by Amy Summers
A sound made them both turn to find Chris standing in the doorway where Suzi had left the door ajar.
"You!" Suzi accused, rising as though to confront him. "Traitor!"
"Suzi." Trish put a hand on her arm to restrain her. An icy calm had settled over her. "Please go now. I want to talk to Chris alone."
Her sister obliged but not without another scathing glare as she passed Chris and left. Trish hardly noticed. She was staring at Chris, trying to read his impassive face for hopeful signs. So far, she could find nary a one.
"You heard," he said at last.
"I heard," she answered softly. "But I don't understand." She raised her hand in a helpless gesture. "Why?"
He turned from her and walked toward the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, staring out at the ocean beyond. "It's been coming for a long time, Trish. I've been trying to think of a way to tell you."
She came up behind him, wanting to touch him, not daring to. There was a feeling of inevitability to what was happening here. And yet, she couldn't give up without a fight. She licked her lips and said quickly, "But I thought you were so happy with the work. I thought you were excited about it."
He turned to face her, his eyes troubled. "I was. I am. The work is great, and I'm good at it." He shrugged, searching for words, starting to reach for her, and then pulling back his hand. "I... Your mother and I have our disagreements. We had one today. I got a great chance to begin marketing our boards in Florida. She doesn't think we're ready for that. She wants to take it slow, take it easy." There was a grimace on his handsome face. "She wants to be sure first." He shook his head. "I don't have time for that. I don't have time for the hassles."
Trish felt a trembling inside. She clenched her hands together to hide it from him. "Can't you go back and talk it out with her? I'm sure—"
He made an impatient gesture, shaking his head. "There's no use in beating a dead horse. This isn't me, this nine-to-five scene. I was never comfortable with it even right from the start."
Yes, she'd seen that. And hoped against hope that he would change. She nodded, turning away, not wanting to hear any more. He wasn't meant to settle down. That was all there was to it. Of course she understood. He didn't have to try to explain.
He turned abruptly and shrugged, his voice rougher, harder. "I've tried to warn you not to expect too much from me. I can only do what I can do, Trish. You can't ask me to make myself over into something I'm not."
Was that what she'd been doing? Asking him to conform to the image she wanted him to reflect? Of course it was. And yet, how could anybody become different? She was what she was, as well. She couldn't change any more than he could. She wanted order and stability and security. He wanted freedom.
"You're running away," she said dully, feeling sick. "Instead of seeing things through." Something was dying here, and she had no idea what to do to revive it.
His laugh was harsh and humorless. "If you say so, Trish."
She shrugged helplessly. "What...what are your plans?" she asked, trying hard to keep her voice from trembling.
"Plans?" He said the word as though it were foreign to him.
"Plans. Those things most adults make before they move on. An outline for the future." Her tone wasn't sarcastic, though her words were ready-made weapons. "If you're not going to work for my mother any longer, what are you going to do? Go back to being a ski instructor?"
He stared at her, frowning slightly. "I don't know, Trish. Maybe I'll take Shaun up on his offer and follow the surfing tour." He smiled suddenly and reached for her, his hands on her shoulders. "What about it, Trish? Would you come to Australia and sit on the beach with me?"
A wave of sick remorse swept over her. She knew what she ought to say. If she really wanted this man, she ought to say, "Yes, Chris, I'll follow you anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. I'll change my life for you." After all, wasn't she expecting him to change his for her?
But when the challenge was presented, she knew it wouldn't work. She was too old, too sure of what she wanted to totally remold herself for someone else, no matter how much she loved him. There were things she needed from life. Stability. Certainty. Control. She couldn't give them up.
"Tell the truth, Trish," he was saying cannily. "Don't kid yourself,"
She couldn't say a word. To say yes, she would follow him, would be a lie. To say no would be to say goodbye. The words stuck in her throat, along with a lump made by the tears that were gathering in her eyes.
Chris stared at her for a long moment, recognizing the significance of her silence. A bittersweet smile hovered on his lips. "I guess I know my answer," he said softly. Reaching up, he touched her cheek. "Goodbye, Trish," he added, and then he was turning away, striding for the doorway, and out of her life.
Trish spent the rest of the day in quiet agony. She refused to use this pain as an excuse to get out of her daily routine. She went to work and snapped at Wendy, then hid in the back doing paperwork so that she wouldn't do the same to her customers. And it was all a sham to keep from thinking. But, of course, her mind couldn't let go of the thing anyway.
What had she done? Had she really let the man she loved walk away without even trying to hold him? Was she crazy? Was she really so weak, so helpless, that she could think of nothing to do to keep him with her?
It made her furious to think about, and every time she got furious, she got up and began to pace around the office, until Wendy finally came in to see what all the thumping was about.
"I'm doing laps," Trish grumped at the poor woman. "Haven't you heard? Exercise is good for you."
Wendy beat a hasty retreat, and Trish went after her to apologize. She decided to go outside, and then she was suddenly walking along the beach, hoping the sound of the surf would drown out her sorrow and anger.
