Familiar Stranger

by Sharon Sala

  This hotel suite was a far cry from the roach motel he’d been at in L.A., but then, he’d had few options. It had been easier to disappear into the seedy life of a city than to explain away the bandages he’d been wearing at the time. Now that they were gone, his lifestyle had taken a big change for the better.

  He sat down on the sofa, opened his laptop, plugged in the modem and logged on to the Internet. His hands were steady as he opened his e-mail, but his heart was pounding. He’d been sending the same message to the same mailbox each day, certain that he would eventually get the answer he wanted. It began to download, zapping one message after the other through a medium he still found amazing. He’d seen a lot of things in his lifetime, but in his opinion, the public availability of the Internet was the most life-altering one of them all.

  The little You’ve Got Mail logo centered on the screen. He scanned the contents rapidly, deleting any and everything that didn’t have David Wilson’s name on it. Thirty-nine messages later he leaned back with a frustrated sigh. Still no answer.

  He shrugged. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was on a time schedule. Hell. Time was all he had. He could wait.

  He typed in the same message that he’d been sending regularly each day and then pressed send. When the process was finished, he shut down the computer and set it aside. His stomach was growling and he had a need to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair.

  A few minutes later, he exited the hotel and strode to the curb to hail a cab. As he did, he heard the shrill and strident voice of an insistent child. He looked out of curiosity and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a little girl’s delight.

  “Ganpa! Ganpa!”

  He froze. The little girl, who couldn’t have been more than two or three, had wrapped herself around his leg.

  “Up!” she shrieked. “Want up!”

  Before he could react, a young woman emerged from a doorway, her expression frantic.

  “Martie! Martie! Where are you?” she shouted.

  Frank turned again, this time waving to get the woman’s attention.

  “Lady…is this your kid?”

  “Oh, my God!” the woman cried, and then bolted toward them. Seconds later she was on her knees, unwinding the child from Frank’s leg. Then she stood and picked her up in her arms. “Bad girl! You ran away from Mommy.”

  The baby’s lower lip slipped forward in an instinctive pout.

  “Ganpa!” she muttered.

  For the first time, the woman got a good look at Frank’s face, and as she did, a smile of recognition replaced her frown.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “No wonder Martie ran to you.”

  “I’m sorry?” Frank said, certain that he’d never seen them before in his life.

  “No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” the woman said, and then held out her hand. “My name is Beth Stalling. This is my daughter, Martha. We call her Martie, for short. You look enough like my father-in-law to be his twin.” Then she hugged her daughter to her. “And Martie loves her grandpa Jules. She must have thought you were him.”

  Frank shook her hand, but he had quit listening to what she was saying after hearing the little girl’s name. Martha. Martha of the blue eyes and platinum blond hair. And this little girl had blue eyes and almost cotton-white hair, just like his Martha.

  “…so I hope you understand,” the woman finished.

  Frank blinked, suddenly realizing that she’d still been talking.

  “Of course. No harm done,” he said briefly, and then something—maybe the last good part of his soul—prompted an action quite out of character. He reached for the little girl’s hair and lightly fingered the soft, cottony whorls.

  “I’m thinking Grandpa Jules is a very fortunate man.”

  The woman beamed. “Why, thank you.”

  Suddenly uncomfortable with the whole incident, he muttered something about being late for a meeting and headed for the curb. Saved from having to make further conversation by the immediate arrival of a cab, he slid into the back seat and actually breathed a sigh of relief as the door slammed behind him.

  Unwilling to be reminded of a life he’d chosen to forgo, he wouldn’t look back. Yet the farther they drove, the heavier his heart became. He even toyed with the notion of walking away now. Just quitting on the idea of revenge and losing himself in America. He could do it. He’d done it before. Everyone knew that you could buy anything in America for the right amount of money. It would be cheap to buy a new identity and live out the rest of his life in relative comfort. But as he glanced at the window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and realized it was not his own. With his mask in place, the man beneath did not exist. But night always came and the mask always came off.

  The notion of forgive and forget quickly disappeared. David had wronged him. He had to pay.

  “Let me out here,” he told the cabby, tossed him a handful of dollars and all but bolted from the cab.

  His steps were hasty as he started down the street, as if he was trying to outrun a new enemy. But the farther he went, the more he realized that there was no escape for him as long as David still lived.

  Once the thought was firmly in his mind, he began to relax. His steps slowed, his thinking cleared. He spied a travel agent on the opposite corner of the street. Now was as good a time as any to make his plans. But as he stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change, he knew it would be a long, long time before he forgot the silken texture of baby hair against the palm of his hand.

  By the time night came to Denver, Frank Wilson was long gone. As his plane landed in Chicago, he had security of knowing that the next four days were securely mapped out in his mind. This time when he got to a hotel, he was digging in until he heard from David.

  Cara came out of the kitchen with a vase of flowers in her hand, heading toward the dining room table. Every wood surface in the house gleamed from the polishing she’d given it, and wonderful scents were coming from the kitchen. In spite of the enticing aromas, David knew they were not for him.

