Love, Albert

by Simmons, Lynda

  She didn’t wait for an answer. Just reached across him, and clicked, Tour House. He could see the shift in her posture, feel the energy coming off her, and he knew with absolute certainty that it was only a matter of time before her page was filled with awards, and the testimonials were too many to track.

  “I made it one afternoon when Mr. Robinson was at work,” she said. “Took the kids and my mom—”

  “You took the kids?”

  “I take them with me any time I can,” she said, turning the laptop slightly, angling it toward her so she could key in a command. “To be honest, I’m convinced the only reason I sold that house in Burlingame was because I had just buzzed into the office with the kids in tow when the Dicksons came in with their three kids.

  “We’d been to the park,” she continued, “ and Jason was filthy, but I was the only agent there. So I sat all five kids down with juice and cookies, and went through the book with the parents. Showed them the house and sold it to them the same day. In fact, that’s one of the waivers I have to do up when I get back.” She turned the computer back to him, her smile broadening into a grin. “Here you go.”

  Reid shifted his attention to the small screen in the middle of her Web page.

  “That’s the front door,” she said, explaining the obvious as the camera moved through the door into the foyer. She winced, sat back on her heels. “See what I mean about it being a bachelor pad?”

  The camera work was a little unsteady, but the idea was good and her take on a house tour unique. She paid attention to the details, as always, going tight on the trim, the windows—the things that made Mr. Robinson’s house different, aside from the mirror tiles and synthetic fur. Reid couldn’t help but be swept along by her, by the camera, into this house that was taking her farther away.

  “My mother just rolled her eyes at most of his things,” Vicky said. “But the kids loved it, especially Kira. She was so excited when we were filming. Kept trying to sneak into the shots until I promised to make another one with her in it. That child is such a ham. Of course, she comes by it naturally.” She turned to him, her smile changing from cocky to questioning. “You’re missing it,” she said, pointing to the laptop.

  Reid blinked and looked over at the screen, seeing only a blur of rooms and doorways. Finding her more interesting, more intriguing than anything she could show him on the screen, and he had to consciously swallow the panic every time he thought of her leaving.

  “Now we’re going up to the bedrooms.” She wrinkled her nose. “Next time, I’ll turn the camera off when I climb the stairs.” She rose up on her knees again. “Here we are in the master bedroom. I was careful to avoid the tiles, but if you look at the reflection in the mirror over the dresser, you can just see them.”

  Reid smiled. “You really like this job, don’t you?”

  She sat back on her heels, studied the laptop as if considering. “There are parts of it I always knew I would love,” she said at last. “Showing the houses, hammering out the deal. That’s why I kept my license up all these years. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay on.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her hands instead of the video. “Because the kids need me home more. I worry that Jason doesn’t get enough attention, and Kira lives too much in a fantasy world.”

  “Those kids are two of the happiest, most well-adjusted children I know. And if you’re still dwelling on Jason and the electric razor, Kira was the same age when she went at her own bangs, remember?”

  He watched her wince and knew she was seeing that little tuft of hair on their daughter’s forehead the day they were taking pictures at nursery school.

  She raised her head and looked back at the video, but neglected to mention that they had just stepped out onto the deck and the trees in the yard were in bloom.

  “In my head, I know they’re fine,” she said. “But in my heart, I feel like I’m letting them down. That I should be baking more cookies, or reading more stories.”

  “The perfect mom,” he said softly. The one who went hand in hand with a house, a yard, and a shiny new minivan.

  Her sigh was small, barely audible. “To be honest, that’s why I worked so hard to pull these deals together. I thought if I could just get one big hit, I’d be set. I’d buy the house and scale back the hours, maybe take on a partner. But lately I’ve been thinking I should find something else instead.”

  Reid shook his head. “Vicky, don’t do that. You’re clearly excited by the work, and really enjoying yourself. Do you know how rare that is?”

  “There are more important things.”

  “Nothing is more important than being true to yourself, to what you are.”

  She looked up at him. “What I am is their mother.”

  Reid reached for her, could not have done otherwise. Lifting her up and bringing her to him, this woman who was fierce and gentle, hard-nosed and soft—and as confused about life and love as he was himself.

  She offered no resistance and he settled her on his lap, tucked her head into his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to hold her, to comfort her. To show her they could find the answers together if she would only give them a chance.

  “It’s almost over,” she said, and he wasn’t sure what she meant until he looked over at the video, saw the camera backing out the front door, tripping on the step.

  “Next time, I’ll hire a professional,” she said, and smiled when he shook his head.

  The clip ended with a close up on the FOR SALE sign, and Kira peeking out from behind the car parked at the curb. Vicky leaned closer. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

  “You must be looking forward to putting a SOLD sign on there,” he said. “And an offer in on the house in Milton.”

  She nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin against her cheek, and the strong steady beat of his heart beneath her hand.

  When a box flashed up on the screen asking Play Again? she closed her eyes and wished she could find a way to say yes.

