“I’ll tell him,” said Will. “You don’t have to worry about it.” He took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you something to eat. I don’t want you driving home until I know you’re feeling calm.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Jackson. I’ll deal with James.”
Cara’s mother laid her hand on Will’s arm. “You’ve been a good friend to her, Will, to both Cara and James. Thank you.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Will called James that night. Within two words, James had things figured out.
“Cara’s gone, isn’t she?” James’ voice sounded tired, defeated.
“Yeah, man, she’s gone.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. She took off on Monday morning, I guess. She left her mom a note. She said she was safe, that she had enough money. She said she’d call.”
After a long moment of silence, James spoke up.
“That’s it, then.”
“What do you mean, that’s it? You’re not going to wait to see where she is and go after her?” Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“No.”
“But Mack, you love her. She loves you. I mean, you two fit together like . . . like puzzle pieces. You can’t just let her go.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do, Will? What the hell can I do? She doesn’t want me. She’s done with me.”
“No, you know that’s not true. Cara doesn’t know what she wants. Wait until she calls her mother and then go after her. Make her listen to you. Make her come back to you. Don’t let her get away with this.”
“Don’t let her get away with what?” James asked.
“Blaming herself. Do you hear me? Blaming herself,” Will shouted, unable to hold back his frustration.
“I can’t stop her.” James was yelling now. “Goddamn it, Will, I can’t stop her. I can’t make her do a fucking thing. Cara has to want it. She has to want me and right now she doesn’t want anything to do with me. It wouldn’t matter what I said to her. Don’t you get it? Do you think this is easy? You think this is easy for me? It’s killing me, man. It’s fucking killing me!”
“But . . .”
“No. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore. I can’t live this way. I’m done. Got it? I’m finished with all of this.”
The phone clicked off. Will stared at the receiver like it had just bitten him.
∗ ∗ ∗
James ripped the phone from the wall and hurled it across the room. It smashed into a lamp, a stained glass lamp Cara had purchased for him at an antique store in the Amana Colonies. They’d spent a weekend there last summer, staying in a homey, old-fashioned inn. They’d bicycled, gone sightseeing, shopped, sampled dandelion wine and homemade cheeses. He stood in his kitchen, reliving their joy in each other, their play, and their wild lovemaking in the big canopied feather bed.
Staring at the shards of colored glass scattered across the floor of his living room, his eyes caught on the deep red pieces. He pictured Cara’s thick braid weaving and bobbing behind her, hanging nearly to her waist, shining like polished mahogany in the sun as she peddled down the hill to the inn. He heard her bubbling laugh.
So this is a broken heart, James mused. I’ve never had one before. I don’t ever want to feel like this again.
James turned towards the kitchen to get a broom and a dustpan. He swept the pieces of broken glass into the dustpan, dropping them into a paper bag. Grabbing the metal lamp stand, he carried the bag and the lamp out to the trash bin. He lifted the plastic cover and dropped the broken lamp into the bin. Cara was gone. She wasn’t coming back. She’d left James no choice. He had to let her go.
Cara drove straight through, stopping only for gasoline and an occasional bathroom break. Considering the fact that Cara had never been any farther west than Omaha, the ease of the trip surprised her. All she had to do was head west on Interstate 80 and then watch for the signs to Park City.
John lived on one of the main streets. When she’d called him, he’d said exactly what she’d expected him to say—come on down, offering her his extra bedroom. He claimed he needed help with the rent anyway. It sounded like he could get her a job too since a hostess had quit at the restaurant where he waited tables. He offered to speak to his boss on her behalf. John said if Cara could get there fast enough he was pretty sure the position would be hers.
It seemed as if a great weight lifted off Cara’s chest. During the drive, she’d actually flipped on the radio to listen to some music. She was a little concerned about her lack of warm clothing—her mother had taken most of her things back home—but she had plenty of money and she figured she could purchase some stuff when she got to Park City. She’d need some nice things too, if she was going to work as a hostess. Cara tried to recall what she’d left in her suitcase. She’d never unpacked it in the hospital. Maybe her mother had thrown in a couple of her skirts and blouses.
