Twilight (11 page)

She swiped the back of one wrist on the nubby towel hung over her shoulder to absorb the excess sludge as she worked. A rust-colored dampness ran onto her white T-shirt, but it didn’t matter. It was a work shirt, and it felt good to be grubby.

She jumped at the rap on the open door, and the motion translated to a wobbly lip on the pot between her fingers. Dragging her foot on the spinning cement disk, she brought the listing pot to a stop.

Cal slouched against the jamb with his bad-boy stance and crooked smile. “Wanna go to the prom?”

Her heart lurched. How did he do that? She tugged the towel from her shoulder and rubbed each finger. “I already did. With the cutest guy in the senior class.” And what was he doing there in her doorway after giving her the snub?

“Cute, huh?”

“You were, then.” She rehung the towel on her shoulder.

“And now?”

She didn’t want to think about now. But she scrutinized him anyway. Cute was definitely not the word anymore. “Kind of rugged.”

“It’s the scar.”

It was more than that; the manly line of his jaw, the lean musculature apparent even through his jeans and sweat shirt, his ropy neck and tousled hair. “How’d you get it?” She chipped a dry edge of clay from the surface of her nail.

“Risking life and limb. I really am a good bet.”

“I know that.” More than he guessed. And more than she’d show. He sauntered in, nodded at the wheel. “I thought you weren’t throwing.”

“I thought we weren’t talking.”

He shrugged. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

“That’s big of you.” Her tone was sharper than she intended, defensive. She had tried not to let his rejection hurt, but it had. She sliced the pot from the wheel and crumpled it back into the clay bucket, then plunged her hands into the tub of water beside the wheel.

“Sorry about the pot.”

She shrugged. “There are more where that came from.”

“It’s good to see you working.” Cal ran a finger through the reddish sludge on the metal disk of the wheel.

“You’re the only one who ever thought so.” Laurie dried her hands, catching a thin line of terra-cotta down the inside of one finger, glad she’d seen it before he did. Cal used to tease her about mechanic’s hands. She wiped it clean. “How did you get in?”

“Maddie. Sort of. She did close the door in my face, but she used no bolts or barricades.”

Both children stampeded the doorway at once. “Can we have our presents?”

“What presents?”

“From him.” Luke thumbed Cal, and Laurie frowned.

“He has a name, Luke.” But she glared at Cal. Here she was stinging from his rebuff, but making the best of it, and what did he do? Showed up with gifts and tokens, demonstrations of his affection. Or was it repentance this time? Or bribery, like throwing a steak to the guard dogs when you want to sneak in. Whatever the reason, he knew how she hated that.

“Can we?” Maddie piped.

Laurie fumed. He’d put her on the spot and he knew it.

He roughed up Luke’s head. “It’s okay by me.”

That’s right, make it worse. She looked at Luke’s pleading eyes and sighed. The children took it as agreement and flew down the stairs. Laurie tossed down the towel and started after.

“Do they always try to occupy the same physical space?” Cal motioned her by, and she stalked through the door before he could get any closer. It was bad enough that he thought he could shmooze her with gifts.

The children were on their knees with the bag on the floor. She sat down on the sleeper couch. Cal dropped to the other end of it and hung his arm across the back. He looked annoyingly pleased with himself.

Maddie pulled the stuffed dog from the bag and squealed. She squeezed it to her cheek, then jumped up and squeezed Cal. With a raise of his eyebrows, he put an arm around her, and she wiggled into his lap.

“What are you going to call it?” Cal shifted her on his knee.

“Doggie.”

“Seems to fit.”

Maddie bounced the dog on his knee. “What would you call her?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tipped his head to examine the dog. “She’s kind of fluffy.”

“Fluffy. Her name is Fluffy.” Maddie beamed and pressed the dog to Cal’s cheek. He hugged them both.

Laurie bristled. What right did Cal have to worm his way into their hearts? To buy their affection? Especially after giving her the brush off? But why was she taking it personally? He was just a friend, making amends.

Her chest squeezed. He was so natural with Maddie. He wasn’t trying to buy their affection. That was Brian’s game. Brian had always tried to seem larger than life. He would have bought a pony or a ceiling-high giraffe instead of a child-sized puppy. He’d wanted awe from his children. From everyone.

