Twilight (3 page)

A swing set and sandbox looked as though they’d aged along with the ancient, fenced garden plot and the cracked and peeling bench that circled the massive oak in the center of the yard. Around the edge, shrubs and dry, clinging vines fleshed out the skeleton fence. The foundation was masked by flower beds of brown brittle mums and bachelor buttons, gone to seed. The beds smelled of mulch.

He had a hard time reconciling Laurie to this domestic scene. An uptown apartment with a steady stream of glittering, influential guests was more like it. But then, both of those were hard to find in Montrose. He went in and washed. Laurie was breaking lettuce into a bowl, and the microwave hummed.

“I think they’re about defrosted.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and reached for the paring knife. Cal slid it to her, and she glanced up, meeting his eyes for a moment. She sliced a tomato onto the lettuce, flicked a gelatinous seed from her thumb, then set the salad aside. She removed the steaks from the microwave and handed them to him.

Forcing his jaw to relax, Cal carried them out to the fire. His friend Reggie would say this was therapy, and he should welcome the opportunity. He grasped the plate and what remained of his nerves.

The coals had white edges around small black centers. He must have doused them thoroughly to have them ready so quickly, or maybe they were those instant coals that didn’t need fluid. He hadn’t read the bag. With the long-handled fork, he stabbed the first steak and laid it on the grill. A shudder crawled up his spine as flame licked the meat, but he forked over the next, then the last, hearing the sizzle of the marinade as it met the coals. His hands began to sweat. “Oh, man,” he whispered.

Laurie’s hand on his arm made him jump, and he turned to find her standing with his Coke. “You always creep up like that?”

“I’m sorry.”

He felt like pulling her into his arms as he had so many times, but he took the Coke and chugged it, looking away. “So where’s Dad?”

“We’re not together.”

He’d expected it by her circumstances and the lack of a ring, but he couldn’t tell by her tone whether it was good or bad. “Are you sorry about that?”

“Let’s just say it’s a long story.” Now her voice had an edge.

“I heard you married some major league baseball player.”

“Minor.”

“Hmm?”

“Minor league. In everything but ego.” Her tone was soft, but biting. “He played a season with San Diego, but it was mostly farm club stuff. Anyway, his father had better things for him to do.”

“The senator.”

“Ex-senator.” A breath of wind flipped her hair across her cheek.

Cal eyed the steaks. “So how’d you pick Ray for the job?”

“First ad in the column.”

He nodded. “You didn’t know he was my neighbor.”

“No, Cal, I didn’t know.” With that hope-dasher, she went back inside.

The yard seemed gray and tired. After a few minutes, he turned the meat and congratulated himself on his steady hand. He could do this … as long as the flames stayed down.

Carrying the platter as a trophy, he joined Ray and Laurie in the kitchen. Ray had not moved, but Laurie had the table set around him. The swing of her hips as she carried over the salad and bread was unconsciously feminine. He used to follow her down the hall just to watch, but when he’d told her that, she’d gotten so self-conscious she had walked like a stick for weeks.

That memory surge didn’t help, and he clattered the plate on the table, then sprang for Laurie’s chair when she came over. His hand brushed her back as he eased the chair in, and the ends of her hair were like silk on his skin. His heart started pounding. Was she experiencing the same high-voltage sensations?

The steak was a little past the bloody stage, but not yet to a sophisticated warm, pink center. No one complained, so he didn’t offer to throw them back on. The meat, the cold, crisp salad, and wheat bread satisfied the rumbling of his stomach, but only time alone with Laurie would fill the rest. Ray absorbed everything edible that came within reach, then stood to go as soon as he finished.

Good boy. Now keep on moving for the door
.

Ray stopped, patted his pockets, and raised his eyes to Cal. Cal tossed him the keys. “You left them in the ignition.”

“Thanks.”

“I tell you what, Ray.” Cal wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on his plate. “You go ahead, and I’ll find my own way home.” His peripheral vision caught Laurie’s surprise and the frown that followed, but she said nothing as she cleared the plates to the sink. He’d take that as assent. He stood and, with his hand on Ray’s elbow, edged him toward the door.

