One Night to Forever Family

by Meredith Webber

  What was wrong with her?

  She tuned back into Andy’s conversation.

  ‘There are some steep hills to tackle if you’re walking to work. This was once a rocky peninsula that reached out into the sea. There’s actually good diving on it further out, colourful soft corals and tiny, brilliant fish darting in and out of it. Do you dive?’

  ‘Dive?’

  She invested the word with such disbelief Andy had to smile.

  ‘You might not remember, but I come from a land-locked village in the top western corner of the state. We’re lucky when we have a good enough wet season to have a swim in the local dam,’ she told him. ‘Plus, as you may have noticed, I have the kind of skin that turns beetroot red after about five minutes in the sun. The English climate really suited me!’

  He did remember now—remembered more and more about her. She had two laughs, an infectious giggle and a full-blown laugh that was a sound of sheer delight.

  And he’d asked her to stay with him?

  He must have been out of his mind, especially when he loved to come home to the peace and quiet of his apartment after a busy day.

  And now he was leaning on the top of the car door, talking about diving, of all things, and thinking about laughter from a time that seemed so far in the past it was practically ancient history.

  Except that she was, and always would be, to him, quite lovely, with her vivid hair and pale skin, her easy smile and laughter.

  Did he not want this light-hearted moment to end?

  Or was he afraid that once she’d imprinted herself on his living space, he’d find it hard to reclaim it as his own?

  His attraction to her had led him to distance himself from her and Nick after the wedding—not far, just far enough. Protection really, but she’d stayed in his head, usually laughing at some silly—

  ‘Do you not want me to see your apartment, or have you sent an urgent message to some woman to vacate the place for a while?’

  Her teasing smile plucked at his nerves, so it took him a moment to recover.

  ‘Tribes of women having to vacate it,’ he managed to say lightly, fully opening the car door for her and heading to the trunk to retrieve her backpack.

  But the tension he felt as the elevator rose to the eleventh floor strengthened the feeling that maybe this hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

  Perhaps even his worst since the rock, paper, scissors fiasco all those years ago.

  His mind did a quick mental scan of the state of his place. He liked it neat and tidy, but he’d left in a rush this morning. Although, while his bedroom might be a bit chaotic, she’d hardly be inspecting that. And this thought caused nearly as many strange reactions in his body as her pursed and kissable lips had earlier.

  Enough!

  This was Sam, his best friend’s widow, remember, invited to stay while she sorted herself out.

  A few days—a week—she was already talking about real-estate sites...

  The problem was he’d known she was coming, but he’d been unprepared for actually seeing her again. And he’d been unprepared for the memories her presence had evoked.

  He’d been attracted to her as far back as the day he and Nick had first met her, and he’d hoped she’d say no when Nick asked her out...

  He’d telephone Susie later today, get his social life organised.

  ‘Oh, but it’s beautiful!’

  Sam’s words made him turn to see her gazing, wide-eyed, at his view.

  ‘It takes in so much—the rocky headland, the sea, and then the sky. How lucky are you?’

  He could hear the genuine delight in her voice, and for a moment wanted to tell her she could always stay on here, pay a little rent if it made her feel better. There was plenty of room...

  Are you mad?

  He hid more than a few qualms as he led her deeper into the apartment. This was not a good idea, given that he still felt a lingering attraction to her. Especially when, in his heart, he still blamed her for Nick’s death, only too aware that never driving over the speed limit was a part of Nick’s mild OCD.

  In fact, the whole situation was a bloody mess.

  ‘I like this room that looks back towards the mountains,’ Sam was saying while he stood in the passage, clutching her backpack, random thoughts jostling in his head.

  ‘Here, give me that.’

  Her words broke the spell.

  ‘I’ll find something clean and relatively suitable to go shopping in and leave you to catch up on your sleep.’

  He set her backpack down on the bedroom floor, aware of some new tension in the air. Had she guessed what he’d been thinking? Not that she needed to guess his thoughts about the accident—he’d more or less accused her of causing it.

  ‘The bed’s made up—friends and family are always turning up, so I leave it with clean sheets on,’ he said awkwardly as he backed out of the room. ‘I’ll find some spare keys you can use.’

  * * *

  This was not a good idea, Sam decided when Andy had disappeared. They’d barely met again, and yet she felt unsettled when she was with him. It was an awareness, really—even an attraction—yet this was the man who’d blamed her for Nick’s death, probably still did...

  Not that she had time to be worrying about a little awkwardness, let alone attraction. She’d lost a month of preparation back in Cambodia and she had a lot of organising to do. Clothes first—sensible clothes for work, that’s all she’d need for a while. A new swimming costume, there’d be days when she’d be able to fit in a swim before work, before the sun got too hot...

  She opened her bag and rummaged through it, finding some long loose trousers and a tunic top—the kind of thing she’d been wearing all the time at the little clinic. The clothes might look a little odd in the shopping mall at Port Fortesque but they were clean and decent.

  Once showered and dressed, she found Andy in the kitchen.

