by Alison Kent
Jan leaned forward, adding another splash of scotch to the coffee refill Eva poured. "Keep talking. I'm fascinated."
"How can you be fascinated? You've known me for ten years."
"But you've never talked about Eva Channing, Supermodel."
"Two years in the industry does not a supermodel make." She lifted one hand in front of her face. "No supermodel would be caught dead with these hands. Calluses. Chipped nails. Cuticles. Yuck."
"Why'd you leave Kansas for Lake City? After Bobby died? No, wait." Jan erased her question with a wave of her hand. "Why'd you return to Kansas from New York in the first place? Don't tell me it was a Dorothy thing. There's no place like home and all that."
Eva shook her head. Funny that Carson had thought much the same thing. "No. Nothing to do with Oz."
"But everything to do with a man." Jan narrowed an eye. "There's a reason they put men in menstruation and menopause, you know. All female problems begin with men."
Eva giggled, pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the noise, and giggled again. She worked hard to pull a straight face, but her tongue was oh-so-loose and seemed to have taken on a life of its own. "Oh, Jan. He's here."
"He? The photographer? In Lake City?"
"Actually, he might still be standing in the storeroom at Blooms."
"He walked into your shop? Out of nowhere?"
Eva nodded. "The proverbial blast from the past."
"Oh, honey. How're you doing?"
Eva raised a brow.
"Right. Forget I asked. You're here and that tells me exactly how you're doing. So tell me."
It only took those three words. Suddenly, Eva heard herself spilling the details of her affair with Carson—details she'd never shared with anyone, details she thought she'd forgotten, details she'd hoped the years had erased, but now found to be painfully fresh.
Her heart ached and the damn burst and with her friend first holding her hand, then holding her head while she cried, Eva related the story of the only man she'd ever loved.
Later that evening, sitting on her sofa with a novel in her lap, her aching body wrapped tightly in a thick terry robe, Eva tucked up her feet and thought of Carson. Though she'd tried to read, to put him out of her mind, her memory taunted her with vivid images of the days when they'd been lovers.
To celebrate her eighteenth birthday Carson had lit eighteen pillar candles, the flickering light a fiery reflection of the love in her heart. The scent of vanilla sweetened the drafty loft's stale air. The scent of desire erased all doubt from her mind.
She had loved him. Enough to give him the most precious gift a woman could give a man. Even enough to overlook the fact that he'd never voiced his feelings. In her own naive way, she'd loved enough for both of them.
She remembered more, the little things. A cassette tape slurring Aerosmith over two tinny pawnshop speakers. The lumpy, oversized mattress crammed on the sofa-bed frame. The red light glowing in the bathroom-cum-darkroom. The tripod holding the camera, hot bodies, sweaty sheets, the click-click-click of the lens chronicling her transformation from girl to woman.
The next night they'd spread the pictures out on the mattress and celebrated again, passion fueled by the visual exhibition of their love. Afterward, they'd burned the negatives and watched the prints flame.
All but one.
Carson had kept a single two-by-three-inch copy and locked it up with his darkroom equipment. When she'd left New York, barely a year later, she'd torn apart the apartment looking for that damning evidence of her weakness, needing the reminder to ensure she would not repeat the mistake of thinking one-sided love enough.
She'd ended up leaving the print behind along with everything else that had made up her life with Carson Brandt.
Young, pregnant, and scared, she'd known Carson was not willing to take on the responsibility of a child. He had plans to see the world, plans with which a family would interfere. His photography provided a means to that end, and Eva had loved him enough not to hold him back. Right or wrong, she'd gone home, keeping her secret from all but Judith.
Now that she was older, and presumably wiser, she questioned her actions. Maybe Judith was right. Maybe Carson did have a right to know.
But judging by what she'd seen of him today, he hadn't changed. He was still arrogant and demanding. Seventeen years ago she'd walked out on him, torn his ego, wounded his pride. And in her heart she knew his being here today was not about her actions, but his reactions. Their relationship had always been about Carson.
