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Duty with Honor:  Leap of Faith



by

JoAnne Borona









Chapter 1

Litchfield, Connecticut

“Damn!”  Beth yelped, sucked the blood from her scraped knuckles and resumed her finagling with the exposed dishwasher innards.  A trio of golden retrievers drooled and stepped over and on her form,  as she lay sprawled across the kitchen floor.  “You know guy , this would be easier if you all wouldn’t try to help.”

She stretched and reached  for what she hoped was the problem; , a  dried carcass of field mouse that had somehow gotten itself wedged between two parts that she thought should move.  She was determined to grab hold of it somehow, when the bleating of the phone shattered her concentration, and nearly her head.  She ’d jumped up, crashing her head into the edge of the counter overhang.

A bit stunned and blinking, she fumbled for the receiver and answered, “Hello?…”  She massaged the knot, already rising through her auburn curls and waited for whoever was going to try and to sell her whatever would read their little script so she could send them on their way.   

“Elizabeth?” said the normally smooth, composed voice of her very famous, very British brother answered, in a mild note of concern.  “You sound…funny.  Are you al right?”

Beth felt the smile A smile formed on Beth’s face as she thought about Rirchard, ten years her senior. Even though they’d been raised ha;f a world apart, he was no different from any other brother.  forming as she thought about how even though Richard was ten years her senior and they’d been raised half a world apart, he was no different from any other brother.  “I’m fine.  I just banged my head on the counter when the phone rang.  How are the troops?”

“Your nieces and nephews are all happy and well, and making my life miserable, as usual.”  There was A deep sigh followed., “Well not all of them. …Just the twins—especially Ben.  It’s questionable if he’ll finish school, he has no interest  in getting a job, but is continually grubbing for money, and if that weren’t bad enough, he’s had another car accident.” 

Another sigh was heard fromsounded from  the far end of the phone.  “He wrecked the Land Rover and damned near killed the next door neighbor’s cat in the process.  To quote Father, ‘the boy’s a bloody menace!’”

“Ah, yes, …well, …boys will be boys.,” Sshe  gave a silvery laugh and continued., “I’m sure you found yourself in similar scrapes at his age.”  She paused and swallowed hard., “And Father…?”

“Oh, you know him.  Father is, …well, Father.  I don’t think he cares much for retirement, though.”  There wasM momentary silence , thenpassed., “He’d really like to see you, you know.”  There was a He paused again, as if he expectinged her to answer, but she said nothing..  Nothing.  “What were you doing under the counter, anyway?”

“I was trying to find out what’s wrong with the dishwasher.”

“Why?”

         “Because I hate washing dishes, the housekeeper  only comes once a week and the dishwasher is broken.”

         “Why don’t you just call the man?”

         “Because ‘the man’ wants a hundred and fifteen dollars just to step inside the backdoor.”

         “I’ll call the bank.  The money will be in the household account by morning.”

         “There’s no need for you to do that.  If I can’t get it working, I’ll have that highway robber out to fix it.”  She stifled a silent sigh,  knowing she’d have to forget about the painting course she highlighted in next semester’s course catalog.  Well, if it had to be that way, she’d wait.  She was not going to hit her brother up for the money.  Aloud, she said, “It’s not that I can’t afford it, I just hate  to deal with repairmen on principles.  They treat you like you’re an idiot just because you’re a woman.  But, somehow I don’t think you called to inquire about my little domestic crisis…. Wwhat’s  up?”

         “Well, …I have a favor to ask.”

         “Now what can I possibly do for the great Richard Emery?  Tune your piano?  Dust your Grammys?”

         “Neither, thank you.  You don’t need to be so sarcastic.  I’m pretty sure that’s where Ben gets his attitude—from his auntie!”

         “Mea culpa.  What’s the favor?”

         “I have to be in New York for a charity event next week.  How about going with me?”  He barely paused, as if he didn’t want her to have a chance to refuse, “The trip will do you good.  Come on.  We’ll make a long weekend of it.  Celebrate my birthday a little early.  See some shows, eat great food and check out the competition in a few galleries for Sarah.  And,” he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this would be a perfect time to smooze the rich and famous we’ll want to attend our charity event later this summer.  How about it?”

         Even though she was sure of the answer, Beth asked, “Why don’t you take Sarah?”  Her older niece, Sarah had burst upon the art scene two years earlier and was now in great demand.

         “No, honey.  Sarah can’t go.  She’s pulling her hair out as it is, trying to get ready for the new opening.  Please, I’m desperate.”  He paused,  “It was she who suggested I ask you.  Besides, if you’re to manage the US division of Cathy’s memorial trust….”

         “Richard….”

         “Come on.  Give me a hand here, please.”

         “I don’t have anything to wear.”

         “We’ll go shopping.”

         She groped for some plausible excuse.  “I have a dentist appointment.”

         “Reschedule it.”

