A Gift from the Past (5 page)

“This is my first time trying it out,” he replied.

“We're guinea pigs, Cookie,” Sarge exclaimed with more spirit than he'd shown in months. “We're either going to have a great meal or we'll all be sick with ptomaine poisoning.”

Joshua laughed. “I don't think I'm in danger of poisoning anyone, but as much garlic as I used we won't have to worry about vampires.”

His light tone set the mood for the meal, which consisted of spaghetti, salad and garlic bread. As they ate, Joshua told them about the latest game he was working on, an educational one based on opposites.

Despite her desire to remain immune from his charm, she found herself studying him as he talked about his work, noting how his features became animated with excitement. She found herself laughing as he spoke of some of his most popular
games, with creatures apparently as colorful as their silly names.

“No blood or guts in DreamQuest games,” he explained. “And good always triumphs over evil and love always wins the day.”

Maybe in his games, she thought. But not in real life. Sometimes love died, or wasn't as strong as one thought, or couldn't survive beneath the weight of life and loss and grief.

She was grateful when Sarge indicated he was ready for bed early, as she was exhausted and more than ready not only to call it a day, but to escape Joshua's company.

She got Sarge into bed for the night, then went into her own room. The same room where she and Joshua had once slept and made love and spun dreams and fantasies of their future.

The room was overly warm, with no breeze stirring the curtains at the window. Despite the warmth, she fell asleep almost immediately.

She awoke with a start, unsure what had awakened her, but filled with a yearning that pierced her soul. Surely it's the heat, she thought as she sat up and lifted her heavy hair from the nape of her neck.

It was just after midnight, but she instinctively knew that sleep would not return easily. She got out of bed and pulled on a lightweight cotton robe.

As she opened her bedroom door, the house greeted her with quiet darkness. While he'd been
here, Joshua had been a late-nighter and she was grateful he had apparently gone to bed.

Without turning on any lights, unwilling to alert anyone that she was awake, she padded into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, then carried it out to the front porch.

As she sank down on the top step of the porch, she was grateful to feel a cool breeze that stirred her hair and caressed her face. She closed her eyes and raised her head, allowing the breeze to flow over her neck, and she suddenly remembered the dream she'd had just before awakening.

It had once again been about them—about Sarah and Daniel. She opened her eyes and took a sip of her juice, irritated that the couple not only invaded her thoughts during the day, but filled her dreams at night, as well.

It was almost as if she had some sort of strange, cosmic connection with them, a connection she didn't understand. How was it possible that there would be any connection between herself and an old photograph?

“Can't sleep?” Joshua's deep voice came from the doorway. Before she could reply, he opened the door and eased down beside her on the stoop.

He was bare-chested and wearing only a pair of shorts. He smelled of shampoo, fresh-scented soap and a touch of spicy cologne.

“I think maybe the heat woke me,” she replied and set her juice glass between them, as if to serve as a barrier. “What about you?”

“I hadn't really tried sleeping yet. I was just about to get into bed when I thought I heard somebody creeping around.” He stretched his legs out before him. “It's beautiful out here tonight.”

She nodded absently, her thoughts still consumed with the lingering memories of her dream. “They were very young when they married—like us.” She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she saw the confusion on Joshua's face. “Daniel and Sarah Walker. I've been dreaming about them a lot.”

“Really? What kind of dreams?” He moved her juice glass and slid closer to her.

“I don't know, just dreams about them.” She didn't want to tell him that what she dreamed about was the love they shared for each other, a love that was so strong, so passionate that it transcended time and place.

It was the kind of love she'd once thought she and Joshua shared, but she'd been wrong.

“How do you know they married young?” His green eyes glowed in the moonlight as he gazed at her.

Her heart still filled with the sweet longings that her dream had evoked, she was far too conscious of his nearness. “I saw it in my dream,” she re
plied softly. “I saw their wedding. I've been dreaming about them ever since we found their picture.” She forced a small burst of laughter. “Crazy, huh? I'm sure it's just an overactive imagination at work.”

“An overactive imagination, that's always been my department,” he observed with a smile.

The smile was as warm as the night and she knew she should escape, go back into her room and fall back into dreams that had no capacity to hurt her.

But she didn't leave and for long moments they sat side by side in a strangely companionable silence. “What happened to the porch swing?” he asked, finally breaking the quiet.

“It's in the garage. It was getting pretty old and rickety.” It was a half-truth and she didn't look at him as she said it. The full truth was that she'd taken down the swing soon after Joshua had left, unable to face the place where she and Joshua had spent many a night, enjoying the seasons that had passed, the season of their love.

“Have you dated, Claire, in the time I've been away?”

She looked at him sharply. “Of course not. Aside from the fact that I have no desire to date, we
are
still married.”