  Last night, just as Cara had come out of the shower, she’d glanced at the calendar and gasped. The planning committee for the annual fall church bazaar was being held at her house. And the meeting was going to be tomorrow! She’d known about it for weeks. But with all the excitement of David’s arrival, she’d completely forgotten the date and that she was expected to serve lunch in the process.

  He’d laughed and told her not to worry, that he’d help her straighten up the house, but that was before he had completely understood.

  Twelve women were coming to her home. Twelve women who had husbands and children and homes of their own. Twelve women who would be judging Cara’s worth on this earth by how clean she kept her house and how tasty and unique her menu would be.

  She had set the alarm for six-thirty and was up before it went off. And she hadn’t just straightened the house. In David’s opinion, she’d done everything short of rebuild it. Wisely, he’d chosen a simple bowl of cereal for breakfast and then when he was finished, washed and dried the dish and put it back where it belonged.

  By the time she had moved into the kitchen to begin preparing the food she would serve, he’d made another wise decision and dragged the lawn mower out of the shed and begun mowing the front yard. Her pleasure at his choice of occupation was obvious when, an hour later, she brought him a cold drink and gave him a kiss that rocked him back on his heels.

  “The yard is looking wonderful,” she said. “I’ve got to run. The oven timer is about to go off.”

  “I may not get through in the back before they come. Is that all right?”

  “Oh, sure. It won’t matter if you’re still mowing.”

  He sighed with relief. If he was still working in the back, he would have a very good excuse to absent himself from their presence.

  By the time he had finished in the front and come in the back door for another drink, the food in different stages of preparation lo
oked like something from a five-star restaurant. The elegance of the presentation was surpassed only by the aroma.

  “Wow, Cara. I didn’t know you could do stuff like this.”

  She gave him a harried smile and shrugged.

  “You’d be surprised what a female can do in an emergency.”

  He shook his head without comment. This church bazaar had taken on the undertones of a life-and-death situation. Her emergencies were certainly different from the ones that he’d faced, but something told him that it would be easier to deal with an international terrorist than to face these twelve women.

  “I made you some food,” Cara said. “Although you are certainly welcome to sit and eat with us at noon.”

  “No,” David said, and then countered the abruptness of his answer with a smile. “But thank you for inviting me.”

  She sighed. “I wouldn’t want to eat with us, either. I can’t believe I’d forgotten this.”

  David shoved aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

  “I’ll eat later, after I’ve finished mowing the back yard, okay?” Then he added, “And, if you’re not finished with your meeting by that time, I’ll be eating in the kitchen.”

  She laughed and tweaked his nose.

  “Coward.”

  “Devout and proud of it,” he said, and then turned at the sound of a car coming up the drive. “Looks like your first guest is already arriving.”

  Cara turned to the window and peered out.

  “Oh, Lord! It would be Hillary. She’s the most critical of the lot.”

  He put his finger under the edge of her chin and lightly pushed up.

  “Chin up, baby. Just remember that all the time they’re looking at you and the house, you’ve got a man in your yard who likes to jump your bones.”

  Having said that, he gave her a devilish grin and winked, then walked out the back door just as the front doorbell began to ring.

  David’s words were still in her head as she rushed to the front door. Thankful that thoughts were not visible, she smoothed her hair and then straightened her blouse before opening the door.

  “Hillary! You look gorgeous as always. Come in.”

  Hillary Redford sauntered into the house. Cara knew that Hillary was well aware her friends dreaded her arrival and she liked it that way. It gave her a sense of importance to think they valued her approval enough to be worried.

  “How nice everything looks,” she said, raking the gleaming wood and fresh flowers with quiet approval.

  Cara resisted the urge to snort beneath her breath. Nice? It looked great and she knew it.

  “Have a seat, will you? I need to take one more thing out of the oven and then I’ll be right back.”

  Hillary sat, tentatively testing the cushions of the sofa and finding the one that suited her best. Within moments, Cara was back, and one by one, the other eleven women began to arrive. The noise level rose with each arrival until the front part of Cara’s house was as noisy as a Saturday night at the local bar.

  Cara flitted among them, serving dainty little appetizers and flutes of white wine, knowing that each time she left the room, they resumed their conversation, which was all about her.

  As they nibbled and talked, Cara finished carrying the last of the food to the dining room where she’d set up a buffet on the sideboard. With one last glance to make sure she’d forgotten nothing important, she went to the living room to call them to eat.

  “Ladies, the food is ready. Let’s adjourn to the dining room where you can continue your discussion about my life and if somewhere in the midst of it someone should happen to remember we are planning a bazaar, then that would be wonderful.”

  There was a moment of embarrassed silence and then everyone laughed while Hillary felt the need to explain.

  “Oh, Cara, you funny thing. We weren’t really talking about you, just curious about the new man in your life. After all, you can’t really blame us for that.”

  Cara smiled and then led the way into the dining room, comfortable with the fact that she’d taken the wind out of their sails by acknowledging the gossip and then ignoring it.

