by Judith Post
"She embraced death?"
"Why not? It's only a step, a beginning."
Sheri pressed both hands to her knees. "You're an interesting person. You really are, but I feel like I have to work to keep up with you."
He grew instantly serious. "Oh, no, Miss Hudson. I'm going to have to strive hard to meet your standards."
Now what was he talking about?
He stood and reached for her hand, to help her up. "You're the most positive, giving person I've met. Most people run out of giving. You don't. I find that fascinating."
Shit and double shit. She had no desire to fascinate him at all. His attention was far too nerve-racking. He led her to his van, and once she was belted in, she asked again, "How long did you say you were staying in Emerald Hills?"
"Longer than you want me to." When she squirmed in her seat, he laughed.
The laugh helped her. Okay, she got it now. He was an intellectual. He liked to analyze people. He wanted to know what made her tick. She was his summer science project. "My needs are pretty simple," she blurted. How odd did that sound? What was the matter with her? But once he understood her, maybe he'd leave her alone.
"I'm guessing you're a Virgo." He drove past the high school, taking the shortest route to the root-beer stand.
She blinked, confused. "Is that a horoscope sign? I don't read those. Must be a California thing."
"What's your birthday?"
"August 23."
He nodded. "A Virgo, like Ceres. Chaste."
"Please!" She shook her head. "She had a daughter, didn't she? Persephone?"
He smiled. "At least you know your myths."
She gave a loud snort, then regretted it. How unladylike could she get? "I still won't eat a pomegranate. They seem dangerous somehow."
He laughed harder. "But Persephone got hungry. Anyone can be tempted."
"Not true."
"I've heard your weakness is chocolate-dipped, orange peels."
She gasped. "Did Nate rat me out?"
"No, I asked Tana when I went to her shop." He pushed a box across the seat to her. "I meant to deliver these with your keyboard, but now's as good a time as any. There's a mix, some truffles and some of your favorites."
She didn't want to take it. Why had he bought her chocolates? "Fixing the keyboard was enough."
"Ethan helped break it. I owed you."
She looked at the box of candy. "You didn't have to do this."
"No, you'd rather I hadn't done this. But I did, and you're too polite to refuse them."
She glanced out the window at the passing scenery. They were nearly to the root-beer stand. "Why did you buy them?"
He pulled into a parking space and looked directly into her eyes. "Because I mean to seduce you, Sheri Hudson, and make you mine."
For a second, she was speechless. Then she started to laugh. "I get it! You like messing with people. Well, lots of teenagers have tried. Give it your best shot."
His grin was a challenge. "I intend to."
She raised an eyebrow at him—one of her teacher tricks. "You might be from California and all suave and charming, but I've had plenty of time to get to know myself. I don't intend to be a silly diversion to make your vacation go faster."
"Didn't I tell you?" He reached for a speaker to call in their order. "I sold my place in California. I'm settling here. Want to be closer to family and friends—make a fresh start. And I'm not into diversions. These days, I play for keeps."
Her shoulders sagged. "Then what do you want from me?"
"I want you as a friend."
Relief flooded through her. "You don't have to trick me into that. You're a nice person. It's a given."
"Can we eat meals together sometimes? Hang out? I like alone time, but it's nice to have someone to talk to. Not just family, a friend."
She nodded too eagerly. It seemed much better than having him rile her up whenever he was bored. "We can do that."
"Good." He offered her his hand. "Friends then."
He looked too smug. Was he thinking friends with benefits? Like that would happen!
A tiny worry niggled in the back of her mind. What had he told her about friends? Nothing to fret about. There were friends, and then there were friends. He'd meet new people, new women. He'd move on. And she could go back to her nice, comfortable life.
* * *
Sheri hadn't seen Morgan since he left her the keyboard. A good thing.
It took her a few days to work up the courage to go see Wendy. Silly, she knew, but she always worried about something before she did it. But now, she had entire conversations mapped out in her mind. She knew the best way to open the subjects she wanted to discuss.
