Sandra Brown - A Whole New Light

Sandra Brown

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Raisins, Cyn McCall realized, were actually nasty-looking things.

"Brandon, please."

"I like to do 'em this way, Mom, 'cause then you get to save 'em for last."

Cyn shook her head and sighed with resignation. Her mother heard the sigh as she entered the sunny kitchen. "What's going on? What are you frowning at, Cynthia?" Ladonia headed straight for the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

"Your grandson is picking the raisins out of his bran flakes and lining them up around the rim of the cereal bowl."

"How creative!"

Cyn glared first at her mother, then at the puddle of milk that each misplaced raisin was dripping onto the table. "I was trying to correct him, Mother, not commend his creativity."

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Again?" Her pause between the two questions wasn't accidental. It was Ladonia Patterson's subtle way of saying that her daughter's sour moods were recurring with unpleasant frequency.

Cyn pretended not to catch the gibe as she blotted up milk with a dishcloth. "Eat your toast,Brandon."

"Can I take it in the den and eat it while I watchSesame Street?"

"Yes."

"No."

The divergent responses were spoken in unison. "Mother, you know I've told him"

"I want to talk to you, Cynthia. Alone." Ladonia helped four-year-oldBrandonfrom his chair and wrapped the slice of cinnamon toast in a napkin. "Don't drop crumbs." She patted the seat of his pajamas as she ushered him through the door, then turned to confront her daughter. However Cyn got in the opening salvo.

"This constant interference when I'm trying to disciplineBrandonhas got to stop, Mother."

"That's not what this is about." Ladonia, slender, attractive, and fresh from her morning shower, squared off against her daughter across the breakfast table.

Cyn didn't welcome the imminent parental lecture, but she could smell one brewing as well as she could smell the coffee. She gave her wristwatch a cursory glance. "I've got to leave or I'll be late for work."

"Sit down."

"I don't want to start the day with an argument."

"Sit down," Ladonia repeated calmly. Cyn dropped into a chair. "More coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"You're not yourself, Cynthia," Ladonia began once she had sat down across from her daughter with a fresh mug of coffee. "You're uptight, edgy, out-of-sorts, impatient withBrandon. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were pregnant."

Cyn rolled her eyes. "Put your mind to rest on that score."

"What happened to your sense of humor? What's wrong with you lately?"

"Nothing."

"All right, I'll tellyou."

"I thought you would."

"Don't get smart with me," Ladonia admonished, shaking her finger at Cyn.

"Mother, let's not repeat this conversation this morning. I already know what you're going to say."

"What am I going to say?"

"That I'm not living a well-rounded life. That Tim's been dead for two years, but I'm still alive, still young, with years of living to look forward to. That I have a wonderful job that I'm very good at, but that work isn't everything. That I need to cultivate outside interests and new friendships. That I need to get out, mingle with people my own age, join a single parents' club." She gave her mother a rueful smile. "See? I know it all by heart."

"Then why aren't you doing some of those things?"

"Because they're what you want. Not what I want."

Ladonia folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "What do you want?"

"I don't know. I want"

What? Cyn searched for an explanation for her blues. The element missing from her life wasn't so easy to peg. If she knew what it was, she would have filled the void a long time ago. For months now she had felt as though she were operating in a vacuum.

Brandonwas no longer an infant who needed her constant nurturing. She felt ineffectual at work. Since moving in with them upon the death of Cyn's father, Ladonia had assumed most of the housekeeping chores. Cyn was the official head of the household, but the title didn't amount to much.

Nothing in her life produced a sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. Her youth and vitality were being drained by monotony.

"I want something to happen," she said at last, "something that will shake things up, turn my life around."

"Be careful what you wish for," Ladonia softly advised her.

"What do you mean?"

"Tim's accidental death certainly shook things up."

Cyn was out of her chair like a shot. "That was a horrible thing to say." She snatched up her handbag, briefcase, and keys and yanked open the back door.

"Perhaps it was, Cyn. I didn't mean to sound insensitive. But if you want things to change for the better, you can't sit around relying on fate to shake things up for you. You've got to make a few changes yourself."

To that, Cyn offered no reply. "The traffic on North Central will be a nightmare, since I'm leaving so late. TellBrandonI'll call him on my lunch break." Armored in righteous indignation, Cyn left for the hospital.

* * *

"I know that's what I said, George, but that was yesterday. Who could have guessed that they'd go public before"

WorthLansingsignaled his assistant to pour him another cup of coffee. Her duties extended beyond clerical ones. Mrs. Hardiman was his secretary, assistant, mother, and palwhatever the occasion called for. She was excellent in all capacities.

"I know that's my job, George, but you haven't lost"

As his client ranted on, Worth held the telephone receiver against his chest. "Any other calls come in?" he asked Mrs. Hardiman, who was now watering the plants decorating his twelfth-floor executive office.

"Only from your dentist."

"What'd he want? I just saw him last week."

"Um-huh. He looked over your X rays and you need two fillings."

"Great, great." Worth expelled a long breath. "Got any more good news? You're sure Greta hasn't called?"

"Positive." She replaced the brass watering can in the cabinet beneath the wet bar.

"Well, when she does call, interrupt me," Worth told her, winking suggestively. "No matter what."

She tsked him as she left the inner office.

Worth replaced the receiver against his ear. His client was still cursing the unpredictability of the stock market.

"George, calm down. It wasn't the right stock for you, that's all. Let me do some creative thinking here and get back to you before the market closes today. I've got a hatful of rabbits. I'm sure I can pull one out."

After he hung up, Worth left his red leather desk chair, consulted the TV monitor, which was constantly tuned to the stock-market channel, and picked up a scaled-down basketball. He shot it toward the goal mounted on the back of his office door. He missed.

No wonder; he was out of practice. It had been such a hellish week, he hadn't gone to the gym once, something he usually did religiously every day. This afternoon, he promised himself, before meeting Greta, he would treat his body to a hard, sweaty workout. He needed to be in prime condition for the coming weekend.

The information crawling across the lower third of the TV screen was getting more depressing by the second. He was still trying to decide what form that rabbit he had promised George was going to take, and desultorily throwing darts at the target across the room, when Mrs. Hardiman paged him on the intercom.