Ray shrugged. “Okay. But I’m not coming back for you.”

“No problem.”

Cal watched Ray plod to the car, then returned to the kitchen. Laurie’s back was to him as she rubbed the plates in the soapy water, rinsed them under the faucet, then stood them on the drainer. Her twenty-eight years didn’t show. Her waist curved in smoothly beneath the T-shirt, and as she bent, the jeans tightened in only the right places.

As he watched her work, Cal drank in the sight of her, like some dream too good to be real. Now that it was just the two of them, the whole dynamic had intensified, shifting subtly from happenstance to purpose.

He couldn’t be around her without purpose. But what it was this time, he wasn’t sure. Just staying close maybe. Just believing she was there. But she wouldn’t buy that, not with their history. She would read more into this than he intended.

Her body language grew tense, angry almost, and that was not surprising. The brush of her hair back and forth against her shoulders was like a pendulum ticking back the time. But not far enough.

She faced him. “Do you expect to stay?”

“Depends what you mean by stay.” He had no illusions—even fewer when he saw the set of her jaw. And he hadn’t even tried to provoke her.

She pushed back her hair with a damp hand. “Do you think you can just pick up where we left off?”

Cal’s pulse throbbed in his throat. “Where we left off wasn’t so great. How about where we started?”

Turning back to the sink, she grabbed a glass and, in her haste, smacked it against the counter. Glass flew over the sink and floor. She gripped the edge and stood there without moving.

He sucked in her tension like bad air. Whatever she was doing here, her plans obviously didn’t include him. Big surprise. He stood. “I guess I misjudged things. I should go.”

She didn’t argue. Clearing the front steps two at a time, he started down the street. At this rate and distance, he’d make it home just when Mildred pegged him for a prowler.

Laurie drew a sharp breath as a glass shard pricked her finger. Gingerly, she extricated it and watched the blood bead. It clung to her fingertip in a perfect round sphere, then vanished in the cold stream from the faucet. Cal Morrison. As if she hadn’t trouble enough. And yes, Cal was trouble with a big, bold, block letter T.

She fished another piece of glass from the drain. Her finger was bleeding again, and this time not beading, but running. She tossed the glass into the trash and angled the water around the sides of the sink. His hair was shorter, but just as blond, just as unruly. His voice, his stance, his eyes … the way his mouth tipped into that sensuous smile …

She was shaking. What had he expected? But that was Cal. Eternal optimist. There’s always a way; just make it happen. She should have told him to go home with Ray, should have crushed any possibilities. She should have—

“Mommy?”

She spun as Maddie, in her coat and nightie, ran across the kitchen and plunged into her arms. In one motion, she caught and lifted her child. Maddie tightly wrapped her arms about her neck, lip trembling, her tiny chest still lurching with silent sobs. Laurie looked up.

She hadn’t heard the front door or any sounds of entry, but her mother stood in the kitchen doorway now, lips pressed into their permanently pained expression. “No matter what I tried …”

“She’s not used to it. This is all so new. The move, the change …”

“She doesn’t know me. She might have, of course, if you had deigned to visit.”

Laurie sensed Maddie begin to calm. “I came for Daddy’s funeral. You saw them then.”

Her mother’s smile thinned her lips even more. It was so patronizing, her I’m-wounded-but-I-won’t-argue smile.

Laurie accepted the guilt. “I’m sorry. It’ll be better now. They’ll get—”

“Maddie was scared.” Luke came in, carrying their little overnight bag. He set it down and shook the brown shaggy hair from his eyes. He needed it cut, but she resisted. He’d grown too serious for his five years, and the shaggy hair offset his somber eyes.

“We’ll try again. I’m sure in a few days …” She hated the entreating tone in her voice, more appeal than assurance.

Her mother pointed. “You’re bleeding.”

“I broke a glass. It’s no big deal.” She shifted Maddie to her hip and dabbed the finger with the dishcloth. “Thank you for bringing them back.”