  Instead she said, “It’s a dream come true,” and got to her feet. Not because she wanted to leave, but because she longed to stay. Longed to have his arms around her and simply let herself lean, let him take care of her, if only for a while. But the video was over. Nothing left to see but her picture, and a slogan she had always hated.

  He held on to her hand a moment longer, stroked his thumb across hers. “I haven’t congratulated you on your deal.”

  She glanced down at their hands. “I haven’t thanked you either, for making the whole thing possible. If you hadn’t given me Zack’s number, I’d still be scrambling with only a few hours to go.”

  “Glad to help.”

  There was no sarcasm in his tone, nothing to make her doubt his sincerity, which made it harder to draw her hand away and reach for her computer instead. She shut down her Web page and the broker’s site as well, but let the white house with the blue shutters linger on the screen a second longer, wondering idly if he’d recognize it.

  “The price is lower,” he said, surprising her.

  “It’s a real break for me,” she said, quickly scanning the listing, trying to picture the living room, the kitchen, anything at all, but seeing only numbers on a page. “I’ll have to see it again,” she added, not sure if she was telling Reid or herself, but taking comfort in the decision. Certain she would feel better about the house after she’d visited, checked out the schools.

  “Have someone look at the roof,” he said. Vicky looked over and he held up his hands. “I’m no expert of course, but that one will definitely need work.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced back at the picture, drummed her fingers on the vanity, and turned as he got to his feet. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me? Take a look at the roof?”

  He didn’t answer right away and she felt herself blush, caught.

  “I didn’t think so,” she said, but found it hard to be hur
t. He was only being true to himself, being what he was; just as Willy and Albert had been. The only one fooling herself it seemed, was Vicky.

  She left the listing up on the screen so she could e-mail the agent, make an appointment to see the house again. Then she turned her attention to the box, focusing on Albert and the tasks they still had to complete in order to finish up. To put an end to the dreams, the wishes, the silly romantic notions, once and for all.

  “I’ve been thinking about the ashes,” she said. “The ranger mentioned a service that would drop the ashes for us. But it makes more sense if we call the charter firm at the airport in Little River, rent a plane, and scatter the ashes over Jackson’s Point ourselves.”

  “That’s not going to work,” he said.

  “We could get a boat I suppose.” She picked her purse up off the floor. Set it on the bed and pulled back the zipper. “But I think Albert would enjoy the plane more. I’ve got the number right here. We can find out what they have available, and I can book an air taxi to take me home at the same time. I’ll put it on my credit card. Get a few pluses on my side of the balance sheet.” She smoothed the slip of paper on the dresser and reached for her cell phone. “I can call them now, while you’re here.”

  “Vicky hang up,” he said, his tone soft, at odds with his words. She looked over. “Hang up,” he repeated. “Because I can’t do it that way.”

  “Honestly Reid, I want to see Albert fly as much as you do, but I won’t go back to Seaport. I won’t take a chance with that ranger and a fine and—”

  “It’s not that. Your idea is a good one. I just can’t rent a plane.”

  “Why on earth not?” she asked.

  He rose and walked over to the dresser. Stood with his back to her. “Because I haven’t had a license for close to a month now.”

  “No license,” Vicky said, repeating the two words carefully, distinctly—positive she’d misunderstood.

  He sighed and wandered back to the bed, looked down at Albert’s treasures. “In the words of the FAA, I have been temporarily suspended from operating an aircraft pending retraining and another checkride.”

  “Checkride,” she said, knowing she’d heard correctly this time, but still unable to put it together.

  She knew the FAA tested all pilots every six months, sending an inspector up in the plane to put them through standard and emergency procedures: engine failures, manual and automatic operations. Routine tasks for an experienced pilot, meant only to prove that he was the obvious master of the aircraft, and passenger safety was never in question.

  In over ten years of professional flying, Vicky had never known Reid to fail a test. His flight record was a point of pride for both himself and North Star, and the reason his list of regular clients was long and loyal. Flying was his life, and a pilot what he was. Vicky could only imagine how hard the last month must have been for him, and understood why he hadn’t been able to tell her.

  She touched a hand to his arm. “What happened?”

  “I lost altitude on an instrument approach.” He picked up the Groucho glasses and put them on. “Held it up there on one engine. Did a great recovery on a stall. Then we switched to instruments for the approach, and I simply didn’t notice that those damn little needles weren’t lined up.”

  Vicky shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “According to the inspector, I appeared distracted,” he said. “As though I had other things on my mind.” He turned to her and flicked an imaginary cigar. “It is our opinion, madam, that the boy was just not paying attention.”

  Vicky tried not to think about what might have been on his mind, tried not to make assumptions that would lead nowhere. But she couldn’t stop her heart from going there anyway, and leaving her scrambling to catch up.

  “Why haven’t you taken a retest?”

  He pointed the imaginary cigar at her. “We’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “Reid, stop,” she said, trying to see him behind the glasses. But the brows were too bushy, the nose too big, and all she could see was his broad grin underneath it all. “Surely Bob can schedule something quickly.”

  “Can, but won’t.” He dropped the imaginary cigar, crushed it beneath his heel, and picked up the chicken. “Not until we clear up the issue with the cats.”

