood up so fast that her chair fell over backwards. She pointed to the door. “Out!” she cried. “Get out! Get
out
of here and go tell that man what you just told me. Immediately!”

Laughing, Juliana let Liz push her out the door. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re feeling,” she said.

“Go home!” Liz shouted. “Don’t think about
me
, think about
Webster
!”

As Juliana climbed awkwardly into her truck, she could hear Liz singing the opening strains to the wedding march from the doorway.

She pulled onto the street and turned on the windshield wipers, noticing suddenly that the rain had traces of ice in it.
Sleet, ugh
, she thought. Still, it was too warm to freeze on the road. Or was it? The inside of the truck was so cold she put on the heater to warm her feet.

The firewood she’d picked up in town bounced in the back of the truck as she pulled into her driveway. Her ribs bounced, too, and she slowed, holding her side with one hand. It was enough to remind her that she wasn’t back to normal yet. Heck, she wasn’t even up to fifty percent. She wouldn’t be able to unload the firewood. She’d have to ask Webster to do that for her.

By the time she parked the truck near the kitchen door, the rain had more than mere traces of ice in it. It was positively chunky, and a few flakes were starting to fall. When she opened the door to the cab, the air was sharp and icy. The temperature was dropping fast.

The heels of her boots skidded slightly on the slippery driveway as she made her way into the house.

The kitchen was empty, but there was a mug out on the counter. Webster was awake.

Juliana hung her coat in the mud room and wiped her feet carefully on the mat, then went up the stairs to the second floor. The door to his room was open, and she approached it nervously.

What was she supposed to say? “Good morning, I changed my mind. Let’s get married?”

There was a suitcase out and open on his bed, full of his clothes. He’d tossed them in there in obvious haste, as if getting away quickly was more important than having an entire wardrobe full of wrinkles.

She took another step into the room and then turned around, surprised, as Webster came in the door behind her. He was carrying the boxes for his computer, the ones he’d stored down in the basement. He stared at her, his eyes crystal blue.

“You’re still upset,” she said, taking a step back, away from the ice in his eyes.

“Very perceptive,” he said, brushing past her, carrying the boxes into the sitting room.

His hair was wild, as it usually was, and he wore the jeans he’d had on when they’d first met. He’d washed them, but there were holes in the knees and the thighs were worn nearly white. He’d told her they were his traveling jeans.

She followed him into the other room. “Webster, I’m sorry—”

“Save it,” he said, not even looking up.

“But—”

“Look, I found that letter, I know what your deal is, so you don’t have to play this game anymore,” he said, his voice tight.

Juliana was lost. What on earth was he talking about? “Webster, I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “
What
letter?”

Webster glanced up from encasing his printer in Styrofoam packing material. He lowered it into the manufacturer’s
box. “Oh, we’re going to play dumb? Fine. What letter? The one that’s out on top of your desk.”

She still looked at him blankly.

“In your office,” he added. “The letter from the
Boston Globe
?”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, and Webster could have wept. Up to now, she’d been so convincingly confused he was starting to believe he’d made a mistake. But now it was clear that she knew which letter he was talking about.

He wound up his power cords and connecting cables and put them into the box with his computer keyboard.

“Webster, you’re accusing me of something, and I have no idea what it is,” Juliana said quietly. “I wish you would just come out and say it.”

The blue eyes that looked at her were pure crystal, and Juliana felt the beginnings of real panic. This was not some misunderstanding or some mild disagreement. He was looking at her as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

“You slept with me,” he said. “You had sex with me not just once, but God, I lost count of how many times. And you did it for one reason—because you knew that I was that damned reporter from the
Globe
, and you wanted a good review.”

Juliana felt light-headed. Webster? Was from the
Boston Globe
? And sweet heavens! What he was accusing her of was little better than prostitution.

“Tell me, Jule,” he asked, his eyes glittering. “Are you planning on making it an option for all the gentlemen guests? I can guarantee you’ll increase your business that way, with or without a good review.”

The light-headedness was replaced by heat. Pure, unadulterated anger. How dare he? How
dare
he say such things?

“You are
so
wrong,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what was in that letter.” She could prove it, but she wasn’t going to bother. He wasn’t worth the trouble. Her voice got stronger. “It’s a good thing you’re packing your bags, Mr. Donovan, because I want you out of my house.”