With This Ring (27 page)

"I'm sorry. C'mon in." Her heart had finally begun to slow down. "God, this place is a mess." She picked her navy blue uniform jacket and pumps up from the floor. "Sit down. Do you want a beer?"

"Yeah, make it a triple."

She raised her eyebrows. "That sounds ominous."

He nodded wearily. "You don't know the half of it."

"I'll be right back," she said. What could be the matter? she wondered as she walked into the tiny kitchen and took two cans of beer out of the refrigerator. She'd talked to Amy before leaving on this latest assignment, and everything had seemed to be rosy with her and Justin—so rosy it was hard for Lark to hear about it without feeling an ache of emptiness. Distractedly, she dumped the uniform jacket and pumps on the kitchen counter, then headed back to the living room. He was still standing, but at least he'd taken off his jacket. Lark couldn't help smiling to see that unlike her, he'd draped it neatly over a chair.

She handed him a beer.

"Has Amy called you?" he asked.

"No. At least I don't think she has. But I haven't checked my answering machine yet. Why? Has something happened?"

"I guess you could say that." He took a swallow of beer.

"What?" she said softly. Had they broken up or something? She hated herself for the spark of hope that leaped into life.

He laughed, the sound so filled with bitterness and pain, it tore at her heart. "Sam's back, that's what."

Lark stared at him, sure she'd misheard. "Sam's back?" she repeated incredulously. "You . . . you mean he's
alive?
"

His mouth twisted. "Yep. Alive and kicking."

Holy shit!
For once in her life, Lark was speechless. Sam was alive! "Oh, my God," she said, finally finding her voice. "Does Amy know?"

"Oh, yeah, she knows."

"I-I hardly know what to say. Have you seen him or talked to him?"

"Hell, I walked in on them," he said, his eyes very blue as they met hers. "She was in his arms."

He didn't have to say anything more. She understood, could just imagine the scene. Could just imagine how Justin had felt. "Oh, Justin . . . " She set her beer down on the coffee table, then put her arms around his waist and hugged him. After a second, his arms closed around her, too. They stood that way for a little while—Lark closing her eyes and simply absorbing the wonderful feel of him.

When they finally drew apart, he smiled crookedly. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Why don't we sit down?" she said gently. Once they were settled on the couch, she said, "Tell me about it."

For the next twenty minutes, he described the scene between him and Amy and Sam. "I don't know what Amy's going to do," he said finally. "She said she needed time to think." His voice was bleak.

Lark chose her words carefully. "That's understandable, don't you think? I'm sure she's an emotional mess right now. After all, Justin, this was a terrible shock for her, too."

"Do you think she'll go back to him?"

Lark shrugged. "I don't know." She looked at him, hurting for him, knowing exactly how he felt, because she lived with this kind of pain. "But I'll tell you something, Justin. If she has any sense, any sense at
all
, she will eventually realize that you're ten times the man Sam is, and she'll tell him to go take a flying leap."

And then she took his hand and squeezed it.

After a moment, he laughed softly. "You're one in a million, you know that?"

She made herself grin. Made herself answer as lightly as he had. "Yeah, sure, I'll bet you tell that to all the girls."

He laughed again, and Lark thought about friendship and love and loyalty and how totally fucked up the world was.

* * *

The moment Justin left, Lark grabbed a jacket and her purse and practically flew out the door.

She got to Amy's in ten minutes flat. One look at Amy's face told Lark Amy was in just as much pain as Justin. "You look like hell," she said, hugging her.

"Thanks," Amy said dryly. "You want some coffee? I was just about to make a pot."

"I think a good shot of whiskey might be a better choice."

"I'm in enough of a daze. I'm sticking with coffee."

"Okay, sure. Coffee it is." Lark sat on a bar stool.

Amy walked around the bar to the kitchen and began to fill the coffee pot. "I wasn't sure if you got my message, but I guess you did."

"No," Lark said slowly, "Justin came to see me."

Amy stared at her. "Justin came to see you?"

Lark nodded.

"Is . . . is he okay?"

"As okay as anyone can be under the circumstances. I think he's still in shock."

