Aaron's Will Read online

  “We do not know each other well,” Lillian began, interrupting Morgan’s musings. “But now, now we are sorellas…sisters,” she translated. “Sisters in grief. I have lost two husbands as you have lost two fathers, you see?”

  Although almost comically archaic, there was something so heartfelt about Lillian’s explanation it brought a lump of emotion to Morgan’s throat. She nodded her head in response.

  “Ah, I understand. I’m sorry to remind you of your sadness.” Lillian smiled warmly at Morgan. “I simply wished for you to know I understand and I have a sympathetic ear, if you should need one.”

  Morgan looked closely at Lillian, searching for any hint of condescension in her words. But there was nothing in Lillian’s striking green eyes beyond a determined empathy. Before she could consider her action, Morgan found herself embracing her self-proclaimed sorella.

  A short laugh escaped Lillian before her arms closed around Morgan. For a few moments, the two women held tight. But then Lillian began to gently disentangling herself, gathering Morgan’s hands in her own.

  “Your fingers, Sorella.” Lillian rubbed at them. “They are freezing.”

  “They always are.” Morgan smiled, slightly embarrassed by Lillian’s quick familiarity.

  “There is a saying, umm…” Lillian paused.

  “Cold hands, warm heart?” Morgan offered into the lengthening silence.

  “Ah, yes.”

  Lillian’s glance was caught by something behind Morgan. She watched with interest as Lillian straightened her back and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. The look in her eyes would leave the recipient no doubt she was not to be disturbed. Lillian’s softened expression let Morgan know the message had been received and obeyed.

  Morgan began to turn to see who the recipient had been, but found herself tugged back to face her guest.

  “Our embrace caused some attention.”

  “Oh?”

  “One gentleman in particular.”

  “Let me guess,” Morgan droned sarcastically.

  “Please do.”

  Morgan pulled her hands free from Lillian’s and looked away. Too late, she realized how her derisive comment might be interpreted by the woman sitting next to her.

  “Dylan.” She sighed too weary to produce any other name.

  “Yes, you are correct.” Lillian nodded and smiled. “But why, do you suppose?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “But you are friends. Yes?”

  “No,” Morgan answered simply. “We spent time together years ago, but I don’t consider us friends.”

  “How strange. The way Mr. Drumlin speaks of you…”

  “Why would Dylan talk about me with you?” Morgan interrupted, snapping round to face Lillian. As soon as the biting words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. “I’m so sorry, Lillian. I don’t know where that came from.”

  “No?” she inquired calmly, no hint of irritation at Morgan’s outburst. “You are aware there is a relationship between Mr. Drumlin and myself and you do not like it.”

  Morgan sucked in a harsh breath at Lillian’s pointed comment.

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “True,” Lillian asserted without further reprimand. “But I feel it is important for you to know Mr. Drumlin and I have been no more than friends for, oh, several years now.”

  “Really?” Morgan nearly groaned at her artless query.

  “Ah, now you are flattering me, no?” Lillian continued unabashedly. “But I assure you it is true. His attention was drawn elsewhere…” Lillian’s tone left little doubt in Morgan’s mind the trailing remark was deliberate and meaningful. “I am far more interested in why you do not feel Mr. Drumlin is your friend. Of course, it is not my business, either. But, as your new Sorella…” She smiled warmly and recaptured Morgan’s hands in her own. “I must admit I am quite curious.”

  “Lillian.” Morgan cringed at her whining tone, cleared her throat and began again. “I…I don’t know what to tell you. We spent some time together when I was in high school. For some reason, he always seemed to be at the house. Aaron once told me he thought Dylan was adopting us. He doesn’t have any family.” She paused, struggling to capture the nature of that long ago relationship. “We hung out together.” She shrugged. “He taught me how to cook. We’d watch movies. Regular stuff…boring, really. And then sometime during the winter of my freshman year, it ended.”

  “Ended? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything to understand. He just stopped everything: calling, emailing, texting. He didn’t come to Seascape, he didn’t go to firm events—at least the ones I was at—and he stopped being a part of my life.”

  “But why?”

  Morgan couldn’t help laughing at the question she had been asking herself for years.

  “I think the only one who can answer that question is Dylan.”

  “Yes, you are right. I will ask him.”

  “No!” Morgan said far too loudly in the nearly empty room.

  Lillian patted her hands as if comforting a small child having a tantrum. “Of course not. Whatever you wish.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “I will let you go. You should rest.”

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed, thankful for the excuse. “It has been a long day.”

  “Yes, a very long day.” Lillian stood and turned to face Morgan, smoothing her hands down the front of her flatteringly tailored skirt. “You will remember, though, I am here, a sympathetic ear?”

  “Yes, Lillian, I’ll remember. And thank you.”

  Reaching down, Lillian ran her hand along the curve of Morgan’s upturned face. The gesture was strangely intimate and maternal. Morgan felt tears welling in her eyes again.

  “Bed for you, Sorella,” Lillian suggested softly before straightening and becoming thoughtful. “I believe our time is up.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Mr. Drumlin has held his place as long as he was able.”

