Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“How old were you when your real mom died?”

“Three. Susan was seven. Mother left us with the housekeeper while she went to the supermarket. She collapsed in the store aisle. A brain aneurysm had burst. They said death was instantaneous.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “I hope so. Realizing that she was dying and leaving us without a mother would have been awful for her.”

“Do you remember her?”

“Sometimes I think I do,” she said wistfully, “but it might just be images formed from pictures of her and stories that Daddy told me. When I started school, being without a mother made me different from the other kids. I didn’t like that. I was thrilled when Daddy and Olivia married.”

“What about Susan?”

“She was more wary because she was older and could remember our mother. But to Olivia’s credit, she was tactful and patient with us. With Steven, too, who was suddenly no longer an only child, but the middle child having to share his mother with two stepsisters. As an adult I can appreciate how dicey the merger could have been. But there were no major upheavals.”

Dent’s family background suffered by comparison. He didn’t want to think about what he would have become if Gall hadn’t taken him under his wing. So to speak.

He resettled in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Goody Two-Shoes goes to the barbecue.”

She winced. “Not in a new sundress, mind you, but a pair of white slacks that were too big in the seat, and a red top with straps that kept slipping off my knobby shoulders.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t have the most graceful adolescence.”

He smiled, recalling how awkward she’d been. “I remember one time Susan and I passed through the kitchen where you were sitting at the table doing homework. Susan called you a dork for being such a conscientious student. You told her to shut up. But she kept teasing you. You picked up a bag—”

“Of colored pencils. I was working on a map of Europe.”

“You hauled it back to throw at her, but you knocked over your glass of milk instead. You burst into tears and ran from the room.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She buried her face in her hands. “I was so humiliated.”

“Why? Susan deserved to be smacked for making fun of you. I thought you showed a lot of backbone by standing up to her.”

“But I flubbed it and spilled my milk instead. In front of you. That was the worst of it.”

“Because of the crush you had on me.”

Her face turned bright pink. “You knew?”

He raised one shoulder. “Sensed.”

“Oh, God. Now I’m really embarrassed. I didn’t think you knew I was alive.”

He’d known. But her adolescent crush on him hadn’t become noteworthy until that Memorial Day, and then it had taken on a significance that disturbed him even now.

But he wouldn’t go there. Not until she did.

Instead, he smiled. “What did you like about me?”

“You were so much older. Eighteen . You rode a motorcycle, flew airplanes, used bad words. You broke all the rules, and my parents called you reckless, rude, and undisciplined.”

“And they were right.”

She laughed lightly. “You were the dangerous bad boy. Every Goody Two-Shoes’s fantasy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “What do you think of me now?”

Instantly she sobered and held his stare for several seconds, then replied quietly, “I think you’re still dangerous.”

Quickly she scooted back her chair and began to clear the table. He watched her as she moved about the kitchen and noticed how nicely she was filling out the seat of her pants these days. She also filled out her soft, stretchy top. Not too much. Just enough.

Today she had worn her hair down. It was dark, thick, and glossy, and, whenever she moved, the longest strands grazed those not-too-much-just-enough breasts, and every time that happened, he felt a warm, pleasant tingle below his belt.

Yesterday, once she’d ditched the sunglasses, he’d noticed that her eyes were light blue, set off by black eyelashes. Her skin was fair, and he was really coming to like that sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, which was an impudent contrast to an otherwise solemn face. When the time was right, he would enjoy teasing her about those freckles, as well as her girlish blush.

He wondered what had gone wrong between her and her ex, and if their divorce had been as amicable as she’d claimed.

She returned to her chair across the table from him and, as though aware of his scrutiny and the track of his thoughts, she resumed immediately. “The barbecue was exactly as you described it. Susan was the life of the party, which wasn’t anything unusual. But that day she seemed to court attention.”

“She wanted to make sure I’d hear about it.”

Bellamy gave a curt nod. “She laughed out loud at everything and spread herself thin on the dance floor, dancing with every man who asked her, no matter how old or how young.”

“Allen Strickland.”

“Yes. But they didn’t link up until later in the day, after Susan had had quite a lot to drink. She and a group of older kids had left the main pavilion and had gone down to the boathouse. They were sneaking beer down there and Susan was swilling it.

“Being curious and, I admit, a bit jealous, I went down there to spy on them. Susan saw me sneaking around and threatened to kill me if I tattled to Olivia and Daddy. I told her that I wouldn’t have to tell them, that if she continued drinking like that, they would know by her behavior. She told me to get lost. So I did.”

“Did you tell on her?”

“No.” This time as she lapsed into thought, her fingertip followed the rim of the tea glass. “Later I wished I had told. If she hadn’t been half drunk, she never would have looked twice at a guy like Allen Strickland.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He was so blue collar.”

“And I wasn’t?”

“Well, you… you were different.”

“I rode a motorcycle and flew airplanes. He drove a company truck. Appears to me that the difference between us was the vehicles.”

“In terms of boyfriends, that’s huge.”

“Okay. Continue.”

“Where was I?”

“You were blaming yourself for Susan’s actions. You shouldn’t. She made her own choices that day.”

“But she was my sister. I should have watched out for her.”

“Was she watching out for you?”

She lowered her gaze and must have decided not to venture too far in that direction, because she moved past it. “I returned to the pavilion and tried to remain inconspicuous. Susan’s group eventually began trickling back from the boathouse. I became worried when she didn’t come back with the rest. I wondered if she’d drunk so much she’d gotten sick. I went back to the boathouse to check on her.

“Or…” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Or am I confusing that with later?” She gave a small shake of her head. “It was so long ago that sometimes I have trouble piecing together the sequence of events.”

Watching her closely, he said, “You didn’t have trouble with the sequence when you wrote the book. The girl in it didn’t return to the boathouse until the tornado was on top of her.”

“Right,” she said vaguely. Then more definitively, “Right.” Still, frowning, she paused before continuing. “Susan was among the last stragglers to return to the pavilion. She looked more vibrant and beautiful than ever. Most women don’t hold up too well when they overdrink, but the alcohol had made her look… aglow.

“Allen Strickland asked her to dance. He was a great dancer. One of those men who can really move, make the steps look fluid and effortless. In full control of himself and his partner. You know the kind?”