by Thea Devine
“All fine and good,” Jeannie said, her forehead creased with determination. “But uplift just isn’t enough. I’ve been watching you, Carrie, and how you’ve taken a demoralizing situation and made something of it. You haven’t hunkered down and put on blinders...”
Oh yes I have, Carrie thought, about some things...
“In spite of all your feelings, you’ve gone forward. Even if it’s temporary, you’ve moved from the point where you were when you arrived to a place where you’ve made some semblance of a life for yourself. That’s an important lesson for me, Carrie.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” Carrie said warningly. “Whatever you think, I’m just as scared and weak-willed as the next person.”
“Well, even if that’s true, your example has helped me come to the conclusion that I’ve been avoiding my issues for far too long. And I have to face my demon. It’s time for me to confront Eddie. It’s time for me to make a change.”
SOMETIMES ALL you had to do was ask.
Carrie sat with her arms propped on her knees contemplating the pile of papers on her coffee table that represented the Hunter Cove Arts Council’s thinking about the expansion of the art show. With it, there were impact studies on the prospective increase in traffic and effect on Main Street businesses. This was big, she thought, even for such a small town. And they wanted to make it bigger. They wanted it to rival the Portland Art Show.
She needed to do some real critical thinking on how to increase the perception of its importance. She could start by designing a signature logo and conceptualizing more prestigious-looking trophies. And they should pare down the prize categories and increase the monetary award, because what was most wanted should be hardest to get. That was good. And then she—and the council—would have to line up more distinguished sponsors. So a killer solicitation letter was on the list of preliminary things to do.
She made copious notes. And then she looked at the time. Ten o’clock.
Only ten o’clock. The nights were getting longer, she was sure of it, and she could not invent enough work to fill the empty hours.
But that was her decision. She’d choose work and being alone over a relationship and misery any day. She’d done the right thing by staying away from Truck.
But whether she’d done the right thing by Jeannie was another story altogether.
The living room by then was too warm. She had a fire banked in the stove, one of those new skills she had learned since coming home, but she was feeling more and more restless and edgy as the night wore on.
Carrie shrugged her arms into the sweater she’d draped over her shoulders, and went out onto the porch. It was cool out there; the temperature sometimes went down into the forties late at night. From where she sat, leaning against the railing just by the top step, the inside of her house looked so warm and cozy. She had leaned the watercolor against the back of the couch and the vibrant colors popped out right through the window. It made that whole corner of the room seem welcoming and lived in, and a place she wanted to be.
She couldn’t believe that five months ago, she’d been tortured by guilt and failure, on the run from rejection, an illusory relationship and betrayal.
And now she was just on the run from Truck. But she had the feeling she could never outrun him.
“It’s not that easy.”
She jumped as Truck’s voice came at her out of the dark. Was he psychic or something? How did he know what she was thinking?
“Sure it is,” she said with more nonchalance than she felt.
He loomed up just below the porch steps. “Mind if I come up?”
Her heart pounded wildly. She minded everything about him. “I guess not.”
He settled himself on the step next to her. “Did you really think it was a far, far better thing you did that night you sent me away?”
“I thought so.”
“Well, it’s not going to work.”
“It’s working,” she said.
“Really? When your voice is shaking. Your hands are shaking. You mean to tell me that if I went over there and kissed you, you’d push me away?”
She wished he would, Carrie thought. Two weeks was too long, even if it was the smartest decision she’d made since she’d left New York. And her feelings were still so intense, she could almost feel his lips on hers. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“So where were we?” he asked lazily.
“Stopping this.”
“But we don’t want to stop it, do we, Carrie?”
“Yeah, we do.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s not smart. We can’t slow-dance in the dark forever.”
“So let’s don’t, Carrie. Let’s slow-dance into the light.”
She turned her head away, feeling agitated, cornered. Truck shouldn’t have come. “That’s not an option.”
“It sounds like a plan to me.”
“It’s not a plan,” Carrie said sharply. “It’s a trap.”
Snap! Vulnerable Carrie, scared silly that she’d permanently deadfall into someone’s arms. He should have seen it, Truck thought, He shouldn’t have given her a choice or a chance after that first kiss. And he’d made it too easy for her by playing her phantom lover.
“Exactly what pitfalls are we talking about, Carrie?” She clenched her fists. “Bad decisions. Mistakes. Illusions. Choosing the wrong person. And that’s just at the top of my list,” she said, her voice trembling.
“So what’s the point?”
Her tension was palpable. “I never want to get stuck,” she said fiercely. “Nothing is worth it. Nothing. Not a career, not great sex, not money, power, prestige. Nothing.”
Truck silently took that in. He couldn’t bear to hear her anguish, her hurt. It was so misguided, and it wasn’t even the fearless, indomitable Carrie Spencer talking.
It was a child.
“Why?” he asked finally. “Why, Carrie?”
“Why? Why. Well, shall I confess all my sins to you, Truck? Shall I lean on you, the way Jeannie does?” Mean thing to say, mean, she thought instantly, remorsefully.