The suitcase was in the trunk of her car, along with the shoebox containing James’ letters and the cassette tapes he’d made for her. She’d planned to leave the shoebox behind, but at the last minute she was unable to part with it.
What would she do with it? She didn’t even know if she’d ever open it again. All Cara knew was that something had tugged at her when she’d set the box on the bed and walked out the door. She had to go back and get it.
Cara shrugged. It was better not to dwell too much on James, but she decided it didn’t hurt to bring his letters along. The letters and tapes were mere keepsakes, nothing more than mementos of her old life.
Cara drove up Kearns Boulevard, appreciating the gorgeous views while keeping an eye on the road. She’d never seen mountains this close before and here she was, in the middle of a rustic mining town, now an up and coming skiers’ paradise.
Snowfields lingered on the mountains, glistening white in the sun. John had mentioned that if conditions were good, he’d be skiing all week. Cara couldn’t imagine herself skiing. She opened the driver’s window wide so she could taste the breeze. The air felt cool and dry against her cheek. It smelled crisp as a just-picked apple, fresh and light, different from the thick, dark, loamy Iowa smell Cara was accustomed to.
Cara found the house easily enough. The place was pretty much what she’d expected. It was shabby, more like a shack than a house. John had been upfront about the fact that he lived from month to month. He needed someone to share expenses.
Cara parked her car and climbed out, stretching muscles cramped from the long drive. She wondered if John would recognize her. He’d never seen her without long hair. Now she wore it cut very short. It curled tightly around her cheeks and along the back of her neck. She tucked a few loose stands behind her ears. It had just barely grown long enough to do that.
John said he’d leave a key under the mat. After knocking to be on the safe side, Cara turned over the ragged doormat, found the key and unlocked the front door. The interior of the house wasn’t much better than the exterior. The place smelled of dry rot, but as Cara walked from room to room, she noted that John kept things reasonably clean. The sitting room contained a ratty old couch, a vinyl beanbag chair and a faded throw rug. Cara checked out the first rate stereo system. That was typical of John and his misplaced priorities. The kitchen was small, the appliances ancient. The kitchen table was nothing more than a large wooden crate with two mismatched chairs. She could tell the crate doubled as a counter top. Making a mental note of dishware, cleaning supplies and pantry staples she’d need to buy, Cara scanned John’s bedroom and the single bathroom. She wrinkled her nose a little. It was obvious a guy lived here.
Cara found her room in the back of the house. At some point in the distant past, someone had added on a sun porch with a separate door so it could be closed off in the winter. There was no heating duct. The room came furnished with a futon on the floor and a small chest of drawers. John had thought to toss a sleeping bag and an old pillow on
to the futon. That would have to do for the time being. Cara hadn’t seen anything resembling a department store on her way into town. If she wanted warm quilts, clean linens and towels, she was going to have to make a trip into Salt Lake City as soon as possible. At least the room had a lot of windows.
As she headed back to her car to unload her few possessions, her chest began to ache. She automatically tried to rub the pain away, but it didn’t work. It never worked. A sudden vision of her cozy bedroom back in Iowa City assailed her.
She remembered James sprawled across her bed on his stomach, sound asleep. The sun from her open window skimmed his naked back and muscular buttocks, dusting his skin with gold.
Tears filled Cara’s eyes and she covered them with her hands.
He was beautiful. James was singularly beautiful inside and out. He would never be a part of her life again, and it was all her fault. She had been so stupid. She was the one who told Ezra Payne she would be alone in her apartment. She’d left the front door unlocked. She’d fallen asleep in the tub. She, of all people, should have known better.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t think about this anymore. James is gone because I made him go. I didn’t want him to want me.
“Get your things. Forget him. He’s not for you.”
