Touching Stars (31 page)

“Better a scar than a memory?” Ma finished sponging the area. “There’s no reason to bandage it tonight, not if you’re going to bathe. You can wrap it yourself after the bath, and I’ll do a better job for you in the morning.”

“You’ve been extraordinarily kind.”

She lit the lantern, since it was growing dark. “Kindness is one of the few indulgences left to us.” She turned to me. “Robby, you’ll help Mr. Brewer?”

I didn’t relish the thought. But I knew that he would need my help getting in and out of the tub because of the awkwardly bound leg.

I nodded. She gave me the lantern, then started toward the door. But when she got there, she turned.

“What was her name?” she asked.

“Whose?”

“The woman you loved so well that you tattooed her name on your hand?”

“Daisy.”

“Oh, I thought perhaps Josephine or Julia.”

“No, her name was Daisy. All but a part of the
D
is gone.”

Ma nodded, then gathered her skirts to slip through the door. She had been gone a moment before he spoke again.

“I don’t suppose you understand how lucky you are to have a woman like that as your mother,” Blackjack said.

I thought perhaps he was right, but I was sorry he had the good sense to see it.

G
ayle collapsed into the most comfortable armchair in the carriage house living room, slipped off her shoes and closed her eyes. The silence was a heavy cloak, and when the refrigerator thrummed to attention in the kitchen, she jumped.

While she knew she should consider solitude something of a luxury, the absence of sons felt strange. Jared, Leon and Dillon would be sleeping at camp all week, and Noah had elected to stay behind this evening and enjoy the remnants of the campfire with his friends. As she’d walked back to the Allen farm for her pickup, she had heard bits and pieces of a lively debate about Blackjack’s true identity. With that question to puzzle over, she didn’t expect Noah home much before midnight.

On arriving, she had done a last-minute check at the inn, turned off unnecessary lights, moved breakfast casseroles and raspberry coffeecakes from the freezer to the refrigerator, and made certain that Paula had remembered to fill both coffeepots and set the timer so there would be fresh coffee when the guests wandered down tomorrow morning. An older couple visiting from the Midwest had captured her and asked an endless list of questions. Clearly they hadn’t paid attention at check-in or browsed through the folders in their room, which covered everything from the inn’s history to calling long distance to Bora Bora.

She was so tired that she wasn’t sure what she needed to do first. Take a nap so she would have the energy to run a bath and soak before bed? Take the nap
in
the bathtub? Fall asleep fully clothed on top of the vintage crocheted spread that graced her bed?

She was still considering the alternatives when someone rapped on the carriage-house door.

“There are extra towels and a hair dryer under the sink, just like it says on the sign in every single bathroom,” she muttered, as she got up and trudged to the door. “Firmer pillows on the top shelf of your closet. Breakfast starts at eight-thirty.”

She flipped on her innkeeper smile, opened the door and found Eric. He held out a bottle of red wine. “Zinfandel. A particularly good one, according to the guy at the Woodstock Café and Shoppes. And you need a glass. You look whipped.”

She was too tired to refuse and risk a fight, and besides, a glass of wine sounded like the perfect prelude to a better night’s sleep.

She opened the door wider, scanning the darkness after he joined her, just to make sure the inquisitive guests weren’t planning a visit, too.

“I almost didn’t make it,” Eric said. “An older couple’s staying in the room next to mine. When they saw this bottle, they had to know every single thing about where I bought it, why I’d chosen zinfandel, and if I thought Virginia wine was worth a try. I thought I’d never get away.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“You sit. I’ll find the glasses.”

“Top shelf in the cupboard beside the fridge.”

She settled back into the armchair and closed her eyes. Some time later, when she opened them, he was standing in front of her with a glass and a plate of cheese and crackers.

“I bet you didn’t eat tonight.” He held out his wares, and she gratefully took both.

“I nibbled while I cooked.”

