She gave him a grudging smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning at nine. Thanks.”
Tom stood at the base of the front stairs, his hand on the mahogany newel post, his eye on the landing above. He was as unsettled remembering Bree with tears in her eyes as he had been at the time. Wanting to make sure she was all right, he started the climb.
At the top, all was dark. Only when his eyes adjusted did he make out three open doorways. That a fourth was closed was underscored by a pale line of light at its base.
His knock was little more than the brush of knuckles on wood, too soft to disturb sleep if that was where she was. He listened for sound, heard none. Slowly, carefully, he turned the knob and opened the door.
The light came from a small lamp that stood by the side of the bed. Both the lamp and the bed frame were made of wrought iron. Everything else was either white—bedding, draperies, ceilings, walls, and wood—or yellow—throw pillows, lamp shades, and carpet.
The bedroom was smaller than he guessed the others in the house to be, with space for little more than a double bed, a chest of drawers, and a big old upholstered chair. But framed pictures stood on the chest, and books were stacked by the chair, and though the wind chimes hanging at the window were still, they added charm. There were no ruffles or bows, nothing showy or overly feminine. Even the flower arrangement on the dresser, a fresh one with Julia Dean’s unmistakable stamp on it, was bright and honest, like Bree.
The quilt was bunched at the bottom of the bed. She lay above it, curled up with her back to the door. Her robe was dark against the sheets, her hair dark against the pillow.
Quietly, he rounded the bed, to find that her eyes were open and sad. They climbed to his and held.
When he sat by her hip and touched her cheek, she closed her eyes. Within seconds her lashes were wet.
He felt the same tripping sensation he had earlier, even stronger now, and suddenly it didn’t matter that he wasn’t a Panamanian, didn’t matter that her needs now weren’t for impersonal things like Jell-O, wool socks, or Internet printouts. It didn’t matter that he might be crossing a line. He had no choice but to gather her up and let her cry.
Cry Bree did. Tom’s chest was the best thing that had happened to her all day. It gave her permission to be weak for a change, made her feel that if she broke down, the world wouldn’t end. Crying eased the tension that had been building in her since morning, eased the sorrow she hadn’t expected to feel. It eased the confusion of coming home to a house that was the same as before, in a body that wasn’t. It eased her fear of a world where anything at all could happen and leave her wondering what was real and what wasn’t.
But tears were real. And Tom’s chest was real.
She ran out of the first before the second left, but by then she was sleeping too soundly to notice.
LeeAnn drove to Bree’s straight from work on Saturday night. By the time Tom arrived an hour later, her boyfriend was brooding on the front steps in the dark. Though Tom had seen the man numerous times at the diner, they had met formally only the week before. Gavin was the mechanic who had declared Tom’s Jeep a total loss.
“What’s up?” Tom asked.
Gavin grunted. “Nothin’ at all.”
Guessing that that was the man’s gripe in a nutshell, Tom went past him up the steps and across the porch. He had barely knocked on the door when LeeAnn pulled it open, looking ready to do battle. She closed her mouth when she saw Tom instead of Gavin, and glanced uneasily past him to the porch steps.
Tom slipped into the house. “Crossed signals?”
LeeAnn was clearly peeved. “No. He knew I promised to spend the night here. He just isn’t happy about it, what with my having a baby-sitter for the night. It won’t help that you’re here. I told him he couldn’t come in.”
“Why can’t he?”
Her cheeks reddened while she searched for an answer. Tom guessed it had to do with sex.
She tipped up her chin, “if you’re here to see Bree, she’s eating dinner.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt”
“You’re not interrupting me. I ate before. I’m just keeping her company,” She scowled at Gavin. “He was supposed to tend bar at his uncle’s place in Ashmont, but he got the night off at the last minute. I mean, what am I supposed to do? I’m already committed.”
“Bree will probably be going to bed soon.”
“But I have to be here in case she wakes up and feels sick.”
