Breaking off the relationship would’ve been so much easier if she could just turn off her feelings. Or ignore them. But despite everything, she still wanted Clark. Although she had a job that meant a lot to her, the days seemed empty. Her evenings were listless as she looked for ways to fill the time she would otherwise have spent with Clark.
The waterfront restaurant, close to Pike Place Market, was one of the places often frequented by tourists. The hostess was busy seating patrons when Phoebe arrived. She removed the scarf that had protected her hair from the drizzle and glanced over at the bank of windows with their view of the murky green waters of Puget Sound. To her surprise, her mother was already seated. Leanne waved; Phoebe waved back, then made her way through the maze of tables.
“You’re early.” That was a rarity. Phoebe took off her raincoat, hanging it on a hook outside the circular booth, and slid in next to her mother.
“I wanted to get us a good seat.” Leanne set aside the menu. “I see you’re right on time, as usual.”
Phoebe didn’t comment. Her mother spoke as if being prompt was a character flaw.
“The special of the day is a squash risotto and the soup is tomato basil.”
“They both sound nice,” Phoebe said, although she didn’t have much of an appetite.
“I’m ordering the barbecued shrimp,” her mother declared. “It’s supposed to be excellent. Marlene Snowden recommended it the last time we ate here.” She paused, apparently wondering if she’d done the wrong thing in mentioning Clark’s mother.
Phoebe let the remark slide. “I’ll just have the soup.”
Leanne continued, a bit cautiously. “Speaking of Clark’s mother…”
“Must we?” Phoebe asked pointedly.
“Oh, Phoebe, I don’t think you realize how upset everyone is. Marlene phoned me in tears. She can’t believe you’d do something like this.”
“Me?” Phoebe cried, arousing curious looks from the people seated close by. “Why does all the blame fall on me?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Clark’s the one who can’t keep his pants zipped.”
Her mother blanched. “Phoebe, please…”
“I didn’t come here to discuss Clark, his family or anything to do with them,” she said, although that wasn’t strictly true. “If you feel you have to bring his name into the conversation, it might be best if I left now.”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t do that. I’m sorry. It’s just that this is painful for me, too. Marlene and I have become such good friends.”
“Even if Clark and I are no longer engaged, there’s no reason you can’t still be friends with his mother,” Phoebe whispered, although she already knew the relationship was doomed. Her mother and Marlene had little in common. Leanne had loved being included in the Snowdens’ social circle, but with the engagement over, it was unlikely that Marlene would continue to invite Phoebe’s mother to the exclusive events she’d enjoyed so much.
The waiter came for their drink order and to Phoebe’s astonishment her mother ordered an expensive glass of white wine. Phoebe asked for coffee. The weather seemed to suggest a hot drink; besides, she had to work this afternoon.
Minutes later, their server was back with their drinks and wrote down their lunch choices.
“My first knitting class went well,” Phoebe said, trying to steer the conversation away from the Snowdens.
Her mother’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were learning to knit.”
“Well, relearning…” Phoebe had forgotten that she’d decided to keep it a secret. “I needed something…” She left the rest unsaid. Her mother had to know how lost and lonely she must feel without Clark in her life.
Leanne sipped her wine. “Max recommended this Sauvignon Blanc. It’s from New Zealand and it has a nice, crisp citrus flavor. You really must try it sometime.”
Phoebe sighed. She genuinely liked Clark’s father. He had a wonderful wit and charm. After Clark’s first “indiscretion,” Max was the one who’d come to talk to her, to plead his son’s case. Although he was as disgusted and shocked as Phoebe had been, he’d asked her to give Clark one last chance. To his credit, Max hadn’t contacted her since she’d returned Clark’s engagement ring. She suspected he wouldn’t.
“Is Clark’s family going to be part of every conversation?” Phoebe asked, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Oh, my, I did it again, didn’t I?” Her mother at least looked regretful.
How sincere her apology was, Phoebe couldn’t tell. “Mom, you don’t need to tell me how hard this is on you. I know, because it’s even more difficult for me.” Her mother seemed to conveniently forget that.
“Of course it is. Forgive me for being so thoughtless, sweetie.”
Phoebe stared out the window and tried to force her thoughts away from Clark. It was practically impossible with Leanne dragging his parents’ names into every topic imaginable. She’d known that, but she’d still come to lunch. As much as she despised her own weakness, Phoebe was eager for news. And yet she had to stop this, stop giving in to—
“Leanne, Phoebe, how delightful to see you here.”
As if the mere thought of her ex-fiancé was enough to conjure him up, Clark appeared out of nowhere. Before she could object, he slid into the booth beside Phoebe, trapping her there.
Phoebe stiffened and refused to glance in his direction.
“Clark!” Her mother feigned surprise and frankly did a poor job of it. “What are you doing here?”
“I was meeting a client for lunch, but he cancelled at the last minute. I was about to leave when I saw the two of you sitting here. I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”
How smoothly he lied, how easily the words rolled off his tongue, but Phoebe wasn’t fooled. She knew this was a setup.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said flatly.
