Public Secrets Part 151

In and out of therapy, contemplating suicide, wis.h.i.+ng I could find the

courage to end it. There was something about him, Emma, something

special, something almost magical. Sometimes I couldn't believe he'd

come from me. And when he was gone, like that, so quickly, so cruelly,

so needlessly, it was as if someone had taken out my heart. There was

nothing I could do. I had lost my child. And then, in my grief, I

turned away from my other child. And I lost her."

"I loved him, too. So much."

"I know." She smiled, gently. "Oh, I know."

"And you. I've missed you."

"I never thought I would see you again. Or that you'd be able to

forgive me."

It amazed her. Forgiveness? For years Emma had thought she was the one

who would never be forgiven. Now, with a few words, the rawness she had

carried with her all day eased, and she was able to smile.

"When I was little, I used to think you were the most beautiful woman in

the world." Emma leaned forward, rested her cheek against Bev's. "I

still do. Would you mind if I called you Mum again?"

Emma felt the shaky sigh as Bev gripped her tightly. "Wait here a

minute. I have something for you."

Alone, Emma groped in her bag for a tissue. Resting against the

cus.h.i.+ons, she dried her eyes. He. Henther had always been, and would

always be, Bev. Perhaps at last this was one quest she could put behind

her.

"I've saved him for you," Bev said as she came back into the room. "Or

maybe I saved him for myself He helped me through some very lonely

nights."

With a cry of pleasure, Emma sprang up. "Charlie!"

TWENTY-TwO ORCHESTRA PLAYERS, including violins, cellos, flutes,

ba.s.soons, and a harpist, crowded into the recording studio. A couple of

a.s.sistants had taken considerable time and trouble to decorate. There

were s.h.i.+ny red b.a.l.l.s hanging from the ceiling, boughs of pine draped on

the walls, and an aluminum tree, just tacky enough to be amusing,

revolving on a stand in the corner.

Johnno had mixed together what he grandly termed a wa.s.sail. After he'd

drunk two cups and survived, others were luted into sampling. No one was

drunk, yet, but there was plenty of cheer being pa.s.sed about.

They'd been working on a single song for over four hours, and Brian was

nearly satisfied with the cut. Through his headphones, he listened to

the last take. It still amazed him that a song, once only a vague

melody in his mind, could take on such a clear and powerful life of its

own. There were still times when he listened to what he had helped

create that he felt an echo of the thrill he'd experienced in writing

his first song.

He could see Pete standing in the engineering booth, annoyed and

impatient as always with Brian's nit-picking perfectionism. Brian

didn't give him a second thought, and let the music wash over him.

Johnno was playing poker with one of the flutists and the stunning,

slender-fingered harpist. Johnno had unearthed a green visor from

somewhere and livened up the game with straightforward cheating and wild