“Do you think she will?”
LeeAnn thought about that. “No. She told me she slept well last night.” The look she shot at Gavin this time was softer. “I mean, it’s not like she really needs me. I didn’t even have to bring food from the diner, there’s so much here already.” She darted a quick look at Tom. “How long did you want to stay?”
Tom shrugged. “Ten minutes, ten hours. You tell me.”
She thought for another minute, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t.” But she looked tempted. “My ex’s mother has the kids. She’s probably already put them to bed. She may be asleep herself. It’d be silly to wake her.” She drew her teeth over her lips. “I have to work tomorrow.” She tacked on, “I could use a good night’s sleep.”
Tom understood perfectly.
LeeAnn alternated hesitant glances between him and Gavin. “Maybe I could go out for a little while. I mean, if you’re going to be here anyway.”
“Sure,” Tom said, with an innocent shrug.
“I mean, what would be really good is if I could get some sleep and come back later.”
“What time would that be?”
She dipped her head to the side in a timid shrug of her own. “I don’t know. One, two. I mean, three would be really great”
“I slept most of the day, so I’ll probably still be up then. I have a movie. You could watch it with me.”
“Well, if you’re only watching a movie, I could sleep longer,” she said, confidentially now. “Like until four or five. Six would be really awesome. I mean, I could be back here by seven, no questions asked. Bree would never be up before seven. She isn’t a morning person. She doesn’t get to the diner before noon. She likes taking her time waiting up.”
“Then it’d be pretty safe for you to come back at seven.”
“For sure.” She paused, looking at him askance. “Did you really break Courteney Cox’s heart, like the Star said you did?”
“I’ve never met Courteney Cox.”
“That’s good. Because if you broke her heart, I couldn’t trust you with Bree. Bree is too nice to be hurt.” A sound came from the porch. Her eyes flew there, then shot back to Tom. In a voice that held a hint of conspiracy, she whispered, “So if I tell Bree I’m going out for a couple of hours, you’ll cover for me till I get back?”
Tom was glad to do it.
He had a head start Sunday night. Right about the time he was finishing off the pasta special at the diner, in short order Jillie went home sick and the grillman burned his hand. Flash, who had wanted to leave early to stay with Bree, slid in across from Tom.
“You were going over there anyway, weren’t you?” he asked, in a voice low enough not to carry beyond the booth.
Tom nodded.
“Think you could stay till I get there? It shouldn’t be later than ten.”
It was actually fifteen minutes before ten. By ten, Flash was stretched out on the floor in front of the television in Bree’s den, snoring softly.
“So much for the movie I thought was riveting,” Tom remarked, though he wasn’t hurting any. He took satisfaction in seeing that Bree was wide awake, looking rested and riveted indeed. Each day, her face was regaining more of its natural color, and while she still moved with care, she was greatly improved.
The den had been a welcome discovery, the only room other than Bree’s bedroom with her personal stamp. Filled with a large, cushiony sofa and chairs, a low coffee table that she claimed she ate dinner on more often than not, and shelves of
books, it was a room after his own heart.
Bree looked away from the movie long enough to say, “Let’s give him a few minutes and see if he wakes up.”
The snoring grew louder.
She leaned down from the sofa, jiggled his shoulder, and gave a gentle “Shhh.”
Flash turned his head, and the snoring stopped. It resumed with a vengeance moments later.
Bree sent Tom a beseechful look, so sweet it made him laugh. “Don’t look at me,” he said. I’m not the one making the noise.”
“Why do men do this? Snoring in bed is one thing, but doing it in a room full of people? My father used to turn on the radio in the living room and snore to the music. It ruined it for me.” She leaned sideways. “Flash!” She gave his shoulder a sharp jab. “Wake up!”
Tom felt a moment’s sympathy for Flash when he bolted up, looking dazed. “What?”
“Go home,” she said, with affection. “Sleep in your own bed.”
