Marla sent a reply: In your dreams.
Then she tapped the Google app to search for Enola Kalle.
“What do you want to bet she’s a porn star?” Marla murmured to herself as she hit Search.
“Oh my God.” Marla grimaced at the photograph of a naked woman sitting astride a motorcycle. She had double-D breast implants, and her hair was dyed a copper red. There were dozens of pictures of her in suggestive poses. Marla didn’t see anything about porn movies, but it appeared the sexy redhead did a lot of nude modeling for men’s magazines, which meant that men across the country had masturbated while looking at her. Including Carson? Don’t let your mind go there.
She closed the app, stuck the phone in her pocket, and headed to the beach for a short stroll. The ocean looked infinite as it spread toward the distant horizon. Along the seam between the sea and the sky, dark gray clouds clustered, hinting at a coming storm.
Lafayette Falls was in the tornado alley region of the United States, and her family had always been vigilant regarding storms. Be watchful and prepared to go to the storm shelter. She checked the weather app on her phone and the forecast for Kauai allowed for a tropical storm watch with heavy rain and wind in the late evening.
An hour later, she was pampered from head to toe at the hotel spa, getting what they called a body renewal ritual. She received a soothing hot stone massage that put her in a state of ecstasy. Then she was scrubbed with an essence called Island Moonflower, which smelled like heaven. Her body was exfoliated, waxed, hydrated, and spray-tanned. Various creams and ointments were spread all over her. After the body works, she was treated to a facial. Then she was moved to the beauty salon for hair and makeup.
If she had ever come close to dying and going to heaven, this was it. She also found out that being the guest of the man whose company owned the hotel had its perks. The spa gave her a shopping bag filled with complimentary products and cosmetics.
She left the spa for the Beachcomber, the hotel’s casual dining restaurant where she and Carson usually had lunch with the Crawfords. The Beachcomber had a large, airy dining room surrounded by glass walls so that diners had an excellent view of the ocean.
The first to arrive, she had the server take her to a table large enough for four. While she waited, she took out her phone and checked her messages.
She had one from her mother letting her know they were on their way to Gulf Shores. Nolana had sent her a text wishing her well and telling her everything was fine at the clinic. We can’t wait to hear all about your trip!
She toyed with her phone for a moment, looking at the photos she’d taken during the past few days. Her gaze lingered on the picture she’d taken of Carson at the waterfall. He stood with his back to the camera, his hands stuck in the pockets of his khakis and his navy T-shirt, damp from the mist in the air, clung to his body. He was looking over his right shoulder at her when she snapped the picture. His dark aviator glasses concealed his eyes and his emotions.
She smiled as she took in the breadth of his shoulders and the way having his hands in his pockets pulled his pants tight against his hips. There was just something about the way he looked in the picture that she found sexy. A sudden surge in her estrogen level brought a deep ache between her thighs, and she decided she’d have to print out a copy of this photograph when she got home. She chuckled. Yes, she’d definitely do an eight-by-ten print.
Once she had a print of it, she’d stick it in the center of an issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association. Make Carson her centerfold. Then stick the magazine under the bed so it’d be handy on lonely nights. Carson could be her Enola.
She laughed and sent Kayla a text: Wish you were here. I’m up to no good.
Wish I was there too. I’m up to my elbows in blood, guts, and glory. I just delivered triplets.
I don’t even want to think about that.
So what are you up to?
I’ve been to the spa and I smell like a florist shop. Plus I found me some porn. BWAHAHAHA.
Porn?
Marla smiled as she replied: Kinda. It works for me.
Gotta go. Dr. Williams needs some help.
“Marla.” Julia waved to her from the entrance of the café, and Marla tucked her phone inside her purse. She returned Julia’s wave.
Dressed in tennis clothes, Julia took a seat at a round table with a small tropical bouquet for a centerpiece. “I love your hair.” She approved of Marla’s feathered flip.
