Forbidden Read online

  “I understand.”

  He sounded so terribly sad. She felt the pain of it twist her heart.

  “Just one question and I’ll let you go. What went wrong with us, Liz? I ask myself that a lot these days.”

  A dozen quick answers sprang to mind, but not the right one. “I wish I knew,” she whispered.

  “Me too. Stay well.” Slowly, feeling more miserable than when he’d called, Adam hung up.

  In Pacific Beach, Liz sipped her wine and stared unseeingly at the ceiling, wondering where all of them had gone wrong.

  CHAPTER 10

  “He didn’t mean it, you know,” Claire Simpson said as Liz put antiseptic on a deep gash on her cheek. She winced at the stinging.

  “This really should be seen by a doctor, Claire,” Liz commented as she reached for a gauze bandage.

  “No.” The pale woman’s sunken gray eyes grew fearful. “No doctor and no hospital. Hank’d kill me if I went.”

  “Why do you suppose that is, Claire? Why doesn’t Hank want you to get proper medical care if you’re hurt?”

  The thin woman shivered despite the May sunshine drifting in through the open window in the small cubicle at Helping Hands. She shouldn’t have come, Claire told herself. If Hank found out… “It costs too much money, and doctors are real nosy. Hank says what happens between us is no one’s business.”

  Finished taping, Liz stepped back and sat down on the lone wooden chair in the partitioned area. “A doctor treating this cut might get suspicious about who did this to you. He might ask some questions. Do you think Hank suspects that and is afraid the police might get involved and go after him for hurting you?”

  Claire nervously brushed back her scraggly hair, then wrapped her arms around her thin frame protectively. “Don’t you see? It’s all my fault. I get Hank so mad he can’t help hisself. He don’t want to hit me, but sometimes he just has to. He… he warned me not to get pregnant, and I did. You can’t blame him for beating me, can you?”

  Liz sighed, wondering how this poor soul ever got to this point. At Molly’s urging, Liz had been volunteering at Helping Hands for a couple of months now, and she’d heard a similar pathetic story from any number of women. Try as she would, she couldn’t seem to convince any of them that it wasn’t their fault that a man hit them. “Yes, I do blame him. And you should, too. You didn’t get pregnant alone, now, did you? Maybe you should give some thought to the fact that Hank may take his anger out on your child, too.”

  Claire’s head shook in denial. “He wouldn’t do that.” But her voice lacked conviction.

  Liz leaned forward, willing the woman to listen. “Let me set up an appointment with a trained counselor, Claire. She can help you understand what’s behind Hank’s behavior, and we can help you remove yourself from a potentially dangerous situation.”

  Claire looked startled, frightened. “You mean leave Hank?” She shook her head vehemently. “He’ll find me wherever I go. He told me so.” She stood, then grabbed the headboard to steady herself as she struggled with light-headedness. “I got to go. I just stopped by because I heard you people might be able to help. But I was wrong. No one can help me.”

  Liz stood, urging her back to the bed. “Lie down and rest until you feel stronger. I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Overcome by a wave of weakness, Claire complied. “Just for a few minutes. Then I got to go. I got to be home when Hank gets there.” Wearily she closed her eyes.

  Liz felt like weeping for Claire, felt like lashing out at men like Hank. To think that this intolerable situation was replayed countless times a day in nearly every city from coast to coast made her want to scream at a society that allowed this sort of thing to continue.

  Leaving the stuffy little cubicle, Liz walked to the kitchen in the back and asked the volunteer there to take some soup to Claire. She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly time to pick up Sara at school. She’d been at the shelter over four hours and was feeling as impotent as usual. So much was lacking and so little was available.

  They desperately needed a better facility, a doctor or physician’s assistant who’d offer their services, a legal aid volunteer, and funds for furniture, bedding, clothes, and food. Perhaps she’d mention Helping Hands to her mother, who was a pro at raising funds for various charities. Maybe Richard could find someone who’d volunteer legal aid. She’d approach both of them soon, Liz decided as she retrieved her keys from her purse.

  “I’m leaving, Abby,” Liz called to the volunteer who handled the small front office.