She hadn't missed his questioning look when he'd seen Zack. Let him draw his own conclusions. She didn't care. He meant nothing to her anymore.
And if she said it to herself a thousand times a day, she might just begin to believe it. She had to, or fall victim to Carson Brandt once again. It was a matter of survival. And if nothing else, she was a survivor.
The front door opened, and she pushed away thoughts of the past and smiled at her son.
"Hey, Mom." Zack dropped down in the navy plaid club chair near the sofa and draped his long legs over the arm. Pulling off his cap, he raked both hands through the long hair on top of his head, then jerked his cap on backwards, leaving only the shaved sides of his scalp exposed.
Eva still hadn't gotten used to the look. "Hey, yourself. You don't look quite as tired as you did today at the shop."
"Adrenaline. I'm a baseball junkie." Zack took a swing at an imaginary ball. "How about you? You looked a little pale this afternoon."
"I did? When?"
"In the storehouse. With that guy." Zack paused, his teenage mind obviously putting two and two together. "And then you took off like a bat outta hell."
"Well, I'm fine now." Eva was in no frame of mind to discuss Carson Brandt with her son. Maybe someday, but not tonight. "So, tell me. Who won?"
"We kicked ass. Nine zip." Frowning, he scuttled around and leaned forward in the chair. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. Just sorry I missed your game. I had a killer headache." And no wonder, the way she'd cried while Jan plied her with scotch. Eva rubbed her forehead, then closed her book on her lap. "Did you manage to get rid of Mrs. Appleton?"
"Speaking of headaches, you mean? Yeah. Pete said he'll deliver the stuff first thing Monday morning." For a minute Zack stared at her as if trying to decide whether to pursue another thought.
Finally, he sighed, slapped his knees with his palms, and stood. "Well, whoever that dude was, he drove one bad ass Jeep. Keep one of those in mind for my birthday, will ya?" he said with a sly wink. "I'm going to take a shower and turn in. Good night."
"Night, Zachary. See you in the morning. And don't hold your breath over the Jeep."
"Yeah, right."
Eva watched him walk away, and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the bathroom door close. He was growing up. Tall for his age, wide-shouldered, lean-hipped. Tawny hair—the hair that hadn't seen the clippers. Scotch-and-water eyes that took in everything and had seen too much. Wise beyond his years. A good boy who would be a fine man. Was a fine man.
A man his father would have been proud of.
"Bartender, another."
The burly man answering the call strolled to the end of the counter and leaned his weight into the slab of a forearm he plopped on the bar. He picked up Carson's empty shot glass, upended it, and slammed it down..
"Last call was thirty minutes ago, bub."
Carson focused on the face looming above him. That tiny bit of concentrated effort sent him perilously close to slipping from the bar stool to the concrete floor. He wobbled to the right and gripped the stool beside him.
Snickering, the bartender retrieved the empty shot glass and made his way back down the bar. "Lemme know when you're ready for a cab."
Carson pulled the stool firmly beneath him and leaned his forehead against the counter's red vinyl padding.
When was the last time he'd gotten drunk over a woman? Easy answer, Brandt. The night Eva walked out. He'd tried for
a week, two weeks, three, to wash her from his mind, until he'd awakened in a parking lot, slumped in the front seat of his car without a clue.
She wouldn't do it to him this time. Now that he'd seen her, he could leave. Put her memory to rest. Hop on the first plane to nowhere, anywhere. Just go.
Where he was going was straight to the bottom for the second time in his life. He'd looked down at her there in her storeroom and drowned. Without saying a word, without making a move, she'd stood there and let him sink.
The boy. What had she called him? Zack. More importantly, what had he called her? Mom. Even if by chance Carson walked away from Eva, he couldn't walk away from Zack. Not until he'd gotten some answers about the kid with the golden hair and eyes. "Bartender."
"Look, bub, I done told you once—"
"I know. I know. Just give me change for the phone, will ya?" Having no idea what he'd done with his cell, Carson pulled his wallet from his pocket and slapped what he hoped was a dollar bill on the bar. "I'll get my own cab."