He ran a hand over his face. “No. I’m okay. I’ll just go in the other room and stretch out on the sofa. A few minutes is all I need.”
“This is ridiculous, Flash. There’s no need for you to spend the night here. There’s no need for anyone to spend the night.” She rubbed his shoulder where she had jabbed it. “The thought is sweet. But I’m so much better.”
“You’re still in pain.”
“Much less now.”
“What if it gets worse? What if you get up in the middle of the night and pass out?”
“I won’t. Please, Flash? I love you for wanting to help, but what’ll make me feel best is if you go home and sleep so I can finish watching this movie in peace. Besides, Tom’s here.”
Tom sat a little straighter, felt a little better.
Flash wasn’t so happy. “That’s why I have to be. Dotty would have a fit if she heard I left you two alone.”
“Like he’s taking advantage of me. Come on, Flash.”
“I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Are you going to tell her?” Bree asked.
“Me? Christ, no.”
“Well, I’m not, and Tom won’t. So please, go home to bed.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“Yes!” She softened the rebuff with a gentle smile. “I’m tired of people being here all the time. I like having my house to myself.”
“Tom’s staying.”
“Tom’s different.”
“How?”
Bree seemed at a momentary loss. Tom held his breath while she searched for an answer. Finally, she tipped up her chin and quite logically said, “Tom’s recovering, too. He rests when I rest, so his sitting with me kils two birds with one stone. Besides, he’ll leave if I ask, and he won’t be hurt. Easy. No hassle.”
“I’m easy, too,” Flash said.
She smiled. “I know. Know what you can really do to help?”
“What?”
“Get them to cancel the night shift. Please?”
Bree was relieved when the stream of visitors slowed. She wasn’t used to being coddled. Once, she would have wished for it with all her might. Now she found it stifling.
She liked stretching out on the sofa without making excuses for not going to bed, liked getting up without apologizing for not sleeping longer. She liked walking in the backyard without someone telling her that it was too cool or, worse, going out there with her and tainting the fresh air with human speech.
Tom understood. He was as pleased as she to sit out back on the trunk of a fallen maple and listen to the rap of a woodpecker, the hoot of an owl, the rustle of squirrels in the dry autumn leaves. When he spoke, it was in the same hushed voice she used, and he was just as good when they were inside. As he had in the hospital, he sensed what she needed without having to ask. He talked when she was in the mood for talking, opened a book and read when she grew tired, made tea when she was thirsty, made himself scarce when she needed time alone. He didn’t rush to make her bed the minute she left it, didn’t balk when the movie she wanted to watch began at eleven at night, and he made her a breakfast of sweet apple pie with a wedge of sharp cheddar—melted—a totally indulgent, thoroughly enjoyable treat that none of her other caretakers would have allowed.
As relationships went, it was the most unusual one she had ever had. They didn’t talk about his books. They didn’t talk about her tears. Many a time they sat silently, each of them reading, sharing the occasional look and smile. She knew little about him, save what she had read. She had no idea what he wanted from her or where he was headed. Still, she felt closer to him for the silence, and for all the other nonverbal things that he did. He calmed her, like the being of light she still saw in her dreams. He made her feel cared for, even loved.
Talk around town, passed on to her like little get-well gifts, with varying degrees of delight, was that he was dangerous, but she had never felt that. To the contrary. He was so perfect for her that he seemed unreal. And that was okay. Something had happened that night on the operating table, something that said life was too short to analyze things too much, something that relaxed her and made her see and do and feel things that weren’t entirely sensible.
So what if Tom had a whole other life waiting for him in New York? So what if his feelings started and stopped at guilt? So what?
Falling for Tom wasn’t sensible. But it sure felt good.
Chapter
6
Tom made a point of eating at the diner every night before going to Bree’s. He wanted to be seen as a regular there, wanted to be accepted, wanted to feel he was part of the town.
