Lake Magic (23 page)

She’d been right. He did have a heart of stone; it was the only way he knew how to survive.

But now Jenny was getting under his skin and into his mind and dredging up all of those improbable ideas he’d once had.

Jared eased off on the wrench. “There are worse things, kid, than your parents missin’ a few games. Trust me.”

“Like you would know.”

The bolt came free. Why didn’t he just drop the subject? When it came to this kid, conversation was quick-sand. “Yeah,” Jared agreed. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“I bet your parents never missed any of your games.”

Positioning the oil pan, Jared removed the plug. “Nope,” he said with a hundred percent honesty. His mom hadn’t, because she couldn’t drag herself off the couch long enough to get him signed up, let alone take him to practices. And by the time Jared was placed in the system, he’d lost what little interest he’d had in organized sports. He wasn’t about to buy into some social worker’s bullshit about “getting involved” and “being connected.”

Involved and connected didn’t work for Jared. Except in the cockpit of an F-18.

“See?” Cody whined. “Parker’s mom never misses a game. And his dad’s there most of the time, too.”

Jared glanced sideways. Was this kid for real? So his parents missed a few baseball games. So what? He was clothed, fed, and had plenty of expensive toys. Jared hadn’t missed seeing the backpack full of them earlier. “Listen, kid—”

Cody kicked at the oil pan, and thick black liquid sloshed over the sides. “You’re just like all the others.”

Jared glanced at Cody’s expensive shoes. “Shit.” Oil pooled in the laces, ran over the expensive leather. “Shit,” he said again.

Cody looked at his ruined shoes. “My mom won’t care. She’ll just buy me another pair.”

Jared scooted out from under the plane. He pointed to the workbench. “Grab some rags. You’re gonna help me clean up this mess.”

Cody glared at him. “Get it yourself. I’m not your slave.” He ran out of the hangar.

Jared watched him disappear and cursed himself for being ten kinds of fool. He should have stuck to his original plan and kept his mouth shut. No, he thought. His original plan had been to stay as far away as possible from the kid. And that’s exactly what he should have done. Getting mixed up with Cody and his problems wasn’t Jared’s deal. Getting his money and getting the hell out of here was.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should go and find the kid. Talk to him.

But about what?

He had nothing to offer.

Turning away from the hangar’s exit, Jared got back to work. Without any distractions, he finished his work in no time. Halfway through updating the maintenance log, he heard the angry
slap-slap-slap
of flip-flops against the hangar’s concrete floor.

“What did you do?” Jenny fired at his back.

He didn’t bother to turn around. “I’ll treat that as a rhetorical question.”

Just what the hell did she use to make herself smell so damn good? Years back, he’d been stationed in Hawaii. That was what Jenny smelled like. Coconut oil, exotic flowers, and sun-heated skin.

“Cody hasn’t said a word to me since he stormed back into the house.”

“You can thank me later.”

“I heard that.”

Jared made the last entry in the maintenance log and turned around. And as always, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. She didn’t just smell good, she looked good. Better than good. For just a moment he let his fantasies run wild. He wondered what it would feel like to nuzzle the side of her neck . . . trail kisses up and down her throat . . . wrap his arms around her and pull her close while burying his face deep into her thick blonde hair. And those lips. Too many times he’d fantasized about what they would taste like, look like after he pushed his mouth against hers, smeared off her lip gloss until her lips were puffy and bruised because of him.

No wonder Steven had given up everything to be stuck in this godforsaken town. Why he’d quit flying jets and started puttering around in a damn seaplane. Jared realized most men would consider themselves the luckiest saps on the planet if they had the chance to throw everything away and spend the rest of their lives with a girl like Jenny. Bad cooking and all. But then those suckers still believed in happily-ever-afters.

“You were supposed to. The kid didn’t shut up the whole time he was with me.”

“He’s sensitive—”

“He’s spoiled rotten.”