“Phoebe, please, what will it hurt to have lunch with me?” he asked. He sounded so calm and reasonable that for a moment she was tempted to agree.
“It’ll hurt a great deal, I’m afraid. Please go.”
“Where are your manners?” her mother chastised.
Phoebe turned to face Leanne and didn’t bother to disguise the betrayal she felt. “You arranged this. My own mother! I can’t believe it.”
“Don’t get upset with your mother. This is my fault,” Clark said softly. “I’m the one who put her up to it. I was desperate to talk to you and this seemed the only way.”
“All I ask,” her mother pleaded, “is that you hear Clark out. If you’d listen, you might understand that the whole thing was police entrapment.”
As far as Phoebe was concerned, how it happened was of no relevance. That it happened was everything. Still, she knew arguing would do no good. Clark was a master manipulator. He could turn the tables so quickly that it made her head spin. It was pointless to argue with him—a losing proposition.
Clark reached for her hand and while she wanted to resist, she didn’t.
“I’ve missed you, baby,” he said, his voice low and seductive.
Phoebe could almost feel her resolve melting. For her own peace of mind, she refused to look at him, refused to make eye contact. Once she did, she’d be lost….
The waiter scurried over with a menu, which he handed Clark, who gave it a perfunctory glance and quickly placed his order for a rare sirloin steak. Leave it to Clark to order steak in one of the finest seafood restaurants on the west coast. He always seemed to take the contrary view, always stood apart.
He waited until the server was gone before he returned his attention to Phoebe. His thumb gently rubbed the top of her hand in a manner that was almost sexual. Phoebe jerked it away, staring at the dark, swirling waters of Puget Sound.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Clark told her, with Leanne listening avidly. “You have every right to be angry. If our situations were reversed, I can imagine how I’d feel.”
“Really?” she couldn’t resist asking. “If I were to pay for sex,
that would bother you?”
He blinked as if he found the thought completely discordant.
“But why should it?” she went on. “It doesn’t mean anything, does it? It’s just…something people do and it really doesn’t affect our relationship. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I did, but I was wrong.”
“You were wrong twice—that I know of.”
He exhaled slowly. “Some of us are slow learners. But it’ll never happen again. I swear by everything I hold dear.”
“What you had with these women wasn’t an emotional connection, remember? Only a physical one.” This was another rationale of his. Presumably it was supposed to appease her.
Clark closed his eyes. “I was wrong,” he said again.
“What excuse do you have for the same thing happening a second time?”
At first she didn’t think he was going to answer; when he did his voice was strained. It seemed to vibrate with pain, whether real or fabricated, she wasn’t sure.
“I was drunk. Drunk out of my mind. I had no idea what I was doing. If it makes any difference, you should know I didn’t even find her attractive.”
“It doesn’t,” Phoebe snapped. “That’s completely irrelevant.”
Clark lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”
She so badly wanted to believe him, and yet she knew she couldn’t. “Being drunk doesn’t excuse that kind of behavior.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t, but maybe it’ll help you understand why it happened. I was weak and—”
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t be…weak again?” Phoebe asked.
“Because it would kill me to hurt you this way. It won’t happen. I give you my word.”
“He means it, sweetie,” her mother said imploringly. “Listen to Clark. Every word is sincere. He couldn’t be more repentant. Let him have one more chance. That’s all he wants, all any of us want.”
Phoebe turned to Clark, meeting his eyes for the first time. He wore a woebegone look that would’ve softened the hardest heart. Despite everything, Phoebe found herself on the verge of surrender. She was about to capitulate when the waiter arrived with their meals. The relief she felt at being interrupted, at not agreeing to yet another chance, nearly overwhelmed her. Winning was vital to Clark; she couldn’t know whether he meant what he said or just needed to remain in control by persuading her to take him back.
Clark seemed to sense that her determination was flagging because he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. He held on to her while the waiter served them.
“Shall I order champagne?” he asked her. “Tell me we have something to celebrate.”
“Not yet,” she whispered.
Her mother leaned forward. “Phoebe, please. It would mean the world to Marlene and me if you and Clark were engaged again.”
As if on cue, Clark took the solitaire diamond engagement ring from his suit pocket and set it on the table next to her bowl. “I’ve carried it with me from the moment you dropped it off,” he confessed brokenly. “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve looked at this diamond. I can’t lose you, Phoebe. I can’t. You’re everything to me.”
“Unless you’re drunk,” she added. She knew she sounded bitter and angry, but didn’t care.
“If it’ll help, I’ll quit drinking. You say the word and I swear I won’t touch another drop.”
Phoebe pulled her hand away. “Why would you do that?” Clark enjoyed his drinks. To the best of her knowledge he rarely overindulged.
“If that’s the only way I can have you back, then I’ll give up alcohol for good.”
“Why are you trying so hard?” she demanded. She needed proof that this was more than his pride talking, more than his desire to be in control of their relationship.
He blinked as though he didn’t understand the question. “You don’t know?” he asked softly. “You honestly don’t know?”