Eric made himself comfortable on the end of the sofa closest to her and held up his own glass in toast. “The catering gig will be over soon.”

“What are we drinking to?” she asked, mimicking the toast. “The end of a long day?”

“How about two people who’ve managed to stay pretty good friends, considering everything.”

She lifted her glass higher in agreement, but she wondered if it was true. She supposed the end of the summer would tell the tale.

“Of course, we’ve hardly seen each other in twelve years.” She took a sip, admired it, then took another. “There are advantages to having an ex-husband who jets from continent to continent.”

“I’m pretty hard to fight with. Before you can warm up, I’m out of cell-phone range.”

“I’ve wondered a time or two if that’s what keeps you moving.”

“That and the extraordinary number of sneakers these guys go through every year.”

“It’s just as well I can never find you. We might lose our title and trophy.”

“We worked pretty well together today.”

“How so?”

“You trusted me to find out what’s up with Jared.”

She’d been so tired, that conversation had slipped her mind. “And did you?”

“We took a walk together. We made some headway.”

She waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, she didn’t pry. She knew Eric would tell her what he could, when he could. In the meantime, Jared’s problems were on his father’s shoulders. And although she was worried, she also felt confident the matter was being well handled.

The novelty of that was delicious.

“So why are you smiling?” he asked.

“It’s just nice, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“Having you involved. Not feeling like I have to do all this by myself.” The moment she’d said it, she wished she could take it back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as a criticism.”

He waved her words away. “We both know it’s true. You’ve done most of the worrying. While I’m here, you can let me have my turn.”

“Then you’ll earn your keep.”

He sat back and propped his feet on the coffee table, as if he had been doing it for years. “Do we have that much to worry about? They’re good kids.”

“That’s a generous thing to say, considering how Noah’s treated you.”

“It’s pretty hard to tell him he’s wrong. Although I’m feeling a strong need to work on his manners.”

Gayle started on the crackers and cheese, silently offering the plate to Eric, who shook his head. “There’s always something to worry about, even with good kids,” she said.

“Like what?”

“The usual.” From his expression, she realized he didn’t really know what that meant. “Grades, nutrition, their friends, whether they’re busy enough, whether they’re too busy. Whether they’ll make the third out in the ninth inning. Why they didn’t get invited to the biggest party of the year. Why they feel obligated to announce in the middle of Sunday school that they’re thinking of joining the Hare Krishnas.”

“Who on earth did that?”

“Nobody yet, but I wouldn’t put it past Dillon.”

“Just remind him he’ll be expected to shave his head and sell flowers in the airport.”

“I’m afraid he’d be pretty good at both.”

He laughed. “He reminds me of me at that age.”

She doubted Eric could have said anything that would more clearly show he was finally beginning to bond with his son.

“So now will I start worrying about them after I leave?” he asked. “Does it come with the territory?”

“You never worried about them before?”

“Well, sure, when I knew they were sick, or when I figured out they were sitting on the bench too much during soccer games. But I guess little things like the food pyramid and Cs in geometry went straight over my head.”

“They worried about you.” She paused. “We all did.”

“You mean after you heard what happened?”

“No, I mean whenever you walked out of our lives. When you and I were married and you were gone, I worried all the time. The boys took up the slack after the divorce.”

“How much do they worry?”

“When they were little, I used to listen to their bedtime prayers, and you were always the top item.”

“I guess telling them not to worry is an exercise in futility now.”

“Now more than ever.”

He worked on his wine a while, and she ate a couple of crackers. Sitting quietly with Eric didn’t seem strange. Maybe it didn’t feel quite natural, but it was comfortable enough. During their marriage, between his job and their rapidly growing family, they’d had very few quiet evenings. But they had often sat in silence when the opportunity occurred. Now she wondered if this was because they’d had such a small plot of common ground to nurture that they’d really had little to say to each other.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever have anything to worry about again,” he said at last.

“No?”