His gaze studied her intently. “Why haven't you asked me for a divorce?”

She shrugged and stared out into the darkness of the night. “Because it doesn't matter to me whether we're divorced or not. I don't plan on ever dating or getting remarried.”

“You're way too young to make a decision not to marry again,” he replied.

She didn't counter him, although she knew her decision was right, and she would never change her mind about not marrying again. “What about you? Have you been dating one of those half-naked California girls?”

“Of course not. I'm still a married man.” His gaze held hers intently and in the depths of his beautiful green eyes she saw a spark of heat.

She had instinctively known he wouldn't have dated. Joshua was a man of honor and had often told her how deeply he'd believed in the sanctity of marriage.

He reached out and caressed a strand of her hair and her mouth went achingly dry. The soft, familiar stroke of his hand created a quivering inside her. “We're still married, Claire,” he murmured.

She knew he was going to kiss her, read it in his eyes as he leaned toward her. She had only a split second to jump up and run, but she was frozen in place. She was unable to deny the tiny part of her that wanted his kiss just one last time.

Before she could fully accept the fact that she
wanted this to happen, his lips were on hers, plying hers with the hot, sweet taste of desire.

Instantly, her heart ached with the sweet familiarity of kissing Joshua. Her breasts tingled and every nerve ending in her entire body became electrified, as if in anticipation of making love.

When his arms reached to enfold her, she managed to break the inertia that had momentarily gripped her. She jumped up and took an unsteady step away from him.

“You shouldn't have done that, Joshua,” she said, appalled to hear her voice slightly breathless.

He stood, but didn't attempt to breach the distance that separated them. “Why not? I've wanted to do it since the moment I saw you again. And if I'm not mistaken, a minute ago you were not only not protesting, but you were kissing me back.”

A blush warmed her cheeks. “You caught me off-guard. I didn't have a chance to protest.”

It was a lie and she knew it. She'd had a moment when she could have circumvented his kiss, but she hadn't.

She knew by the look on his face he didn't believe her and a surge of defensive anger rose up inside her. “We might still be married, Joshua, but that doesn't mean we have a marriage. And as far as I'm concerned, we'll never have a marriage again.”

She didn't wait for his reply, but instead turned
and ran away from him, into the house. Retreating into the safe privacy of her bedroom, she tore off her robe and crawled back into bed.

The taste of his mouth still lingered on her own and she fought the childish impulse to scrub at her mouth with the back of her hand. That action wouldn't erase the sweet sensations of his kiss, nor would it dispel the knowledge that for just a moment, she'd wanted his arms around her. For just the time between heartbeats she'd wished they could go back in time and be young and happy and in love once again.

“‘L
ike a witch's mane that blows in the air. Dig at the base and the treasure is there.'” Joshua read aloud the latest clue in the morning paper.

The three of them were seated at the kitchen table. Sarge was enjoying his usual bowl of oatmeal, as Claire and Joshua were having coffee.

“‘Witch's mane…'” Claire repeated thoughtfully. “Anything about witches always makes me think of Hazel Benton.”

“Crazier than a loon, that woman was,” Sarge quipped. “I've met a lot of queer women in my time, but old Hazel was the queen of the weird.”

“All I know is that she had every kid in town scared spitless of her,” Joshua said.

“She had most of the adults in town scared spit
less of her, too,” Sarge replied. “She thought she had special powers, thought she could read people's minds and communicate with spirits. More than once I had to have a little talk with her about assault.”

“Assault? Why, what would she do?” Claire asked. She looked lovely, clad in a pair of white shorts and a turquoise blouse that turned her eyes more blue than their usual smoke-gray.

“She'd be shopping in town and pass some poor hapless man and whack him on the back or slap him in the face because she'd supposedly read his mind, and he was entertaining lustful thoughts about her.” Sarge laughed and shook his head ruefully. “She was some piece of work. Used to fly a flag at half-staff all the time, said she was mourning the troubled undead who hadn't crossed over to the other side.”

“A flag?” Joshua frowned. “I don't remember her having a flag.”

“She took the flagpole down years ago when she decided it was a conductor for alien energy or some such nonsense.”

“‘Like a witch's mane that blows in the air'…like a flag?” Joshua looked at Claire.

“And the clue about ashes, Hazel's house is now in ashes.” She sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Do you think the treasure is there?”

“Sarge, do you remember where the flagpole stood on Hazel's property?” Joshua asked.

“Sure, it was just off her patio in a flower bed in the backyard.”

Joshua looked at Claire once again. “I'd say that's the place we should look next.”

Claire shot a glance at Sarge. “I'll just wait here and you can go see if it's there.”