“I’ve been to the spa and the beauty salon this morning.” Marla smiled. “I hope I don’t smell like a perfume factory. They sprayed all sorts of stuff on me.”
Julia laughed. “I think you look beautiful and you smell very nice,” she said as the server brought them menus.
Marla and Julia discussed what they wanted to eat, and Marla decided she’d go with the tuna salad and a soft drink. Julia decided on the lomi-lomi salmon.
“Truman and Carson should be along anytime,” Julia said. “I got a message a few minutes ago from Truman, saying he would be here shortly.”
Marla had not heard from Carson. She hoped he and Olivia had a nice visit, and that his meeting with the land developer had gone well. Smoothing her napkin across her lap, she thought of what Olivia had said about Truman and Julia being so thrilled that Carson had found love at last. She felt terrible about misleading them.
She liked Julia and Truman. They were such good people with old-fashioned values. She didn’t want them to be disappointed when her relationship with Carson suddenly ended.
“Julia, I want to thank you for being so kind to me,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed your company, and I’ll miss you and Truman when I go home.”
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Julia gave her a knowing smile, and Marla knew what Julia was thinking. Carson was part of their family; therefore, his wife would be part of the family.
“No,” Marla said gently. “Carson and I are friends. That’s all we are. Just friends and we live such different lives.” She took a sip of water. “Our relationship is not going to grow into anything serious or permanent.”
Julia reached over and patted her hand. “Dear, it’s already serious.” She smiled with confidence. “He’s in love with you. I can tell. You’re the one.”
Marla sighed. Obviously, she and Carson were great actors.
“May I join you two beautiful girls?” Truman’s robust voice interrupted their conversation. He pulled out the chair next to Julia.
“Where’s Carson?” Julia asked.
“Sulking, I suppose,” Truman answered as he motioned for the server. He ordered a beer. Turning back to the women, he said, “Things didn’t go too well at the meeting about the art center.”
Marla frowned. “What happened?”
“Howard had his own ideas,” Truman said, referring to the developer. “To make a long story short, Howard wanted to turn the art center into like a theme park with rides and stuff. Carson, who was already in a foul mood when he got there, blew up and walked out of the meeting. I tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”
“Give him time to cool down,” suggested Julia as their drinks were served.
“Carson is so much like Gerald. Not the least bit conciliatory. It’s his way or no way.” Truman took a sip of his beer.
Julia smiled. “You don’t have any room to talk.”
The server brought their plates. Marla eyed Truman’s platter of Hawaiian barbecue ribs with pineapple and macaroni and cheese. Eventually, Truman’s diet was probably going to kill him. She dismissed the thought, wishing it were easier to shut off the doctor inside her.
Truman spoke to Marla, “You’ll have your hands full with Carson. I think Gerald and Kathleen doted on him too much when he was little. They spoiled him rotten.”
Julia shook her head. “Gerald and Kathleen were fine parents. Of course, they did indulge him somewhat, but he was their only child.”
Marla thought of Sophie, who w
as her only child. She definitely doted on her daughter, so she did understand why Gerald and Kathleen Blackwell would have spoiled their little boy. After she had taken the last bite of her tuna salad, she pushed aside her plate.
“I’ll go check on Carson,” she told Truman and Julia. “See what he wants to do this evening.”
When Marla entered the penthouse, it possessed the stillness of an unoccupied residence, and the scent of the lemon cleansers used by the housekeeping staff remained in the air.
“Carson?” she called as she set her shopping bag on the coffee table that had been polished. She walked over to the glass sliders and looked outside. The palms swayed in the strong breeze. There was no sign of Carson. She walked across the living area to the hallway that led to the master suite. The door stood ajar and she could hear the low murmur of a TV.
“Carson?” She knocked before she looked inside. The door led to a room with textured walls painted a muted gold. A couple of ceiling spotlights beamed light on a wall tapestry. Leather armchairs and a sofa faced a spacious cherry entertainment armoire. The doors of the cabinet were open, and a baseball game played on the television.