  “Will we see you tomorrow?” Abby asked, looking up from a ledger she’d been working on.

  “Probably not till Friday,” Liz answered as the front door opened. Glancing over her shoulder, she had trouble hiding her surprise as she recognized the blonde entering. Diane Cramer McKenzie, looking as if she’d been outfitted by the best shop on Rodeo Drive, strode in confidently.

  “Hi, Diane,” Abby said in greeting.

  Could it be that the senator’s wife was a volunteer at a shelter for abused women? Recovering, Liz turned and managed a smile. She wondered if Diane came because she wanted to help or because it was politically correct, then felt ashamed of the uncharitable thought. “I had no idea you were involved with Helping Hands,” she said in utter honesty.

  “Mrs. McKenzie’s been coming here for years,” Abby volunteered.

  Diane’s red lips parted in a superior smile. “Did you consider me totally unfeeling?” she asked Liz.

  “Do you think me that unfairly judgmental? Of course I don’t consider you unfeeling.” Pragmatic, perhaps, but not unfeeling. “It’s just that since you’re now living in Sacramento and Washington, I’d have thought you could find a shelter closer to home.”

  “I’m in San Diego often, and I help out wherever I can, sugar. Adam and I both feel strongly about women in need of special help.” Diane had taken great pains since leaving home to keep her troubled childhood under wraps, yet memories of her abusive father and downtrodden mother still haunted her, which was her real reason for trying to help in several shelters. However, she wasn’t about to reveal anything about her past to Adam’s old love.

  People did change, Liz thought. She hoped, for Adam’s sake, that Diane had. She certainly wouldn’t question her motives, especially in front of Abby, who was watching their exchange with avid interest. “I’m glad to hear that.” She skirted Diane and reached for the doorknob.

  “Did you hear that Adam and I have adopted a baby boy?” Diane asked, swinging about so she could see Liz’s expression.

  Liz’s smile was genuine. “I’m so glad for you.”

  It was Diane’s turn to be surprised, but she was a master at covering it. “We pick him up Friday. He’s only two weeks old.” That fact had Diane scared witless. She knew absolutely nothing about babies. She’d been interviewing nannies all week. “I think every man wants a son, don’t you?” she asked Liz, hoping to hit a nerve.

  “So I’ve heard.” Pointedly Liz checked her watch. “I’ve got to run.” With a smile to Abby, she left and hurried to her car, hoping Diane would never learn that the adoption had been her suggestion. She couldn’t help but be pleased for Adam. Remembering how melancholy he’d sounded when they’d talked last, she hoped the baby would give him new zest for life.

  “Mommy,” the excited three-year-old shouted, “flower for you.” Holding out a bedraggled geranium, Keith Adam McKenzie ran on chubby legs across the sun porch to where Diane sat.

  Glancing up from her magazine, Diane moved her features into a frown. “Where did you get that, Keith?” She raised her eyes to her husband, trailing in behind the little boy. “Adam, did he pick that from our front yard?”

  “Simmer down, Di, it’s only a silly flower.” Adam dropped onto a lounge chair. He’d been helping Keith learn to ride his bike with training wheels for the past hour, and he was pleasantly tired.

  “I just had those planted this week. Our yard’s a disgrace as it is, ve
ry unprofessional for the home of a senator’s family.” She hated the Sacramento house Adam had moved them to since the adoption. It was in a neighborhood with a hundred other children, all of them constantly outside, noisy and screaming. “I try to brighten things up and you let him yank out the flowers before they’ve taken hold.” She hated the shrillness of her own voice, but it seemed she was constantly annoyed these days.

  “He’s only a baby.” Noticing that the happy smile had disappeared from Keith’s little face, he motioned the boy over. “It’s okay, sport. Mommy’s not mad.”

  “The hell she’s not.” Diane jumped to her feet, grabbing her cigarettes. She could never win an argument with Adam where Keith was involved. “And he’s not a baby. He’s three years old. It’s high time he learned right from wrong.” She flounced out of the room.

  Noticing that the boy was about to cry, Adam rolled off his chair and onto the floor, gently tackling Keith and taking him down with him. He was disgusted with Diane and would have loved to go after her and pursue this, but his son’s feelings came first. “Got you,” he said, tickling Keith.

