The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (26 page)

“I don’t need a vacation.” Laura shook her head sorrowfully. “And it’s not just that you haven’t been yourself lately—” She paused to pull in a breath, her cheeks reddening. “The thing is…well, the thing is I can’t work here any more.” She put a hand out, as if to stave off Sam’s protests. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love you. But…but it’s just too hard. Seeing you every day, and knowing—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

Sam shouldn’t have been surprised. Hadn’t she sensed it coming? At the same time she felt as if she’d been struck a blow. “Oh, Laura. I can understand you feeling this way now, but in time…” She faltered. What did she want to say? That things would be better when the baby was here?

“You
don’t
understand,” Laura cried. “You don’t understand one little bit. How could you?
You
had your turn to be a mother. And now… well, it isn’t
fair.
” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “There, I’ve said it. You probably think I’m mean and horrible, but I can’t help how I feel.”

Sam reached out to her, only to have Laura shrink away. “Oh, honey,” she said, close to tears herself, “I don’t think you’re horrible. If it’s any consolation, I wish it
had
been you.”

“But it isn’t.” Laura regarded her forlornly. “And there’s no use pretending I’ll get over it because I won’t.”

Sam wanted to cry out in protest, but held her tongue. “What will you do?”

“I’ll stay long enough to help you train someone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I have a few possibilities lined up.” Laura shrugged, her eyes not meeting Sam’s; she’d always been a terrible liar. When she looked up her face seemed to plead with Sam to understand. “I’m not doing this to punish you, Mom. Please don’t think that. It’s not like it is with Alice.”

Sam sighed. “I know, honey.”

“Think of it this way.” Laura mustered a faint smile. “Think of all the money you’ll save.”

“How so?”

“We’re down twenty percent from this time last year,” she said—as if Sam needed reminding. “Face it, Mom, you can’t afford me.”

Sam stiffened. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Just because things are a little slow right now—” She stopped, appalled to hear Martin’s tired rationalizations coming out of her mouth. Turning away to compose herself, she asked softly, “Can we talk this over later? When I’ve had a chance to think it through?”

“Sure, absolutely.”

In Laura’s desperate eagerness to please, Sam could see the enormous courage it must have taken for her to make such a stand. She even admired her for it. But none of that made it any easier to swallow. It was like those old Saturday matinee serials where the footbridge is being blown up as the hero races to cross it. Everything she’d ever worked for, everything she’d held dear, was disintegrating at her heels. How had it come to this? She’d spent a lifetime looking to others’ needs. All she’d asked in return was a little happiness of her own. She hadn’t meant for it to destroy everyone she loved.

“It’s all right, Laura. I understand.” Her voice was weary.

“It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.” Laura was quick to respond. “We’ll still see each other. Alice will come around, too, you’ll see. And there’s Ian. Remember, you still have Ian.”

“Hi. Sorry to wake you. My flight was delayed.” Ian’s voice drifted toward her through a blizzard of static.

“What time is it?” She fumbled with her pillow, positioning it against the headboard as she pulled herself upright.

“A few minutes past two. You said to phone when I got in.”

Sam squinted groggily at the clock on the night-stand. Ten past, to be exact. “It’s okay. I’m glad you did.” She smiled sleepily in the darkness. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me, too.” He sounded tired, and much too far away. In the background, airport sounds crackled and hummed. “But listen, Sam, there’s been a slight change of plans.”

She grew suddenly alert. “Oh?”

A static-filled pause, then, “Shit. Sorry. Wrong bag.” She heard him breathing hard at the other end, then the garbled bleating of a PA system. “There. I’ve got it.”

“Ian?” She was wide-awake now. “What is it?”

“Another commission. In Big Sur. Old Man Aaronson wants a portrait of his mother. I’m sure Markie put him up to it, but hell, the money is too good to turn down.”

“Who’s Markie?”

“His daughter.”

“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

There was an awkward beat before Ian replied, “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

She knew with sudden certainty that he’d kept it from her. She didn’t know how she knew; she just did. She recalled the girl in the silver convertible the night she arrived: pretty, dark haired. Just someone from the office, he’d said. Why hadn’t he told the truth?

