Perhaps he was divorced. He may have married young and none too wisely—she’d forgive him that early innocence—then redeemed himself by ending the union before two lives, or more, were ruined.
Maybe he’d never married at all. He’d been too involved in his career. Or—she rather liked this idea—he’d been waiting for the right woman to come along.
Well, Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, here I am. But she didn’t have to tell him that. He’d know. One glance and he’d know. She wasn’t looking her best just then, but that wouldn’t matter to him. He’d want her for better or for worse. And worse wasn’t all that bad. Hadn’t Connie said she looked sexy?
Well, Caroline decided with a fanciful sigh, so did he. There he was on his fire escape, tired and sweaty and, really, when she came right down to it, not much more than a full-bodied shadow. Still, she imagined that he was sexy as hell. True, her opinion was tinged by everything else she’d conjured up, but since she was into the fantasy, she’d do it right.
He’d be the epitome of raw masculinity. One look at him close up and she’d feel those awakening tingles deep inside. She tried to remember when she’d felt them last. It might have been with Ben, at the beginning, when she’d been snowed by his style. Or it might have been with Jonathan Carey, her first and only other lover, but she suspected that what she’d felt then had had more to do with the excitement of being a freshman in college and finally “doing it.” Then again, the last time she’d felt those tingles, really felt them, might have been when she was seventeen and necking in Greg O’Malley’s Mustang. When Greg had grazed her breasts, her insides had come to life. It had all been so new then—new and mysterious and forbidden.
It would be new with Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, too. New as in mind-boggling, heart stopping and soul reaching. He would be a stupendous lover. Caroline could see it in the way he held himself. His body was well tuned and coordinated. Ropy shoulders, tight hips, long, lean legs … sexy … oh, Lord …
She clamped her thighs together and took a shaky breath, a little shocked by her physical reaction to thoughts alone. And just then, in that moment of reality’s intrusion, she noticed something. The profile of the dark stranger across the courtyard had changed. He’d turned his head. He was looking at her.
Her heartbeat tripped. A flush spread over her cheeks, deepening that already created by the heat. For a split second she feared that he knew all she’d been thinking. She wondered how long he’d been looking at her and wondered why she hadn’t noticed sooner. Perhaps because it was normal for a man to look at a woman when they were making love?
But the fantasy was over and still he looked. She averted her gaze for a minute, then looked right back. Her embarrassment eased. Her chin came up a notch. She knew that he couldn’t possibly know her thoughts. And if he did, what of it? She was an adult. She was free to dream as she saw fit.
That brought her to the fantasy’s bottom line. She would be swept off her feet by Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, swept up, up and away from the hassles of her life, but there would be no strings attached. She could come and go as she pleased. She would feel neither responsibility nor guilt. No restrictions. No little complications.
It sounded divine.
But there was another sound just then. She swung her head around. Her telephone. She glanced back at the stranger. He didn’t move. The phone rang again. She wasn’t sure whether he could hear the ring, but on the chance that he could, she had to answer it. Pushing herself up, she crossed the floor in resignation.
“Hello?”
“Gladys?” asked an elderly male voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Is this Gladys?”
She couldn’t believe it. “You must have the wrong number.”
“Oh,” said the man, “I’m sorry.”
No problem, she thought with a sigh as she hung up the phone. Her hand remained on the receiver for a minute, thumb rubbing across its smooth grip. Then, straightening her shoulders, she crossed to the side of the room where she would be out of sight. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She curved one hand around her neck. Then, trying to be—feel—nonchalant, she worked her way back to the window. When she reached it, she stopped. She took one baby step, then another. With her hand still on her neck in a thoughtful pose, she turned her head and peeked out.
He was gone.
2
Caroline returned to work the next morning feeling refreshed. A thunderstorm at midnight had brought relief from the heat. Thanks to the ceiling fan, her apartment had cooled nicely and she’d been able to get a solid seven hours of sleep. She didn’t mind that the temperature was again on the rise. Her office was cool. She’d face the loft later.
Every one of her morning appointments showed up, and on time. There were several tough sessions, but nothing as frustrating as what she’d faced the day before. Given that bit of encouragement, she decided against running out for lunch. Instead, she sat at her desk, opened a carton of yogurt and put through a call to her mother, who had been at the back of her mind since she’d woken up. Experience told her that the guilt she felt about not calling sooner was worse than the call itself would be.
Naturally, there were explanations to be made; Madeline Cooper was slightly miffed. “I was hoping you’d call back last night, Caroline. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“You must have been out very late.”
“I didn’t get in until ten—”
“But that was only nine here. You could have called.”
“—and I was exhausted,” Caroline went on. “I wouldn’t have been much good to you.”
“You could have called and told me that. I spent the night worrying about you, on top of everything else.”
Caroline might have reminded her mother that she was thirty-one, that she’d been away from home since the age of eighteen, that if something were desperately wrong the police would call—but it wasn’t worth the effort. She had made each of the arguments before. She knew that she could make them until she was blue in the face and still her mother wouldn’t hear.