The anger began directed at Chris for disappointing her, and ended up being directed at herself for being unable to cope with what he had done. After all she knew what he was like when she fell in love with him. If she'd wanted a dull, stable man, she certainly had had plenty of other opportunities to fall in love with one of them. It had been Chris with his laughing eyes and his devil-may-care grin who had captured her heart. He was only acting true to type. And now she couldn't deal with it.
Suddenly she needed to see her mother. Mothers had the answers, didn't they? Resolutely she went back to her car and drove to her mother's new place of business.
There was no one at the reception desk. She frowned, worrying. Her mother and Bert were really going to have to tighten up their business practices. She walked through the lobby and back into the workshop area. There was no one around. But through the textured glass of the office she could see that someone was inside. She sighed, then pushed onward, shoving open the door and calling, "Mom?"
The figure turned around, but it was Bert's broad face that greeted her.
"Hi, Trish," he said cheerfully. "Your mother went out for a few minutes. She ought to be back soon. You want to come on in and wait?"
Trish hesitated only a moment. Bert had always been like an uncle to her. There was no reason to begin treating him like he had a contagious disease.
"Sure," she said as she sat down. "So, how's business?"
"Fine." He beamed. "It's great getting back in the swing of things again. Laura is a great lady, you know. I don't know what I'd do without her. She saw me down in the dumps and she got this whole idea going so that I could get back up and feel better. She's a great lady, yes she is."
His obvious affection for her mother couldn't help but warm her a bit. Maybe this was just what her mother needed after all those years of being half ignored by Tam Carrington. A little indulging, a little pampering, a bit of coddling and attention—of course she deserved it all. Who was Trish to demand she deny herself a bit of happiness?
And then her mother breezed into the office, chattering merrily as she led Trish away from Bert's office and into her own.
"I'm glad you came, Trish," she said
at last when they were alone and seated across from one another. "I've been wanting to talk to you. There are things you should know."
Trish looked up quickly, half with guilt, half with foreboding. So far today the things people had wanted to tell her had not been things she'd wanted to hear.
"I know you've been upset about the way matters stand between your father and me. And that you've noticed how close Bert and I have become. And I know that's bothered you, too."
Trish nodded, unable to deny what was obvious.
Her mother leaned forward and reached for her hand. "Did you know that Bert and I were sweethearts long before your father ever came into the picture?"
No, she hadn't known that, and the knowledge shocked her. She shook her head, her eyes huge and watchful.
"Well, we were. Those days were so long ago, it almost seems like another age. But it was a lot like those beach party movies they used to make, only not quite so silly. We lived at the beach. We bodysurfed, mostly, and built huge camp fires and roasted hot dogs and danced in the sand. Bert and I ran around with the same crowd. We were going to get married."
"I know you've heard the story before of how your father arrived carrying a big long board. He didn't look to the right or the left. Just headed straight out into the surf. And when he stood up on the board and rode a wave in, we all thought we'd died and gone to heaven. It was like something out of a fantasy novel. We all went wild for him and his surfing."
She could see him doing exactly that, just that way, his self-contained arrogance flying like a flag.
"Bert was wild in those days. You never knew what he would do from one day to the next. But Tam Carrington—he was solid as a rock. When he asked me to marry him, I had to make a choice. I chose something I was sure of and let Bert slip away.''
"So all these years..." Trish shivered, thinking of all the emotion lurking behind the smiles she'd grown up with. How could she have been so unaware? It seemed impossible. And yet it must have been true. Look at the results they were all reaping today.
"Bert and I never did anything, or even said anything to one another, that we couldn't have said in front of your father. Not until this last time I left, when I had really decided it was over."
She believed Laura implicitly. "Are you planning to marry him?"
Laura's eyes were shining. "What do you think?"
Funny how the knowledge didn't hurt her any longer. It was, after all, her mother's life.
"Trish," Laura said as she showed her out. "I just want to say one more thing to you." She took her daughter's face in her hands and smiled at her. "Follow your heart, my darling. Whatever you do, make sure you follow your heart."
Trish left even more confused than she had been when she'd arrived. There was too much to digest. She went back to the beach and walked for hours, her mind turning over and over the things her mother had told her, adjusting history as she ate up the miles.
When she ran out of beach she hit the sidewalks, and suddenly she found herself standing in front of her father's business. She hesitated, staring at the building she knew so well. Taking a deep breath, she went to the door. Maybe it was time to get his side.
Grace, the receptionist, waved her right in as she always did. Her father was seated behind his desk, paperwork spread out in front of him, glasses pushed up on his forehead.
"Hi, Trish," he said with a smile when he looked up and saw her standing before him. "What's got you all riled up this time?"
She bit her lip, not sure what to say. "I... Chris Dawson..."
Her father grinned and interjected, "Well good. It's about time some man got under your skin. You going to marry him?"
She flushed and drew back. "I'm not talking about my romance, Daddy. I'm talking about yours."
He looked surprised. "Romance? I don't have any romance."
She bit her lip. "Please talk to me, Daddy. I have to know the truth."
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Your mom and I—the marriage is over."