“Nonsense, we're in this treasure hunt together, Cookie. I saw Mrs. Iverson getting her paper when I picked up yours, so I know she's up and dressed. I'm sure she wouldn't mind coming over here for a half hour or forty-five minutes while we check out Hazel's backyard.”

“You're going to stick me with that creature again?” Sarge asked, although there was no venom in his voice at all.

“Sarge, that's not nice,” Claire said.

“The woman treats me like a damned invalid.”

“Maybe that's because you're in that wheelchair,” Joshua observed. “If you'd get some physical therapy and get out of that chair, she wouldn't treat you like an invalid.”

Sarge frowned thoughtfully. “Then I suppose you should set up an appointment for physical therapy for me, Cookie.”

Claire looked at Joshua, obviously surprised by the old man's capitulation. “I'll call the hospital and set it up right now.”

“And while she's doing that, I'll go next door
and see if Mrs. Iverson can come over for a little while.” Joshua got up from the table and headed out the back door.

Twenty minutes later he and Claire set off down the sidewalk. Although it was just after eight, the sun was already warm on his shoulders. He had a garden trowel tucked in the back pocket of his jean shorts and hoped if the treasure was around the base of the flagpole at Hazel's that it wasn't buried too deep.

“I'm not sure how you got Sarge to agree to start going to physical therapy, but I'm grateful that he's finally agreed to go,” Claire said. “I've been trying to get him into therapy at the hospital since his stroke.”

Joshua smiled. “Ah, but you were probably using logic and reason to try to get him to go. I merely appealed to his male vanity. I think he has a crush on Mrs. Iverson.”

“No way,” Claire replied with a disbelieving burst of laughter. “You heard what he calls her.”

“Yeah, but I thought I detected a bit of affection in his voice.”

A tiny thoughtful frown creased her forehead. “Now that you mention it, Wilma is always doing little things for Sarge. Although she constantly tells him he's a crabby old coot.”

“Her husband passed away before I left Mayfield. She's been alone a long time. Maybe there's a bit of romance blooming.”

For a few minutes they walked in silence down the shade-dappled walk toward Hazel's property. Joshua found himself thinking about the kiss they'd shared the night before. It had been everything he remembered…and more.

Someplace in the back of his mind, he'd thought that kissing her again would somehow release him from his memories of the past—finally and forever release him from her. But there had been no release. Rather, the kiss had merely served to deepen his ambivalence where she was concerned.

He wanted her, but after five years of abstinence, was that really so strange? Anyway, even after all this time, the thought of making love to anyone other than Claire seemed alien and somehow wrong.

He couldn't quite imagine what life would be like if he tried to get back with her, nor could he quite imagine what his future would be like without her in it.

“You've gotten very quiet,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Just thinking,” he said.

He wondered what would happen if he said his name? In the days that he'd been back in Mayfield staying with Claire, neither of them had spoken his name once.

He gazed at her, as always enjoying the play of sunshine in her beautiful hair. “Do you think about him, Claire?” he asked softly.

Her footsteps faltered just enough for him to know she knew exactly who he meant. He held his breath, unsure if he should expect some sort of an explosion.

There was a long moment of silence, then she expelled a tiny sigh. “I think of Sammy every day,” she finally replied. The name hung in the air, bringing with it memories of both incredible joy and indescribable pain.

“I wake up in the morning,” she continued, “and in that instant before full awakeness grips me, I find myself listening for him.”

Joshua reached out and took her hand in his. For a second he thought she was going to pull her hand away. Instead her fingers entwined with his, but she kept her gaze averted from him.

“I remember how first thing in the morning he'd stand up in his crib and yell ‘Dada.'”

“Mama,” she countered, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. “He'd shout ‘Mama.'”

It was an ancient argument, a bantering from the past that had always been delivered good-naturedly. Nearly every morning for the two years of Sammy's life, Joshua and Claire had each tried to take possession of Sammy's words.

“You remember the morning he fell out of bed?” She looked at him, her eyes shining.

How well Joshua remembered that morning. He and Claire had been indulging in a bout of pre-dawn lovemaking when they'd heard a thud. Hor
rified, the two of them had raced from their bedroom into Sammy's, terrified of what they might find.

“I'll never forget that little face smiling at us from beneath the crib,” Joshua said. Sammy had been under the crib, clutching Mr. Peaches, his favorite stuffed animal and laughing that he ‘go boom.'

Claire stopped walking and faced him, her features a mix of both bittersweet joy and a whisper of sadness. “We made a beautiful baby, didn't we, Joshua?”

“We did, Cookie.” He reached for her and she went willingly into his arms. He smelled the sweet sunshine in her hair, felt the warmth of her body and realized this was the first time since they'd buried their son that he'd held her in his arms.

They stood there on the sidewalk for long moments, wrapped in an embrace that felt as medicinal, as healing as a hot poultice on a congested chest.