  ‘We passed a shopping mall on the way here. If I just go out the front door and turn left, I’ll find it, won’t I?’

  He smiled at her outfit—making her think again of awkwardness and attraction, and definitely finding a real-estate office online...

  ‘They’re clean and respectable,’ she told him, defending her choice of clothing. ‘The shopping mall?’

  ‘Left and left again at the second street, you can’t miss it,’ he said, the smile still teasing at his lips. ‘Phone me if you buy so much you need a lift home.’

  He crossed to the bar on one side of the kitchen, undoubtedly used for most meals, and picked up a card and a set of keys.

  ‘The fob opens the garage doors, the flat one you swipe for the elevator, the big key is for the front entrance and this lovely purple one is for my front door. Eleventh floor, Apartment Two. My number’s on the card. Okay?’

  She took them from him, their fingers tangling around the flat elevator key, sending such a weird sensation through Sam she involuntarily looked up to see if Andy had also felt it.

  But although that teasing smile still hovered on his lips, he showed no sign of any sudden reaction.

  Which was hardly surprising...

  Sam departed, tucking the keys into her small backpack, reminding herself that was something else she should buy—a handbag.

  She shook her head. Her small backpack had served her well for the past three years. It had originally been Nick’s, but he’d replaced it with a much smarter leather briefcase once he’d been promoted. She’d found it when she’d been cleaning out their flat and realised how handy it would be for her travels.

  Besides, it was so long since she’d used a handbag she’d feel foolish with one, and she certainly wasn’t going down the briefcase road. But she did have a small, pretty, handwoven bag with a long strap that would hold her wallet and a few tissues. She could always take that if she ever did go ou
t at night.

  The mall loomed in front of her, and she wondered just what it would offer in the way of clothes-buying options.

  She needn’t have worried, because all the old familiar stores were there, and within half an hour she had a selection of slacks, long shorts, skirts, T-shirts and shirts, and two swimming costumes. She’d stuck with basics—black and white with a few floral and striped tops to brighten things up—but as she walked out—newly bought shopping weighing down her arms—she passed a small boutique offering a fifty percent off sale.

  The clothes were beautiful, mainly linen and silk, and simple in style but shrieking elegance. She tried to persuade herself that she’d never wear such clothes, but a pale green linen shift drew her like a magnet, while a black silk dress with a low scooped neckline and flaring skirt refused to be left behind. Sandals, shoes and a pair of comfy slides for the beach soon followed and she spent the walk home telling herself there’d surely be a Christmas party at the hospital so, depending on how formal it might be, either the shift or the black dress would do.

  Back when she’d been growing up, buying her own clothes for the first time, her mother had always assured her that a little black dress could go anywhere. And her mother’s LBD had gone many places—the single mother of a growing daughter not having had the money to spend on a range of ‘going out’ dresses!

  ‘You didn’t strike me a shopper,’ Andy greeted her when she walked back in.

  ‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘But having discarded all my London clothes before I left, and with the few Cambodian outfits not really suitable here, I had to start again. Basic shopping from the skin out, plus toiletries and odds and ends. I decided that being second in charge meant I had to at least look respectable.’

  He smiled, eyes gleaming so she knew a tease was coming.

  ‘Going to give me a fashion parade? You could start with the purple undies!’

  She shook her head, but she was smiling too. This was the old Andy—often teasing her to see her blush, Nick laughing with him at the result.

  Enough memories.

  Be practical.

  ‘You must be ready for an early night after your four a.m. start. As you’ve been good enough to take me in, would you like me to send out for a takeaway? Although I did grab a few groceries on the way home. I’d be happy to do a Cambodian stir-fry.’

  ‘You cook?’

  He sounded astounded.

  In fact, so astounded Sam felt a little stab of pain. She’d always cooked and enjoyed it, but Nick had liked to give their friends the impression that she was a pampered princess, and he had always cooked the meals when they’d had guests.

  She’d grown to hate it, but had kept quiet about it, at first putting it down to Nick showing off and only later realising it was part of his problem; his need to be the best in other people’s eyes, both as a husband and a cook—even a doctor...

  And she’d put up with it because she’d loved Nick, and she’d been determined to make their marriage work. Right up until the end—that last fateful day...

  Focus!

  ‘Well?’ she demanded of Andy, possibly a little too abruptly.

  He’d been frowning off into the distance, and turned, startled, back towards her.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Would you like me to cook dinner?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course,’ he managed to say. ‘If you really want to.’

  ‘I do.’ she said firmly, although she’d had to close her eyes for an instant to control a rising heat of anger.

  So not only had Nick done his best to make her feel useless, but Andy’s reaction had made her realise he’d convinced his friends of that as well.

  The kitchen was neat and functional. No wok, but she could cook in a frying pan.

  ‘Do you eat chicken?’ she called to Andy, last seen standing on the balcony looking out to sea.

  ‘Love it,’ he said, sounding so close she started and spun around to find him on the other side of the breakfast bar.

