Love on the Line

by Aares, Pamela

  Or maybe she just needed a nap.

  She pulled the bedroom curtains closed and lay across her bed. But images of being in it with Ryan rushed through her, stirring feelings that struck at her again and again.

  Perhaps it was a good thing she’d promised Molly that she’d go with her to the community dance that night. Maybe it would take her mind off her dilemma just long enough for her to think. Realizing that that thought made no sense, she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a fetal position.

  At least Ryan wouldn’t be at the dance. He had a game in LA. She’d sneaked a look at the TV before she’d gone out into her garden.

  After getting absolutely no rest, she pushed herself out of bed and dressed in a zombie-like state, pulling on her jeans and sweater with methodical motions.

  When she went down to her living room to grab her keys, she stared at the TV. Knowing it was a bad idea, she switched it on anyway.

  One of the Dodgers’ hitters stood ready at the plate. He stepped into the next pitch, and she heard the distinctive sound as the bat hit the ball, the sound that said distance. The ball arched up, and the cameras tracked it to center field. Ryan leaped up and snatched the ball just before it went over the center field wall. He smiled triumphantly and hauled his arm back to fire the ball toward the infield.

  The station showed a replay. A thrill rippled in her as she watched him run, leap, grab and then haul back his arm and throw. How could he possibly appear larger, more powerfully muscled, than she remembered? But she remembered the smile he shot out, perhaps to a teammate, perhaps to the crowd. She’d seen that joyous smile up close. Up very, very close.

  The announcers spoke in excited voices about the likelihood of Ryan earning the Gold Glove if he kept up his stellar performance.

  Their announcement scorched a path of resolve deep into her. Now was definitely no time to tell him that she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. She had standards; ruining another’s person’s life because of her bad decisions and poor timing wasn’t an option.

  Already she wished she hadn’t sent the email. Surely she could’ve found ways to simply avoid him. She could’ve left town, left a sweet note, gone into the city, disappeared until the season was over and she’d made her decision about the foundation and...

  She didn’t want to make any moves. She didn’t want to give up the life she loved. Her motives for sending the email had been selfish. And foolish. As if her calling for a hiatus until she could come clean was going to change his feelings when she revealed her deception? As if waiting a couple weeks was going to change how he reacted? What would she say? Oh, by the way, I wanted to wait until the season was over to tell you I’m living a lie so I wouldn’t disrupt your game.

  And then again, maybe her motives weren’t entirely selfish—she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to hold up, that she’d end up telling him everything, spilling out her heart. She’d been close to doing just that in the moments after they’d last made love. Too close. But the rationalization failed to offer her any comfort.

  She watched a few more plays until her heart couldn’t take any more.

  She was turning out to be one hell of a wimp.

  But one thing she was sure of, she wasn’t going to wreck Ryan’s season, no matter what it took.

  More people than usual were crowded into Grady’s feed barn by the time Cara arrived at the dance. Word must have spread that the barn dances were a lively and inexpensive way to have fun on an autumn evening; unfamiliar men and women crowded around the refreshment tables and clustered on the dance floor.

  “Want to dance?” Cain offered his arm and a smile. “I mean since your boyfriend is busy, the least I can do is keep an eye on you.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, sounding like a teenager denying the obvious.

  “The lady doth protest too much,” he said with a laugh.

  Cain had earned an honors degree at Cal in literature. Evidently he knew his Shakespeare. And evidently he had her number. Or maybe everybody in town knew by now that she and Ryan were lovers.

  She let him lead her into the dancing crowd. When the musicians broke into a slow dance, he took her in his arms and swooped her through the laughing couples. He was a handsome man, and she knew from his reputation in town that he was kind. Just as she knew from her reaction to his touch that it was nothing like the fire of desire she felt when Ryan touched her. She might try deceiving those in Albion Bay, but she couldn’t deny that what she felt with Ryan was the real deal. That it was more than she’d ever imagined she’d feel for any man.

  “You’re a million miles away,” Cain said as he led her off the dance floor and to the refreshment table.

  A big hand-lettered sign proclaimed that all proceeds from the sale of the baked goods would go to the clinic fund. Cara bit back a sour laugh; there was nowhere she could go to escape the reality of the conflicting demands pressing in on her.

  “Just thinking,” she said.

  “This is a dance, Cara. It’s supposed to be an antidote to thinking.”

  “Where’s Laurel?”

  “She decided she wanted a landlubber.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nah, we were never a good fit. Good of her to figure it out.”

  Molly walked out from behind a table spread with every kind of baked goody imaginable.

  “We’ve made two hundred dollars already, and it’s only seven thirty,” she said.

  Cara saw the way Cain looked at Molly. Maybe Molly was dense. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t notice Cain’s interest. And maybe Cara wasn’t the only one with secrets. But one thing she did know was that these two friends of hers had sparks arcing between them, sparks that neither of them were letting ignite.

  “Cain’s looking for a dance partner,” Cara said.

  “I have to stay at the table,” Molly said, her face coloring.

