Free Separate Beds by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

and relief welled up in Bobbi—pity because her cousin's home life had been so painfully devoid of the love to which every child has a right, relief because Horizons seemed as good a haven as possible under these circumstances. Perhaps here Catherine might at last have, if not love, at least a measure of peace.
    “I feel . . . well, better about leaving you here, Cath.”
    The introspective look faded from Catherine's face as she turned to her cousin. The brilliant autumn sun burned down through the balmy afternoon, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
    “And I feel good being left here—honest,” Catherine assured her. But that guilty look which Catherine had seen so often lately in Bobbi's expression was back again.
    “Don't you dare think it,” Catherine scolded gently.
    “I can't help it,” Bobbi answered, thrusting her hands into her jeans pockets and kicking at a fallen leaf. “If I hadn't lined you up with him—”
    “Bobbi, cut it out. Just promise you won't tell anyone where I am.”
    Bobbi looked up, unsmiling, her shoulders hunched up, hands still strung up in those pockets. “I promise,” she said quietly, then added, “Promise you'll call if you need anything at all?”
    “Promise.”
    There hung between the two girls an intimate silence while each of them thought about that blind date last July, their many shared confidences of girlhood leading to this greatest shared secret of all. For a moment Bobbi thought maybe this time Catherine would make the move first.
    But Catherine Anderson found touching a difficult thing to do. And so she hovered, waiting, until at last Bobbi plunged forward to give her the affectionate squeeze Catherine needed so badly. In a life where love was a foreign thing, Catherine's feelings for this vibrant, bubbly cousin came as close as any to that emotion. And so, the hug she returned told a wealth of things, although she herself remained dry-eyed while tears gathered in Bobbi's throat before she backed away.
    “Take it easy, huh?” Bobbi managed, her hands jammed once again in her pockets while she backed away.
    “Yeah, for sure . . . and thanks, huh?”
    And only when Bobbi spun and headed for the car, getting in and driving off without another backward glance did Catherine admit that she felt like crying. But she didn't. She didn't. Still, she came closer than she had since, at age eleven, she'd promised herself never to allow that weakness again.

Chapter 4
    It was twenty-four hours since Herb Anderson had appeared at the Forrester home with his threats and accusations, twenty-four hours during which Clay had slept little and found it quite impossible to concentrate on the evolution of the law as affected by the McGrath vs. Hardy Case he was currently analyzing in Torts II.
    Angela heard the car door slam and moved toward the desk where Claiborne sat in his swivel chair. “He's home, darling. Are you quite sure about what we've decided?”
    “As sure as it's possible to be, under the circumstances.”
    “Very well, but must you confront him seated there like some oracle behind your desk? Let's wait for him on the loveseat.”
    When Clay came to the study door he looked haggard. He stood in the doorway scarcely aware of the comfortable fire within the cozy room. He was too occupied with the strain upon his parents' faces.
    “Come in, Clay,” Angela invited, “let's talk.”
    “I've had a hell of a day.” He came in and sank down wearily on the coffee table with his back to them, slumping forward and kneading the back of his neck. “How about you two?”
    “Likewise,” his father said. “We spent the afternoon out at the Arboretum talking. It's quiet out there at this time of year after the picnickers have gone. Conducive to thinking.”
    “I might as well have stayed home for all I accomplished today. She was on my mind all day long.”
    “And?”
    “It's no different than last night. I just want to forget she exists.”
    “But can you do