Free For All of Her Life by Heather Graham

with all his life. His father, who’d spent much of his young life playing bars on Miami Beach and cruise ships, had taught him, encouraged him—and warned him. “Get the education, too, my boy. Life plays funny games. Suppose you do get rich and famous, eh, son? You’ll want to handle that money properly, you’ll want to know where to travel. You’ll want to know about the world, maybe—where you can give a hand, where you can’t.” So he had been serious in school, and Kathy—though she’d had an incredible flair for learning from the early cradle, he was certain—had taken the world much more lightly then. They’d been students, in their senior year at Florida State, but they’d married the year before and come up to stay with one of Kathy’s aunts, an artist living a wonderfully Bohemian life in Soho.
    The first snows had fallen while they had been in the city. They had both smoked in those days and Kathy had set the finger of her glove on fire when she had tried to light his Marlboro for him. They’d both ripped the glove off her hand, had crashed into one another while stomping on it and had laughed and rolled in the snow and made love in her aunt’s little rooftop garret.
    Sometimes it was surprising that she had run to New York to get away from him. But then, he had kept his main residence on Star Island, and there memories had never left him alone. She had remained in every room. She had decorated the place, and she had done so beautifully. Certain rooms had an Oriental flair, others were completely Early American. The patio area was done in Art Deco, with fascinating lamps, furniture, and ashtrays. The paintings on the walls reflected the period furnishings. She had made the home a show-place when they’d barely had the money to keep it, and later, when they’d hit big—she’d been able to really indulge her taste for art.
    But Kathy had left behind everything that had been hers, everything she had loved. He didn’t know just what his feelings had been at first, but shock had been a part of them; his pride had been severely wounded, and he’d been bitter. So much so that he’d assured his lawyers he wanted no waiting time since reconciliation was out of the question, she could have had almost anything she wanted as long as they got it all settled as quickly as possible. She hadn’t wanted anything. So fifteen years of marriage had ended in a matter of weeks. Amazing. He’d been even more shocked. And bitter. He’d always known he could be difficult, but she’d managed to cope with that before. He’d known there had been times when she hadn’t felt secure anymore, but he hadn’t been able to assure her.
    He’d never gotten past the night of the fire...
    Because he hadn’t known what she had known. He hadn’t known whether she had been with Keith the night he had died, whether she had kept silent because they’d been arguing so fiercely... and because Keith had actually been the subject of a few of those arguments. He just hadn’t known if she had...
    Killed Keith? He taunted himself. He didn’t believe that, not for a second. In fact, he didn’t know that anyone had killed Keith. Keith had taken barbiturates. They had rendered him unconscious. The doctor had said the smoke had killed him before he’d burned, that the drugs hadn’t brought about his demise. Still, the scandal had rocked them all. Hurt, betrayed, they were anguished by the loss.
    All of them. So it had appeared. Stunned. In pain. Even the figure Jordan had seen running to the guest house just moments before the fire had consumed it? The figure no one else believed existed.
    Or admitted to being...
    The figure he had thought at first to be his wife.
    He closed his eyes in the darkness of the room, hoping to lock out a sudden onslaught of pain that should have died over ten years ago with his friend. Nothing had been clear; everyone had been fighting. At the inquest, he had stated that he was certain he had seen