"Imagine how I feel," Amy said with an attempt at a smile. "One minute I was happily cleaning house and waiting for Justin. The next, Sam arrived, and I nearly had a heart attack."

"He just came? No warning? Nothing?"

"Nope. He just came." Amy sighed heavily as she flipped on the coffee maker. Her eyes met Lark's. "It's a fine mess, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Her eyes were just as bleak as Justin's had been. "I-I love them both, Lark, and I don't want to hurt either one of them."

But someone was going to be hurt, Lark thought, whether Amy wanted to face it or not.

"There's no way everyone's going to come out of this happy," she pointed out gently.

Amy nodded glumly.

Lark sighed. "Well, we're not going to solve that problem tonight. So tell me about Sam. Where's he been? What happened to him?"

As Amy talked, gradually forgetting her own turmoil in the telling of Sam's ordeal, her voice softened and her eyes shone, and Lark could see the underlying joy she felt at finding out Sam was alive.

Lark's heart sank. Amy was still in love with Sam, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. And Lark was terribly afraid that in the end, Justin wouldn't stand a chance.

Everyone wanted a piece of him. Someone from NBC called on Monday, then in rapid succession on Tuesday, he heard from ABC, CNN, and CBS.

The switchboard at the magazine was bombarded.
People
wanted to interview him. "Inside Edition" called about doing a story. AP and UPI both sent reporters. And
Time
called.

In addition, friends and colleagues from around the country were thrilled he was alive and called to say so.

Sam talked to as many of them as he could, but when the commotion got to be too much, when his head and leg started to ache, he'd go back to his rooms at Embassy Suites, pop three or four Advil, and crash.

He called Amy several times, but she asked him not to come over for a couple of days.

"I've asked Justin to stay away, too," she said. "I'm sorry, but I have to have some time to think."

He didn't want to, but he knew he'd better respect her request. For the first time in his adult life, he was really frightened. She sounded so remote and detached, as if she were talking to a stranger. He knew she'd been pushed too hard and that if he tried to push harder, he might lose her altogether.

On Wednesday, Sam stayed away from the office entirely. Instead, he got a haircut, went shopping for clothes, consulted with his banker—finding out that whatever else he might have lost in the past two years, he'd gained a substantial amount of money—and ate lunch at Serafina's. The whole time he was there he kept remembering that first dinner with Amy.

Suddenly, he could no longer stand being away from her. "I don't give a damn whether she wants to see me or not, I'm going over there!" he muttered. He climbed into his 'Vette, which Owen had been driving in his absence, and roared down the street.

When he arrived at Amy's, she wasn't home. Hell, he'd forgotten she would still be at school. It was only two-thirty. He glanced over at the senior Carpenters' home. Why not? He might as well see what the lay of the land was. Who knew? He might have a bigger battle to fight than he imagined, if Amy's parents were against him, too.

He walked around to the front of the house—scaring a few squirrels in the process—and rang the doorbell. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Amy's mother stood there. She looked just as cool and elegant as ever in a forest-green suit.

"Well, hello, Sam. Welcome home." Her smile seemed genuine enough. "I was wondering when we'd get to see you."

"Hello, Mrs. Carpenter." They clasped hands, and he bent to kiss her cheek.

"Come in," she said. "I have an appointment at four, but I've got some time before I have to leave."

He followed her into the living room and took the indicated seat on one of the yellow silk wing chairs, while she sat across from him in the other. "Would you like some coffee . . . or perhaps a beer?"

"No, thanks. I just ate lunch."

"We were all very glad to hear of your survival."

He wondered. He knew Amy's father really liked him, but he'd never felt Faith was sold on him. Still, she seemed sincere. "Thanks."

"It was a shock to Amy, of course."

"I know."

She sighed, sitting back and crossing her legs. Her eyes were enigmatic as they met his. "It's a terribly awkward situation, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "I guess it is."

"Amy's very confused right now."

"Is she?" He wanted to say Amy's reaction to his reappearance hadn't seem confused at all. She had been overjoyed to see him. He couldn't have asked for a warmer or more passionate welcome. It was only when Justin had appeared on the scene, with the attendant guilt he'd laid on her, that she had gotten upset. But he was sure Faith had guessed as much. Besides, he wasn't here to tell Faith anything. He was here to see how she felt. Whether she'd be an ally or an opponent.