  The boy giggled, then laughed out loud. Quickly he rolled over and tried to get his little hands in Adam’s sides to tickle him, a game they often played. Rosie the cat came wandering in and joined them. The three of them rolled around the floor, laughing and tickling.

  “I win, Daddy,” Keith declared when Adam pretended terror of him as he straddled his father’s chest.

  “Yes, you sure do.” Adam tousled his blond curls, then pulled the boy into a fierce hug. He’d not known three years ago what he’d been missing without a child in his life. He loved Keith so much that sometimes it frightened him.

  If only Diane loved him as much. Sighing, he sat up as Keith shifted his attention to the declawed cat now rolling around under the coffee table. Adam supposed that Diane tried. She simply wasn’t mother material. She took care of Keith’s physical needs and always had him clean and kept him healthy, but when it came to loving things, like reading him stories or talking with him or playing games, she was bored, and it showed.

  That was why Adam spent as much time as possible with Keith, and so did Fitz. Together they lavished the freckle-faced little towhead with lots of love. Adam had hoped Diane would warm up to the boy as time went on. But that hadn’t happened so far.

  For the life of him, he didn’t know what to do about it.

  “I coming to get you, Rosie,” Keith said, scrambling after the cat. But the cat was quicker, and in his haste to grab her, Keith bumped the table. The cut-glass vase on top went over onto the floor, water, flowers, and all.

  Adam had leaned in to catch it but hadn’t been fast enough.

  “I sorry, Daddy,” Keith said, his voice trembling.

  “It’s okay, sport,” Adam said.

  From the doorway, Diane took in the scene. “Now what?” Then she saw the mess. “Oh, no! Damn it, Keith, that vase was given to us by Senator Davidson.”

  “Knock it off, Di. It’s not even broken.” Adam scooped up the soggy spring flowers and thrust them back into the vase.

  “But it could have been. Why must you wrestle on the floor with him like… like some roughneck teenager?”

  Adam slowly rose to his full height and looked down at her, his eyes cold and hard. “Because he’s my son, because I love him, and because he’s far more important than any damn vase.” He thrust the wet vase at her, turned, and picked up Keith. Brushing a stray tear from his cheek, he smiled at the boy. “What do you say we go to the park, sport?”

  Keith managed a small smile, but he eyed his mother warily.

  Adam picked up Keith’s baseball hat and set it on his head. “Don’t wait lunch for us. We’ll grab a hotdog.” Carrying the boy, he walked outside and around to the driveway, where he’d left his car.

  In the sunroom, Diane stood fuming. They were supposed to go out to dinner tonight with the Millers. Rex and Lola Miller, both attorneys, were not only fun to be with but important people in the Sacramento area. Now, with the way things were between Adam and herself, she supposed he wouldn’t want to go.

  If it weren’t for Keith, their life would run so much more smoothly, Diane couldn’t help thinking.

  “It’s a foregone conclusion,” Richard said, stretching his legs out on his BarcaLounger. “Our man’s in.”

  Coming into the den with a tray of coffee and chocolate-chip cookies, Liz glanced at the television, where election statistics were flashing across the screen. “Which man are you talking about?”

  “Adam McKenzie. He’s handily won a second term. His opponent’s just conceded, and they’re waiting for him to arrive to make his acceptance speech.”

  “Well, that’s hardly a surprise.” Liz set down the tray and poured coffee into two cups.

  Richard reached over for a fragrant cookie. “Mmm, these are still warm.”

  “I made ‘em all by myself, Daddy,” Sara said, joining them with a big glass of milk. She bent down to kiss his cheek. “Your favorites.”

  “They sure are,” Richard said, savoring the warm chocolate. He sat up straighter, studying the television. “Oh, look, hon, there he is.”

  Liz leaned back on the leather couch and sipped her coffee. Adam was making his way to the podium as the crowd parted for him, shaking hands and smiling along the way. “It’s awfully early in the evening to have declared him the winner, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a landslide, I tell you.” Richard reached for another cookie, his eyes on the set. “California voters are smart. They recognize an honest politician when they see one. They’re right to call him the maverick senator. Adam’s that rare man who’s a spokesperson for the underdog while juggling the interests of big business. Not an easy feat.”