All of a sudden she had trouble catching her breath. “How long this time?”

“Two weeks, tops.”

“Will I see you before you go?”

“Afraid not. They’re sending a car.”

“Why the rush?”

“The old lady leaves for Europe in a couple of weeks,” he explained.

“I suppose you’ll be staying at their house.”

“Yeah, and here’s the good part.” Ian sounded excited. “I’ll have the guest house, which means you can visit on weekends. I’ve already talked to the Aaronsons about it. They’re cool with it.”

Sam felt suddenly irritated. If he expected her to be equally delighted, he had another think coming. What did he imagine she was, some free-spirited twenty-something who could take off on a whim? Had he even remembered she was pregnant?

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “There’s a lot going on right now.”

“Is everything okay?” At once, his tone turned solicitous. “What did the doctor say?”

They’d agreed to put off any discussion of the baby until his return. She didn’t want her future decided over the phone. Now she realized that that had been a mistake. The days and weeks of skirting the issue had given room to doubt.

“She gave me a clean bill of health.” Sam aimed for an upbeat tone.

“And the baby?”

“The baby’s fine.”

She waited for him to say something. But there were only the distant sounds of horns honking and people bellowing. He was outside now, walking briskly. Then, “I see it—the limo. Listen, I’ll call you when I get there. Will you be around in a few hours?”

“If I’m not here, try me at work.” She said nothing about Laura’s precipitous announcement.

There was a silence, and for a moment she thought they’d been cut off. Then, in a voice almost too low to hear, he said, “I miss you, babe. Just a little while longer. Can you hang on until then?”

“I’ll try.” She managed a little laugh.

“Sam…” His voice faded into the static, but not before she thought she heard a faint,
I love you.
Then the line went dead.

She wanted to weep with frustration. There was so much she longed to say, so much she needed to hear. Words that would reassure her, that would pave the way for the future. For the idea of his moving in with her was still unimaginable…as unimaginable as her moving in with him. And what about the baby? Only one thing was sure: They couldn’t go on like this, like lovers in a Rohmer film.

Yet wasn’t this the handwriting on the wall? The reason she felt like crying? In her mind she saw her old kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Ogilvie, bending over a drawing she’d done. “What’s missing from this picture?” she’d asked. “I see a mommy and a daddy, but no Samantha.”
Where is Samantha now?
Sam wondered. She no longer saw a place for herself, much less Ian, in the life she’d once imagined.

She would have to come to a decision. Soon. A decision that, whichever way she turned, would mean hurting someone she loved.

Sam flopped over in bed. Getting back to sleep would be impossible. She would simply lie here, counting the hours until daylight.

Ian didn’t call until after she’d left for work. The message was on her machine when she got home; apparently he hadn’t felt the need to track her down at the shop. That evening, when they finally spoke, their conversation was strained. She told him she’d see if she could arrange to drive up the following weekend since she’d already made plans for this one. She gave him a brief fill on the house, playing down Tom’s role in the whole thing.

Saturday morning, when Tom arrived to pick her up, she was surprised by how glad she was to see him. They chatted easily along the way, though he seemed a bit subdued. They talked mainly about the house, Tom explaining it would need some painting and interior work, and possibly a new roof as well.

Sam was expecting the worst when, after several miles of back roads lined with citrus and avocado groves, they turned onto a rutted dirt lane. All she could see of the house was a weather vane in the shape of a rooster poking above the treetops.

“Like I said, it’s not much,” Tom warned. “Doesn’t look as if the owner did much in the way of repairs.” He pulled to a stop before a small frame house badly in need of paint. Pink fairy roses grew in a thick tangle around the porch, climbing up over the railing.

There was a flurry of movement as they got out: ground squirrels scampering across the weed-choked yard. Partially shading the front walk was a pomegranate tree. Badly overgrown, its branches bent so low they were brushing the ground, it was nevertheless hung like a Christmas tree with ruby-colored globes. It seemed an omen of some kind. When she was pregnant with Laura and Alice, pomegranates had been the only thing she’d craved.

