Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

  She looked over her shoulder. He had finished his conversation and was leaning against the counter, watching her intently. She smiled. “Lord, all I’ve got to wear is my red dress. Chance, I’m worried about Grampa and Tim worrying. We’d better go home first and talk to them. I can cook us something to eat there. Is that all right?”

  “Hmm?”

  His gaze really focused on her, and she realized he’d not been listening.

  The smile drained from her face. “Is something wrong?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, baby. Nothing’s really wrong. I was thinking. We’re going to have to postpone our plans for today, sweetheart.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s an emergency conference in Washington that I need to cover.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean, you need to cover?” She sounded very stupid as she grappled for the meaning of what he’d said. “Just like that? I thought you’d taken the summer off.”

  “This is different.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted restlessly. “I’ve got an inside contact at the White House who won’t talk to anybody but me.”

  “Is that who Andrew is?”

  He smiled belatedly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say.”

  She shook her head in bemusement, too, forehead wrinkled. “All right. When will you be back?”

  “It’s hard to say.” He turned to watch her closely. “I might only be a day or two.”

  Only? She smiled again, past her disappointment. “Do you have to leave right away? Couldn’t we talk to Tim and my grandfather first, and then you could go?”

  “I’d better leave as soon as I can get a flight.”

  “I could go ahead and talk to them on my own.”

  “Why don’t you wait until we can do that together?”

  “Yes, I’d rather do that. How soon will you know how long you’re going to be?”

  He hesitated. “I’ll definitely call you tonight, precious, but I just don’t know enough right now.”

  She drooped; she couldn’t help it. “That sounds sensible.”

  He smiled and came to cup her elbows. “I know, I hate it, too. I’ll try to come home tomorrow night, since you’re not working.”

  She slid her hands up his forearms. Then what he said sank in. “You’ll try? You mean you may not be able to? What kind of an ‘emergency conference’ is this?”

  He sighed. “There’s not much I can tell you.”

  She frowned and fiddled with the edges of his T-shirt sleeves, pleating them between her fingers. Stop asking, she told herself. Privileged information, Mary. You know that. You do that when patients tell you secrets.

  Only, your patients aren’t “inside” contacts in the White House, and you don’t have to listen to them for days on end, talking about potentially dangerous situations. War. She sucked in a breath, glancing past him to the stack of files. “Is it serious?”

  He paused for a moment, then said slowly, “I’m walking a line, Mary, between telling you things and breaking confidences. There’s been trouble again in the Balkans, and some professors at the university have family over there. I checked with my contact in Washington to find out what was going on and he called back this morning with confirmation.” He stared hard into her eyes. “I really hate to go, but I need to dig into this personally. You’re going to have to trust me when I tell you not to worry.”

  She studied his face thoughtfully for a moment. He said he hated to go, but he didn’t act like it. He already seemed to be half-gone, thinking ahead. There was an eagerness about his mannerisms. Something ephemeral was slipping from her grasp.

  “Can you tell me this?” she asked. She would decide when she would start worrying. “Are the professors’ families in danger?”

  “No, no, it’s not that bad yet.” He squeezed her arms. “I need to go pack. Pour me some coffee?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring it up.”

  He bent to kiss her forehead. “Thanks, sugar.”

  Mary turned to frown at the coffeemaker as he left. She got clean cups from the cupboard, trying to shake the feeling of letdown and anxiety.

  How innocuous it all sounded. Just going to cover a conference in Washington, honey. Don’t worry about it. If it wasn’t something really serious, why was he going? And what happened to “I can’t do without you”?

  She bit her lip. He was going because it was serious, and his sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow him to stay away. And if it was serious, it could get worse, and what if he decided he had to “dig into things” right at the source?

  For the first time she realized fully that she had agreed to marry a man who hadn’t decided to settle down. Because no matter how much he whitewashed all the implications of his position, he was not just a teacher. She thought he had made the decision to settle down; she believed that even he’d thought that. But all it took was one phone call, and he was upstairs packing, eager to leave.

  Other situations like this would come up. He would get midnight calls that he couldn’t tell her about. Visitors would come to discuss things with him that she couldn’t hear; they would be polite and respectful, but with secrets in their eyes.

  And worst of all, she would never know when he might leave again without notice, or how long he would be gone.

  All of a sudden she was very cold. She gripped the edges of the robe and pulled it tight under her chin.

  The phone rang again, startling her badly. She answered it and said unsteadily, “Hello?”

  Her grandfather’s voice, gruff and cheerful. “So you’re not dead.”

  She held the receiver away and stared at it in perplexity for a few seconds. Then, cautiously, she put it back to her ear and said, “No. I was going to call. I just didn’t know if you’d be up yet. I’m sorry, were you worried?”

  “I was planning to get worried if nobody answered.” His voice gentled. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

  Tears pricked in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she quavered.

  A pause. “I’ll kill him. I’m on my way.”

  She clung to the receiver. “No, no! It’s not-whatever you’re thinking. We got engaged, Grampa, and oh, it’s too much to talk about over the phone. I’ll be coming home soon. Can we talk when I get there?”