Jenny crossed her arms under her breast. Jared really wished she wouldn’t keep doing that.

“He’s going through a tough time.”

“Tough shit.”

Her foot began a staccato beat against the concrete. “You can make it up to him at dinner tonight.”

“I wasn’t the one who insisted he come out here. I’m no damn babysitter.”

“He wanted to be with you.”

“Right.” Jared bent down and began to pick up the tools.

“I’m grilling hot dogs.”

His hand stalled on the wrench, and he shot her a sardonic look.

She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “Even I can’t screw up hot dogs.”

He placed the wrench in the toolbox. “Don’t bet on it.”

“You can apologize to Cody then.”

“I also thought we could watch a movie and play a game after dinner.”

He’d rather chew glass. The whole domestic scene wasn’t for him. Spending more time with the kid would be intolerable; spending additional time with Jenny, unbearable. As it was now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth. His fingers all but burned with the need to run his hands through her hair, over her body. He wanted to forget she was still in love with Steven, forget that starting something up between them was a bad idea.

As he stared into her angry sky blue eyes, he knew she wasn’t going to give up. If this last week had taught him anything, it was that she was tenacious. But that didn’t mean he had to stick around.

“Fine.”

Surprise briefly brightened her features before doubt set in. “Really?” Her voice was heavy with distrust.

“Sure,” he said smoothly. “Give me a half hour to finish cleaning up, then I’ll be in.”

She hedged, staring long and hard into his face.

Nothing in his expression gave her anything to cling to.

“Okay. See you then.”

“See you then,” he said as she made her way back to the house.

Less than ten minutes later, he was on his bike and roaring out of the driveway.

 

 

 

 

It was well past ten when Anna pulled into her driveway. Streetlamps cast long shadows across the lawn and the mullioned windows that stretched across the front of her house. As she waited for the garage door to open, she knew she should be exhausted, but all she felt was exhilarated. Today had been hectic . . . crazy, and at times, completely overwhelming, but most of all, it had been wonderful. Finally, everything she had worked for was coming true.

When the garage door finished opening, she eased her Volvo in next to her husband’s Mercedes. As she turned off the engine, she couldn’t help but glance at Phillip’s car.

Even in the dim light from the single overhead fixture, it was easy to make out the thin layer of dust covering his Mercedes. She frowned.

Why hadn’t Phillip thought to cover his car before he left? Usually so meticulous, the oversight was uncharacteristic. To say he was particular about his vehicle was an understatement.
Obsessed
was a more accurate term. Whenever he’d had the chance, he’d been outside, washing and waxing and buffing that car until she’d tell him to stop before he rubbed the black paint clear off; she’d only been half joking. But now, his pride and joy sat in the garage, collecting dust.

Had he really been gone for three months?

When Phillip had told her he was considering accepting a position with Doctors Without Borders, Anna had at first felt a swell of pride. It was a noble sacrifice, what her husband wanted to do. All of their friends, family, and colleagues had said so. But as his excitement continued to grow, hers began to quietly dim.

We have so much, Anna,
he’d said in his soft voice, the voice she’d fallen in love with, the voice that had calmed and soothed hundreds of terrified patients.
It’s time we gave back
.

But it wasn’t a
we
that was giving back, it was a
he
. He alone was going to be the one to leave, to travel to a place of such profound poverty it had made Anna’s stomach clench in guilt. But her guilt had been two-pronged—a fact she’d barely been able to acknowledge. Guilt because she knew Phillip was right, they were blessed and it was right to give back. But guilt, too, because she didn’t want her life to change. She and Phillip had worked hard for everything they had. And now he wanted to throw it all away. Or, if not discard it, then shelve it.

For how long?

The question haunted her.