  She had to agree. It had been nearly five years since his accident, and Adam seemed to have his enthusiasm back. He looked tan and healthy, that stubborn lock of blond hair falling onto his forehead making him look younger than his forty-one years. Wearing a dark suit and a broad smile, he seemed only minimally changed from the man she’d met back in 1975, thirteen years ago.

  Sara finished her milk and settled next to her mother, curling up against her. Liz looked down into her daughter’s face and saw the small dimple in the left corner of her mouth. For perhaps the hundredth time, she wondered why Richard hadn’t noticed that Adam had an identical one. Of course, she was grateful he hadn’t. Or perhaps he had and was simply gentleman enough not to mention it.

  “Susie wants me to sleep over at her house tomorrow night,” Sara said. “Can I, Mom?”

  “Not on a school night, Sara. You know the rules.”

  “But I’m twelve years old and not a baby. We’ll go to bed early, I promise. Mrs. Evans will make us.”

  Liz drew her daughter closer and kissed the top of her blond head. “Ask Susie if she can reschedule for Friday night and you’ve got a deal. I’ll even rent you a couple of movies, if you like.”

  “All right, but I don’t know if she can.” The young voice was heavy with disappointment.

  “Do you want me to talk with Mrs. Evans?”

  “No. I don’t want my mother making my plans for me.”

  Liz concealed a smile. Sara was so headstrong, just like her father. Both she and Richard were far more easygoing. There must be more to heredity than environment.

  “There’s that wife of his,” Richard commented. “I don’t know why, but I’m not impressed with Diane McKenzie.”

  Nor I, Liz thought. She watched the screen as Diane, wearing a bright red suit, made her way to Adam’s side as he finished his brief speech. The camera lowered, and viewers could see she was pulling along a small boy wearing corduroy slacks and a ski sweater. His dark blond hair was slicked back off his round little face.

  As the applause picked up again for Adam, he turned and saw his family approaching. His face split into a smile as he scooped his son up into his arms. Diane kept her smile in place and moved to his side, sliding her arms abou
t his waist. The crowd cheered wildly.

  “I hear he’s crazy about that boy,” Richard commented. “What’s his name again?”

  “I believe it’s Keith,” Liz said, knowing full well it was. Hardly a month went by that a picture didn’t appear in the paper showing Adam and his son with Diane hovering nearby. Liz hadn’t heard from Fitz in months, but the last time they’d talked, he’d said that Adam was much happier and spending as little time in Washington as possible.

  Adam had bought a bigger house, with a putting green and swimming pool, outside Sacramento in Carmichael, and he spent hours there with his son. Being stuck in the suburbs instead of making the party rounds in Washington didn’t sit well with Diane, Fitz had confided, but there was precious little she could do about it. Adam had further infuriated her by dismissing Keith’s nanny last year, saying the woman was no longer necessary, that he didn’t want his son raised by strangers.

  Liz watched the smiling threesome leave the podium and head back to their room at San Francisco’s Fairmont Hotel. Everyone looked happy enough, but she had her doubts. Diane had never struck her as the motherly type, and she couldn’t help wondering how little Keith fared alone with Diane when his father wasn’t around.

  “I believe I’ll send a telegram and congratulate Adam,” Richard said, reaching for the phone. “I want him to know how pleased I am at his reelection.” He dialed Western Union. “I’m sure you’ll want to add a word or two, too, dear,” he said to Liz.

  Rising, Liz shook her head. “You congratulate him for both of us, would you?” Turning to her daughter, she smiled. “I think we’d better clean up the kitchen after the cookie baking, sweetie.”

  “Okay.” Sara picked up the tray and followed her mother.

  Casa des Artistas was closed for the day. Molly locked the front door and pulled shut the miniblinds on the window. Outside, Christmas shoppers rushed from store to store as the street lights popped on. Inside, only spotlights illuminating paintings were left on, throwing the large main room into an eerie display of light and shadows.