  “I need a break; I’ll take your shift,” Cara said. “I’m good with money.”

  Why the hell had she added that? To her relief, Cain just offered his arm and Molly took it. Cara watched them as they moved into the crowd of whirling dancers. Maybe she’d done one good deed that day.

  “I’ll take one of those chocolate chip cookies,” Perk said, rubbing his hands in anticipation as he approached the table.

  Cara used the tongs and placed the largest cookie on a napkin.

  “Two fifty,” she said as she handed it to him.

  “Robbery,” Perk said, his eyes crinkling behind his thick-lensed glasses. “But even so, at this rate it’ll take twenty years and four million cookies to raise enough money for the blasted clinic.” He took a bite. “I told Belva that this piecemeal approach would stall any real effort. Half the town was baking cookies this afternoon. I couldn’t even find my assistant. Turns out she was down at Belva’s.” He took another bite. “Mixing up cookie dough.”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” a tall man with piercing eyes said as he held out five dollars. “You can keep the change.”

  Cara knew a lord-of-the-universe type when she saw one. Out having fun in the country. The barn dance was a quaint novelty to him. He reached across the table and tapped Cara on the arm.

  “That is, if I can have the next dance?”

  “She has a boyfriend,” Perk said in his deep mayor’s voice.

  Cara opened her mouth to correct him just as the man flashed a grin at Perk.

  “Well, that’s too bad. Guess I’ll just have to dance with you.”

  “Cost you more than five dollars to get me out there,” Perk stammered. “And I don’t play for the other side.”

  Cara smiled. She knew the man had been teasing, but Perk was clearly flustered.

  The man just nodded and walked off.

  “Cheeky bastard,” Perk said as he huffed over to where Belva sat with a group of locals.

  Cara sold all the cookies and tucked the bills into the steel box at the end of the table. And she made a decision as she snapp
ed down the lid. Either Alston found a way to give the clinic the money they needed for the complete project, or she’d find a way to do it herself. She could convince her parents to sign off on their share so she could sell the house in Southampton, the house her grandfather had left to her. So what if it’d been in her family for three generations? It might not fetch four million, but surely it would sell for two. It was a start. She nibbled at a crumb that remained on the cookie tray. A good start.

  “You are the absolute worst sort of matchmaker,” Molly said as she came around the table. She looked at the empty trays. “But you’re darn good at selling cookies.” She flipped open the lid of the box and quickly fanned through the bills.

  “It’s all there,” Cara said, attempting a joke.

  Molly looked up. She wasn’t smiling.

  “I’m moving, Cara. To Novato. It’s the only responsible thing to do. I lost David. I can’t lose Sam.”

  Fear clouded Molly’s eyes. Fear could force even the wisest person into very bad decisions. And didn’t Cara know about that.

  “The interim clinic will be up and running in two weeks, Molly. Two weeks.”

  “I’ve thought it through. Novato has a world-class hospital and good schools.” She brushed cookie crumbs off the tablecloth. “I wanted to tell you first. In person. You’ve helped me so much.”

  “But this is your home.” Cara wrapped her arm around Molly’s shoulder. “Maybe give the on-call doc a chance. Fear can muddle your thinking.”

  “The whole project could stall. The county might not approve the permit—I know Belva said two weeks, but it could be months. I can’t risk it. If I thought we’d really get a real clinic...” She tapped the steel box. “We both know cookie sales aren’t going to cut it. Even with Ryan’s gift, it’s just not enough.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to go. Tracy’s watching Sam for me, and I promised I’d be home early.”

  Cara watched her go. Then she stacked the tin trays and folded the tablecloth. Couples would be leaving the dance in a few hours, arm in arm, going back to their homes and to their kids. But Cara would be going home alone.

  It was the life she’d chosen, and she’d be going to the home she’d built for herself, the home that used to comfort her. But her hideaway was no longer the place of contentment it had been until recently. Loneliness had joined her there, disturbing her satisfaction and ease.

  That loneliness now sank into her like a thick fog, winding its way through her and shrouding what little light remained in her heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cara woke on Monday without the comfort of her usual routine. Normally she’d shower, make coffee and head off to drive the bus. But not today. Though there’d been talk of petitioning the county for additional funds, that process would take time. The parents at the middle school had arranged an efficient system of car pools using a couple of the vans and their personal cars. Cara’s car hadn’t been needed. The staff had hinted that they wanted her to be free to look for a new job. She’d driven for the last time on Friday and said a wobbly goodbye to the kids. She’d see them around town, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  She stared out her bedroom window. Unplugged from her routine, she wasn’t sure what to do. She checked her emails. Ryan wrote to say that surely she could find time to get together before three weeks were up. She stared at the screen, tapped out a very sensible list of reasons why she couldn’t, then deleted her reply. No answer would send the better message even if it ran against everything she felt in her heart.

  To clear her head she considered driving to the National Seashore at Point Reyes and walking the beach there or maybe hiking Mount Wittenberg. Instead she fussed in her kitchen, organizing and cleaning out drawers and moving objects around that didn’t need attention or moving. Then she poured a third cup of coffee and sat at her kitchen table, put her head in her hands and wept.