“Tarzan!” Eyes wide and gleeful, Luke raised the handheld video game for her to see.

“Batteries are in the bag.” Cal nudged it his way.

Of course, Cal would know just the thing to get for Luke. Her son had not stopped talking about him since the fishing outing. She could only imagine the barrage that would follow this visit. Laurie stood and pulled Luke to his feet. “And now it’s bedtime.”

“Aw …”

She held up a finger and he stopped. He could always read her moods.

“Can I play it in bed?”

“If you’re ready in five minutes. Go on, Maddie.” Laurie eased her out of Cal’s lap and sent her running for the stairs. “Brush your teeth!” She ought to help Maddie. She ought to do anything to get away from there. She sensed Cal watching her and wanted to run up the stairs herself.

He glanced at his watch. “Isn’t it early for bed?”

At least he had the sense not to question her before the children left.

“I have early mornings. At Maple’s.” Though she blessedly wasn’t working tomorrow. “I keep their routine even when I’m off.” Even so, it was early, though with the days so short the children might not realize. And she could limit the mileage Cal got from those gifts. He didn’t attach expectations, but she did. Either way, she couldn’t stop the turbulence within her. He was playing dirty. First he tells her to get lost, and she spends the week fending off the children’s questions, then he shows up with bribes. “You know I hate—”

He tossed her a small box. “You didn’t get yours.”

She stared at the box. She wanted to throw it back at him, tell him she wasn’t for sale, and even if she was, she was out of his range. She wanted to holler and stamp her foot and tell him to take his gift and—

“Go on, open it.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” She didn’t want him to. Brian, yes. She had expected gifts; they were her due. But not Cal. His giving was different somehow. It came from the heart. And she could not allow that.

“Don’t get hung up on it.”

He knew her too well. He’d known when he brought the gifts how she’d react, but he did it anyway. Why? Why did he consider it his duty to go against her grain? She sat down, faced him squarely.

He smiled. “Just open it.” Cal tugged the flap of the box for her. “I know you like Giorgio, but it’s a little hard to come by on short notice.”

And she wouldn’t accept it. She knew well enough the dollar amount on that. He was insufferable, but she reached in and slid out the bottle. Beautiful by Estée Lauder. It was eau de parfume, but she felt grateful for that. She’d been out of scent the last three days, and wouldn’t dare squander what little money she made at Maple’s. His gift was perfect.

“Oh, Cal.” She pulled the lid off and spritzed the hollow of her throat. The aroma filled her lungs. A nice scent. Her skin burned beneath her collarbones as she leaned toward him. “What do you think?”

He shook his head. “I better not try. Besides, there’s a new woman in my life.”

It was like ice rushing from her head to her heart. Had he learned to be cruel? And anyway, what was she doing acting like this? She’d set the limits, and she knew why. Laurie closed the bottle. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Kind of a strawberry blonde, I guess. Brown eyes, long nose, shaggy.”

Her fingers froze on the lid.

“I found her in the woods this evening. She’d hurt her hind leg.” He grinned. “I named her Annie.”

Laurie raised her chin. “She’s a dog?”

“Retriever mix, as best I can tell.”

Why was she surprised? He always tweaked her rope. “That’s cruel, Cal.”

“I thought it might take the pressure off.”

She turned away, and he tugged a strand of her hair. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” She couldn’t. She wouldn’t let herself. Things were far too complicated as it was.

“Really?” He pulled her close and dropped his head to breathe her perfume.

She knew it was coming before he kissed her. When his mouth met hers a rush of warmth filled her. She’d expected it, wanted it. She’d probably even telegraphed it. Now she fought it and pulled away.

He searched her face, confused, hurt. He would be, after her ridiculous behavior, leading him on, flirting. What was she doing?

“You agreed to be friends.” It sounded feeble.

“Why?”

Tell him the truth
. “More reasons than I want to go into.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

She shook her head. “Nothing makes sense. It never has with us.”

“Ah, come on. That’s not true.”

“I just can’t, okay?” She needed him to leave, to move his body away from hers. She needed him to stop loving her.
Liar
. That’s why she’d come, homing in like a wing-wearied pigeon to the one man who—
No!
The constriction in her chest pressed the air from her lungs in small, shallow waves. If he kissed her again would she stop him? Could she?
Tell him the truth
. Was that her conscience? Did she even have one? She’d done her best to ignore it for years now. But hadn’t conscience driven her here? Conscience … and fear.