  “Of course we can. You’ll be all right until then?”

  “Yes. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. See you soon.”

  She heard him muttering as he hung up. Then, like an automaton, she poured a cup of coffee, leaving it black the way Chance liked it, and concentrated on carrying it carefully up the stairs.

  In the doorway she paused, staring.

  Chance was wearing a black formal suit and white shirt. Gold cuff links winked at his wrists, and the severity of the suit emphasized the lines of his powerful body. He was tucking a toiletry kit into a leather duffel bag. As she watched, he pivoted and strode to the closet to pull out a few more items of clothing. The light from the window glinted off the burnished gold of his hair. His chiseled face was hardened, and his intelligent hazel eyes were piercing.

  Hot coffee splashed onto her hand. As always, he was beautiful, but he bore no resemblance to the gentle, passionate lover from earlier that morning. This man had a razor edge that cut, and she didn’t know him.

  Carefully she carried the cup to the bedside table; carefully she set it down and nursed her burned hand.

  “Thanks, sugar,” he said from behind her, and he moved her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck.

  She shivered at the light caress and her head ducked lower. She didn’t dare turn to look at him. She said quietly, “Chance, what if I’m pregnant?”

  He closed his arms around her in a snug embrace, resting his chin on top of her head. His voice was quiet, too, and cautious. “I thought you wanted to be. Are you having second thoughts?”

  She pressed her hand to her trembling lips and said painfully, “Yes. What if I’m pregnant and you decide
you need to go to the Balkans?”

  A long pause. He said patiently, “I’m not going to the Balkans, Mary. I’m going to a nice hotel in Washington, and I’ll call you as often as I can. Please stop worrying.”

  “Don’t talk about specifics, Chance. We said we wanted children—not just one. And even one pregnancy takes nine months. What if I’m pregnant, and you need to go somewhere? What then?”

  He rocked her gently. “Then we’ll have to deal with each situation as it comes up.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. “I—I don’t think I can live with dealing with each situation as it comes up.”

  He sighed sharply, released her and started to pace. She turned to watch him. Even though his inherent prowling grace was something she’d grown used to, she remembered how it had unsettled her when they’d first met.

  “You don’t think you can live with it,” he repeated flatly.

  She straightened her shoulders. “No. We’ve never talked about this before, and we have to. If something explodes in Asia or Africa or South America, are you really going to be content to stay here? Would you expect me to come along sometimes? Would you expect me to wait at home? Do you have any idea?”

  He jammed a pair of pants into his bag, then swung around to face her, his expression grim. “You knew what I was from the first day we met. Why are you acting as if all of this just occurred to you?”

  “Because I’ve just invested myself in you.” She clasped her hands together. “And I’m scared.”

  “You weren’t scared of this last night.” A cold edge had entered his voice. “You said you would trust me. You said I should trust you to know what you wanted. And I did. You said you wanted me.” He gestured sharply toward the duffel bag. “Well, this is part of what I am, Mary.”

  Her head had begun to ache. “Trust has nothing to do with it. Of course I want you. I want you so badly it hurts.” Her voice caught. “And I’m terrified at the thought of possibly losing you.”

  His jaw clenched, then he said in a controlled tone, “That’s not going to happen.”

  “It happens all the time! I know you said it was rare, but what if you were taken hostage, or—or caught in some cross fire and shot?” She moved jerkily. “I think I’d go crazy, waiting to hear whether or not you’d become ‘collateral damage’. Isn’t that what they call it when civilians get killed?”

  He rested his hands on his hips, angling his head toward her. A lock of drying hair fell onto his brow. “I’m going to cover some meetings at the Pentagon. That’s all I’m doing. You’re overreacting to this.”

  She forced herself to breathe evenly. “I don’t believe I’m overreacting.”

  “What exactly are you doing, then?” he demanded. “I’m packing. I’ve got to go. This is not a crisis. It’s part of my job. I’ve told you not to worry, and suddenly you’re panicking.”

  She sat down heavily on the bed and put her head in her hands. “I am trying to get you to see my point of view. You’ve known for a long time what you’re prepared to do and been committed to doing it. But things are supposed to be different now. We’re supposed to be getting married, having children, building a life together. And I need to know where the lines are.”

  He drew a long breath, then walked over and stroked her hair. “I do understand your point of view. It’s sometimes not easy being married to someone who has to travel. But a lot of people do it. We’ll work things out. I think you’re going to like some of the spouses of my colleagues.”

  He’s not getting it, she thought bleakly. Part of him is still preoccupied with leaving and just wants to be gone. “Will I be living the rest of my life with just half your attention? Am I going to be making coffee while you pack to leave? Can you give your dedication to me and to our children, watching them play in the backyard while you’re thinking about wherever in the world you’re going to be next week?”

  He pulled his hand away and said tightly, “Of course I could do both those things.”

  “No, you can’t! You couldn’t even keep a cat. That’s why you wanted to slow down, remember?”

  He averted his face, nostrils flared, and muttered, “Slow down doesn’t mean stop.”