She pulled away first, stepping back from him, an irritated frown creasing the center of her forehead. “We need to get to Hazel's and see if the treasure is there. I don't like leaving Sarge for too long.” There was a steely strength in her eyes, the same strength that had attracted him to her when they'd been young. It was also the same strength that had eventually driven him away.

 

As they finished the walk to Hazel's place in silence, Claire tried to forget how it had felt once again to be held in Joshua's arms. His body against hers had been so achingly familiar, and, for just a moment, as his arms had enfolded her close, she'd felt safe and loved.

Illusion, she reminded herself. It had been memories of Sammy that had made them seek each other's embrace. She wasn't sure what Joshua was doing—holding her and kissing her—but she knew it had nothing to do with love.

If he'd loved her, he never would have walked away from her five years ago. If he'd really loved her, he never would have stayed away for so long.

She knew the truth in her heart. He'd married her because she was pregnant. While he'd been a good husband and father while Sammy was alive, once Sammy was gone there had been nothing to keep him with her.

She could not allow herself to become vulnerable to Joshua. Besides, the decisions she'd made for herself concerning her own future had left no place for a man. She tamped down her thoughts and focused on the surroundings.

There was very little left of Hazel's house. What had been a grand two-story Victorian home was now nothing more than a pile of rubble. The only thing left standing was a stone chimney that rose high in the air.

“Why hasn't the city removed this mess?”
Joshua asked as they walked around the skeleton left by the fire.

“Who knows? I've heard that Hazel refuses to allow anything to be done because she believes that fire spirits are now living here. I've also heard that Mayfield doesn't have the money in its coffers to take legal action to get something done.”

“Sarge said the old flagpole was in the backyard by the patio,” Joshua said, motioning her to follow him around the side of the house.

Despite the weeds that scratched her bare legs, a new sense of excitement rose up inside Claire as she thought of the possibility of digging up the money.

Maybe with a little of the money she could start to take a few classes and begin working toward a teaching degree. She'd always wanted to teach history. She and Joshua had agreed that when Sammy was old enough for preschool, Claire would get the college education she desired. But, of course, fate had intervened.

The backyard was hopelessly overgrown and bordered on three sides by ancient woods. “I think maybe I should have packed a machete along with your trusty trowel,” Joshua exclaimed.

Claire frowned, slightly dismayed as she gazed at the landscape. “I can't imagine Clark Windsloe crawling around in these weeds to bury anything back here.”

“Ah, but maybe that's exactly what he wants
everyone to think,” Joshua countered. “A treasure hunt that's too easy isn't fun at all. I've learned that with my games. If an adventure is too hard, kids quit trying. If it's too easy, then it's just no fun.”

“I'm glad you're doing so well,” Claire said and it was true. Until his alcoholic uncle had moved away and left Joshua on his own, he had suffered through a miserable childhood. He deserved to have good things happening to him now.

“I owe a lot of it to you,” he replied.

“How do you figure?” They'd reached the patio, a ten-by-twelve flooring of large red bricks.

He pulled the trowel from his back pocket, his gaze lingering on hers. “You always liked to listen to my silly stories and encouraged me to tell you more.”

“I thought you might eventually become a children's book author.”

“I might have if I hadn't taken that computer class and discovered the fun of creating games.” He directed his gaze to the area around the patio. “Now let's see if we can't find you that treasure.”

It took them twenty minutes of searching to finally find the old base of the flagpole. Claire eyed it in dismay. “There's no way somebody buried anything here recently,” she said, fighting against a wave of disappointment.

“It's been a month since the first clue appeared in the paper. Grass and weeds can get pretty over
grown in a month's time.” Joshua knelt down and began to dig around the base, but she knew his efforts were useless.

Still, she watched silently, reluctantly enjoying the way the muscles in his back and arms grew taut each time he drove the trowel into the hard earth.

Realizing she was enjoying the sight of him far too much, she averted her gaze and instead stared off toward the woods at the back of the yard.

A slight breeze whispered in her ear and she tilted her head as she thought she heard the murmur of voices. Her body warmed with a sudden wave of heat, an electric charge like that she felt each time she held Sarah and Daniel's picture in her fingers.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, the trees before her were smaller, less dense, and there was a clearing in the middle, a clearing where a crowd of people were gathered. There was a large table laden with food and laughter rode the air.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't real, but the sound of the laughter, the mouthwatering scents of the food seemed as concrete as the clothes on her body.

Then she saw them…herself and Joshua…no, Sarah and Daniel. They stood near the table in a group of other people. Sarah was clad in a long blue gingham dress and held in her arms a baby
with curly blond ringlets. Daniel stood next to her, his face a study of proud fatherhood, of sweet love.