Cal leaned back. He studied her with eyes more understanding than she could bear, then held out his hand. “Okay. Friends.”

Her heart sank. She looked down at his hand as though the gesture were lost on her. Then reaching out, she shook it, smiling faintly. When he left, she felt the void, the loneliness, the ache. She wrapped it around herself and cried.

6

W
ORRY IS INTEREST PAID ON TROUBLE

BEFORE IT FALLS DUE
.

W. R. Inge

E
ARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Laurie struck a match and held it to the wick of the cranberry-scented candle on the metal shelf of the floor lamp. Luke’s face glowed as he watched it ignite and puckered his lips to extinguish the match. After he blew, she handed it over, still smoking. “Run it under the faucet before you throw it away.”

“Okay.” He scampered to the kitchen, then returned to snuggle onto the sleeper sofa with her and Maddie.

A whole day. All to themselves. They’d had fried eggs and pancakes for breakfast, something Laurie rarely allowed herself, and now with a stack of library books beside them, she held both her children close and reveled.

It sobered her how much she cherished this time. Maybe she wasn’t as evolved as her friends, as cosmopolitan as Brian would have liked. Maybe she was, after all, a product of Montrose, although it had always been expected she would exceed it. Maddie dug through the stack and pulled a book loose, flopping it into Laurie’s lap.

Thanksgiving Mouse
. It was only days before that holiday would be upon them. She shuddered, remembering the hours in the kitchen with Mother watching every move she made. The criticism had crippled her, and she’d been all too pleased to trade in the tradition of a family meal for the elegant spread at the club with Brian and his friends … but not Luke and Maddie.

Kids had stayed home with Gail and had stuffed Cornish hens, Gail’s specialty.

Had Laurie ever cooked a Thanksgiving meal for her family? Ever had them all gathered together counting their blessings as Grams had insisted when they circled the table in Daddy’s house?

“Read it, Mommy.”

Laurie smiled down at Maddie’s upturned face and opened the book. “ ‘There was once a mouse who lived all alone. His name was Sam.’ ” For some reason she thought of Cal. Would he have Thanksgiving with Mildred and Cissy?

“ ‘He was a very small mouse with tiny feet and tiny whiskers and a tail that was bent to one side.’ ” Cal was neither small nor malformed, but for some reason the analogy stuck. “ ‘The other mice looked down on him. “What good are you? What can you do?” they said. “We have no use for you.” Sam turned circles and hopped on one foot. But the other mice scorned him. “Go away, we do not enjoy your tricks.” ’ ”

Laurie looked at Luke, who was sounding out
tricks
with her. He looked up with a smile, and her heart flipped. Nothing must ever stifle his willingness to try, his pleasure in succeeding. Maddie turned the page.

“ ‘For weeks and weeks the mice gathered food for their Thanksgiving feast. Sam watched as they carried the large, tasty grains from the tall stalks in the field. He could not climb to the top, for his tail would not wrap the stalk and his feet were not strong. He had only one small grain that had fallen to the ground.’ ”

Maddie fumbled with the page, and at last got it turned. Laurie smoothed it and read on. “ ‘On Thanksgiving day each mouse carried the best of his grains to the feasting table at the top of the hill. Sam carried the poor small grain, which was all he had gathered. His head hung sadly when he saw the wonderful things the others had brought.’ ”

This time Luke beat Maddie to the page and turned it with deft fingers. Maddie pouted, but Laurie tapped her nose with a smile. “Look, Maddie, how sad poor Sam looks.”

Maddie searched the page, her face filled with childish compassion.

“ ‘The mice were angry. “Is that all you have? Will you eat the good things we have brought? No, you will not. Go away, Sam. We have no use for you.” ’ ” It hit too close to home. Sam didn’t measure up, so he was not to be accepted. Just as she … just as Cal.

“ ‘Sam turned to go, taking his one small grain to have for his Thanksgiving day feast. Suddenly a gang of rats with long sharp teeth and angry eyes came to the top of the hill. “Go away mice. We want your food.” ’ ”