Funny. Belonging hadn’t been something he had thought much about when he chose Panama. He had sought a place to hide in while he figured out what to do with the rest of his life. Panama had fit the bill, first and foremost, because it wasn’t New York. If someone had suggested that he was actively seeking small-town flavor, he would have denied it. He had grown up in a small town and left at the first opportunity, thinking bigger was better.
He had to rethink that now. Panamanians seemed perfectly happy, perfectly content, perfectly intelligent and enterprising, even sophisticated in a modern, media-driven way. The town wasn’t poverty-stricken. Anyone who wanted to get out could get out. That so few did said something.
He thought about it as he sat in his booth day after day, while the townsfolk mingled comfortably among themselves.
He also thought about the surprising relief he felt now that his identity was known. It was nice not to have to avert his eyes or hide behind a three-day stubble, nice not to have to fear discovery. Not that anyone here seemed impressed by who he was. Glances his way were few and far between.
He thought his ego would mind, even just a little. That it didn’t was a sign of how far he had come. But then, being ignored in as close-knit a town as Panama was deliberate. It told him that people were fully aware of what he was doing, and were watching and waiting.
By the time he was into his second week of spending nights at Bree’s, the waiting ended. He began having visitors to his booth.
It started simply enough, with Sam, Dave, Andy, and Jack—all local boys, Bree’s contemporaries and friend’s—shuffling over on their way out the door. They loomed over him, four solid men made more solid by layers of November clothing and more imposing by the earnestness of their expressions.
“We hear you’ve been at Bree’s a lot,” said Andy, whose experience in sales at his family’s tackle store apparently made him the designated speaker. “She’s a friend of ours. We’ll be checking up on her to make sure she’s all right. We thought you oughta know that.”
Before Tom could react, they shuffled off.
Eliot Bonner stayed longer. The following day, after eating with Emma and Earl, he slid in with his coffee cup, facing Tom. “Saw your car at Bree’s again last night,” he said. “Is somethin’ going on that I should know about?”
No beating around the bush, Tom thought, and he said, “That depends. We played backgammon and wa
tched TV. Are there town ordinances against either of those?”
“No. Can’t say there are. So are you gonna keep going over there?”
Tom waited only long enough to make a show of giving his answer some thought. “For a while. She doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Maybe she’s star struck.”
He smiled at that. “I doubt it.” Bree never mentioned his work.
“Are you planning to stay in town?”
He had given himself a year. Now he sensed he might need longer. “I have a house here. I’m registered to vote here.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Eliot said. “What keeps you going to Bree’s? Is it guilt?”
“No.” It might have been at first, but that was gone.
“Then what?”
He thought about the comfort he felt when he was with her. It was honest, pure, even uplifting, if he wanted to be lyrical about it. It was also addictive. He was coming to depend on seeing Bree each day.
To Eliot, he simply said, “I like Bree.”
“So where’s it headed?”
He was beginning to ask himself the same question. “No-where for now. She’s a long way from being recovered.”
“Nah. Knowing Bree, she’ll be back here in two weeks, tops. So I’m warning you. Be careful.”
“Careful?”
“What you do with Bree. She’s a nice girl. Know what I mean? I don’t want anything happening to her now that things are finally looking up. Boy.” He shook his head. “Her father was a long time dying.” He sniffed in a breath, leaned forward, confided, “He was a tough one, Haywood Miller was. Not abusive. Nothing physical. But one cold son of a bitch. The one who could have made all the difference to Bree was the mother, but she didn’t want any part of either of them. If I’d had my way, I’d have gone after her for abandonment. Course, I wasn’t the chief then. I was still working at the lumber mill, right there alongside Haywood, except for the year he was gone. It was a month after he came back before any of us knew he’d brought a baby with him. He hadn’t been much of a talker before he left, but after, he was even worse. We only learned about the baby because he had to take it to the hospital when it got sick.”
Three Wishes Page 9