She leaned her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes, remembering their last night together. It had been late; Cody had fallen asleep long before. They’d been sitting in bed, Phillip reading, she watching Letter-man. Or had it been Leno? As she’d pretended to watch TV, all she’d been able to think about that night was how much she didn’t want her husband to leave. She’d wanted to tell him to stay, to stay with her and Cody. But she’d been unable to vocalize that need—afraid to hear what his choice would be. In the end, all she’d been able to say was, “Are you sure?”

“What if it was Cody, Anna?” he’d said, taking off his glasses. “What if he needed help, and there were no doctors to save him? I
have to
go.”

Hearing him, she’d felt selfish and small and had assured him he was right.

The next morning she’d driven him to the airport and hugged him good-bye. It wasn’t until she was driving home that she realized how easily they’d both been able to abandon their embrace. She told herself it was because she knew he wouldn’t be gone that long. She was embarrassed now to realize how smug she’d been, believing that her husband—a man who’d only known privilege and comfort—couldn’t possibly survive the horrific conditions in a third world country. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, Anna had to face the truth: not only could he survive, but maybe this trip wasn’t so much about giving back as it was about getting away.

Angry with her train of thought, she gathered her purse and briefcase and made her way to the house. The garage door rolled closed behind her with a familiar whine.

Why had she let her mind wander down that all-too-familiar path tonight of all nights? Today had been the highlight of her professional career, and she wasn’t about to dampen her excitement with memories that only went around and around, never finding a beginning. Or, more importantly, never finding an end.

The house was dark and stuffy from being closed up all day. Making her way through the kitchen, she cracked open the window above the sink and turned on the lights. As she continued through the downstairs, she dropped her purse and briefcase on the table in the foyer and picked up the mail that had been dropped through the slot in the front door. After leafing through it, she tossed the small stack into the glass bowl on the hall table and tried not to feel a stab of disappointment. Again, no letter from Phillip. Then she saw the flashing light on her answering machine. Like a teenage girl, her heart thumped hard against her chest. She hit the Play button.

But it wasn’t Phillip’s voice that came through the tiny speaker. “Hi, honey. It’s Mom. Call when you get a chance. Love you.”

The message clicked off, and for several long moments Anna stood there, staring at the machine.

A rush of emotions filled her: disappointment, sadness, guilt, anger. And she wasn’t sure which one was justified, or if any were. She knew it wasn’t easy for Phillip to have access to a phone. But a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he really wanted to call, wouldn’t he be able to find a way?

The last handful of times they’d talked, she’d been the one to initiate the call. And they’d all been dismal failures. Bad connections. Bad timing. Bad everything.

As she looked at the phone, she tried to convince herself to pick it up, to try again. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she wouldn’t. She wanted him to be the one to make the next move. While she knew marriage wasn’t about keeping score, she also knew it took more than one person to keep a boat afloat. And lately she felt like she was the only one trying.

She grabbed the cordless phone and headed back into the kitchen. More out of habit than hunger, she opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator. God bless Marie. The fridge was stocked with all of her favorites. Cool air washed over her as she stared at the food, trying to make a decision. In the end, even though she hadn’t eaten all day, she closed the doors, and, instead, poured herself a tall glass of wine.

Hitting speed dial, she waited for her mom to pick up. On the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in, and Anna left a quick message.

The house was so quiet—unnaturally so; the only noise was the fridge humming quietly in the background. When was the last time she’d been home alone? Usually the moment she walked through the door, a dozen things demanded her attention. But tonight, there was nothing but peace and quiet.

Taking her wine and the phone, she went into the family room, kicking off her pumps along the way. She groaned with pleasure as her stocking feet sank into the thick white carpet. As she sat down in one of the matching chairs, she heard the crinkle of paper beneath her.

She pulled it out. It was one of Cody’s sketches. A drawing of a dog. For months he’d been barraging her and Phillip for a puppy. His hints had been none too subtle.

Just like all of the drawings he’d done lately, she hadn’t seen this one. She marveled once more at his talent, a skill he most definitely had not gotten from her. His artistic ability had come directly from his father.