"Yes." She felt tears prickling but she took a deep breath and refused to give way to them. The mourning period on the marriage of Tam and Laura Carrington was officially over. "I understand that."
"Then you've given up the matchmaking activities?"
"Yes."
"That's a relief. Anyway, she's gone back to Bert. That's where she belongs."
"I know that must hurt you."
"No, Trish, you don't know that at all. Because it doesn't." He frowned. The effort it took him to talk about this was obvious. "I'm a loner, Trish. I probably never should have married at all. But we did have some good years, and we did get two beautiful daughters out of it. And for that, I would do it all again."
Had it really been worth it? she wondered. Why had they ever married in the first place, if it wasn't meant to be? "Daddy? Why did you marry Mom?"
He stared at her as though she'd asked something utterly ridiculous. "I married your mother because I loved her. Loved her madly. Couldn't live without her."
"Oh."
"We grew apart. It was nobody's fault, Trish. It just happened."
It just happened. Trish stood, ready to leave. "I love you, Daddy," she said suddenly, rushing into his arms.
He held her awkwardly, patting her back. "I love you, too, honey," he muttered. "You know that."
She knew it, but it never hurt to hear it again. Walking slowly from the building, she began to realize something else. Life moved on. Change was unavoidable. But people made their own happiness. The future resided inside her. She could do with it what she wanted. Her parents had both reached out and taken hold of their lives. Why couldn't she do the same?
Chapter 16
She spent a sleepless night and woke from a fitful doze to find a morning fog had rolled in, the first of the fall. The gray mist was a perfect complement to her gray mood. She fixed herself some very strong coffee and sat in her window seat to watch the fog send out its tendrils, filling the area with an impenetrable shroud of cool moisture.
The unopened mail from the day before caught her eye, and she reached for a large manila envelope included with it. Ripping it open she found four prints of herself and Chris kissing that spring day at the Regatta. The note attached said, "Found some extras of these and thought you might like them."
She stared at the photos. They were a handsome couple, these two on the glossy paper. Made for each other. The magic was there in their faces. She could feel it again, like the remembered refrain from a song. Chris Dawson. Lord, but she loved the man! She longed for him. All the other little things that had once filled her life seemed useless and empty. Without Chris her spark was gone.
She looked around groggily, as though emerging from a deep sleep. What was the matter with her? What had she been thinking of all this time? Life without Chris would never satisfy her. Was she crazy? She would rather have Chris with all his wanderlust than anyone else in the world. There was nothing here for her, nothing at all, if he weren't around to share in it.
Once that was settled her way seemed so clear. She dressed quickly in jeans and a long-john shirt, then raced down to the parking garage to her car.
It took only minutes to get to his apartment. She raced up the steps and pounded on his door, ringing the bell at the same time. Again. And then came the realization that there was no answer. No one was home.
"Are you looking for Chris Dawson?" asked a woman passing by on her way to another apartment. "I saw him walking toward the beach with his surfboard."
The beach. Of course. She thanked the woman, ran to her car. How would he receive her? She wasn't sure. Still, she had to see if there was a chance to get back into his heart.
Chris stared out through a clearing in the fog and watched dolphins surging one by one out of the gray ocean, their silhouettes against the silvery sky.
There was sand in his hair and wetsuit. Still, sitting on the beach, his board beside him, the waves breaking before him, he had to sigh with c
ontentment. This was the life. Pity those poor slobs in their three-piece suits marching off to work in cold, concrete buildings all over town. He'd escaped from the horror of that daily drudgery, never to go back. He would surf until he was sick of it, and then he would return to the mountains.
He leaned back and tried to visualize himself on the snowy slopes. The picture wasn't coming clear. Frowning, he tried harder. Step by step, he took himself through a typical day at Mammoth—the breakfast in the chalet, the thrilling rides down the runs, the evening before the fire and dinner at Harwood's Glen.
That reminded him. He wanted to take Trish there. She had to try those steaks the way Harwood grilled them. And his special steak sauce...
Chris's hands clenched spasmodically and he cursed aloud. No, dammit! He wasn't going to think about Trish any more. She was out of his life, just as all the other women he'd ever known were out of his life. It was over. Over.
But why couldn't he get her out of his head?
He would think about something else—his apartment and how he was going to get out of the lease, the new car he wanted to buy if he had any money left after he'd paid off all his bills and moved his things back to the mountains.
That reminded him. The resin supplier for White-Water Waves was due his check for the last shipment. He'd had the secretary file the invoice, but when he'd asked her for it, she hadn't been able to find it. He'd meant to do something about that, but then he'd quit. Would Laura remember? Probably not. Maybe he should just go by and...
He sat very still, stunned. What was the matter with him? He wanted to go back to his desk at White-Water Waves and get back to work. Was this crazy?
He missed work, and even more, he missed Trish. Things had gotten so bad, he couldn't even imagine life without her. She was in his dreams, in his heart. He might as well admit it. He wasn't going to get over her easily. He wanted her back, wanted to feel the silkiness of her hair, the warm excitement of her kiss. He just wanted her nearby, wanted her there to tell things to, to smile at him, to react to his jokes.