Sheri's mom lived on the opposite side of Emerald Hills, in a tiny apartment over one of the shops on the fringe of town. She worked as a waitress at Nancy's restaurant, put in long hours, and did her best to be a single parent to Wendy. In a town full of magic, Wendy's mom had none, but she had enough grit and determination to make up for it.
Sheri parked in the back lot and climbed the outside staircase to the apartment. She knocked on the door and waited a long time. She was turning to leave when the door finally opened. Wendy's mom opened it a bit farther, motioning her inside. The woman looked like she hadn’t slept for days and had cried all of the nights she had insomnia.
"Are you okay?" Those were not the well-rehearsed words Sheri had meant to say. But honestly, Wendy's mom looked like she was on her last legs.
The woman walked to her kitchen and sagged onto a chair. A pot of coffee sat in the middle of the table, freshly brewed. "I made a fresh pot. Want a cup?"
It was three in the afternoon, but why not? Sheri sat across from her and took two cups from the clean mugs sitting on the table. The woman didn't look up to the usual ritual of pleasantries, so Sheri got straight to the point. "I've heard that Wendy's not going to college in the fall."
Wendy's mom sagged more than she had before. Sheri had seen her in Nancy's restaurant often, always a bustle of energy and efficiency. Never like this.
"Mrs. Larson?"
"Angie. My name's Angie." Her eyes misted and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Sheri reached across the table to take her hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Sobs racked her body. Her words came in gasps. "She left. To see him. To help him. Gave up everything to nurse him."
Sheri sat quietly. It was a start. She'd listened to one teenager after another who was bothered by grades, a break-up, lack of friends, or worse. She'd learned to let them spill their miseries their own way, in their own time.
She squeezed Angie's hand. "I'm sorry."
The woman's grip tightened, almost painful. "The bastard ruined my life. I thought I could protect Wendy."
"Who ruined your life? What happened to your daughter?"
"Lee, the drunk bastard. Hooked on pills now, I heard. Never sent a penny. Didn't ask him to, then he'd have visitation rights. Now she's eighteen. So what does he do? Sends her a letter. Says he's dying. Wants to make things right with her before he goes."
Sheri could feel her jaw stiffen. Anger simmered through her, and she tried to stay reasonable. "Has Wendy ever seen her father?"
Angie's hair fell forward and she sluggishly pushed it back. She was never pretty, but today, her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks sunken in. "Not since she was four-years-old. That's when I left him and moved here."
"But Wendy knew about her dad?"
"I've always been straight-up and open about the mistakes I made."
Sheri nodded. "That's all a parent can do. She's at that age, when she's trying to find herself, fit all of the pieces together."
"Lee knows. That's why he wrote. He can impress girls at seventeen or eighteen. He's an ass, but he looks glamorous to them."
Sheri had seen that happen before, the idealistic girls who were vulnerable, falling for the wrong guys, guys they could save because love conquers all. But this was worse. Thi
s was manipulation at its basest denominator. "Did she leave already?"
Angie nodded.
"Where does Lee live?" Sheri couldn't believe the thoughts swirling in her head. What if she went there and confronted them? What if she dragged Wendy home?
Angie must have heard the resolve in her voice too. She stared. "You don't know Lee. He can twist your words around until he sounds good and you sound bad."
"Maybe. Kids take their parents for granted when they're teenagers. But I'm not Wendy's parent. And the Lees in this world usually don't like teachers."
An odd, broken laugh escaped Angie. "Wendy always told me that you were one hell of a teacher."
"I have the privilege of teaching great students. I don't like it when someone tries to ruin their potential." And the intensity of that thought surprised her.
Angie's sigh sounded defeated. "I have to give you credit, but your odds aren't good. You're probably wasting your time. I'm hoping she comes home when he's used her up, that she builds up her strength, and then gives college another try."