         “I’ll have to board the animals, and they get so depressed after a stay at the doggie hotel.”

         “I’ll pay for their therapy.  Please?”

         “All right,” she conceded with a sigh.  “When is this shindig?”

         “Next Thursday.  Shall I send a car for you Wednesday morning?”

         “Why so early?”

         “We need time to shop for a dress.”

         “I have a dress,” she said with an exasperated sigh, “Thursday morning is early enough.  And please remind the car service to stock Coca Cola.  Last time they had Pepsi.  They are not the same.

         Richard snickered, “Why don’t you just take the damn motion sickness stuff?”

         “What did Nietzsche say… ‘That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.’?”

         “It doesn’t make you stronger.  It makes you cranky.  But I’ll remind them.  Anything else… peeled grapes, perhaps?”

         “Ah… can’t think of anything right now, but I’ll let you know if…  I know!  How about some music other than yours?  Last time if was like being trapped in an elevator with Barry Manilow humming.  It was the longest two hours of my life.”

“Very funny!  Anything else?”

“Nope, at least for now.  Say hi to the troops for me.  I wish I was going to see them too.”

“You know you could fly home with me.  I was going to just take a commercial flight, but I’ll come in my jet.  How’s that for an inducement?  Come on, you haven’t been over for ages.  The kids would love to see you.  So would Father.”

“No, not this time.  I promise, we’ll plan something next week.  Okay?  Now get off the phone.  Do you know that the international long distance rates are this time of day?”

She was lowering the receiver, when she heard him add in whisper, “I appreciate this, honey.  I know you hate these things as much as I do.”

She sighed, “I guess it’s time for both of us…  Time to move on.  Get involved in life again.”  There was silence except for the sounds of Richard’s breathing and she suddenly hated that he was so far away.  She squeezed her eyes tight, shutting out reality for a moment, choosing instead to pretend he was standing beside her.  She took a cleansing breath and continued, “Hey, it will be fun.”

“Yeah,” Richard said, “It will be like the old day, huh?”  And the phone line went dead.

The old days.  Beth slid down the front of the cabinets and stared into space, the phone still clutched in her hand.  The dogs huddled around her, licking her hands and face.  It wasn’t until she brushed them away the she was aware of the tears on her cheeks.

‘The old days…’ nothing could ever take them back to the old days.  Everything had changed in Moscow.

                                       *    *    *    *    *

The Plaza Hotel, New York City

         Bet fastened the last of what had seemed an endless row of hooks up the front of her longline, strapless bra and stood up straight thinking how much she hated it, but she loved her dress.  The trouble was she had a decidedly hourglass figure and curves needed to be controlled.

         She stared in the mirror, tugging a comb through her curls and wondered if Richard was right.  Perhaps it was time to rejoin the human race—for both of them.  But at what cost?  Wasn’t she better off as she was now—alone, without complications or entanglements?”

         She examined her reflection—searching for the woman she had been—the innocent seventeen-year-old, or the hopeful twenty-two-year-old, or even the optimistic thirty-five-year-old?  But all she saw looking back at her was a middle-aged divorcee content with her limited existence.  She studied herself once more as she contemplated the great mysteries of her life—when she’d grown old, when Tom had stopped loving her and when she had stopped caring?

         The sun was sinking in the sky, and her mood—like the sunlight—began to fade.

Enough, she told herself and vowed to make the most of the evening.

         Instead of feeling sorry for herself she finished up her minimal makeup look and took the black faille dress from it’s hanger.  She relished the feeling of the soft, silky ribbed fabric as it spilled through her fingers before she scriggled into it.  It was simple and elegant.  Modern, yet with just a hint of the Edwardian.  The offset shoulders were flattering, but not the most comfortable style for her to wear.  She bent over, settled herself into the bodice and then stood up and checked the effect.

         She placed the cameo dangling from a silken black cord around her neck, adjusting it so it hung just at the base of her throat.  She liked the simplicity and uniqueness of it, and because it was the only thing she had from her natural mother.

         She stepping into her pumps, pulled on her long black gloves and picked up the black chiffon stole.  She was as ready as she was going to be.

         Richard was standing in the center of the suite’s living room, wearing black slacks, a black silk shirt and a brightly embroidered silk vest.  She looked his face, mirroring her own oval face of fine, pale skin.  His eyes, though also brown, had flecks of gray in them instead of the green flecks in hers.

         He looked up and smiled.  “Oh, Beth.  How pretty you look.  You remind me of Mother.”

         She found his comparison disturbing.  She had no recollection of their mother and was embarrassed by his compliment.  So she frowned and asked, “Why can’t you wear normal evening clothes, just once?”

         “Because I write pop music.  I have to be trendy.”  He frowned back at her, swathed in black and countered, “Who are you suppose to be, Johnny Cash?”

         “Ha!  Ha!”  She moved towards the door.  “Hadn’t we better be going?”