Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“Sometimes I think…” Olivia hesitated, but when Bellamy prompted her with an inquisitive tip of her head, she continued. “I think Steven must have felt a bit abandoned when Howard and I married. He’d had me all to himself for years, then suddenly had to share me with another man. And my love for Howard was so passionate, so consuming, that Steven might have felt slighted.”

She dabbed at fresh tears and spoke in a voice made husky by emotion. “Howard is my Prince Charming, you know. My knight in shining armor. I loved my first husband dearly, but what I felt for him was like a spark to a bonfire when compared to the way I feel about your father. When we met, Howard seemed larger than life to me. Can you appreciate that?” She looked into Bellamy’s eyes, seeking understanding on a woman-to-woman basis.

Bellamy nodded. To her twelve-year-old self, Dent had been larger than life. He’d been that way in her daydreams as well. “Yes. I know exactly what you mean.”

“My first husband’s prolonged illness had been a financial drain. There wasn’t much left in the coffer after he died, so I was lucky to have my job at the accounting firm. I wasn’t a charity case, but I was on a budget.

“So here I was, a working single mom. And there was Howard, a man of wealth, importance, and position. He excited and terrified me all at once.”

“Why terrified you?”

“I knew from the start that he had fallen in love with me, knew he wanted me in his life. He told me so on our second date. And, Lord knows, I wanted him. But I was afraid of failing to live up to his expectations. What if he thought that I’d married him only for the security and benefits that came with him? I would have loved him no matter what, and wanted so badly to make him happy, to make his life as full and complete as he’d made mine.”

Bellamy squeezed her hand. “You have. There’s absolutely no doubt of that, Olivia. You’ve been his lifeblood. As his only surviving child, it almost pains me to say this, but when he draws his last breath, it will be your name on his lips.”

With a sob, Olivia leaned forward and rested her forehead against Bellamy’s shoulder. For a time, Bellamy stroked her back, giving her what small comfort she could when her Prince Charming was about to leave her.

Eventually she sat up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Okay, I’ve had my cry. We got off the subject. Why did you go see Steven at this particular time?”

“Even when I was researching my book, he was reluctant to talk to me about that Memorial Day. We’d never discussed it as adults. I wanted to hear his point of view.”

The warmth she’d shared with Olivia just moments earlier cooled significantly. Olivia bowed her head and stroked her furrowed forehead with the pads of her fingers.

“Bellamy, Howard and I held our peace when you were writing the book. We didn’t like the idea, but it wasn’t our place to interfere. But this… this obsession of yours is puzzling and upsetting. Terribly upsetting if I’m being honest. We don’t understand it.” Raising her head, she met Bellamy eye to eye. “Don’t you want to put the incident behind you, forget it?”

“I can’t,” Bellamy whispered earnestly. But she refrained from telling her stepmother that she couldn’t forget what she couldn’t remember.

She was spared having to say anything more when a nurse entered the room. “Mrs. Lyston, the doctor will be available shortly to speak with you. In the meantime, Mr. Lyston is conscious if you want to go in.”

Olivia gave Bellamy a nudge. “You go. He’ll want to see you.” Then, clutching Bellamy’s hand, she added, “But promise me you won’t upset him with talk of Susan’s death.”

Bellamy was shocked by how much her father had declined over the two days since she’d seen him. His cheeks and eye sockets were deeply sunken, making his face look skeletal. He breathed through colorless, partially open lips even though he was getting supplemental oxygen through a cannula. Beneath the light blanket, his form looked pathetically unsubstantial.

She moved to the bedside and took his frail hand in hers. At her touch, his eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey, good-lookin’. Whacha got cookin’?”

It was their special greeting, one that had made her giggle as a girl, especially if it was accompanied by a gentle poke to her ribs. Now, she smiled through her tears.

“Forgive me for not standing,” he said.

“You’re forgiven.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“Sit.”

Mindful of all the tubes and lines snaking from beneath the covers to various machines, she carefully lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

“Where’s Olivia?” he asked.

“Waiting to talk to the doctor.”

“He’s going to tell her she needs to give up and let go.” His voice was creaky with emotion and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Help her through this, Bellamy.”

“You know I will.”

He clasped her hand more tightly. “There’s something else I need you to do for me.”

“Don’t worry about the business. It’s a well-oiled machine that practically runs itself. But I’m willing to do whatever you need me to.”

“This isn’t about the company. It’s about Susan.”

Bellamy glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting Olivia to be there admonishing her to remember her promise. “Let’s not talk about her, Daddy. It pains you too much.”

“Your book—”

“Upset you. I know. I’m sorry. I never meant—”

“You raised questions.”

Unsure of what he was getting at, she said nothing.

“Was that intentional?”

“No,” she replied, releasing her breath slowly. “But as the story unfolded, implied questions emerged. I suppose they’ve been buried in my subconscious.”

“In mine, too.”

“What?”

“I’ve harbored questions, too.”

She was stunned. “Such as?”

“Primarily, I question the same thing that tabloid columnist did. Allen Strickland went to prison for killing Susan. But did he do it? I don’t want to die with uncertainty, Bellamy.”

“What makes you think it wasn’t him?”

“Maybe it was. But I don’t want to spend eternity with maybe . I need to know .”

Her visit with Steven had left her feeling that the preteen Bellamy had been better off not knowing everything that was happening around her. She also came away realizing that Low Pressure had been written from a very naive perspective.

On that Memorial Day, there had been strong undercurrents at play, nuances that, as a twelve-year-old, she hadn’t perceived. Even if she had sensed them, she wouldn’t have had the maturity to identify and understand them.

Dent had cautioned her that any truths uncovered might be terribly ugly, possibly explosive, worse even than the one she’d learned about Steven and Susan. She had come close to believing that the course safest to her peace of mind would be to leave the past alone.

But now, her father was asking her to dig deeper. How could she refuse to grant—or at least attempt to grant—his dying wish? His asking this of her renewed her resolve to continue turning over stones regardless of the ugliness she might find beneath.

“I want to know with certainty, too, Daddy. Since I wrote the book, very recently in fact, some things have come to light that I didn’t know.”

“For instance?”

“Susan was seeing other boys, not just Dent Carter.”

“You’ve been talking to him?”

“Among others.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He’s given me no reason to distrust him.”

“He wouldn’t, though, would he? Has he romanced you yet?”