Dreams for Stones (20 page)

A click. He’d hung up.

She held the phone in her hand, staring at
it, before setting it carefully back in its cradle, knowing if she
didn’t move slowly, she might fly apart. She propped her head in
her hands, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths.

It had felt good, telling Alan off. For
sure, he deserved it. But now in the aftermath, the good feeling
was abruptly gone, leaving her hollow and shaken, as if she had
just smashed something that would never be quite whole again.

“Hey, girl, you don’t look so good.” Jade
slid onto the chair next to Kathy’s desk. “What’s up?”

“I just called Alan to ask when he’s coming
to see Delia.” Her voice shook. She stopped, took a breath, tried
again. “He tried to make some excuse, and I. . . I told him off. He
hung up on me.” And of all the ways she could have imagined the
conversation playing out, that wasn’t one she’d even
considered.

Jade looked surprised. “He hasn’t come to
see Delia?”

Kathy shook her head, feeling too upset even
to cry.

“There must be something powerfully wrong in
that man’s life.” Jade sounded pensive.

It was what Kathy thought herself whenever
she remembered the way he’d looked the last time she saw him. But
no matter what it was, how could it justify him turning his back on
a child?

In spite of the fact his mother told him who was calling, when he
first heard Kathy’s voice on the phone, Alan’s heartbeat boomed in
his ears until he could barely make out what she was saying: that
Delia was better, that she was awake and asking for him.

By then he was a word or two behind,
struggling to catch up. As he stammered out the beginning of a
response, Kathy’s tone changed abruptly from businesslike to
angry.

The crime she accused him of, not one of
commission but omission.

With a flash of righteousness, he opened his
mouth to defend himself. After all, Frank had told him it made no
sense for him to drive all the way in from the ranch to see Delia
until she regained consciousness. Frank had also said there was
nothing else Alan could do at the moment to help. That all any of
them could do was wait and pray.

But with a stab of pain, he realized the
truth in what Kathy was saying. He had been unable to deal with
what was happening with Delia. Sure, he’d made some of the motions:
calling the hospital, leaving Frank and Grace a message, sending
Delia a card and a present, finally visiting but talking only to
Frank. He hadn’t gone to the hospital again, and he’d worked hard
to keep what was happening at arm’s length.

Feeling the deep fatigue of regret and
sorrow wash over him, he broke the connection with Kathy. He
continued to hold the receiver against his ear, in case his mother
checked to see what was keeping him, while he focused on finding a
way to breathe around the huge boulder that seemed to be lodged in
his chest.

When he was finally able to breathe
normally, he joined his parents in the kitchen for lunch. After
lunch, he drove to Denver to see Delia.

“I won’t be around for the next couple of days,” Charles said.

He and Kathy were sitting on the steps of
the Cheesman Park Pavilion, cooling down after a run. “The Olson
trial is heating up.”

Kathy enjoyed hearing about Charles’s cases.
She knew from the way he talked, he loved what he did for a living.
He told her he viewed his work like a jigsaw puzzle; his job was to
fit together the pieces for the judge and jury.

She also liked talking about his cases
because it was a good way to keep their relationship where she
wanted it kept. Just friends.

“What would you do, if you were trying a
case and realized the guy wasn’t guilty?”

He shrugged. “If I discovered new evidence,
I’d have to share it with the defense. But if something comes out
in testimony, it’s up to the defense and the jury to pick up on
it.”

“And if the jury didn’t see it?”

When he didn’t answer, she looked over at
him and found him staring off into the distance with a meditative
look. Finally he shook himself. “That’s why we have an appeals
process.” Then he turned and looked at her. “Have dinner with me
Saturday?”

She twisted slightly to look him in the
eyes. “Same ground rules?”

He held his hands up in mock surrender.
“See, Ma, no hands.”

Charles took her to a quiet Italian restaurant for a leisurely
dinner. As they finished eating, he glanced at his watch. “Tell you
what, do you like to dance?”

“Won’t that make it difficult to keep your
promise? You know, the one about your hands.”