So she changed the subject. “How’s Dad?”
“Oh, he says he’s all right, but I see him wince every time he moves.” Her voice dropped to a mumble. “I’m sure there’s something the doctors aren’t telling us.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t catch that.”
“Hold on a second, dear. I’m going to pick up the phone in the den so I can sit comfortably.”
Caroline could picture the scene; it was a recurring one. Her father was no doubt nearby, and her mother wanted privacy, which did not bode well for Madeline Cooper’s frame of mind. That was nothing new.
“How are you doing, Caro?” came a deep, affectionate voice.
“I’m fine, Dad. How about you? Leg aching?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, despite what your mother says—”
“You can hang up now, Allan,” Madeline shouted the instant she picked up the extension.
“Bye-bye, Daddy. We’ll talk more another time.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” The line clicked.
“That’s better,” Madeline said. “I don’t want to worry your father, but I do think the doctors are hiding something.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
“I don’t know, but I feel it.”
“You’re imagining it, Mom. Believe me.”
“Bone cancer. That would account for the pain, wouldn’t it?”
“Dad does not have bone cancer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he broke his leg when he tripped in the garage. It was set wrong the first time, and now they’ve rebroken and reset it. There’s the clear-cut cause of his pain.”
“But you don’t know it isn’t cancer.”
“Dad has seen more doctors in the past few months than he has in his entire life. They’ve taken blood and done a dozen other tests. If he had cancer, they’d know it. Doctors
today are very cautious. They have their eyes wide open. My guess is they’ve ruled out everything from asthma to corns.”
Madeline seemed momentarily pacified. “Still…”
“There’s no ‘still’ about it. You’re working with the best orthopedic team in the state. They’re as sure of their work as any doctors can be. You said that the X rays were okay. Didn’t they tell Dad to expect some pain?”
“Some pain I don’t mind. Plenty of it, well, that’s another story.”
“Dad sounded fine to me.” In fact, he’d sounded fine each time she’d spoken to him since the surgery, which was one of the reasons she felt so complacent.
“He tries to hide it, but I can see it in his face. It’s difficult for him even to shift position.”
“It’d be difficult for anyone with a full-leg cast. That thing’s heavy.”
“I suppose.”
“Look at it this way, Mom. You know exactly what the problem is. We’re talking bones here, not heart or lung or some other vital organ.”
“But if he never walks right—”
“You don’t know that that’ll be so. The doctors have said that he’ll spend six weeks in a cast, then another month or so in therapy. Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see how things go before’ assuming the worst?”
“He’s an active man, Caroline. You know that. If the leg doesn’t heal right, his whole life-style will change.”
“That’s not so,” Caroline insisted. She was trying to be patient, but after years of hearing the direst of dire predictions from her mother, her own patience was in short supply. She was by nature an optimist, very likely in reaction to Madeline’s pessimism.
Tempering her voice, she projected the confidence she felt and that she knew her mother relied on. “The fact that Dad has always been active is to his benefit. He’ll make the leg work by hook or by crook.”
“And speaking of crooks,” Madeline rushed on as though grateful for the lead, “I meant what I said last night. I’m seriously thinking of suing that first doctor.”
“Wait, Mom. Just wait. See how you feel in two or three months. You may have a case for a lawsuit, but Karen would be the first one to tell you that a suit will take time and effort and money.”
“We have a lawyer in the family.”
Caroline had to laugh at that. “Good Lord, that’s just what Karen needs. She’s a corporate lawyer, not a litigator. And she’s in Pennsylvania, not Wisconsin. And she’s going to be slightly busy for the next eighteen years or so, or have you forgotten that you’re about to be a grandmother?”
“I’m already a grandmother, but with the mess your brother’s made of his marriage, it’ll be a miracle if I get to see Amy once a year.”
Which was another absurd comment, Caroline mused, but she didn’t want to go into the issue of Carl’s divorce, so she said, “Trust me, Mom. Dad will recover beautifully, and the two of you will be able to fly in often to see Karen and the baby, and Amy, for that matter.” She paused. “Have you given any thought to what I suggested last week?”
“That I get a job? How can I get a job when your father needs me?”
“Dad has his own work, which he’ll be getting back to as soon as he can manage with crutches.” Caroline would have added that he’d do that much sooner if Madeline didn’t hover so much, but she had to be tactful. “You need a diversion. We’re all grown and away. Dad will be as active as ever. You should have gone to work years ago.”
“We don’t need the money.”
“I know, but you’d feel better if you had something to take your mind off your worries.”
“I can’t think about that now,” Madeline said, her words clipped. “Maybe later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Caroline warned, then went on in a softer tone. “Would you feel better if I give the doctors a call?”
They were the magic words, just as Caroline had known they’d be. She could practically see her mother’s face break into a relieved smile and could easily hear that relief in her voice. “Would you, sweetheart? I know how busy you are, but that would put my mind at ease. They don’t listen to me,” she complained, and, facetiously, Caroline wondered why not. “But they’d tell you the truth. They’d know that you couldn’t be fooled. I have the number right here. Have you got a pencil?”