  A few miserable minutes later, her front door banged, and she heard footsteps crossing her living room. She wiped at her eyes. There was absolutely no one she was up for seeing right then. Maybe she could handle Molly. But from the heavy sound of the footsteps, she was sure it wasn’t Molly.

  “Nice security,” her brother, Quinn, said, grinning as he burst into the kitchen.

  She leaped up and threw her arms around his neck. He closed her in a bear hug and to her dismay, she began sobbing against his shoulder.

  “I was only gone two months,” Quinn said. He eased her away and held her by the shoulders. “Want to tell me what’s up?”

  She pulled away from him and in between hiccupping gulps of air, she told him what had happened since she’d moved to Albion Bay. About the foundation, about Molly and Sam, and about the clinic.

  He crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes and gave her his best gunslinger stare. It used to make her laugh. She wasn’t up for laughing at the moment.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She paced to the window. There were no secrets between twins.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about Laci, about her reasons for killing herself.” She stared out at her side garden and searched for words to put to her feelings. “I’d nearly put it behind me until Alston called with the news about the foundation.” She ran her palm along the frame of the window, followed the newly painted wood with her fingertips. “Laci got swallowed up, engulfed by forces she couldn’t handle.”

  Quinn crossed to her and turned her to face him. “You’re not Laci, Cara. You’re nothing like her. She was, well, fragile, I guess you’d say. Even before that loser left her.”

  “We didn’t help her.”

  “You tried. We all tried. When she died, I felt guilty too. Guilty for our efforts not being enough. But you have to let all that go, Cara. Laci had to want help. She had to choose it. It’s not your fault that she went searching for it in men and in a needle, things that couldn’t fix what needed fixing.” He shook his head and pinned her in the loving gaze she’d missed. “In the end, no matter how much family or community offered help, Laci had to want to save herself. You couldn’t change that.”

  “Why didn’t you say this before?”

  “You were too raw at first—losing Laci after trying so hard to help her had your body and emotions stressed out. And then we found out that Grandpa was sick. Remember? And then didn’t you break up with Roger around the same time?”

  “But he was nothing to me. Not really.”

  “But it was just one more stress on top of everything else.” He rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “And I could have been more understanding. I could’ve hung around and not run off to China that year.” He slid his hands from her shoulders and grasped her hands, squeezed them. “And I did try to tell you that what happened to Laci wasn’t going to happen to you. But I should have been there to support you.”

  She wriggled her hands free and closed her arms around him. His words entered her mind, each like a careful stitch helping to pull together the ragged edges of the wound she’d worked hard to seam up. As she rested her head against his chest, she exhaled the sigh she’d held for three years too many.

  “You’re here now,” she said as he smoothed her hair with his hand.

  She pulled back.

  “Actually, why are you here right now?”

  “My current version of support,” he said in a suddenly cool tone. “And it may not be something you’re going to like.”

  “Spill. Now. I don’t like being part of your plots.”

  He glanced around the room and then settled a very determined-looking gaze on her. “Maybe we should have a cup of tea first?”

  “Not happening. Besides, I’ve had three cups of coffee.” She crossed her arms and took a step back. “I know that look, Quinn Barrington. I am not going off to China or wherever with you—I have responsibilities around here.” Although now that she didn’t have the bus driving, what did she really have?

  “You’ll wish it were as simple as refusing a junket. I’m here to kick your butt. To get y
ou to get back in the game.” He planted his hands on his waist. “You need to boot that SOB Bender out—put yourself in the president’s chair and do your thing.”

  “Quinn—”

  “I’m not kidding. You love to give, you love making sure every last dollar gets to those who need it or who can put it to use. You’ve always been that way, which is why Grandpa drew up his will the way he did.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “Don’t try to deny it. Alston’s kept me in the loop. I know what you’ve managed to do with the limited resources of your own foundation.”

  He rubbed at the back of his neck, a gesture she made when she was about to make her case for something, one of the many gestures they shared.

  “Cara, you know I prefer to go to the sites, dig in for a few months, see what the needs really are. And I admit it—I get distracted by the causes themselves. I don’t want to muck around with the finances and the contracts and all that. I want to roll my sleeves up or pull my boots on or spend two months with the people we help, building something with my hands. But I suck at the grant-making part of it, the weighing the benefits, the decision making. You love it; I don’t. You’ll make a great foundation president.”

  “Quinn—you don’t get it. It’s not just taking the reins of the foundation that’s the issue—if I do that, I’ll lose what I love about my life here, lose everything that’s helped me keep it together and not melt down into a disaster like Laci.” She caught herself rubbing at the back of her neck and pulled her hand down to her waist. She had to make him see. She needed someone to understand what was really at stake.

  “Out here people see me just for who I am. I used to hate not knowing why people smiled at me. Why they agreed with me. Why... why they wanted to spend time with me. Not being able to trust people—to trust that the connection is genuine—it’s no way to live.”