But she didn’t care. She didn’t. She was stronger than that, she always had been. And she could be strong about him too. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody.
And that was the biggest illusion of all.
“I don’t think sq. It’s hard enough to live with my own stupid mistakes, let alone share them with someone who can use them against me.”
“Tell me why, Carrie.”
“You probably know. Everybody knows. That’s what Henry Longford tells me.” She felt close to tears then.
“Yeah, they probably do,” Truck agreed. “Why?”
“I promised my mother I’d never get into trouble,” Carrie whispered.
“And I guess you didn’t,” he said finally because he didn’t know where she was headed with it.
“You’re damn right. Not with you, not with anyone. I swore I wasn’t going to have her life. I wasn’t going to be stuck raising a child on no money at all or constrained from doing anything I wanted to by stupidly giving myself to some idiot who was thinking solely with his hormones. And I was that close to doing it with you, Truck. I was closer than that, fifteen years ago. And then I saw that house up the road and I had a vision of myself with two babies hanging on to my jeans and 3:00 a.m. feedings and housework and laundry, and that’s when I said—goodbye.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. Just what she’d told him all those years ago. No marriage and motherhood for her. But he hadn’t wanted that either. He’d just wanted her.
“When I was thirteen years old,” Carrie said, her voice quivering a little, “and starting to sneak down to the boys’ summer camp, Momma sat me down on that rock down there, and she told me some home truths—that some boy had gotten her pregnant, that he’d abandoned her. That her parents had thrown her out. That she had always been all alone.
“She spent the rest of her life taking care of me, provi
ding for me, making a home for me. And you know what—nobody asked her what she wanted. I never asked her what she wanted. I don’t know what she wanted.”
Oh God, the words almost killed her; she’d never said them out loud, she’d never even allowed herself to think about them.
She went on in a rush: “But I thought I was hot stuff, that everything revolved around what I wanted, what I had to have. And when I had to leave, you know what she did? Do you know?”
She looked at him with tears shimmering in her eyes. “She let me go.”
“That’s what parents do, Carrie.”
“Yeah, well. The only thing she ever asked of me was to keep out of trouble, and keep out of strange guys’ beds.”
“Well, you were good at that, fifteen years ago,” Truck murmured. “Obviously something changed.”
“Chalk it up to another stupid mistake,” Carrie said. “We never should have started.”
“We haven’t nearly finished.”
“Oh yes, we have.”
He moved close to her. Carrie couldn’t back off, she couldn’t back down. And there was so much heat already, from her confession, from her conflicted emotions, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“You’re hiding behind a crumbling wall, Carrie. And the truth of the matter is, your mother didn’t have to be alone and lonely.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered. “She was alone all her life.”
“I mean, there was a lonely widower up the road from her who would have readily, gladly lifted her burden, given her companionship, and love, and eased her pain...”
“No...” She shook her head.
“Yes. Yes. My father could have loved her. Hell, he needed to love her. And you know what she said, Carrie? Every single word you’ve said, exactly the same.”
“No. I don’t believe you. It’s too convenient. No.”
“Everyone knew.”
She felt that awful caving feeling inside. There was no escape from anything, even your past, because everyone knew. “I don’t believe it”
“Ask Old Man.”
I knew your mother, he’d said. Old Man, with whom she’d fallen instantly in love. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She pulled her wits together. “Fine. What’s your point?”
“Think about it—two people desperately needing someone to love, living five hundred yards apart and millions of miles away. You understand exactly what my point is. And nothing is going to make it go away.”
“It has nothing to do with us.”
“Your mother was very beautiful, Carrie, very sweet, so vulnerable. I remember her from the time when Old Man was trying to court her.”
I never knew. I never ever knew...
“And she said no. No, she couldn’t take the risk. No, she couldn’t let go. Old Man could have been your stepfather. He could have given you security and family and love. And what did your mother do? What did she do when she was offered a chance at love and commitment? I’ll tell you, Carrie. I’ll tell you. She hid.”
“No...!”
“She hid...”
“She had reasons,” Carrie snapped.
“She had no reason on earth,” Truck said as he carefully moved closer, “to deprive you, Old Man, herself, me, of family, security, love and commitment.” And closer. “And neither...” Closer, “...do...” He grasped her shoulders. “...you—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was stark, white-hot with contained fury. “Don’t.” She wrenched away from him. “You’ve said enough.”
“I haven’t said nearly enough,” he said huskily. “You know what you’ve been doing the last two months?”
“I know damn well what I’ve been doing. I’ve been sleeping with you.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
“In plain sight,” she retorted. “Nothing was hidden from you.”
“Everything is hidden—in the dark.”
The words hung between them. And it was so easy to give everything, she thought, in the dark.
She pushed at him blindly. “Go away.”
He wrapped his arms around her, containing her surging body.
“I can’t,” she said stonily.
“You will.”
“Leave it alone.” She couldn’t move. She wanted to run from him as fast and far as she could, and she wanted to stay right where she was forever. “You got what you wanted. So just leave me alone.” She made a move to pull away from him.