Caroline quickly scribbled the phone number her mother rattled off. “I’ll put in a call now, but it may be a while before I reach one of them. Don’t panic if I don’t call right back, okay? It’ll simply be because I haven’t talked with them, not because they’ve said something I don’t want you to know.”
“You won’t try to spare me?”
“Of course not, Mom.”
“You’ll call me either way?”
“Yes. And, Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Try to relax. Dad is going to be just fine.” Caroline looked up to catch the eye of one of her colleagues. “I’ve got to run now. I’ll talk with you later.”
She hung up the phone and tossed a glance skyward. “Role reversal. I sometimes forget who’s the mother.”
Pushing off from the doorjamb, Peter Hollis crossed the carpet to stand before her desk with his hands in his pockets and his legs planted wide. “Problems?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Good, ’cause I need your help.”
“Uh-oh. Your group again?”
“Yeah. I have this seminar to give tonight, and if I don’t spend some time preparing, I’m going to make an ass of myself.”
Caroline could believe that. Peter was wonderful with individual clients, even group-therapy sessions, but he tended to clutch when it came to formal deliveries. It didn’t surprise her that he’d waited until the last minute to prepare. It was a phenomenon called push-it-out-of-your-mind-until-you’re-up-against-the-wall.
“I’ll take the group,” she said. She’d done it before. She never minded filling in for one of her partners, if only for the solace it gave her that they’d do the favor in return. Not that she’d ever had to ask. But someday she might. “It’s at two?”
“You’re free. I checked.”
She made a note for herself, then eyed Peter without raising her head. “You’re really nervous?”
“You could say that.”
Propping her elbows on the desk, she smiled. “You’ll do fine, Pete. Just sit down and plot out what you want to say. Make notes for yourself. You’ll do fine.”
“I’m supposed to speak for forty-five minutes, then open the floor for questions. Knowing my luck, there won’t be any.”
“Make a list of your own questions. If they’re tongue-tied, you can get them going.”
“I think I should take a course in public speaking.”
He was probably right, but it was a little late for that now. “Just blot out the crowd and pretend that you’re speaking with a small, cozy group.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It’s mind over matter.”
He shot her a crooked smile. “Where have I heard that before?”
They both thought of the cubby of a kitchen down the hall. Weeks ago, someone had taped that very message on the small refrigerator. Caroline guessed that it had been Maren, who was forever fighting the battle of the bulge. Then again, it could have been Norman, who was trying to cut down on canned sodas. Or Peter himself, who had an ice-cream habit he was trying to break. For that matter, she mused, the others could suspect her. Beside her supply of yogurt was a bag of bite-sized Almond Joys; choosing between the two was often a trial.
“Y’know,” Caroline said, “it was probably Jason who put up that sign.” Jason was a part-timer, their work-study secretary, and he teased them all mercilessly about their weaknesses. More than once she’d caught him with an Almond Joy, so she’d been able to tease him back. “Think he snitches your ice cream?”
“Let’s just say that I found a paper cup with mocha remains in his wastebasket last week.”
“You’re into scavenging?”
That coaxed a chuckle from him. “Looking for the notes that I’ve never written for this speech.” He drew himself up to his full five foot eight and headed for the door. “I’d better get to it. Thanks for this afternoon, Caroline. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” she said sincerely. She’d simply write up her reports later.
With a glance at the small digital clock on her desk, she lifted the phone and punched out the number her mother had given her. As she’d suspected, neither of the doctors was available. She left a message and hung up the phone, then had just enough time to finish her yogurt and freshen up in the ladies’ room before her one-o’clock appointment arrived.
That meeting went well, as did the group session at two. She’d conducted it before and knew the eight teenagers, all of whom were plagued by social insecurity. They accepted her as part of the therapy team, and after the first predictably slow fifteen minutes, things picked up.
She was pleased about that, particularly when her three-o’clock appointment turned out to be the pits. She’d been counseling Paul and Sheila Valente for five months. In their mid-thirties and married eight years, they’d developed communication problems that were putting a definite crimp in their relationship. They both worked full-time at high-pressure jobs, yet they managed to spare an hour a week to see her. She’d always seen that as a positive sign.
Suddenly Paul decided that they were wasting their time. “I don’t see any progress,” he announced the instant they were seated. Caroline was amazed he’d been able to wait even that long; she’d seen the thunder in his eyes when she first greeted him back in the waiting room and knew that the clouds had been gathering for some time. “Sheila goes to work. She comes home and thinks about work. Once in a while she remembers I’m there, but for the most part I could be a picture on the wall. If she’s not willing to make an effort, no amount of counseling will help.”
“I make an effort,” Sheila argued, as eager to fight as he, “but each time I suggest we do something, either you have your own work to do or you want to work out or watch the baseball game.”
Warm Hearts Page 3
