Carnal Innocence

rub at the ache in her temple. “I’ve been alone for years.”
    Georgia never heard the statement, or the wistfulness behind it.
    “And now—well, you might have been raped or murdered.”
    “Oh, yes, and that would have been dreadful publicity.”
    There was a brief pause. “That was uncalled for, Caroline.”
    “Yes, it was.” She pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyes and repeated the usual litany. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m still shaken by what happened.”
    Are you going to ask what happened, Mother? Are you going to ask how I feel, what I need, or only how I behaved?
    “I understand. And I expect you to understand my feelings as well. I insist that you come home immediately.”
    “I am home.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t belong there any more than I did. I raised you better than that, Caroline. Your father and I gave you every advantage. I won’t see you throw it all away over some sort of pique.”
    “Pique? Well, that’s an interesting way of putting it,Mother. I can only say I’m sorry I can’t do what you want. Or be what you want.”
    “I don’t know how this strain of stubbornness developed, but it’s very unattractive. No doubt Luis found it equally so, but he’s more tolerant than I. He’s terribly concerned.”
    “He’s … are you telling me you called him? That you went against my express wishes and called him?”
    “A child’s wishes aren’t always the same as that child’s best interests. In any case, I wanted to speak to him about your White House performance in September.”
    Caroline pressed a hand to her stomach where the knot was tightening. “I stopped being a child the first time you pushed me out onstage. And I don’t need his opinion on my performance.”
    “I’m not surprised by your attitude. I’ve come to expect this kind of ingratitude.” Georgia’s voice tightened. Caroline could picture her, drumming her carefully manicured nails on the polished surface of the desk. “I can only hope that when Luis contacts you you’ll display better manners. You and I are both well aware that he was the best thing that could have happened to you. He understood your artistic temperament.”
    “He understood my pitiful naïveté. I suppose it makes no difference to you that I found him boffing the flutist in his dressing room?”
    “Your language is as crude as your surroundings.”
    “It can get cruder.”
    “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I insist you come home. We have no more than a matter of weeks, as it is, to prepare for your appearance at the White House. And of course you gave no thought at all to your dress. I’ve had to find the time to consult with your designer. Now this new publicity—it’s very detrimental.”
    So’s a knife through the heart, Caroline thought. “It isn’t necessary for you to take on any work,” she said carefully. “I’ve already spoken to Frances and finalized the plans. I’ll be flying into D.C. for the performance,and flying out again the next day. As for my costume, my wardrobe is more than adequate already.”
    “Have you lost your senses? This is one of the most important steps of your career. I’ve already started arranging interviews, photo sessions—”
    “Then you’ll have to unarrange,” Caroline said briefly. “And let me assure you, Mother, that I’m alive and well. The man who attacked me is dead. I killed him myself, so I should know.”
    “Caroline—”
    “Please give Dad my love. Good night.” Delicately, she set the receiver back on the hook. She waited a full minute, wanting to be sure she could speak without screaming. “The ice cream’s melted.”
    Picking up the bowls, she walked back into the kitchen to dump them in the sink.

c·h·a·p·t·e·r 22
    I t seemed to be his day for soothing feelings and easing guilt. Tucker wondered how a man could get through most of his life riding just above the surface of troubled waters, then find himself neck-deep in the swirl.
    Caroline’s emotions still sizzled in the air. It was as if someone had tossed a live wire into those churning waters, where it would snap and spark.
    He wished he had a cigarette, but the pack was upstairs, probably drenched by his wet shirt.
    He looked up those shadowy stairs—not without longing for the peace and solitude of the bedroom—then back toward the kitchen, where the lamplight flickered and tension brewed.
    When he went into the kitchen, she was standing at the sink, looking