“I bet Caroline loves her,” Hanna drawled, trying to coax a smile from him.
He nodded amiably. “They appear to share the same taste in wedding venues at least.”
“Have you set a date?”
He shrugged, his face turning serious again. She wondered why the smile had disappeared. “We’re looking at 2011, just need to firm up the plans.”
As Elaine brought over their main courses, he changed the subject again, explaining how the recent economic downturn had impacted Maxwell Enterprises, and their attempts to shore up their income stream. She asked him about Daniel, and tried not to let him see the tears forming in her eyes when he explained about the buy-out, and Daniel’s recent difficulties.
Whether it was the impact of the alcohol, or the relief of unburdening their regrets, the atmosphere between them had loosened by the time the poetry performance started. Elaine had cleared the table, leaving their drinks, and Richard moved his chair around to sit beside Hanna, so he could get a better view of the stage. The fabric of his shirt brushed her bare arm, and she didn’t know whether to stay put, or pull away.
His closeness unnerved her.
“If they try to pull me up and recite poetry, I expect you to save me, okay?” he whispered in her ear, making her lips pull up in amusement.
“I’m so going to volunteer you.” She grinned at him wickedly. “I can’t wait to hear your poem about the economic downturn.”
“I imagine it would be something like… oh hedge fund of mine, you led to the subprime, we thought derivatives were it, but landed us in the…”
“Hush.” She hit him lightly on the arm, pulling her hand back in embarrassment. “I swear I’m going to bring you to open mike night if you don’t behave.”
“You started it.” His voice turned to a whisper as a woman swept up onto the stage, her dark flowing skirt creating a dramatic entrance as it flared out behind her.
They were silent as she began her recitation; her dramatic words accompanied by an over-enthusiastic steel drummer. She showed no stage fright or disco
mfiture at all, and though Hanna had little interest in poetry—despite having a degree in literature—she couldn’t help but be impressed by the way the poet threw herself into it. Even Richard managed to keep fairly still, only having to hide his amusement with a cough a couple of times. Hanna swallowed the impulse to poke him in the ribs.
He was sitting so close to her; it felt unnatural to hold herself so stiffly. As if they were still together, her body wanted to lean to the right, put her head on his shoulder and her palm in his. His thigh was barely an inch away from her own, and she kept glancing at the hand he had resting lightly against it, willing it to move until he was touching her skin.
Was he feeling the pull as strongly as she was?
Hanna wanted to slap herself for even thinking it. He was engaged to somebody else, and he wasn’t hers to lean against.
It didn’t stop her body from wanting, though. Her back started to ache with the effort it took to maintain her rigid pose. In her mind she could picture exactly how her cheek would feel, leaning against his chest, soaking up the warmth of his body through his shirt. She burned to feel the rhythmic movement of his ribcage as he exhaled, the reassuring sound of his heart beating against her ear. She was thankful when the performance was over.
Eighteen
August 28th 2009
It was nearly evening by the time he pulled into the graveled parking lot. Richard found he had to pause a moment to rearrange his features, reminding himself that it was all going smoothly.
Out of all the charitable efforts the Maxwell Memorial Foundation supported, Camp Leon was the one that touched Richard’s heart. It wasn’t about glitzy clothes, or seeing and being seen. It was about the children, the offspring of those who had died, and those who had barely survived. For six years, he’d watched them grow, some of them turning from young children into angry teenagers who couldn’t understand their place in the world. Others were maturing into amazing men and women who returned as counselors. They all had a special place in his heart.
The foundation bought the abandoned campground in 2002. In the first year they rebuilt the cabins, making the area safe by clearing out the long-abandoned lake. By 2003, they were able to hold their first series of camps, offering them to the children of 9/11 free of charge. For some of the kids it was their only chance to escape the introverted air of the city, for others it was their one opportunity to act their age. The only difference between Camp Leon and other, less specific camps was that they employed a number of therapists to help the children open up and discuss their bereavement in a safe environment.
“Richard, you made it!” Ruby ran over and hugged him tightly, a beaming smile plastered across her face. “Can you hear the music? The kids are all raving about it.”
The concert was a new addition this year. Back in March, during a visit to “The Buzz’s” New York office, he’d confided in Hanna that some of the teenagers were sick of the usual camp fare. They’d been through six years of canoeing, climbing, and swimming, and Richard wanted to offer them something different. He couldn’t for the life of him think what that would be.
She’d surprised him by suggesting a teen-only music camp, offering to organize the activities and participants herself. Five months later, she’d managed to call in enough favors to put on a full-scale concert on the final day, as well as various workshops throughout the week. She’d taken a week’s leave from work to be able to run the camp. His only regret was that work had kept him in the city until today.
“It sounds great.” Richard hugged his sister, trying not to chide her for her short mini-skirt and tank combination. It was over eighty degrees, after all. He had to remind himself she was twenty years old.
“Is Meredith not coming?” Ruby asked, unaware she was hitting a sore point. Richard rolled his eyes, remembering their heated discussion before she left for the Hamptons.
“She’s away.” His reply was curt, but he offered Ruby a smile to soften the blow.
Ruby smiled back, but her eyes didn’t join in. “That’s a shame; she’s going to miss a great show.”