by Kathryn Shay
He nodded.
Something inside Francey clicked into place. A piece of the puzzle of her life, so long absent that she was surprised by its arrival. She turned her face into his hand. “Yes, Alex.”
“There’s a condition.”
She stared at him. “I won’t intentionally let you out-bench-press me.”
He didn’t smile. “You have to give up your position in the fire department.”
Francey froze. Everything around her became accented. The ticking of the clock, the crickets outside the window. After a long time, she said, “Alex, giving up my job isn’t an option. It’s also not fair to ask me to.”
“Why?”
“If I asked you to give up Templeton Industries for me, would you?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“What?”
“I’d give up anything to have you. I love you that much.”
Again Francesca stared at him openmouthed. “All this because of today, right?”
He nodded.
“Look, this was the fire of a lifetime. It’s highly unlikely one of this duration and severity will happen again.”
“All fires are dangerous. Do you have any idea what it was like to sit in my office and watch you walk into that building?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t live my life that way.”
Francey felt chilled despite the summer heat that seeped through the open windows. “Like my mother,” she whispered raggedly. “Just like my mother.”
He stared at her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s simple. Say you’ll quit the fire department.”
“No, Alex, I can’t. We’ll figure this out together. Go to counseling. Reed’s helped people who had this problem.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You weren’t the one listening for special bulletins and waiting for phone calls that would decide the rest of your life. I can’t do that for a lifetime,” he repeated.
She stared at him unblinkingly.
“What’s more, I wouldn’t subject our children to the horror I just experienced.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could barely keep it together today myself. I can’t fathom holding my little girl on my lap and trying to assure her that her mother’s going to be all right.” He held Francey’s gaze. “Trying to explain to her why her mother risks her life every day.”
Francey’s throat clogged. The image he drew sent jagged pain through her. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she willed them back. “You promised me this wouldn’t happen.
You promised me, if I let myself fall in love with you, you could handle the worry.”
“I was wrong.”
“I can’t give up my job, Alex. I’d do anything for you but that.”
“Nothing else is enough.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
After a moment, he leaned over and picked up his sports coat. Shrugging into it, he walked silently to the door without looking at her.
Francey heard the click of the latch as it closed. Stunned, she sank into a chair.
She knew he wasn’t coming back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alex hit the ball so hard it shot toward the front wall like a bullet, ricocheted off the low left corner, fired back and struck his brother in the shoulder.
Richard tossed his racquet down and rubbed where he’d been hit. “Damn it, Alex.”
Wearily Alex leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Sweat poured from him, soaking his shirt. His limbs were shaky. His eyes closed, his knees up, he dangled the racquet between his legs. “I’m sorry.”
After a moment, Richard dropped down beside him. “This has to stop. For two weeks you’ve been playing and working like a maniac. You’ve lost weight and you look like hell.”
Head down, Alex didn’t respond.
“You can’t go on like this.”
“Hell, Richard. What do you suggest I do?”
“Call her. Work this out.”
That was her suggestion. He hadn’t even considered it. And he wouldn’t now. Alex banged his racquet on the wooden floor and the crack echoed through the enclosed court. “Absolutely not.”
“Is this any better?”
“No, but I’m banking it will be.” He looked at his brother. “Pain now for peace of mind later.”
And Alex believed his words. A surgeon’s quick, precise slice, which would heal cleanly, was preferable to opening an old wound over and over.
“If you get through this torture.”
“I’m going away,” he told Richard.
“Where?”
“To Saint Lucia.”
“The Caribbean at the end of summer’s hot.”
“I like hot weather.”
Richard stared at him. “You stayed around for me, didn’t you?”
After a moment, Alex nodded. Richard’s hearing had been last week. The combination of a good lawyer, documents from the detox clinic and Richard’s coming forward of his own will had gotten him probation and community service for six months. He also attended drug-addiction meetings several times a week. Richard was back on track.
Now, Alex’s life had derailed big-time. He was barely functioning at work. He’d refused to go to the gym or run, since the activities conjured up too many associations with Francesca, but he’d kept his fitness up with rabid games of racquetball with Richard.
The sport hadn’t helped. He still thought about her every single day. Still dreamed about her at night—some dreams graphically erotic, some sweet and tender. Both woke him in a cold sweat.
“Maybe the trip will help,” Richard said.
“Maybe.” But Alex doubted it. He simply didn’t know what else to do.
oOo
As soon as Francesca entered Diana’s Designs, she was swamped with memories of the last time she’d been here. To buy something for her first date with Alex. She’d been so excited, so optimistic. She’d been a fool.
“May I…Oh, Francey.”
Great, just what she needed. Miss America. “Elise. Is my mother here?”
Elise stared at her for a minute. Something odd flickered in her stepsister’s eyes. “No, she went to lunch with your father.”
Francey shook her head. Her mother and father were dating. How ironic. “Fine. Tell her I stopped by.” She turned to go.
“Francey?”