Cara tripped on an uneven patch of gravel as she turned back toward the car. She fell to her knees, scraping them both beneath her jeans.
James, it hurts so much to leave you behind. Oh god, it hurts so damn much.
∗ ∗ ∗
Three weeks later, Cara had yet to get a job, but the situation in the house was much improved. She’d tidied up the bathroom, installed shelves and hooks and bought new towels. The kitchen now had a real table. The floors had been scrubbed and the cabinets had been cleaned and stocked with staples. She’d organized the pots and pans and kitchen utensils, bought some inexpensive kitchen towels and they now possessed more than one place setting. She’d single handedly wrestled the futon in her bedroom onto a raised platform. She now slept between nice cotton sheets and beneath several warm quilts, because the nights were still quite chilly. Although the shopping in Park City was quite limited, the town did support an excess of sporting goods stores. Cara picked up a windbreaker and a parka, a wool cap and a pair of thick gloves. She also found a sturdy pair of hiking boots and some fleece-lined snow boots.
John was away most of the time, either working or hanging out with the other ski instructors. When he was around, he was usually stoned. He was generous with his dope and he urged Cara to join in, but she wanted to try to make it in her new life without resorting to the numbing effect of drugs.
Cara took every opportunity to find out about the hostess job, but for some reason John was evasive. Finally, at her wit’s end, she asked him flat out why he hadn’t introduced her to his boss as he’d promised. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“What?” she asked. “What is it? Am I so offensive that you’re afraid to be seen with me?”
John’s turned towards her, red-faced. “No, it’s not that. It’s, well, Cara, look at yourself. You aren’t cool. I mean, I work for a pretty high-class guy. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Your hair’s all ragged, your jeans hang on you. All you wear are baggy tee shirts. I can’t take you in to meet him looking like this. You gotta clean yourself up, you know, fix yourself up, get some style. You used to be real pretty. Now you’re just sort of, I don’t know, sort of messy.”
Cara felt as if all the air had just been sucked out of the room. She turned around and headed for the door. She heard John call her name. She ignored him.
You used to be really pretty. Now you’re just sort of messy.
Messy. John had her pegged. She wondered what he’d say if he knew exactly how much of a mess she truly was. Cara forced back tears. Uh-uh, no crying. She’d promised herself after that first day in Park City there would be no more crying.
Cara hiked up the hill through the center of town. She turned right, striding past the last of the buildings, continuing on toward the ski slopes. When she entered a copse of trees she stopped to perch on a rock outcropping. Dusk had fallen, painting the sky a pale rose. The wind whistled as it brushed through the pines. Cara heard the occasional chirp of a bird bedding down for the night.
John was right. He couldn’t introduce her to his high-class boss and expect her to impress him. How could she start a new life when she still clung to the old? She needed to step it up. When he was stoned John waxed on and on about the wealthy Hollywood-types who patronized the restaurant, the movie stars to whom he gave ski lessons.
That was the world she needed to fit into. She still had enough money. A visit to a salon and a little shopping wouldn’t break the bank. She could leave early in the morning for Salt Lake City. If she didn’t get everything done in one day, she could afford a night or two in a motel.
Cara shook her head, surprised she’d forgotten the lessons Jeanie had taught her, look the part even if you don’t feel it. Jeanie used to say, the outside affects the inside and vice versa. It had worked once before. Cara needed to get the outside fixed as soon as possible and hope maybe that would help fix her inside. She didn’t want to see John again tonight, preferring to wait until it grew so late John would either be gone or passed out in bed. She’d see him when she felt ready.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Holy shit.” John gave a whistle as Cara strolled out of the bedroom. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Cara twirled for him, giving him a three hundred and sixty degree view of her makeover.
“Much, much better. You are hot Cara. You are sizzling. Damn.” He circled her, checking out the hair and the outfit. “Now you can come to work with me. My boss will be in tonight. He’s hosting a private party for a few of his friends in the back room. Come, and I swear you will get that job. Goddamn, you look good enough to eat.”