  * * * *

  Lillian stopped Dylan’s progress with a gentle touch on his arm. He placed his hand over hers, tangling their fingers and smiling down into her knowing green gaze.

  “Lillian?”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Morgan.”

  “I felt it was time I was.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Why? I would think it would be obvious. Your Ms. Shore and I, we have many things in common.”

  “Seriously, Lillian?”

  “Most ‘seriously.’” Her eyes narrowed to slits and Dylan knew he had provoked her. “It would not make the slightest difference, you understand, but do you have a problem with my offering friendship to Ms. Shore?”

  “Me? A problem? Of course not.” Dylan thought it best to roll over and show his white underbelly before she tore into him. “I’m just having difficulty imagining what your shared interests might be.”

  A monumental understatement, Morgan and Lillian were opposite ends of a spectrum. Although they both had suffered through personal tragedies, Morgan remained relatively untouched by the forge of life while Lillian had been tempered to the cool hardness of steel. Morgan projected perpetual naivety; Lillian was the very definition of worldly. And despite Morgan’s behavior the other evening, Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling she was just beginning to discover herself. In stark contrast, Lillian had attained a level of self-actualization Dylan suspected he would never have the strength to achieve.

  “That does not surprise me, darling.” Lillian patted his cheek and gave him a puzzling, yet unmistakable, look of sympathy. “Mr. Bennett is waiting. It is time for us to be getting home.”

  “It was good of you both to come.”

  “Of course we would come to pay our respects. You know, Mr. Field and Mr. Bennett had a long history before you or I ever met either of them. Mr. Field was a gracious man. He will be missed by many.” Lillian seemed to make a point of twisting to look behind her before m
oving off to join her husband.

  Dylan traced the direction of her gaze, knowing exactly who he would see. Head down and hands clasped tightly in her lap, Morgan looked so isolated, so alone. He knew it wasn’t true, not in the strictest sense. Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe lived at Seascape. The domestic couple had become de facto grandparents for Morgan over the years. And Philip was, and would continue to be, a constant in Morgan’s life. Although, considering his actions today, the thought gave Dylan no comfort.

  No, Morgan wasn’t alone at Seascape. But it nagged at Dylan that he had known every face in the room at the memorial service. It was to be expected there would be no family members present for Morgan because she had no family beyond Aaron and Philip and the Tibbes. But why wasn’t there a boyfriend? A girl friend or two? Even a college acquaintance or professor? Someone?

  He knew he had no right to ask those questions. He’d given it up when he’d ended their friendship. Only her shocked grief allowed her to accept what he offered the other night in his office. She wouldn’t accept any more from him. The only reasonable thing for him to do would be to walk away.

  But while he had been puzzling, his feet had made the decision. He looked down to find Morgan staring up at him.

  “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  For several long moments she was silent. Dylan began searching for some appropriate remark which would allow him a quick, if humiliating, escape when she shifted to the side. He hastily perched on the edge of the sofa cushion before she changed her mind, his fingers laced between his knees. When she continued to stare straight ahead without making a sound, Dylan broke the silence.

  “I wanted to apologize…for earlier with Philip. I might have lost my temper.”

  “It’s all right. What you did,” she said quietly. “It helped.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Mr. Tibbe got him up to bed about an hour ago.” She lowered her head, seemingly engrossed in examining her nails.

  “Good.”

  The not-quite-comfortable quiet was back between them, making Dylan question his wisdom in approaching her once more.

  “Is everyone gone?”

  “Yes.” Dylan cleared his suddenly dry and tight throat and tried again. “Yes, the Bennetts were the last to leave.”

  “Then it’s over.” She closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head against the back of the couch.

  “Yes.” Dylan studied her profile.

  “Lillian,” Morgan wondered, her lips curving briefly.

  “She is…” Dylan dropped his head and contemplated his shoes. “Interesting.”

  “Well, she would have to be. Wouldn’t she?”

  Dylan’s head came up at Morgan’s enigmatic comment.

  “She says you two have a lot in common.”

  “Does she?” Morgan’s brittle laugh made Dylan uneasy.

  “Morgan?” he prompted wanting her to explain or reassure or even look at him.

  “You should go.”

  “I, Morgan…I,” he stumbled.

  “Please, you don’t have to do this.” She faced him fully, her amber eyes bright and searching. “We’re not part of each other’s lives anymore. You don’t have any responsibility towards me. You never did. It’s like the poem David read this morning, ‘It is the same that it ever was.’ We shouldn’t confuse things because Aaron’s gone. He was all we had left between us, anyway.”

  For a moment Dylan couldn’t breathe, much less think. Morgan’s pretty speech, while offered dispassionately, was infused with bitterness. He was certain she hadn’t meant for him to hear it, an utterly defeated acceptance of the life she was fated to live, one full of disappointment and loss. And he had contributed to it, carelessly and selfishly.

  “I’m sorry.” The words sounded thin and futile in his ears, but it was all he could think to say. “I’m so damned sorry.”

  She smiled sadly, shaking her head, and then rose to her feet.

  “You know your way out.”

  As Dylan watched helplessly, Morgan walked from the room.