  ‘And you,’ he asked, ‘would you like a beer as you slave away over a hot stove?’

  ‘Love one,’ she said. ‘You might not know it, but Cambodia has some very good beers, and one always goes down well while I’m cooking.’

  He put the small stubby of beer in a foam holder beside the chopping board she was using to finely slice spring onions, bok choy, capsicum, carrots, snow peas and cabbage.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, setting down her knife and lifting the beer. ‘Cheers!’ she said, and clinked it with Andy’s.

  ‘Welcome home!’ he replied, smiling at her as if he meant it, and she had to turn away to hide the silly tears that had, for no good reason, filled her eyes.

  Andy watched as Sam sliced and diced, taking a sip from her beer occasionally.

  He’d thought he’d known this woman who’d been married to his best friend for three years, yet small things were causing him to question all he’d known.

  Not that it mattered. They’d be working and living—temporarily at least—together, plenty of time to get to know her. And if he was right about glimpsing a sheen of tears in her eyes when he’d said welcome home, then there was a lot about her to get to know.

  He’d always admired her for the way she’d handled Nick, who hadn’t always been the easiest of friends to have.

  Nick had always wanted to win, to be the best.

  Andy closed his eyes on memories and concentrated on the woman in his kitchen. Tall and lean in the loose-fitting, distinctly Asian outfit, she’d bunched her hair up on top of her head to keep it out of the way, and was humming to herself as she worked.

  ‘You seem to enjoy cooking,’ he said, watching as she opened a bottle of sesame oil she’d obviously bought earlier and poured a fine stream into the pan.

  ‘Love it,’ she said, echoing the words he’d said earlier, but turning to smile at him at the same time.

  Tears—if they had been tears—now gone.

  The pan sizzled as she slid the sliced chicken in and tossed it around so it would cook quickly. The vegetables followed, more sizzling, more tossing and turning.

  She pulled her shopping bag towards her with her free hand, and half turned to him.

  ‘I’ve cheated with the rice. Can you cut the top off the packet and microwave it for two minutes for me, please?’

  He put down his beer and lifted the packet.

  ‘Chilli and coconut, my favourite,’ he said, as he did his part in the dinner preparation. ‘I’ve come to regard microwave rice as one to the world’s great inventions.’

  She grinned at him, then added a variety of sauces to the stir-fry—small amounts but the aroma made the dish come alive.

  ‘Right, rice into bowls, some eating utensils, and we’re done,’ she said, turning off the gas beneath the pan and raising her beer to her lips again.

  Her eyes were shining, with pleasure now, he was sure, and as he watched the pale skin on her throat move as she swallowed the beer, a feeling in his gut told him this cohabitation might not be such a good idea.

  But as they ate, sitting at the small table on the balcony, the moon silvering the sea, and the soft shushing of the waves the only noise, Andy found himself enjoying the company, the laughter Sam brought with the stories of her travels, and the allure of his beautiful companion, fine skin pale in the moonlight, stray strands of red-gold hair tumbling in long curls to her shoulders.

  * * *

  They talked of many things beyond her travels—the hospital, Andy’s time in the US—but never Nick, for all he’d been an important part of both their lives. She thought Andy’s conversation had swerved that way from time to time, but she’d turned the question or remark away, not yet ready to discuss this part of their past.

  And aware she might never be able to...

  Except she should—had to really—or
it would fester and ruin any chance of a friendship between them.

  She took a deep breath and launched right into it.

  ‘That night at the hospital, Andy. I was upset when you said Nick would never have spee—’

  ‘I should never have said it,’ he interrupted. ‘Never said anything so hurtful to you. Since we offered you the job, I’ve had this last month to think about how to apologise, trying to work out what—’

  She reached out and touched his lips with one finger to stop his words.

  ‘Me first,’ she said, looking directly into his eyes, desperate to see understanding there, though at the moment there was only concern.

  ‘I loved Nick to distraction,’ she said quietly, ‘but later I grew to hate our marriage. Not Nick—the love was still there always—but I hated what I’d let myself become, hated that I’d given so much of myself away to be what he wanted me to be, to fit into his life the way he wanted me to—the way he felt a wife should.’

  She paused and looked down into her lap where her hands were tightly clasped, fingers twined into each other as she struggled with the emotion of those days.

  ‘But that day—in the car—it suddenly got too much and the temper I was sure I’d conquered just erupted again, and I threw all the unkind and hurtful things I could find at him, at the man I loved...’

  Another silence and she looked into Andy’s face again.

  It told her nothing, and a cold certainty that she’d ruined any friendship they’d had and the one they might have had in the future spread through her.

  But she had to finish.

  ‘You were right,’ she said, almost gabbling the words to get them said. ‘I probably did cause the accident. I was as angry as I’ve ever been, yelling at him—him yelling back at me, both unwilling to give an inch. Then, suddenly it was over, a loud bang, and I was in hospital, Nick dead...’

  She bowed her head, so he didn’t see the tears—tears of pain for what else she’d lost that day.