Carson sprawled on the sofa, his back supported by plump throw pillows. He was barefoot, dressed in a floppy T-shirt and shorts, and he held a can of cold beer.
“Hey,” she said. “You didn’t show up for lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.” He glowered at the TV screen. He obviously wasn’t in a better mood.
“Truman said the meeting this morning didn’t go well. But that doesn’t mean all your options are exhausted. I’m sure something will work out.”
“Yeah, I’m working things out now.” He muted the television and cut his blue eyes toward her. “After you told Olivia that we didn’t have any plans for the future, I decided to make some plans for the future.”
“With Enola?” she teased and he glared at her.
“I know the only reason you came here was because I didn’t give you an option and let’s face it, nothing matters more to you than your precious clinic. So get your things packed. You’re going home in the morning and don’t worry, I’ll fund the clinic from now on. Gladly. You’ll never hear from me again.”
“Carson, the attitude is not necessary,” she said. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
With resentment in his gaze, he said, “I want you gone. Bringing you here was a mistake and that’s on me. I’ll have a jet waiting for you in the morning.”
For a moment, she felt a sting, as if he had slapped her. While one part of her reeled, another part rejoiced. You’ve got the money for the clinic. You’re safe. Sophie’s safe. Get the hell out while you can.
Yet she remained in the doorway, unable to ignore the hurt she felt in her heart. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Jesus.” He crumpled the empty beer can in his hand. “I don’t hate you. This morning you were right. There’s nothing serious between us. There never was. Now I just need you gone.”
What could she say to that? Nothing. She fiddled with the doorknob. “Okay.” She let out a pent-up breath as she looked at his grim face. “But I don’t want it to end badly between us. The last time we parted on good terms.”
He said nothing.
“The roses were still dewy,” she recalled a detail that had stuck in her mind. “You gave me one last smile and a wave before you drove away. That’s how I’ve always remembered you, and how I want to remember you now,” she said, desperate to hang onto good memories of him. “I want to remember your smile and what a great time we had together. Even here.”
“Shit.” He shoved to his feet. He carried the crushed can over to the wet bar and dumped it in a trash bin. Then he withdrew another can of beer from the small refrigerator. “Let me ask you something. Did you remember all that stuff about me on the day you married Ben?”
His snide question frustrated her. “What is it about Ben? Leave Ben out of this.”
“Oh, I forgot. Can’t say anything about Saint Ben.” He smirked as he leaned against the bar and popped open the can.
She stiffened. “Let me tell you something, you have no right to say anything about Ben. Or me. That’s not fair,” she added for good measure. “I never heard from you again. Not once. Not until last week.”
“Hey, babe, you got married.” He turned up the can and took a long drink.
“When we left Royal Oaks, I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again. I thought that was it. Was I wrong about that?”
He set the can of beer aside. After a moment of silence, he admitted, “No. You weren’t wrong. That was the plan.”
“All right.” Vindication strengthened her voice. “So, if you had had second thoughts about me, you could have called me. I didn’t get married until late September, and you had my telephone number.”
“No, I didn’t.” He wiped his wet lips. “I deleted your number the day I left Royal Oaks.”
She quickly folded her arms over her chest. Nothing could have prepared her for that remark, or the way it ripped through the barricade protecting her most secret and cherished dreams. She had always had this little fantasy about him.
That somewhere in the world, he stood outside a palace. On an elegant terrace with fountains and floating netting between columns. He was wearing an elegant black tux and sipping on a glass of wine. While the setting sun blazed deep purples and pinks across a vineyard, he thought of her. Longed to see her. Wanted to call her but feared that it was too late.
Now she realized how sad and pathetic that daydream was. How pitiful she had been all this time. She lifted her chin. She was furious with herself and him.
“I always delete phone numbers.” He turned to the bar and absently wiped the condensation off the cold beer can with his fingers. “It’s just what I do. Nothing personal.”