She stopped with her back toward Elise then pivoted. Her stepsister had come around the desk, the soft knit of a beige summer dress shimmering around her. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty shadowed the younger woman’s face. “I wanted to tell you something.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I watched the television coverage of the fire at ChemLabs.”
Do you have any idea what it was like to sit in my office and watch you walk into a burning building?
Elise gave her a tentative smile. “I was awestruck seeing you fight that fire. You’re so brave. I would have fainted on the spot.”
Oddly, Francey felt tears sting her eyelids.
“I, um, just wanted you to know that.” Elise took a deep breath. “And also to tell you that nothing ever happened between me and Alex.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Francey said dejectedly.
“Yes, I heard.” Elise stepped closer. “If I had a chance with him—which I don’t—I’d do anything to keep him.”
Francey swallowed hard. “He wants too much.”
“Does he?” After a moment’s hesitation, Elise went on. “Your mother…she’s always had this inner sadness about her.” Elise gave her a meaningful look. “Until recently.”
Francey thought of her father’s long-standing restlessness, until he started seeing Diana again. Still, she shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Elise shrugged. “I just thought I’d tell you.”
“Thanks.” Francey turned away. Nee
dy and confused, she stopped when she reached the door; after a moment she turned back. “Anybody else working here today?”
“Yes, another employee is in the back. Why?”
“I thought you might want to go to lunch with me. You know, and talk about girl stuff.”
A smile beamed from Elise’s face. “I’d love that.” She crossed her arms and studied Francey. “Somewhere inside me, I think I’ve always wanted that. Let me get my purse.”
oOo
The Sandals Resort in Saint Lucia was ten sprawling acres of lush greenery. Tropical shrubbery and palm trees dotted the golf course. The smell of sea water permeated the air. Alex lifted his club and swung for a drive worthy of the PGA. The ball sailed more than two hundred yards. Thirty-six holes a day had honed his game. He played the rest of the course with intensity—and a gloom he’d brought with him to the Caribbean. Even the place reminded him of her.
Someday, I’m going to take you to the Caribbean, he told her the afternoon she’d lost the elderly woman in the fire. He remembered thinking, Maybe on our honeymoon. Maybe we’ll even get married down there. He swore vilely at the memory.
After leaving his clubs with his caddy, he stopped at an outdoor bar for a drink. Gazebos shielded the area from the hot sun and huge whirling fans hung from the wooden rafters. A semi-cool breeze off the water made the temperature comfortable. From the bleached wood bar, patrons could look out over a sea so blue it resembled a child’s Play-Doh. When he wasn’t golfing, Alex had spent time scuba diving, snorkeling and kayaking.
“How’d ya do today, handsome?” The deeply tanned bartender had been sending out signals for the four days he’d been vacationing. So far, he’d ignored them.
“I hit under eighty finally.”
Uninvited, she tested his biceps. “You’re in great shape.”
A flash of Francesca, watching him at Chelsea’s gym came to him. She’d reached out and tweaked his arm. Hey you’ll get there.
“Want the usual?”
He nodded.
As the bartender—Millie, he thought her name was–fixed him a gin and tonic, he studied her. She had a centerfold’s body. Blond curls rippled down her back.
And she did nothing for him whatsoever. He swore again under his breath and stared out at a grainy sand dune a hundred yards away, where seagulls fluttered and cooed.
“Hey, why the scowl?” Millie placed a tall, cool drink in front of him. “Nobody scowls in Saint Lucia.”
Alex pasted on a fake smile.
It was all the encouragement she needed. She leaned over the bar and scraped long, vampire-red nails on his bare arm. “I’m off in two hours. I could make you smile the rest of the night.”
He studied her. She was the opposite of Francesca in every way. Maybe she was what he needed. After all, that’s why he’d come to Saint Lucia—to forget the woman he loved.
At midnight, in his room, as he unbuttoned his shirt and she started to pull the slinky silk top over her head, he stilled her movements. “I’m sorry, Millie. I can’t. It was a nice dinner, and you were terrific company. But I can’t do this.”
Not now, he thought as he closed the door behind the bartender. But someday.
oOo
“I’m not going!” Francesca plunked down on a plush chair to underscore her objection.
“Yes,” Chelsea said implacably, “you are.”
“Alex will be there.”
“Why? He wasn’t there in past years.”
“Because of the warehouse fire. Templeton Industries is contributing megabucks to the Firefighter’s Ball.”
“If you don’t go, I’m not going.” Beth held up a shiny green dress that highlighted her hazel eyes and auburn hair. The women shared a huge fitting room—with wall-to-wall mirrors—in one of Rockford’s snazziest boutiques.
Chelsea spun around, soft folds of black crepe swirling at her ankles. “You guys, we promised.”
“That pact years ago was stupid,” Francey told Chelsea.
Smugly, Beth arched a brow at her in the mirror. “I’ve been telling you that all along.”
Francey stared at her friends. When she and Chelsea had graduated from the academy, the three of them had promised each other—after one too many drinks—that they’d go to the annual Firefighter’s Ball dressed to the nines. If she remembered correctly, it had something to do with asserting their femininity.