“I’ll keep it strictly on the up and up.” He
grinned at her. Then he shrugged. “I like to dance, and it’s good
exercise.”

“So what you’re proposing is a workout.”
Kathy tilted her head, trying to decide if it was a good idea or a
terrible idea.

“Whatever. The place I’m thinking about
plays swing. You ever tried it?”

Okay. She could do swing. Swing was
fast-paced, impersonal. “I’ll have you know Cincinnati was a hotbed
of swing when I was in college.”

“Let’s go, then.”

At Monk’s Haven they ordered drinks and
chatted until the band returned from a break and began playing
“Little Brown Jug.”

Kathy quickly learned to trust Charles’s
lead, and by the time the band segued into “A String of Pearls,”
they were dancing together as if they’d been doing it for
years.

Then the band switched tempo and played
“Moonlight Serenade.” Before Kathy could suggest a break, Charles
pulled her into his arms.

The sudden vivid memory of the last time
she’d been in a man’s arms washed over her. Alan. She misstepped,
and Charles’s arm tightened, steadying her.

When the dance ended, she excused herself
and went to the ladies’ room. There, she stared at her image in the
mirror, remembering Alan kissing her and then the way he had looked
saying he was sorry he’d kissed her. And how that made her feel. As
if he’d slapped her. The sting of it worse somehow than Greg saying
he’d “clicked” with someone named Julie.

Because after watching Alan with Delia and
the animals, seeing how gentle and caring he was, she didn’t
believe he’d ever hurt someone deliberately. But he had. He’d hurt
her, and he had to know it, because she wasn’t any good at hiding
her feelings.

She had to stop thinking about Alan. It was
simple to do, after all. Just no more looking back. And after a
while, it would fade, and everything would be all right. As it
always had been.

But this time that approach didn’t seem to
be working.

She ran her fingers through her hair,
splashed some water on her cheeks, and, putting on a bland
expression, rejoined Charles.

When the band called it a night, Charles
settled the bill and, taking her hand, walked her to his car. In
spite of his promises, she expected him to suggest they go back to
his place, and she’d already prepared her refusal. But instead he
drove her directly to the Costellos’ where he walked her to the
door.

She opened it and turned to tell him
goodnight, and he leaned forward and kissed her briefly on the
lips.

“That might be the letter, but it’s hardly
the spirit,” she said, pulling away and meeting his eyes.

A question, one she didn’t want to answer,
altered the shape of his eyebrows and mouth. She met his look for a
long beat. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her
again.

It was an expert kiss, and she enjoyed it,
but she felt none of the longing she’d felt kissing Alan. She tried
to stop thinking about that and concentrate instead on this moment,
this man.

A good thing Charles didn’t know her well
enough to realize her heart wasn’t in it.

But it could be. She just needed more
time.

She hadn’t expected to start dating so soon,
didn’t even want another relationship. And yet here she was,
drifting into one. But maybe it was okay, this drifting. Neither
one of them making any special effort.

Only that was how it started with Alan.

And look how that turned out.

Charles slid into the booth across from Alan. It was the first time
they’d managed to have lunch together in a couple of months.

“I’ve got good news and better news,”
Charles said.

“Oh?” Alan glanced up from the menu.

“Tiffany and I finally called it quits.”

“As if I haven’t heard that before.” Charles
and Tiffany, off again, on again ever since they met.

“No, this time it’s for good. But the better
news is I’ve met somebody special.”

“And why am I not surprised?” Heavy lunch
and skip dinner, or light lunch?

“Her name is Kathy Jamison.”

Alan froze, the print on the menu going out
of focus.
No. It couldn’t be
. Of all the women in the world.
How could Charles. . . He took a breath and plunged ahead. “The
Philly sandwich looks good.”

But Charles refused to be diverted. “I met
her jogging. And she plays a mean game of tennis.” He looked at
Alan with a loopy grin on his face.

Alan cleared his throat, hoping he could
manage to sound normal. “So, what happened with Tiffany?”