“Tell her,” Leanne urged. “Tell her what you told me.”
“I love you,” Clark stated emphatically. “It’s as simple as that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to raise our family together and when we’re old and gray, you’re the one I want at my side.”
A lump filled her throat. No woman could listen to those words and not be affected. “I…I have to think.”
Clark’s gaze held hers, filled with triumph at the first crack in her defenses. She suddenly realized it was what he needed, what he’d been hoping to achieve.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said.
“You’ll be right back?” her mother asked. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Reluctantly Clark slid out of the booth and she followed, leaving her raincoat behind. Taking her purse, she hurried across the restaurant to the restroom and quickly went in.
Locking herself inside a stall, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes.
The fleeting look on Clark’s face just then. She’d seen it—that small display of satisfaction that he could manipulate her. He assumed he’d won her back…and he almost had. He’d almost done it, but now that she was away from his influence, away from her mother, cool reason returned.
Without questioning her own actions, Phoebe left the stall and hurried out of the restaurant. Thankfully there was a taxi parked at the curb. With rain beating down on her, she climbed in the backseat and gave the driver her work address.
Not until she was several blocks away could she breathe easily again. She felt like someone who’d taken a wrong step, who’d lost her footing and faltered. Only now, safe from Clark, did she feel secure.
CHAPTER 12
Alix Turner
During her fifteen-minute morning break Alix lit up a cigarette in the alley behind the café. Closing her eyes, she took her first drag. She held the smoke in her lungs an extra-long moment, savoring the instant sense of relief before exhaling. When she opened her eyes again, she could imagine—all too clearly—her husband’s pained look of disappointment.
Good boy that he was, Jordan Turner had never smoked. He couldn’t begin to understand how difficult it was to quit. What he understood even less was why Alix had started again after four years of not smoking.
She wanted to quit. Except that she couldn’t seem to do it, although they both agreed that she needed to be one hundred percent free of nicotine before she got pregnant.
A baby.
Tension skittered down her spine. Alix hoped to get pregnant soon and Jordan wanted that, too. They’d moved into his grandma Turner’s house on Star Lake and it was ideal, certainly for her, but perhaps even more for him. So many of his childhood memories were associated with the lake house. Only last night Jordan had said it was the perfect place to start their family. Which, of course, she’d been saying all along….
It’d be nice, Alix mused, really nice—until her gaze fell on the cigarette. In a fit of frustration and anger she tossed it on the asphalt and crushed it with the toe of her work shoe. And then she immediately regretted wasting most of a cigarette.
Besides being a nasty habit that made her hair smell and stained her fingers, it was an expensive one. At least she was down to a maximum of five cigarettes a day—less than two packs a week. The daily total varied, depending on the sort of day she’d had, but she never exceeded five. That was her limit, and she was proud of her discipline, proud she’d whittled the number down from twice that many just a few months ago. She knew it wasn’t sufficient. But still…
Jordan had been kind enough not to say anything about the cost, but it had to be on his mind. It bothered Alix, too. But she recognized that her inability to give up cigarettes was about more than the addiction. As much as she wanted Jordan’s baby, she was afraid.
She didn’t think of herself as a fearful person. A few years back she’d stood up to an armed drug dealer without even flinching. But back then she didn’t much care if she lived or died.
The
truth was, becoming a mother terrified her. She’d tried to describe her fears to Jordan. He was better at listening these days, but after only a few words she realized her feelings on this subject were simply beyond his experience.
His family had nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with hers.
Jordan’s father was a pastor; Jordan was following in his footsteps and would one day have his own church.
Jordan’s parents were good people—loving, compassionate, down to earth. His mom was the Brady Bunch kind of mother who baked cookies and still owned an ironing board.
Parents like hers didn’t fall within Jordan’s frame of reference. He couldn’t possibly comprehend what it was to hide in a closet to drown out the noise of her parents’ drunken brawls. He knew things like that happened because he’d worked with troubled teens in the past. But he knew it in a theoretical, indirect way. It wasn’t part of him, a memory always hovering, always there.
Okay, so motherhood was scary. Alix admitted it and suspected the cigarettes were an avoidance technique. If she smoked, she could put off dealing with her doubts. She could defer finding out whether she was capable of being a mother. After all, crying babies upset her. She thought messy diapers were disgusting. As for breast-feeding an infant, which Jordan seemed to think came naturally to women, the idea filled her with trepidation. Other women might have strong maternal instincts, but not Alix. And after her mother’s example, who could blame her?
“Alix.”
Becky Major, the middle-aged prep cook, stuck her head out the door.
“Winter’s looking for you.” Winter Adams was the woman who owned the French Café.
“Hey, I’ve got another ten minutes.” Alix intended to take her full allotment of time. After a week of dismal rain, the sun was shining and she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could.
“Lydia’s here, too. She’d like to talk to you.”
Alix didn’t hesitate. She’d return to her motherhood worries later. A visit with Lydia was always a treat. On her way through the kitchen Alix poured herself a cup of coffee. If she couldn’t have nicotine, she’d settle for caffeine.
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