Stuart Woods - Palindrome

"That's been my experience with Keir, too. He either just ignores any question about a brother or denies everything. Do you have any idea why they're this way?"

"Not a clue, and neither did Germaine. It apparently started the summer they were eighteen, right before Hamish left for Princeton." Both women were silent for a moment, as if they had run out of things to talk about. "Would you like to meet Keir?" Liz asked finally.

Hannah started to speak, then stopped. "No, I don't think so," she said at last. "I'm pretty much over Hamish, now, and I don't want to get more involved with his family. It's really none of my business anymore."

"I understand," Liz said. They were quiet again, then Hannah spoke.

"What's Keir like?" she asked, almost sheepishly.

"Like Hamish, but different. I mean, you know how alike they are. Hamish has always seemed sort of, well, detached, removed. I don't think I could get close to him."

"I know what you mean," Hannah said, nodding furiously. "I found that terribly attractive. It was a challenge, to get past that and find out what he was really like."

"Did you?"

"Sometimes, at little moments. In bed, mostly, I think. It's funny about some men-you can only really know them in bed." That certainly seems to be the case with Keir, Liz thought, but she felt too shy to mention it. Hannah Drummond was talking as if they were old girl friends, when they'd only just met.

There was an embarrassed silence. "How long are you staying?" Liz asked, to get the conversation moving again.

"I'll go back in just a few days, and Aldred will follow a little later."

"He won't get to see much of Hamish, then."

"Oh, he spent some time with him on Martha's Vineyard early in the summer."

Germaine came through the screen door, mopping her brow. "Whew, actual labor this morning," she said, plopping down next to them on the swing. "I've got a chambermaid with the curse this morning, so I'm doing double duty. Funny, when I've got the curse I work!"

"You seem really busy this season," Hannah said.

"It's true. I've only got eighteen beds, and I could fill three times that many if I had them."

"Why don't you expand?" Hannah asked.

"It's crossed my mind, but it won't happen while Grandpapa is alive. He wants it the way it's always been."

"Not many people are in a position to keep things the way they've always been," Hannah said, rather wistfully. "It must be nice."

"To tell you the truth, I've never much liked things the way they've always been," Germaine said. "I don't like living in the past."

"Will you expand when your grandfather dies?" Liz asked.

"You bet I will. He knows it, too; he just wants me to wait until he's gone."

"How will you do it?"

"I'll build an annex out back, but don't worry, it'll be in the style of the house. I don't want you to get the idea I'm going to screw up the place."

"I know you wouldn't do that, Germaine," Liz said. "There isn't an ounce of developer in you."

Germaine pointed toward the gate. "Speak of the devil," she said. The inn's van pulled up and Germajne's cousin Jimmy Weathers got out, followed by another man. Jimmy was carrying a large leatherette case.

"And it looks like he's brought some plans," Germaine said.

"You mean, he's planning some sort of development on the island already?" Liz asked.

"That's right."

"But how can he do that? He doesn't own any of it, does he?"

"Not yet, but Grandpapa has fired Cheatham, and if he didn't make a will, then his estate will be divided among his heirs; that's me, Hamish, Keir, little Aldred, and guess who."

"But you could outvote him."

"No, my lawyer tells me he could force a division of the property, and that means the island." Liz watched Jimmy's back as he strode confidently into the inn. She felt good knowing that Cumberland Island was now safe from Jimmy and his kind. She thought of telling Germaine about her grandfather's new will, but she felt, somehow, that Angus Drummond would want to tell his grandchildren about that himself.

Sergeant Lee Williams had his hands full keeping his son, Martin, from simply floating away. In spite of the weight of a Bobcats ball cap, a Bobcats pennant, and the football Bake Ramsey had given him, the thirteen-year-old's body kept threatening to leave the ground and not come back; he was that excited. "Are they gonna be good seats, Daddy?" he asked, for the fourth or fifth time.

"I expect so," Williams said again. "I don't think Bake Ramsey would give us bad seats, do you?"

"Just as long as they're between the forties, it's okay," Martin said. "Even between the thirties." He sighed. "Hell, if they're between the end zones it's all right with me."

"You watch your language, boy," his father said sternly. They followed the crowd along the stadium passage until they came to a sign pointing to their row number, then they began climbing. They emerged from the tunnel into brilliant sunshine, and the fifty-yard line was before them. "Hot damn!" the boy yelled. "Look at that! And we're right on the aisle!"

"Martin, I'm not going to tell you again about your language; you're getting a real problem about that, son. Now, if I hear one more blue word out of you, we're going home right that minute, you got me?"

"Yes, Daddy," the boy said sheepishly, as they sat down. The day could not have been more perfect, Williams thought. It was in the seventies, there was not a cloud in the sky, and the boy had every reason to be excited; they were, indeed, in the best seats in the stadium. Williams had not been entirely certain whether he liked Bake Ramsey, but at this moment, he could have kissed him. They were surrounded by well-dressed Atlantans in their autumn finery. As Williams watched the prosperous-looking crowd, all friends and relatives of the players, he reckoned, a very pretty girl moved past them and took the seat next to Martin. Williams was glad he had made the boy wear his good clothes. A band struck up somewhere, and a roar rose from the crowd as the Bobcats ran onto the field. "Look, Daddy, there he is-on the crutches, see!" Bake Ramsey swung onto the field behind the team, dwarfing the assistant coach who walked beside him. He was dressed like the coaches, in blue trousers and a white, short-sleeved team shirt.

Even from that distance, Williams could see the rippling muscles in his forearms. "That guy is really pumped up, ain't he, Dad?"

"Isn't he," Williams remonstrated. "Yes, he's got the muscles, all right. You ought to see him up close."

"You reckon I could meet him after the game?"

"Well, I don't know about that; we weren't invited. He was nice enough to give us these seats, so let's don't get pushy, okay?"

The girl next to Martin turned to him. "You're a Bake Ramsey fan, are you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Martin said, "I sure am." He held up his most prized possession. "He gave me this football. Really, he gave it to my dad, but it was for me. He autographed it for me, see right here?" He held up the pigskin for her to see. Williams was relieved that the boy was speaking politely.

The girl smiled and stuck out her hand. "I'm Mary Alice," she said. Martin shook her hand respectfully. "I'm Martin. This is my dad."

"Hi, I'm Lee," he said, offering his hand. She shook it and turned back to Martin. "You want to meet Bake after the game?"

"Oh, boy, I sure would like that, Mary Alice!"

"Well, he's a friend of mine;

I'll see what I can do." Martin turned back to his father. "Dad, can I? Is it okay?"

"Well, let's just see if it's convenient for Mary Alice after the game."

She winked at Martin. Williams looked at her closely.

High on her left cheek, nearly covered by makeup, was what seemed to be a large, ugly birthmark. He compared the cheek with the other one and made out the swelling. No, he concluded, it was not a birthmark; it was a bruise. After the game Williams and his son followed Mary Alice into the bowels of the stadium. They were stopped twice, but her name was on a list, and soon they entered a waiting room. In a further room, a press conference was being held by the coach and some of the players.