“Oh, all right.” Francey gave in grudgingly.
Chelsea and Beth exchanged looks.
“I know this is a conspiracy to get me to go out,” she said, flinging off her jeans and sweatshirt. She took the gold silk dress, accented with Cleopatra inspired beads—whatever the hell they were—from Chelsea and whipped the thing over her head. The material slithered down her hips to the floor. The front scooped low, with a gold band across the bodice that circled to become straps; the side slit was indecent. She turned in front of the mirror. Hell, the dress was backless.
Beth’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God, you’ll be beating them off with a stick.”
That outfit ought to be illegal. I’d better go get a stick or something. I’ll be beating off the guys at L’Auberge.
Francey choked back a sob.
“France? You okay?” Beth asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
Quietly Chelsea came in close and put her hands on Francey’s shoulders. “No, you’re not. You’re losing weight, and it’s obvious you haven’t been sleeping. If you aren’t going to fight for him, you’ve got to move on, kiddo.”
Torn, Francey met Chelsea’s gaze in the mirror. “The only concession he wants I can’t give him.”
Beth looked up from fastening the strappy sandals she’d slipped into. “Then find somebody else. He has no right asking you to give up your job.”
Chelsea sighed. “Men in love do stupid things.”
“Men, period, do stupid things,” Beth said absently.
Francey smiled. The familiar repartee was comforting. “All right! I’ll buy the dress.”
“Great.” Chelsea smiled impishly. “Now we have to get you a date.”
oOo
A week after he returned from Saint Lucia, at eleven o’clock at night, Alex stood at his office window overlooking the Rockford skyline. The city lights twinkled, and a few lonely cars meandered along the streets. Suddenly a siren spilt the air, and he tensed. It whined mercilessly as a fire truck came into sight. From where he stood, Alex couldn’t tell if it was a Quint, an engine or a ladder truck. Six months ago he wouldn’t have known—or cared about—the difference.
He swallowed hard. Was she on tonight?
Of all that he’d endured the past three weeks, wondering if she was safe had been the worst torture. He didn’t watch the news or read the paper because he didn’t want to know what she’d been involved in. He wondered if, years from now, he’d think of her and still worry.
No, she’ll belong to another man then.
Alex pounded his fist on the window frame, sending pain splintering up his arm. Fine, let some other jerk worry about her. Coddle her when she comes home exhausted and sore. Put her to sleep when she’s so wired she can’t settle down.
The images of how he’d taken care of her socked him in the gut. He’d given all that up because he couldn’t stand the stress.
He saw his face reflected in the window. And for the first time he asked himself, When did you become such a coward?
oOo
Night watch was the loneliest time in the shift. At one, the station was quiet. Francey sat in the glass-enclosed booth staring at the trucks in the bay with only the hum of the computer to keep her company. It was almost impossible not to think about Alex here. She recalled vividly other early morning hours she’d talked to him.
Remember in Backdraft how William Baldwin made love to the girl in the bed of the truck? Wouldn’t that be fun? Close your eyes, sweetheart, and imagine I’m touching you.
Juxtaposed with those seductive words was the last time he’d pho
ned the station. Richard had confessed that he’d started the warehouse fire—though Francey hadn’t known why Alex needed to talk to her. But the reason wouldn’t have mattered. She was a firefighter; she would have had to leave under any circumstances.
It was her being a firefighter that he couldn’t accept. Francey sighed heavily.
A movement to her left caught her attention. Ed Knight stood in the doorway, sipping from a coffee mug. “You okay, kid?”
Francey nodded, battling back tears. God, every time somebody showed concern these days, she felt like bawling. Combined with the fact that she could barely swallow food, she knew she was on the skids. “Sure. I’m fine.”
“Want company?”
“I’d love some.”
Casually he took a chair across from her. They made small talk about the crew for a while. Then Francey asked, “Ed, how’d you keep a marriage going all these years?”
“We had some tough times. Still do.”
“Did…does Cindy worry?”
The captain sat back and propped his feet on the desk. “Yeah, she does. She says she handles the stress, but I can see in her eyes when she’s terrified.” He stared into space. “And I’ve caught her crying.”
“But she tolerates the fear. For you.”
He nodded. “Sometimes I wish I’d chosen some other line of work, though. I can never take the terror away.”
“Is it hard to live with? Knowing you cause her to worry?”
He cocked his head. “Not compared to the alternative. I can’t imagine life without Cindy. And she feels the same way. Marriage is full of compromises, but this firefighter thing is the worst. And the burden is mostly on her.” He looked at Francey. “Which is hard for me, knowing I hurt her just by being who I am.”
After Ed left, Francey told herself her life was better this way. Why get herself in the position Ed was in? Too many people had trouble. Nicky and Sue who’d divorced because they fought so much. Her mother and father—who were dating like freakin’ teenagers. Ed and Cindy Knight—who had the best marriage she’d ever seen and two beautiful sons. It did hurt too much, didn’t it?
She caught a glimpse of herself in the windowpane. Impatiently, she swiped the tears from her cheeks, then buried her face in her hands.