“You don’t have an idea in hell what I want,” he growled, drawing her back and enfolding her against his strength and his heat. “Carrie—”
There was such raw need in his voice, in his tone, in the way he surrounded her and held her that she didn’t know how she could ever have the strength to deny him anything ever again.
The phone rang, sharply, insistently.
“Don’t answer it,” Truck murmured. He had her; he really had her and they were on the edge of something deep and profound, and he wasn’t going to let her go for anything.
But she felt the familiar tense excitement; she couldn’t stand not to answer it, and she eased free of Truck’s arms and darted into the house, while he followed angrily.
“Carrie, it’s me, Jeannie. Listen, I’m with Old Man. I had it out tonight with Eddie, and I left him. He’s so furious...”
“Whoa, Jeannie, whoa—” Carrie shook her head to try to take in what Jeannie was saying. But it was too far a step from the emotion of Truck’s revelations to Jeannie’s overwrought announcement.
She motioned to Truck. “It’s Jeannie. She says she’s at your house—” She held up the phone between them so he could hear what Jeannie was saying as well.
“Jeannie, did I hear you say you left Eddie? What happened?”
“I had it out with him, Carrie, and now I don’t know what he’s going to do. He wouldn’t listen to me, he wouldn’t listen to reason... and worst of all, he’s blaming it all on you...”
This, on top of everything else. Carrie put the phone down slowly, her expression stricken. “I did this. Eddie’s right I’m the catalyst...If I hadn’t come back, if I hadn’t—”
She got no further; Truck buried her face against his chest, murmuring, “Don’t, Carrie. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s been coming on for years, don’t... don’t... We all told her—don’t—”
She cried. She didn’t know whether she was crying for Jeannie or for herself, or her mother, but she cried, and Truck held her and smoothed her hair, and she couldn’t stop. It all welled up from someplace she wasn’t even aware of, all the anguish, all the lost opportunities, all her sorrow over the failure of Jeannie’s marriage, all her conflicted emotions about Truck.
But she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of tears, not for long. She pulled away from Truck and went to the kitchen to splash cold water on her face.
“Come on, we’ll go up to my house,” Truck said.
Which was exactly what she needed to do.
But, after all that emotion, and all that pain, Carrie felt very strange walking into Old Man’s house in the dead of the night, because she would be seeing it with new eyes and, after the evening’s home truths, she didn’t want to know what it was like, what she could have had, what she had missed.
It was a big comfortable house with an enclosed porch, a spacious living room with shelves and shelves of books, magazines, music, games, cushiony chairs and couches, tables of several heights and lamps conveniently placed for reading.
“So, Carrie,” Old Man said, “you’ve finally come.” Home. It hung in the air even though he didn’t say it
“I’m worried about Jeannie,” she said.
“She’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “We’ve called our lawyer. We’ll get an injunction. It looks worse than it is.”
“But Eddie said—he asked me what kind of voodoo I was working on Jeannie.”
“No law against that,” Old Man said. “Sit down, Carrie. You look wiped out.”
“Yeah, I am.” She sank o
nto the couch. Jeannie was in the kitchen, conferring with Truck, who was on the phone.
They didn’t need her here, she thought And Eddie wasn’t going to do anything drastic, like come after her. He was all bluff and bluster, he always had been. But he’d scared Jeannie to death. And there was that part of him that always seemed to be a little bit out of control. And now that Jeannie had, to all intents and purposes, taken everything away from him, what wouldn’t he do?
“Jeannie’s going to stay here,” Old Man said. “You’re welcome to stay too, Carrie, until this shakes out.”
“Or I’ll stay with her,” Truck said, coming back into the room. “In fact, that might be the best solution.”
“I wouldn’t mind if someone asked me,” Carrie put in irritably.
“You’ve already proven you’re in no shape to make a coherent decision,” Truck said. “I think we should all stay here tonight, and see what happens in the morning.”
Jeannie made coffee, and they huddled around the game table in the far corner of the living room.
“I don’t know where I got the nerve,” Jeannie said, holding her cup tightly in her hands. “I think it was watching Carrie just steam ahead, making things happen in places you’d think there weren’t any opportunities.
“I thought, I’ve been wasting opportunities. All the nights I wait up for Eddie. All the days I just get through, waiting for something to happen. And nothing ever does. Everything is the same. We’re roommates, Eddie and L I’m a piece of furniture. I’m something he put in his house to enhance his comfort.
“So when I started looking different, I threw him off balance. It was like I’d changed the furniture without asking him, and he suddenly didn’t know where things were. He couldn’t use them in the same way, because they were different and he wasn’t used to it.
“He really liked Jeannie the farm woman. I was a glowing advertisement for the benefits of rural living. A woman on the farm is not one who spends a lot of money on female things, you know. And there’s a certain kind of man that’s really attracted to that idea.
“So, I started by buying new clothes, and you saw what happened at the dance. He was baffled. I was the same, and I was different in a way that I stood out suddenly. We fought a lot about that. He really wanted me to be like his mother. To be the person who created his comfort zone, and not question anything he ever did.