"Uses her up?" Fire pulsed through Sheri's veins. She clenched her hands into fists.
Angie stared. "You're going to go after her, aren't you?"
"It's summer. I haven't taken a vacation for years. Where does Lee live? I want his address."
Angie reached for a pad of paper and a pen. She scribbled it down. "If you decide against this, I won't blame you."
"But I will." Sheri took the paper and said her good-byes.
* * *
Sheri stared at her phone at home. Should she call? Morgan had pressed his cell phone number into her hands after driving her home from the root-beer stand. "If you find out anything, you'll let me know, won't you?"
She didn't want to call him, but felt obligated. After all, she wouldn't have known Wendy had a problem if he hadn't told her. She punched in his number. He answered so quickly, he caught her off guard.
She stammered, "I just want to let you know I went to visit Wendy's mother. Wendy left Emerald Hills to help her father—a father she never knew—because he wrote her that he's dying and wants to make things right before it's too late."
Skepticism colored Morgan's voice. "How nice of him."
"That's what Wendy's mother thinks. So do I."
He hesitated. "So she's lost to us. We're too late?"
Us? What did he mean by us? Sheri took a deep breath. "Actually, he lives in Kentucky, and that's not such a long drive. I haven't taken a road trip for years. I thought I might stop in to see her."
Morgan chuckled. "I knew it. When are you thinking of leaving?"
"Thursday morning. I have to play piano for the Ladies' Club on Wednesday night, but then I'm free for a few days."
"What time should I pick you up?"
"Pick me up?" She chose her words carefully. "I'm not a woman who minds her own company, and I've traveled alone before."
"I got you into this mess," Morgan said. "Wendy's dad sounds like a piece of work. You're not going up against him without backup."
She didn't like where this conversation was going. "I don't want to be rude, but I only called you to be polite. I'd rather handle this myself."
His voice was too smooth. "And if we end up in the same place at the same time? It might be easier to drive together."
"Would you do that?" Her voice surprised her. It sounded as affronted as she felt.
"Yes, I would, because if I brought this burden to you, and it brought you any grief, I'd never forgive myself."
She thought about that. She'd feel the same way. She sighed. It seemed to be something she did often with him. That, or blush. "Okay, I'd feel like that too. But I pay my own way and we stay in separate rooms."
"Of course."
He sounded too innocent. She didn't think he was. But he was offering her a compromise, so she took it. "I'll see you Thursday morning at nine."
"I'll be there." He hung up before she could change her mind.
* * *
Morgan pulled into her driveway at five minutes before nine. She was packed and ready. She'd waffled on going with him over and over again, but each time, she made herself focus on Wendy and Wendy's father, and knew she couldn't fail. She had to try. So she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked out of the house.
Morgan hurried to help her with her luggage. Slowly, he looked her up and down. "You look good in a sundress."
She blushed. Again. "It's summer and it's hot. A sundress is comfortable."
He waited for her to settle in the passenger seat, then slammed her door. Once he was comfortable behind the steering wheel, he gave her another look. "Yup, dresses and ponytails suit you. Let's hope it's a scorcher this year."
He was wearing shorts and sandals. They suited him too. His long, tan legs bunched with muscles. "You must work out."
He grinned. "I'm taking that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one." Her tone matched her frown.
"I'm marking it on my calendar as a special event."
Her frown deepened to a glare, but she'd learned that direct battles rarely proved useful. She sidestepped instead. "Are you going to start up your guitar business in Emerald Hills?"
His grin widened. "No wonder you're such a good teacher. You know all the tricks. A little psychology to learn the fine art of distraction?"
She tried to stifle a sigh. Couldn't. What was her life coming to? Sigh. Blush. Repeat the pattern. He was waiting for an answer. Her voice sounded churlish, even to her own ears. "It was worth a try."
He laughed. "Then I'll play along. Yes, I've already bought an old, double garage on an alley in town. I don't need a shop front. My customers seek me out. I just need a place to work, and I'd rather be in the business district where it's easy to grab a quick lunch."