  She leaned forward and said intensely, “Please listen to me. I had good reasons for doing my job. But I still paid attention when you said it wasn’t good for me! And I’m telling you your job isn’t good for you, and it wouldn’t be good for us.”

  He looked at her and said bitterly, “You sound so sure of that, so soon.”

  “Chance, I’m not cut out to be a doctor, and I fell in love with a teacher.”

  “A teacher who is a reporter, Mary!”

  She looked at him pleadingly. “I fell in love with you—your gentleness, your compassion and understanding. But when I brought your coffee in just a few minutes ago, I didn’t recognize the man I was looking at.”

  There was pain and anger in equal measure in his eyes. “Is that right? Well, guess what—this is me. Maybe you fell in love with your own creation.”

  She shook her head urgently. “No! I can’t believe that.”

  “Can’t you? So what are you saying, then—you don’t like certain parts of me, so you won’t accept them? That isn’t what you promised last night,” he said savagely. He jerked toward his duffel bag and yanked it shut. “I don’t have time for this. Get dressed—I’m taking you home.”

  She said disbelievingly, “You can’t leave like this-”

  “The hell I can’t,” he snapped. “It’s been an interesting week, Mary, but I’ve really got to go.”

  Her limbs had begun to grow numb. He was going. With all the hurt and misunderstandings between them, how could he still be going? She heard herself say, “If you can walk away from me right now, you really aren’t who I thought you were. Don’t bother coming back.”

  He stopped. His face, his rigid stance, everything about him went icy. “Now somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he snarled. “I won’t be manipulated like that. On second thought, you can find your own ride home, can’t you, sweetheart? I’m sure you’ve got cab fare. Lock the door on your way out.” He swiped the bag off the bed and strode to the door. “I’m running late.”

  Mary bent at the waist and put her forehead to her knees, huddling into a tight ball. The pain was incredible. Still she couldn’t believe it.

  He’s at the top of the stairs. He’ll turn around now.

  Down the stairs—through the living room. Two tears slipped hotly down her face.

  “Chance!” she cried out.

  The front door opened and slammed. Not the Jeep. Won’t he stop there?

  Then the engine started outside, and he was gone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MARY sat huddled on the bed for a long time, forehead bowed to her knees while the house settled into silence around her.

  Finally she lifted her streaked face to stare around her dazedly. The large blue robe still smelled like him. He was etched into every part of the bedroom, and the sheets were tangled from their lovemaking that morning. She looked at the pillows that still bore the impression of their heads, hers so close to his as they kissed and whispered of all the things they looked forward to doing together.

  She thought she was numb but she wasn’t. Something was tearing inside her. Staying there without him was unbearable.

  She lurched to her feet, gathered up her clothes and dressed. Such a pretty dress that she’d bought just for last night.

  You should wear red more often, he said.

  She knew she would never wear it again.

  Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe she had panicked and gone too far. She’d pushed him too hard. She’d demanded things he wasn’t prepared to give. He’d been thinking of the professors’ families, and she had only made it worse. She had to explain things to him. They couldn’t just end. How could she live without him when he had her soul? Half of him was better than nothing. If she had nothing, she was dead.

  She ran
downstairs, looked up the information number for the airport and dialed. When the airport switchboard answered, she was put on hold. As she waited, her feverish urgency trickled away.

  He left. He left her because he wanted to leave her. He didn’t say, we’ll talk soon. He didn’t say, I love you and I will think about what you said. All she had asked was for him not to leave her like that, and he did.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  She jumped; she’d forgotten she was on hold. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve made a mistake.” She hung up, then dialed again. It was time to go home.

  She asked her grandfather to come pick her up, and he promised to be there in fifteen minutes. Then she left the diamond ring on the counter, turned off the coffeemaker and washed the carafe. She was waiting on the front porch step when her grandfather arrived.

  Wallis stepped out of the station wagon, took one look at her lifeless face and blank eyes, and folded her into his arms. “What happened, kiddo?” he asked gently.

  Her face screwed up. Suddenly she was sobbing against his chest, while he patted her back helplessly and told her a great many things, none of which she remembered. He bustled her into the car and they drove away.

  Halfway home, she swiped her eyes and said, “I’m better now.”

  He nodded, scowling at the road. “I know you are.”

  “This isn’t going to matter a year from now, is it?” she sniffed.

  He shook his head, mouth compressed. “Nope.”

  Tears continued to sneak down her face. She caught them before they slid too far down her cheeks, peeking sideways at him. “Why—a year from now, I’ll say, ‘What an interesting w-w-week I had’,” she wobbled. “Don’t you figure?”

  “I figure.” They pulled to a stop, and he glared up at the stoplight, jaw working. He covered her hand with one of his. “You want to talk about it, punkin?”

  She stroked his gnarled knuckles lovingly. And what would she say? Grampa, I might be pregnant. Grampa, I can’t live without him. For all his ferocious bluster, he really was just a frail old man. She couldn’t do that to him. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said quietly. “We thought we were suited, and we aren’t. I think—I think we both just wanted it so badly, you know?”