“She started dropping hints about her
biological clock.”

“And you, as we know, are anti-kid. And why
is that exactly?” Alan had wondered for years but never felt
comfortable asking. Right now, though, he’d do whatever it took to
keep Charles off the subject of Kathy.

“I was one, remember. Let’s just say kids
cause problems. And they tie you down. Limit your options.”

“So does any relationship.” It was something
Alan had never understood about Charles—his inability to commit to
a woman. Because Charles had been a good and loyal friend to him,
even when he tried to push Charles away.

“At least with a woman there are
compensations.” Charles looked up from his menu, the loopy grin
back. “Did I mention she’s a redhead?”

Definitely not the Philly sandwich. Soup.
And he was going to have a hard time swallowing that.

That evening, Alan stood in the dark of his apartment, looking out
at the sky, knowing it was going to be another night when sleep
would be elusive. He didn’t even need to close his eyes to picture
Charles talking about Kathy with that happy expression on his
face.

No question, Charles was attracted. And Alan
knew how women responded to Charles being attracted to them. The
surprise was how Alan had reacted to knowing the woman who was
currently attracting Charles was Kathy.

How could he not have known how he felt
about Kathy? So focused on missing Meg he’d missed that
entirely.

But, really, he had known.

And now, thinking about Kathy with Charles.
. .

Would talk help that? But what else was
there?

Elaine showed up at the ranch alone and asked Alan to go for a ride
with her.

“I found a shooting star growing here a
couple of years ago,” she said, when they arrived at the lake. She
swung off Siesta and turned to loosen the cinch. Cormac trotted
off, busily following rabbit, squirrel, and chipmunk trails.

“Near the aspens,” Alan said.

When they located the flower, Elaine knelt
to examine it then looked up at him. “The folks told me the tenure
decision went against you. I was sorry to hear it.” She looked back
at the flower.

Feeling relieved they’d gotten that out of
the way so painlessly, Alan walked to the edge of the lake. After a
moment, Elaine joined him.

He picked up a smooth stone, enjoying the
warmth and heft of it in his hand before he threw it. It skipped,
touching the lake three times, like a bird taking sips of water.
Circles formed on the surface of the lake, slowly expanding and
intersecting before dissipating.

Cormac came up to him carrying a stick. Alan
tossed it, and the dog bounded after it with a happy bark.

“Mom told me Kathy called you the other
day.”

Hearing Elaine say Kathy’s name was as
unexpected as a dash of cold water in the face. “Did she.” He
worked to keep his expression disinterested as he wrestled the
stick from Cormac and threw it again.

Of course, it should be no surprise that
Elaine knew about Kathy. His mother had no doubt provided a full
report.

“Mom and Dad liked her,” Elaine said,
verifying his assumption.

He focused his gaze on the middle of the
lake, struggling to keep his tone light. “You’re fishing.”

“They said she came out to ride last fall
and this spring. Almost every week.”

“They also report she came with another
woman? And a child?”

Cormac was back with the stick. When Alan
didn’t move to pick it up, the dog nudged his leg. Alan threw the
stick as hard as he could, remembering, suddenly, the day he’d
watched Delia pet a foal and realized the child he and Meg had been
expecting would have been nearly the same age as Delia if Meg
hadn’t died. The thought clamped tight around his chest.

“You didn’t fool them.”

He swallowed, but there was no easing the
tightness. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“They don’t come anymore.”

“They have other things to do.” Like fight
for life in an ICU.

Cormac was back. Alan bent over and buried
his hands in the thick ruff of Cormac’s neck while the dog wiggled
with delight.

“Alan, why haven’t you gone to visit that
little girl?”

In confusion, he stared at Elaine, unable to
answer. It had been only a few days since Kathy accused him of the
same thing. But Elaine didn’t even know Kathy. Besides, after
Kathy’s phone call, he had visited Delia. She’d been sleeping. He’d
spoken to Frank, and they’d left it that Frank would call to let
him know when Delia was home and ready for visitors.