Cara almost smiled. She’d better look good. She’d spent hours in an expensive salon in Salt Lake City the day before getting the works—hair, nails, a pedicure. The stylist had trimmed her unruly hair, teaching Cara how to slick it back with gel and curl the ends. The cut was stark, sleek and sophisticated, drawing a man’s gaze to Cara’s lush red lips, her high cheekbones and her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes.
Cara had made judicious use of a dark gray eye shadow, the way Jeanie had taught her, to bring out the violet color in her eyes. She had such naturally thick lashes that she’d skipped the mascara, but she’d touched her lips with a deep, dark red stain, almost the same color as her hair. She didn’t use much but, as the girl at the makeup counter had teased, just enough to make a man salivate the moment he met her.
She wore a fitted black skirt that fell to mid-thigh, exposing what her mother would consider an indecent amount of her long legs. The blouse she’d donned was a pale, mint-green silk. The color emphasized her creamy complexion and pulled out the mahogany highlights in her hair. She’d unbuttoned the top button.
Studying her, John reached over in a friendly fashion and unbuttoned her second button. The lace edge of her new black bra just barely peaked out, giving anyone who might be interested a tantalizing taste of what lay beneath her clothes. John checked out her shoes. Cara had slipped her bare feet into black stiletto heels. She’d forgone the stockings, her dislike of stockings a persistent holdover from her previous life.
The only jewelry Cara wore was a pair of simple gold hoop earrings. She’d learned from Jeanie that a woman should never overdo the jewelry. She should wear just enough to draw the eye to the body part she wanted another person to appreciate. Cara wanted John’s boss to look at her face. She didn’t want him to focus on her scarred hands. But what would it hurt if he looked at a few other parts of her too?
Two nights in a motel, two days of shopping and the salon makeover had used up a sizeable chunk of her cash, but Cara hoped to make it back quickly. Her portion of the rent was only ninety dollars a month and she spent little on food. If she had to she could last
six months or more on her savings. Cara’s mother had offered to send money when she’d called her ten days ago, but Cara had turned her down. She didn’t the obligation. This was her new life. It was better to make a clean break.
Her mother had cried during the phone call, begging Cara to come back home, but Cara had held it together. She was fine, she had a nice place to live, she was perfectly safe, and she would soon have a job. After some wrangling, she’d reluctantly agreed to call home every two weeks to check in, and she left her mother with John’s phone number and address in case of an emergency.
Her ability to resist that nagging inner voice, the one that demanded to know if James was all right, pleased Cara. Her future didn’t lie with him. It was better not to look back, just like it was better not to look too far ahead. Thinking about her past and wondering about her future didn’t pay. Maybe John had the right idea. Hang out, party, work a little, party some more. What had all her hard work gotten her in the end? The same as always, not a damn thing.
It was better not to get attached. Not to make plans. Not to fall in love. If you had nothing to lose then there was nothing to miss when it was gone, right? That had been her rule until James had appeared at her office in the med center. Never let yourself fall in love. Well, she broke her own rule and look what happened. For an instant Cara felt sick, as memories flooded back of that night, memories of Ezra Payne. She shoved them into a corner of her mind, ordering them to stay put.
“I’m gonna get changed,” John said, interrupting her thoughts. “Then we can go. Do you mind driving? My car’s out of gas.”
“Not at all,” said the new Cara. “You think this will work? You think I’ll get the job?”
“Oh, hell yeah. You’re exactly what he’s been looking for. You look just the way I described you. Better.” John disappeared into his room.
“But I thought you didn’t talk to him about me yet. You didn’t tell me that you’d already . . .” Cara’s voice trailed off. What did it matter if John had been withholding information? Once he got a look at her he’d probably realized he couldn’t bring her by the restaurant, but he was afraid to tell her, afraid of hurting her feelings. Obviously this was a classy place.
Come Back To Me Page 16