  “Reid,” she said softly.

  When he turned, she slid the glasses off his nose, took away the chicken, and waited patiently until he looked at her. “What cats?”

  She watched him struggle and thought he might go for the hand buzzer or the boutonniere, but instead he turned his back again and wandered over to where Albert sat waiting.

  “I had a flight to Salt Lake City. A woman and five cats. Prize-winning Birmans. Long golden fur, big blue eyes, and that horrible whining cry that makes oriental cats such a joy to be around.”

  Vicky nodded, knowing how her mother’s cat could hold a note until it went through your head, almost like a toddler.

  “The weather report said a cold front was moving in, but I figured we’d get above it and be fine. I told her it might be bumpy, but she was taking them to a show and didn’t want to give them anything that might affect their performance. So we piled the cages into the plane and off we went. The cats weren’t happy with the turbulence, but she was cooing to them, managing to keep them fairly quiet until the headwind began to build. But it was the rain that finally pushed them over the edge.

  “One by one, they started to whine, until all five of them were going at the same time. Of course, she was out of her seat by now, bouncing around the plane, trying to calm them. I was losing speed, switching from auto to manual, radioing ahead to see what was happening in Salt Lake City, and trying to get that fool woman to put a seat belt on. It’s not like I could pull over and make her sit down, and the next thing I knew, she was letting them out.”

  Vicky stared at him. “Loose cats in the cockpit?”

  “Cats everywhere,” he said evenly. “Under my feet, around my neck. All still crying and whining while I was fighting to hold altitude.” He ran a hand over the box of ashes. “Then they started getting sick.”

  Vicky closed her eyes. “Oh, God.”

  Reid nodded. “I threw in the towel, requested emergency landing at a small airstrip outside Lake Tahoe. It was pouring by then, winds were at forty-five knots, gusting to sixty.”

  She rose and walked to where he stood, almost afraid to ask. “Did you get down all right?”

  “It was a fairly smooth landing, all things considered. The ground crew came out to secure the plane, but I’d pretty much lost it by then. I didn’t wait for their signal, just shut the engine off, unlocked the door, and walked.”

  “And the cats?”

  “They followed. Every one of them bolting out of that plane like it was a ship going down. The woman started screaming, the ground crew started chasing and I kept walking.” He sighed and turned to face her. “I found out yesterday that she’s thinking about suing North Star, and me personally, of course.”

  “She can’t do that,” Vicky said.

  “Her lawyer thinks she can, so there’s muddy water right now. “

  “What does Bob say?”

  “He figures my actions were just another sign that I need time off. A break from flying.”

  “That’s ridiculous. To ground you this way is cruel. You live for those planes. And to keep it up for a month?” She shook her head in disgust. “I would never have thought this of Bob.”

  “You can’t put all the blame on him. I failed that checkride all on my own.” He sighed and looked directly at her. “Groucho was right. I’ve had other things on my mind.”

  He smiled and Vicky felt that same jolt around her heart. The one that made her doubt, made her wonder, and worst of all, made her hope, regardless of everything she knew to be true. He wouldn’t go to Milton, and she wouldn’t stay in the condo at Hampton House. Yet the silence stretched out between them, full of promise, of possibility. A single s
tep from either one of them would change everything.

  “So I guess we’ll take Albert to that spot Willy mentioned,” he said.

  She nodded, watching his eyes dip to her mouth, and picturing herself in Milton, up on that roof all alone.

  “Makes sense,” she murmured and he moved a step closer. Standing near enough that she could feel her skin warming and her determination slowly slipping away, sliding out from under her.

  “You should probably book the air taxi now,” he said, slipping a hand around the nape of her neck. “Make sure you can get one.”

  Her eyes lowered to his lips. “You never know with these things.”

  “You never know.”

  He bent to her, touching his lips to hers, making her heart race and her mind slow. Giving herself over to sensation, to seduction, to courting while reason and doubt joined determination in a slow, sweet slide off that roof and into his arms.

  She closed her eyes on a sigh as those clever hands moved down her back and over her hips, rocking her up and drawing her closer. Molding her to him and letting her feel what she did to him, how much he wanted her. She pulled her mouth away and opened her eyes, wanting to see the need in his eyes. Smiling with satisfaction when he groaned and covered her mouth again. She clung to him as the heat built quickly, steadily, deep inside, and it was her turn to groan when he slipped a hand under her shirt, cupping one waiting breast and kneading her nipple to hardness.

  He muttered something that could have been her name and swept her up in his arms, only to set her down again when a knock sounded on her door.

  Vicky snapped around, smoothed a hand over her shirt, her hair, not sure if she was relieved or annoyed or merely confused.

  “Come in,” she called, and this time it was Willy with towels—a thick stack of blue and red.

  “Just me,” she sang, and froze mid-step when she saw Reid. “I didn’t realize you were . . “ She started to back out the door. “I’ll come back later.”

  “No don’t,” Reid said, and glanced over at Vicky. “I should be going anyway.”