  “Mm, everything smells wonderful,” one of them said, while Hillary Redford silently applauded the elegance of the dishes she’d fixed.

  “Thank you,” Cara said. “Although they’re really simple, they are some of my favorite recipes.”

  As they began to round the buffet and fill their plates, their chatter lessened. And for the first time, the sound of David mowing in the back yard could be heard. Hillary was the first to comment.

  “I noticed your yard was freshly mowed when I came to the door,” she said.

  “Yes, but David’s not quite through in the back.”

  “Who is David?” Hillary asked.

  “Bethany’s father,” Cara said simply.

  Twelve pairs of eyes turned instantly toward her. Twelve mouths dropped to an equal degree of shock.

  “Oh, I’ve just got to have a look,” Hillary said, and set her plate on the table without filling it and headed for the kitchen.

  Eleven other women followed suit without waiting to see if Cara minded that they were trooping through the kitchen where she’d been preparing the food. She smiled to herself and followed, thankful that almost everything she’d been cooking with had been cleaned up and put away or was in the dishwasher waiting to be washed.

  But when she got to the kitchen, she couldn’t see outside. Every window in the room was lined with women who seemed too dumbstruck to move.

  “That’s him?” Hillary asked, and did something quite unlike herself and smeared the glass when she put her finger against the window to point.

  Cara peeked over Hillary’s shoulder.

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  “Have mercy,” someone whispered. “He looks like that actor…oh, what’s his name? He was in that movie Sniper and a whole bunch of others.”

  Someone offered the name Berenger.

  “Yes! That’s it! Berenger! He looks like Tom Berenger.”

  Then they all turned and stared at Cara as if they’d never seen her before—then turned again, their faces glued to the sight.

  Cara crossed her arms as she watched them, resisting the urge to laugh. In spite of all her cleaning and cooking, a bare-chested man had been the hit of the day. And she couldn’t blame them for gawking.

  “Um, Cara?”

  It was Susan Hanover, the banker’s wife, who was standing near the door and waving her hand to be seen in all the shuffle.

  “Yes?”

  “Is he that, uh, fit all over?”

  The eleven other women turned, all but salivating as they awaited the answer.

  Cara smiled politely, as if they’d just asked for the recipe for her cake, although she knew her cooking was no match for David, naked or dressed. And the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and that his shorts were riding low on his hips didn’t hurt. That hard, flat belly and that beautiful face were hard to ignore.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh…my…God,” Susan moaned, and leaned against the wall as if pretending to faint.

  The question broke the ice of curiosity. The questions began coming at her from right and left.

  “What does he do? Where has he been? Is he going to stay? Are you going to marry him? Is he going to come inside?”

  Cara just waved away the questions.

  “Food’s getting cold,” she said, and went into the dining room.

  One by one, courtesy demanded that they follow, but when they finally all sat down to eat, they were looking at Cara with new respect. And as they chewed their first bites, they were thinking of their respective husbands, most of them soft, overweight and going bald.

  After a few minutes, they seemed to settle down and as they talked and ate, they actually settled on most of the planning committees that they’d come to put in place. It wasn’t until Cara was serving cake that she heard the back door slam. David was obviously through mowing
the yard.

  Again, twelve women froze; in the act of putting cake in their mouths, they seemed to hold their breaths, hoping against all hope they would get a closer glimpse. David gave them way more than they bargained for.

  Still bare-chested and carrying his T-shirt in his hands, he stuck his head into the room. Everywhere he was bare was glistening with sweat, and his thick, dark hair was spiky and damp.

  “Cara, I’m through with the back yard. I’m going to shower before I eat.” Then he gave the woman an all-encompassing smile. “I sure hope you pretty ladies saved something for me.”

  Having dropped the verbal bomb in their midst, he sauntered off, giving them an all-too-generous view of his tight buns and long legs.

  Susan, the banker’s wife, laid her fork on her cake plate and covered her face with her hands.

  “Lord forgive me for my thoughts,” she muttered.

  They all burst into laughter, glad that she was the one who’d said what they’d all been thinking.

  They lingered through coffee. Some even ate a second piece of cake just to prolong their presence in the house. When David finally emerged from the bedroom, he was dressed in slacks and loafers and a blue knit shirt.

  “He looks good in clothes, too,” Susan muttered, as he passed them by on his way to the kitchen.

  David heard her and grinned. Well aware of the fuss that he’d caused, he didn’t know whether to make himself scarce or go say hello.

  Cara saved him the trouble of deciding by following him into the kitchen.

  “We saved you a piece of cake,” she said.

  “Sure you want me in there?” he asked.

  She sighed and then shrugged. “You’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to know that they’re quite taken with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It started when they saw you naked.”

  “Naked?”

  “Honey, when a man has nothing on but a pair of shorts and wears them as well as you do, women can figure out the rest.”

  He grinned.

  “So you may as well come in and finish them off.”

  His grin widened as he followed her into the other room.