“I spoke to my bureau chief this evening. He wants to know when I’m coming back.”

“He doesn’t have a lot of patience, does he?”

“What surprised me more was that he still wants me. After everything.”

“You thought you were getting the pink slip?”

“More like green pastures. I thought they’d just want me out of sight somewhere.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Rushed.”

She nodded over the top of her wineglass. The zinfandel was doing its work. She had been exhausted but not necessarily relaxed. Now the two shared a home.

“So what did you tell him?” she asked.

“I told him to start looking for a replacement.”

She tried to read Eric’s expression. She thought he seemed relieved, but there was something else she couldn’t put her finger on.

“You don’t look like a man who’s sure he’s made the right decision.”

“I know I don’t want to go back to the Mideast. Not now, and maybe not ever. The time may have come to find my own green pastures. Maybe get into production somewhere and stop putting my life on the line. Maybe I’ve just reached a saturation point.”

“Burnout?”

“Maybe. Or a better sense of my own mortality.”

She tried to imagine that, but somehow, a vision of Eric as someone who produced the news, not lived it from the world’s hot spots, just wouldn’t come. Despite what he’d been through. Despite his very real fears.

She probed a little. “You’re still recovering. I bet the nightmares aren’t gone yet, are they? Is this the right time to make a decision?”

“I know one thing I want.”

She cocked her head in question.

“To give you a neck rub. It’s been that kind of day. Come here.”

Eric gave wonderful neck rubs. They were unforgettable, and no matter how exhausted Gayle had been when the children were young and he was still living with them, he’d been able to work miracles.

But they weren’t married now, and this wasn’t his home. She was wary.

“Hey, no strings.” He grinned. “And no, I haven’t forgotten this used to be the prelude to something else. But I’m not angling for anything except a chance to ease those knots out of your neck and shoulders.”

She opened her mouth to say no and realized that was probably what he expected.

“You bet,” she said. “I could really use one. Where do you want me?”

He looked surprised, then pleased. “Good for you. Right here on the floor in front of me.”

She got up and settled herself between his knees, leaning back against the sofa. She schooled herself not to jump when he rested his hands on her shoulders. Then his thumbs began to work their magic, magic that was still surprisingly familiar.

He pressed and wiggled his thumbs for a while before he spoke. “I never really gave much thought to what I put you and the kids through when I gallivanted around the world.”

“You were always so glad to go, I doubt you gave much of anything else a second thought.”

He pressed harder, digging his thumbs into the muscles bordering her spine. “You make it sound like I couldn’t wait to leave you. And that wasn’t it.”

“I think I knew that. There was just a certain sparkle in your eyes when you had an exciting assignment. Let’s face it, you live for excitement.”

“I did.”

She bent her head farther forward to give him greater access. “When you came home, most of the time you still had some of that sparkle. Being with us was an adventure, too, at least for a little while. I could always tell when you would start thinking about leaving. Because the sparkle began to dim.”

“Pretty predictable for somebody who prided himself on living on the edge.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” She leaned into the weight of his palms against her back. Eric had wide, strong hands. She remembered how, when he had first come back from Afghanistan, she had been appalled at how thin and old they had seemed, his fingers like talons. Now they felt capable, assured and strong. He was recovering, but what exactly did that mean?

“How does this feel?”

She laughed. The sound was shakier than she would have liked. “Like a neck rub twelve years in the making.”

“Surely it hasn’t been that long.”

She knew he was fishing.
I’ll tell you about my love life if you’ll tell me about yours.

“No one gives one quite like you,” she said.

“What about Travis?”

“Travis and I aren’t on the neck-rub circuit together.”

“That surprises me. He seems like a man with excellent taste in everything.”

She smiled at the compliment and was glad he couldn’t see her. “We’re good friends, and that’s what we really value. We’ve both been married, both aren’t presently. Both of us know what it means to see our lives take a turn we never expected.”