  Chapter 4

  “I hate going into the city. The traffic will be ungodly. Tibbe!” Philip snapped, entering the town car behind Morgan. “How old are you?”

  Mr. Tibbe turned to face them from his place behind the steering wheel. “Sixty-seven, Mr. Field.”

  “Shit and you’re driving us around?”

  “Philip!” Morgan knew it wasn’t her place to reprimand him but couldn’t stop herself when it came to Mr. Tibbe.

  She needn’t have wasted the energy though. Before she could say any more, Philip continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “You should look at this as an opportunity. I suggest you impress me.”

  Morgan saw Mr. Tibbe blanch, but he said nothing. After a brief nod of acknowledgement, he turned forward and started the engine. Morgan knew his pride was wounded by the rigid set of his back as he navigated Seascape’s elegantly curved driveway toward the residential streets which would lead them to the interstate.

  She turned to Philip to defend her friend, but the words died in her throat when she saw he held a crystal decanter and glass from the small bar hidden behind a side panel.

  “Drink?”

  “It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning,” she objected, more than a little flustered by the shift from one bad behavior to another.

  “Your point being?” He chuckled, pouring himself two fingers, which he downed and refilled directly.

  Morgan glanced toward the front seat and caught Mr. Tibbe’s anxious glimpse in the rearview mirror. Philip followed her gaze and smirked before pressing the silver button on the armrest at his side, raising the small door separating the passenger compartment from the driver. Morgan tried to smile reassuringly as the panel cut her off from Mr. Tibbe.

  Slowly, Morgan turned to face Philip. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight in the few weeks she’d been away, having returned to Cambridge shortly after Aaron’s memorial to complete her degree. His tailored suit hung off him. His skin, normally bronzed from spending most of his time outdoors, was not merely pale, but a sickly gray. Dark circles haunted his eyes, which seemed sunken in his too gaunt face.

  “What’s happening to you?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Philip,” she implored, at a loss as to how to best express her concerns without making him feel attacked.

  “I’m fine. I’m making some life adjustments now that I don’t have the old man judging my every goddamn move. Don’t tell me you’re looking to take on the job now.”

  “I care about you, if that’s what you mean.”

  He gave her a hard stare before deliberately placing the bottle back in its location. Settling himself next to her, he nonchalantly rested one arm on the seat back, his hand behind her head. She felt him tug a strand loose from her hair clip, lacing it through his fingers as he sipped his drink. Morgan’s heart began to beat uncomfortably in the lengthening silence.

  “You care about me?” Philip’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, holding her in place. He leaned toward her, his mouth so close to her ear she could almost feel his lips moving when he continued. “Huh, interesting.”

  Apprehension prickled Morgan’s spine, making her next words sound shaky and breathless.

  “It shouldn’t be. You should know.”

  “Should I, now?” he drawled.

  “What is it, Philip?” She turned to face him, her nose almost touching his. Even still, she looked at him squarely. “I know losing Aaron has been difficult for you, but you’re so angry. And your drinking, it’s out of control.”

  For a moment Morgan worried she may have gone too far. Philip’s eyes got hard and glassy as he continued to stare at her, his fingers biting painfully into her skin.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled suddenly before shoving her away from him and draining his glass in one gulp.

  Defeated,
Morgan crumpled into the corner of the wide seat, as far from Philip and his unpredictability as possible. She watched his profile as he filled the tumbler again, hastily looking out her window when he finished. She felt his eyes on her and hazarded a glance from her periphery. He was considering her from beneath half lowered lids while plucking at an invisible bit of lint at the knee of his pants with his free hand.

  “I disappointed him.”

  Morgan turned to Philip at his quietly spoken words.

  “I never managed to live up to his expectations. After my mother died, I lost my way. It drove him nuts, the trouble I got into in high school, failing out of college, then falling into landscaping, the haphazard way I’ve lived my life. Not something Aaron Field could ever appreciate or admire.”

  “Philip, no.” Morgan couldn’t stay silent any longer. “He was proud of you, so proud of how you discovered your talent and built a successful career on it. Maybe you had a rocky start, but these last five years you’ve worked so hard. How can you possibly think you were a disappointment?”

  “Because I wasn’t what he wanted me to be, what he envisioned for me.” Philip swirled the glass he held, focusing on the vortex his action created. “Now Drumlin, he’s everything my father hoped for in a son.”

  The dripping contempt and underlying jealousy were so unexpected they left Morgan speechless. She could only watch as Philip slanted forward and deliberately put his still full drink down in the well of the mini bar. He kept his eyes on hers.

  “You shared that with my father didn’t you?”

  “What?” Morgan asked despite her reluctance to hear the answer.

  “An infatuation with Drumlin. Although, in your case, it’s understandable. Even I can see he’s damn near the ideal man.” Philip held up a finger for each of Dylan’s attributes. “Better looking than necessary, Harvard educated and cultured enough he can be taken anywhere. But it’s the mystery, it makes women desperate to sleep with him. Even a woman like you. But then I’ve never bought your act, the cool veneer you present to the world. I see it. You’re desperate for him, aren’t you, my dear?”

  Morgan started at Philip’s use of Aaron’s nickname for her.