“I told you I would if there was a problem.” Emphasis placed on problem, and a quick glance toward the source child.

Laurie deflected it. “I know you don’t like to drive after dark.” There she went, feeding her mother’s martyr syndrome and heaping the guilt on herself. A reflex.

The sigh was expected. “Well, good night.” Her mother’s back in the brown boucle coat was straight and narrow as she let herself out.

Laurie took a long breath. The one stroke of luck was that Mother hadn’t come while Cal Morrison was sitting in her kitchen.

A shudder passed through her at the thought. She looked down at Luke. “Did you tell Grandma that Maddie was scared?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t have to. She cried the whole time.”

Laurie tightened her arms around Maddie’s back and headed for the stairs. “Well, you’re home now, punkin. We’ll get you tucked in.”

“With you, Mommy.”

Laur ie paused at the landing. She shouldn’t. Probably she shouldn’t. The women at the club had been appalled when she admitted her three-year-old still slept with her. Not every night, she’d been quick to add, but the damage was done.

“Okay. Until you fall asleep.” She glanced down at Luke. “Did you like it at Grandma’s?”

He nodded. “She made ice-cream sundaes. But she put pineapple on them.” He scrunched up his nose.

Laurie smiled. “That’s her favorite part.”

“It’s kind of yucky with chocolate syrup.”

“I think so too. Jump into bed now, okay?”

Luke was easy. He bur rowed between the sheets. “ ’Night, honey.” She flipped the light switch with her elbow on the way out.

Laurie deposited Maddie on the full-sized bed, removed her coat, and pulled the covers over her. She walked to the closet, undressed, and changed into her own pajamas, then climbed in beside her child. The bed creaked. What could she expect from an old one she’d found at a yard sale four days ago when she’d come back to Montrose?

She snuggled next to Maddie. Already the tears were dried, and sleepy eyes suggested a countdown of about four seconds to dreamland. Laurie smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead, then settled into the bed herself.

She supposed it was inevitable. In a small place like Montrose, she was bound to meet up with him sooner or later. She tried not to think of him walking home. Anyway, he liked walking. Guilt was not required.

Laurie laid a hand on Maddie’s curls and snuggled in. After seeing Cal, she was glad not to climb into an empty bed with her thoughts, her memories.

2

A
N ACT OF GOD WAS DEFINED AS

“
SOMETHING WHICH NO REASONABLE

MAN COULD HAVE EXPECTED.”

A. P. Herbert

T
HE NEXT DAY THE WEATHER CHANGED. Wet, gray skies capped the land, dulling Miller’s Pond to putty as Cal looked through the long window of his apartment. Downstairs he heard Cissy on the vacuum in her twice-weekly ritual while Mildred drowned out the din with the hi-fi, which was worse by far. Cal prayed that one of these days it would shriek its last. He fantasized its insides giving out, a great metallic heart attack. Surely those things couldn’t last forever?

As always on his free Wednesday or Saturday mornings, rain or shine, he made his escape to the woods. His wool plaid jacket was misted over by the time he reached the pond with pole and tackle box. Mildred had threatened him with death if one more crappie ended up in her freezer, but he could always throw them back. He was after the legendary large-mouth bass that haunted the lower end. It had been outwitting the fishermen since Cal was a kid, but one of these days he was sure he’d land it.

No wind stirred the pond as he approached, its surface rippled only by the occasional nip of a fish. The fading gold and red leaves of the trees were still. He was alone. Cal’s rubber boots squelched in the boggy ground as he searched out a place that might be less muddy than the rest. No matter. He’d be thoroughly wet before he was done, by the looks of it. A fiery male cardinal broke the silence, then flitted to a higher branch as Cal breathed the chill air. This cold snap would drop the leaves.

Cal cast and settled in, breathing the dampness as though he were half fish himself. He missed the nose of his old springer, Sadie, on his knee. He had almost put the gun to his own head instead of hers when he had to put her down last year. One of these days he’d get a new dog. But not yet.