She couldn't help herself. "I thought you'd cook and pack something healthy."
His brows flew up in surprise. "Is that an indirect slam? So you do resort to sarcasm sometimes?"
She bit her bottom lip. Really! Morgan seemed to bring out the worst in her. She sidestepped again. "I'm taking it that you never had children?"
A low chuckle escaped him. "No, I wanted them. Maria didn't. She was a dancer. Her body and its movements were her art, just like guitars are mine. I understood."
A dancer. Whimsical thoughts chased each other through Sheri's mind. If she'd been born thinner, more graceful…. She'd always dreamed of being a dancer. Knew that's all it would ever be—a wonderful fantasy. She took a deep breath. "One of my secret pleasures is watching 'Dancing With the Stars'."
"What?" He glanced sideways at her. "No 'So You Think You Can Dance'?"
She laughed. "Oh, I DVR that show too. Always call in my vote."
"You're serious about it."
She nodded. "I drive to Chicago to see dance productions . When I was a kid, I wore a tutu three years in a row to go trick or treating, until I…." She stammered to a halt.
"Until you what?"
"I turned pudgy. I've been plump since second grade."
"Plump looks good on you."
She grimaced. Why was she sharing private, embarrassing thoughts with him?
He stopped for a red light and turned to look at her. "So you always wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to be a rock star. Our dreams take on new meanings with time, don't they?"
She nodded, thinking about her younger self. "I've never heard it put quite so well."
"Are you happy?" he asked her.
"Oh, yes."
"So am I." The light changed to green and he concentrated on his driving before he asked, "Do you think you could be happier?"
A good question. She took time to consider her answer. "I don't know."
"I'm thinking it's possible, for you and for me."
Sheri looked at his strong profile—the high forehead, determined jawline. "You want more?" she asked him.
"I just might. You?"
Her answer didn't change. "I don't know."
"Ma
ybe you just need to open your eyes to the possibilities."
They were driving through a small town, and Sheri looked out her window to enjoy the scenery—old, brick buildings that had been restored, flower boxes, and quaint streetlights. She pursed her lips, considering Morgan's questions. Finally, she said, "I've seen people who are never satisfied, who strive for too much and never enjoy what they have."
He countered with, "I've seen people who settle for whatever they get, who never try because they're afraid they might fail."
She shrugged. "It's a fine line. I don't know how you decide where to draw it."
"Maybe it's according to how much you'd have to risk. If you only have to step outside your comfort zone…"
"But then you're not comfortable anymore, are you?"
He reached across the seat to pat her hand. "Virgos don't like risk. It's hard for them."
She could feel herself bristle. "So what sign are you?"
"I'm a Capricorn."
"The goat?"
He darted a look her way. "I thought you didn't know horoscopes."
"Nancy, who owns the restaurant in town, is a Capricorn. Got her glyph tattooed on her ankle. Tells anyone who'll listen that Capricorns love to work, that they start life at the base of a mountain and have to climb their ways to the top."
He shook his head. "Caps do love to work, but we aren't mountain goats. We're sea-goats. We start life old, and grow younger and enjoy life more with age."
"A sea-goat? Never heard of one."
"I thought you knew your myths," he said. "Goat on top, fish on the bottom."
"Hmm! Is that Greek?"
"No." He grinned. "Caps and Virgos are great together."
"What was your wife?"
"Taurus. More like combustion and fireworks. Caps and Virgos are about being compatible."
"Yeah, every chaste, harvest goddess needs a sea-goat."
He threw back his head and laughed.
She decided that was a good time to turn on some music. They sat in compatible silence for the next hour, listening to his wide array of CDs. The man had everything from Adele to Billy Joel to the classics and blues. By the time they crossed the Indiana/Kentucky border, they were tired of music, and he slipped in an audio CD for an anthology.