"Sure thing, bub." He fished in the cash register and spun quarters and dimes and one lone nickel in Carson's direction.
Carson slid off the stool and wobbled to the pay phone. Dropping in the change, he called a cab, still lucid enough to know he needed to sleep it off before he climbed behind the wheel of his rented Jeep. And before he called Bailey.
What a shock his call would be to the older man. Bailey had been hounding him for months to take a break, to use some of the vacation he'd accumulated before they went belly-up paying him for it. Lake City, Texas, seemed as good a place as any to spend a bit of time. He pulled the remnants of a dog-eared snapshot from his wallet while he listened to the ring of the phone.
Especially when the small Texas town seemed to hold more than a few pieces of Carson's past.
Chapter Three
The staccato click of Eva's heels against the tiled hallway of Lake City High kept cadence with the pounding in her head. The echo of her steps she could ignore. The headache wasn't as forgiving.
A sleepless night, the conference with Zack's photography instructor, the work waiting at the shop ... if it wasn't one thing it was another.
And then there was Carson Brandt.
The school's heavy front door latched shut behind her. Eva glanced at the darkening sky. Great. If she didn't get back to the shop pronto, Mrs. Appleton's potting soil would be potting mud and wouldn't be bagged in time to deliver to the woman's gardener.
The Lake City Garden Club might be Eva's meat and potatoes, but the individual members provided the gravy. Specifically, Zack's new digital Canon Rebel and his account at Flash Foto—at least what balance he couldn't cover with the meager salary Eva managed to pay him.
She couldn't afford to have her funds spread any thinner, especially after the strong urging she'd just received from Zack's instructor that she provide her talented son with all the support—and equipment— he needed. The support was a given. The equipment, well, somehow she'd manage.
But she absolutely, positively could not afford to have Zack find out about Carson Brandt, photographer extraordinaire. She knew Carson well. He didn't take his profession lightly, didn't take to hobbyists at all. He didn't have the patience to deal with Zack's particular brand of teenage enthusiasm.
And she would not have Zack hurt.
With a quick glance to the right, Eva eased out of the school parking lot and maneuvered her minivan into the far lane of traffic. Her son had his baseball, his buddies, his girlfriend, Katie. He also had a gift, that elusive photographer's eye that allowed him to produce and perfect the same magic as Carson.
Why, oh, why did it have to be photography that demanded Zack's creative energy? Why not auto mechanics or rock and roll? Why not skydiving or raising rabbits? Eva smiled inwardly, trying to picture Zack caring for an animal of any kind.
Zack, who had never wanted a pet, who hadn't wanted to love anything else that might be taken from him. He'd lost so much as a child and, damn it, he would not lose photography. Not if it was in her power. Not if she chewed her fingernails to the quick each time he told her, "Pucker up and say mozzarella."
As much as she loved her son, she only tolerated his passion. The click of the shutter brought flashbacks. Bright, Technicolor bursts of the days she'd spent in front of Carson's camera, the nights she'd spent in his arms.
Confronted with such images of the past, she examined them with a critical eye, seeking a measure of detachment, distance, deeming herself a casual observer. She failed each time on all three counts.
If only distance were possible, or detachment anywhere near the truth. But until she'd seen him again, she hadn't realized the memories were a symptom of a much larger problem. Her inability to let go and put closure to the past.
Exasperated as much with herself as with the spatter of raindrops, Eva signaled, turned right onto River Drive, and right again into the private parking area along the side of Blooms. Grabbing her purse, she slammed the van door and hurried down the walkway to the side entrance.
The bell chime jangled as the wind whipped the glass door from her hand. The frame bounced off the wall, rattling the fragile panes. A shaft of lightning illuminated the shop's interior. Standing in the open doorway, Eva cringed at the deafening crack of thunder.
"Crap." The bad weather punctuated her bad mood. She hated bad moods. She didn't have time for bad moods. And she had no time for bad weather, either.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the stinging smell of fertilizer, the earthy aroma of watered plants. Humid and cloying, the pungent odors of the shop calmed her as nothing else. This was hearth and home, the familiarity even Carson Brandt's appearance could not destroy.