Upon closer inspection, she found the house in better shape than she’d dared hope. Someone had taken the time and care to strip and varnish its wooden shutters and the front door was of solid oak with a beveled glass oval.

Tom produced a key and she followed him into a darkened living room smelling of dust and mouse droppings. She threw open the shutters and light flooded in, revealing a shabby sofa and chairs, a braided rug marked with burns. The fireplace was clearly functional. A basket of kindling stood on the hearth alongside with a set of blackened tools.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said. “At least the roof is sound.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“The smell.” Every winter during the brief rainy season, Isla Verde sprang dozens of leaks. For weeks the house always smelled of damp carpeting and must.

Tom bent to examine the chimney flue; he tapped the floorboards and moldings. When he flicked the switch and the light didn’t come on, he tramped down to the basement to check the fuse box. He even looked to see what kind of shape the plumbing was in.

In the kitchen he pulled his head out from under the sink and stood up brushing bits of dirt from his slacks. “I’m no expert,” he said, “but except for the living room floor everything looks to be in pretty solid shape. A few repairs, a coat of paint, and you should have no trouble selling it.”

“How much do you think I could get?” She fingered a skeletal philodendron on the sill that miraculously showed signs of life.

“Sixty, seventy thousand. Maybe more, depending on how much work you want to do.”

“In that case, the first place I’d start is this kitchen.”

She looked around at the dated ranch-style cabinets; the ancient beige linoleum peeling away from the floor like an old Band-Aid; the stove and refrigerator in a particularly unappetizing shade, popular in the seventies, known as harvest gold. On the plus side, there was a sliding glass door off the breakfast nook, with a small patio and garden beyond. A jungle, of course. But with a couple of helpers and a few weeks’ hard work…

“I know a contractor who doesn’t charge an arm and a leg. I could give him a call if you’d like,” Tom offered.

“I’d knock out the wall between those two back bedrooms, too,” she went on, only half listening. “Make it one large room, and use the master bedroom as a guest room.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. “You’d certainly get more money that way. Look, I know a good realtor, too. I could—”

“I’m not going to sell it.”

An idea was forming. One so revolutionary she hardly dared voice it. Why not rent out Isla Verde and live
here
instead? There was plenty of room for the baby, and the money she’d save would kill two birds with one stone: give her enough to pay off back taxes and make this place livable. Not only that…not only that…she could—well, of course, why hadn’t she thought of it before?—she could put
Laura
in charge Delarosa’s. When the baby came she’d have to take time off anyway. If Laura were running things…

“I’m going to live here myself,” she said. The prospect left her slightly breathless.

“Why on earth would you want to do that?” Tom stared at her in disbelief, his glasses, knocked slightly askew, giving him an endearingly befuddled look.

She didn’t owe him an explanation, but there was something about the way he was looking at her—like a little boy peering out expectantly at the postman coming up the walk, hoping that
this
would be the day his official forest ranger walkie-talkie set would come.

“For one thing,” she said, “Martin didn’t exactly leave me well off.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to hold his gaze. “For another, I’m going to have a baby.”

If he’d looked befuddled before, Tom now looked positively poleaxed. “I see.” He spoke softly, with the air of someone who didn’t see at all, who might have been standing on the railroad tracks with a train whistling toward him, for all he knew.

She felt an odd sympathy for this man who’d been her husband’s friend and partner, and who might have been something more to her if not for Ian. “It was a shock, as you can imagine. It’s taken me a while to get used to the idea,” she plowed on resolutely. “But now it’s time to face facts. Isla Verde has gotten to be more than I can handle. At my age, with a baby…” She saw no reason to spell it out.

Tom blinked, rousing from his trancelike state with what appeared to be an effort. “If it’s a question of money, I’d be happy to lend you some.”

She felt deeply touched, and not just by his generosity. She placed a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Tom, but you’ve done enough as it is.”

“It’s not just the money, Sam.” He paused, his face reddening. “I know this is probably the world’s worst timing, but I’d even thought, well, that you and I…that we might…” He let the sentence trail off.