"You know how tender-hearted Amy is. She never likes to hurt anyone."

Sam looked at her steadily.

"She especially doesn't want to hurt you," Faith continued. "After all, you've been through so much already."

Sam stiffened. "Did she say that?"

She smoothed her palm over the arm of the chair before answering. "Not in so many words . . . no . . . but I know Amy."

"I know Amy, too."

Faith's green eyes, so like Amy's in some ways, so unlike them in others, met his. Her words were measured, as if she were choosing them carefully. "Justin and Amy have been together nearly ten months now. They've forged a very strong bond. And they are extremely well suited to one another."

Sam clenched his jaw. She'd made her point. She approved of Justin in a way she'd never approved of Sam. "You think she should stay with him."

"Yes, I do." Her voice softened, and her eyes were sympathetic. "I have nothing against you, Sam. You're a fine young man, but I don't think you'll make Amy a good husband. I never have."

Sam abruptly stood. He didn't want sympathy from her or anyone. "It's a good thing you're not making the choice for her, then, isn't it?"

She stood, too, although more slowly. "Oh, dear. You're angry."

"Damn right, I'm angry."

"I guess I can't blame you. I had hoped, though, that you might care enough for Amy to do what's best for her."

Sam stared at her. At the perfect face and the perfect clothes and the perfect voice. "Who made you God, Mrs. Carpenter?" The only indication that his words had made an impact was the barest movement of her facial muscles. "Amy's an adult. I think she can decide what's best for her without your help."

"Well, of course, I can understand how you might feel that way, but I think—"

"I intend to marry Amy," he said, not caring that he was interrupting her, not caring about anything right now except making sure she understood. "Whether you like it or not."

Later he wondered what reply she would have made, but at that moment, Amy's father entered the room, saying, "Sam! Welcome home!" and seconds later, Sam was enveloped in a warm hug, followed by a big smile.

"I was out golfing," Alan said, "and just got home. I thought I heard your voice. It's good to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

"You look good. Amy said you were having some trouble with your right leg, though?"

"Yes. I broke it when I fell, and it didn't heal right. I guess I'll always walk with a limp."

"Physical therapy could probably help you. If you want the name of someone, I'd be glad to refer you."

Sam smiled. "My doctor said the same thing."

They all sat down again, and for a while, they talked about Sam's ordeal and his life in the village. Faith was silent throughout the conversation, and Sam wondered what she was thinking. He also wondered if Amy's father had heard what they'd been saying right before he walked into the room. Alan didn't act as if anything was amiss, but that didn't mean anything.

After about thirty minutes, Faith stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave now." She looked at her husband. "There's a meeting of the heart association benefit committee at Georgette Schiffer's this afternoon. I should be back before seven, though, and I thought we might go out to dinner tonight."

Alan smiled up at her. "All right, darling. See you then."

"Good-bye, Sam." Faith's gaze swung his way. Once again, her smile seemed natural. An outsider would never have known there had been any conflict between them.

Sam stood, too. He extended his hand. "It was good to see you again, Mrs. Carpenter. I hope to be seeing you much more often." He looked her squarely in the eye.

"It was good to see you, too."

After she'd gone, Alan said, "You planning to stick around until Amy gets home?"

"I thought I would."

"Good. Let's go back to the kitchen and see if we can find something to drink. You can keep me company while you're waiting."

He tossed his arm around Sam's shoulders as they walked out of the room. Then, making Sam feel better than he'd felt in three days, he said, "Don't worry about Amy, Sam. She loves you, and it won't take her long to figure out the two of you belong together. Just give her a little time." He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "And remember, I'm on your side."

* * *

Amy's heart gave an excited little hop when she pulled into the driveway and saw Sam's Corvette. Even though she'd told him not to come, she couldn't help being happy he had. She'd hardly had a chance to talk to him the other day before Justin had come and everything had gone nuts. And despite everything his return had meant, despite the uncertainty and turmoil she'd been feeling, one thing she knew for sure: she was very happy Sam was alive.