Bougainvillea by Heather Graham Page A

her?”
    Kit nodded. “She was a sweetheart…wow, I remember more and more, actually. Lenore was this glorious, rather imperious beauty who…didn’t particularly like me. And…” She paused, frowning. “I don’t remember my mom being there in the afternoons. After school, kindergarten, whatever it was. So I would sneak out of the main house as soon as I could, and go to the cottage. And Mary always smelled like gardenias, and she’d make me tea and give me little sugar cookies. I would love to see her again, thank her.”
    â€œShe’s a hundred and one,” he warned. “You can’t wait too long.”
    Kit grinned. “I won’t. I’m curious as all hell aboutthe place. Except that…hmm.” She fell silent. How could she explain to him that there was something in her memory that disturbed her about the place?
    â€œExcept that what?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    â€œDid your father say something negative about the place?”
    â€œNo. He never talked about it at all.” She realized that her words were only a minor lie. He had never talked about it at all. Not until he had spoken that final word. Bougainvillea.
    â€œYou miss him a great deal, don’t you?”
    â€œOf course. I adored him. He was an incredible person. Wise, funny, always helping me, encouraging me. Even when he was in pain, he could make jokes about the hospital, his doctors, and all the little ironies of life—and death. He thanked me for being such a great daughter, and he gave me all the strength and peace I needed to go on. Of course I miss him.”
    â€œI am so sorry.”
    â€œThanks,” she said lightly, not wanting to grow morbid. Then she stood resolutely. She was going to go to bed before she spent any more time with him. Jen would be disappointed, of course, that there wouldn’t be any details. But she wasn’t as trusting as Jen. Not that her friend could be called promiscuous, certainly not by current standards, but Jen was a big believer in chemistry. It was there, or it wasn’t. You trusted, or you didn’t. Knowing someone a great deal of time couldn’t change any, either.
    â€œWould you mind if I crashed?” she asked. “It’s been a really long day for me.”
    â€œNot at all.” He stood, not to stop her, but merely in a polite gesture.
    â€œGood night,” he told her. “By the way—what time do you need to be back at the convention center in the morning?”
    â€œNine, nine-thirty, somewhere around there.”
    â€œI’ll see that the butler has breakfast here by eight.”
    She couldn’t help but grin. “Mind if I invite Jen over? I told her where I was. She wants to see the place.”
    â€œAbsolutely. Bring her.”
    He remained standing while she walked to the stairs. As she ascended, she heard him ordering breakfast for three. Before retiring, she tried calling Jen’s room, but her friend was out. She left her a message to join them in the suite at eight.
    That night, she dreamed of Bougainvillea. Not so much of anything in particular, but just of being there. She could almost feel the breeze, damp sand beneath her feet, and see the riot of color caused by the bougainvillea creeping over the walls of the main house and cottages. The sensation was at first incredible, sweet as the clean sea air. Then, it was as if shadows fell, darkening everything around her.
    * * *
    When she came down in the morning, Jen was already there. She was enthusiastically talking to David about his home, his photography, and her own work. She greeted Kit with her back to David, brows arched with excited curiosity. Kit shook her head.
    Later that day, at the convention center, Jen grilled her. “Nothing? You two did nothing?”
    â€œWe talked.”
    Jen let out a disgusted sigh. “It’s so obvious, the chemistry between you! It’s just