“Deleting a phone number is just symbolic,” she said. “You delete people. That’s what you’re really doing. You deleted me from your life that day.” Sonofabitch.
He nodded. “Yeah. More or less.”
She stormed over to where he stood. “You bastard,” she spat, and his eyes widened as if he were shocked by her outrage. “You make all these spiteful remarks about Ben like you’re entitled or something. Well, you aren’t entitled to say a damn thing about Ben, or me either.
“All you are is a rich asshole with an ego problem,” she ranted. “You’re not the guy I thought you were, and I am so glad you weren’t home that day I came to your house. Thank you, God, for small favors.”
She clamped her lips together the moment she realized she’d made a slip. She reined in her fury and pushed away from the wet bar. Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention.
“What day?” he asked. Damn. He had been paying attention.
She ignored his question. She masked her anxiety with indignation. “I’m going to get my things packed and go to the airport. I can probably catch a flight back to LAX this evening.” She didn’t take a breath between words. It was time to run.
He caught her wrist and stepped in front of her. “Marla. What day?” His deep voice had a grim tone. “You said you came to my house. When did you come to my house?”
Careful. They stood close. She inhaled the scent of aftershave and cold beer as his fingers flexed around her wrist. His thick black T-shirt bore a Ralph Lauren logo. A monogrammed polo player. The sport of the elite. Her gaze shifted to the silent television.
A pitcher crouched on the pitcher’s mound. He adjusted his cap and stared ahead at the batter and the catcher. His gaze never wavered as he prepared himself, and he rose from the crouch. Calm. Focused. Professional.
She inhaled. The pitcher sent a fastball toward the plate. Ninety-six miles an hour flashed on the screen. The umpire called it a strike. The third out. The pitcher walked off the mound smiling.
“It was at the end of the summer,” she said lightly, all calm and focused just like the pitcher. She had to win this game.
“What summer?” Carson ask
ed, frowning.
“The summer we met.” Again she spoke like she’d just casually commented on the weather or something. She turned toward the bar and reached for the can of beer he had opened. Beer was not one of her favorites. She didn’t like the taste, but she needed to wet her dry throat.
She took a drink as he crowded her at the bar. The side of her shoulder was pressed against his chest. “When that summer?” He was not going to let it go. Unfortunately.
Taking another drink of the beer, she winced and put the can down. “August,” she admitted. She remembered the date. August twentieth. But there was no need for unnecessary details.
“I got approved for a four-day weekend at the hospital, which is Friday through Monday. I thought it would be fun to see you again.” She kept her voice steady, despite her accelerated heart rate. Tachycardia. She was beginning to feel sweaty.
“It sorta came together quickly. I called Mrs. Deaton,” she referred to the housekeeper at Royal Oaks. “She gave me your home address. I stopped by the airport and there was a seat available on a nonstop flight to LAX. When I got to Los Angeles, I got a cab at the airport to take me to your house. But you weren’t home,” she concluded with a shrug. “And that’s all there is to tell.” All she was going to tell.
She frowned at the beer can. What she wouldn’t give for a gallon of iced water. She felt she was burning from the inside out. She wet her parched lips.
“Marla, I don’t understand. You came all the way to LA to see me and I wasn’t home when you got there. Then what?”
“Then I left,” she said as if that was what anyone would do. “I took the cab back to the airport. But there was no flight available that day, so I rented a car and drove home. I had a great drive through the southwest. I’d never seen that part of the country before. The desert is amazing.”
Her statement hung in the quiet air. She stared at her feet that were tucked in her yellow sneakers. They would look cute with red laces.
“I wasn’t home so you left. You drove back to Tennessee. I’m trying to make sense of that.” He spoke in a bewildered voice.
“It was a long time ago when I was young and fearless,” she said, in an effort to dismiss the entire conversation. “I need to get packed. And, listen, I’m sorry I lost my temper. I didn’t mean what I said about you.”
One Week in Your Arms Page 12