"Hi, Ms. Channing."
Eva opened her eyes. Katie Crenshaw sat at the checkout counter behind a mountain of textbooks and notepads, a pen caught between her teeth.
"Hi, yourself, Katie-did. I see Zack drafted you into service again."
Katie laid the pen in the crease of her open book. "Yeah. I stopped by to remind him of the school paper's staff meeting at my house tonight. He said he wasn't going to make it if the potting soil didn't get bagged. I said I'd help for a while."
She arched her back in a youthful catlike stretch, then propped her elbows on the counter, her chin on her palms. "It's been slow so I thought I'd get this English assignment out of the way."
Eva held back her smile. She doubted the girl had stopped by to remind Zack of anything as much as she'd stopped by just because. Young love had always been and would always be young love. Dumping her purse to the floor, Eva shrugged out of her cream linen blazer. "I wish Zack showed half your interest in his own college prep courses. Sometimes I think aliens replaced his brain with a baseball."
"Or a roll of film." Katie sighed, settling her dimpled chin heavier into her hands. "Did he tell you the prom committee asked him about doing the portraits?"
Prom portraits. What next? Eva rubbed away her building headache. "No. He didn't."
"He probably hasn't had a chance to mention it. He only found out yesterday. I think the prom committee was impressed that the Garden Club chose him to do this year's calendar."
Eva folded her blazer over her arm and retrieved her purse from the floor. "So much for his grades. He was barely managing between baseball, the paper, and working here after school. Now with the calendar assignment and this prom thing, I don't know when he'll find time to study."
She reached out and tugged on a strand of Katie's corn-silk hair. "Thank goodness he has you for a tutor."
Frowning, Katie picked up her pen. "I don't mind. We have fun. Studying, I mean."
Watching the blush crawl up Katie's neck, Eva inwardly smiled. She'd missed so much teen fun growing up the way she had, at the rate she had, and wanted to provide Zack an all-American family life— even if this cute female part of the package was more than her mother's psyche was ready to deal with.
"Listen, Katie-did, if you don't mind hanging around a wh
ile longer, I'm going to run into my office and change into something a little grungier and get out there with Zack and Miguel before the bottom falls out."
"Sure. I just hope Zack gets finished in time for the meeting." Katie sighed heavily and glanced down at her book.
"Well, three sets of hands are faster than two, even if mine aren't quite as big."
"There are three of them out there already."
Eva's fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. "Three?"
Katie nodded. "A man stopped by to see you. I told him you weren't here and he asked for Zack, so I sent him out back."
"A man?" A man who asked for Zack. Eva didn't even need one guess.
"Yeah. Tall, blond. Pretty cute, for an old guy." Katie grinned, a smile that Eva forced herself to return.
"Hey, you'd better watch it with those old remarks. If he's who I think he is, age has only fine-tuned the muscles he earned at Zack's age."
"Yeah, I noticed." Katie blushed.
"Well, you've got good taste, Katie-did. And don't worry." She leaned forward to whisper. "I won't tell Zack."
Leaving Katie at a loss for words, Eva hurried to her office. Crap. She didn't need the aggravation of Carson Brandt, no matter how much he improved the scenery.
Shoving the door shut, she kicked off her heels and padded in her stocking feet to the window behind her desk. Lifting a mini-blind slat, she peered out into the garden area.
He stood there bare-chested and knee deep—cast deep—in rich black soil. Holding open a burlap sack, Zack hunkered down while Carson shoveled the humus mix into the bag. His shoulders bunched. His biceps flexed. And he was much too tan for early spring.
His skin glowed bright with the kiss of summer sun. She wondered where he'd been. An equatorial climate. Maybe Egypt or Ethiopia. Somewhere where he wouldn't mind the lack of provisions. Food had never mattered to him. So weight had never been a problem.
But what had once been a body gangly with youth was now the lean strength of prime man. His skin was smooth, seasoned, his chest dusted with sun bleached fuzz. His hair had streaks of red gold over streaks of honey. He'd let it grow and she liked it.
