If I Loved You

by Kress, Alyssa

  "I've never seen you order a frappuccino." Pattie's friend Angela nudged aside the plastic wrap from her lunch-break pasta.

  Pattie lifted a shoulder. "I've developed a sweet tooth." Meanwhile the money in her purse started clamoring. Those five hundred bucks wondered what Pattie was doing, still shelling out dough to keep printing the Hollywood Rattler. There were no more cockroaches to roust from Savannah's dirty dealing. Pattie now knew who'd killed her: Ted Cranston.

  At least, sometimes Pattie thought he was the one. Other times she wasn't so sure... He'd been a cockroach, all right, refusing to take responsibility for his own sins, but had he been a killer?

  On the other hand, even if he wasn't the culprit, why should Pattie continue the search? Did she owe Savannah this much effort?

  As she slurped up more of her drink, she had to wonder if her search for Savannah's murderer ever had involved an obligation. Over the past few weeks, she'd been worrying the idea. If there were no obligation, though, why was she doing it?

  A peculiar sensation rippled through Pattie. Had Zane been right? Did Pattie love Savannah?

  No. That would be too twisted. How could she have loved someone so very unworthy?

  "Seems to go with depression," Angela remarked.

  Pattie shook her head. "What?"

  "A sweet tooth." Angela nodded toward Pattie's frosted, whip cream-topped confection. "It marches hand in hand with depression."

  "I'm not depressed." The denial came automatically. Whether or not it was true was something Pattie didn't want to examine. Four weeks had passed since she'd last seen Zane. But she couldn't be depressed over their separation. She never got depressed over breaking up with a guy. Not even when Nick had shown his clay feet. She'd been furious and disappointed, but not depressed.

  "This one was different, wasn't he?" Angela observed.

  Pattie blinked several times. Angela had reached into her own thoughts too well. In self-defense, she pretended ignorance. "Different? Huh? What?"

  "You know what, and you know who." Angela set her elbow on the table and her chin on that hand. "Zane."

  Pattie lowered her lashes. "He's got nothing to do with my mint frappuccino."

  A small smile curved Angela's lips. "Is that right?"

  Pattie looked away. "Okay, I...got a little too dependent on him maybe." It was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. For it was this dependence, and the withdrawal from it, that made her now seek out sweet frappuccinos.

  "Uh huh." Angela lifted her chin off her hand. "You fell in love with him."

  Pattie's stomach flip-flopped. "No way." If Savannah had been unworthy of love, so had Zane. He'd demanded too much. Instead of accepting Pattie the way she was, he'd insisted she change. He'd wanted her to—to be a different person.

  He'd wanted her to need.

  "I don't love," Pattie told Angela.

  Angela threw her a sly look. "Uh huh."

  Pattie pressed her lips together. It was as if Angela knew the truth. Once—a long time ago—Pattie had loved. In fact, Zane was right, sort of. Pattie'd loved Savannah. Kind of. At least, she'd wanted her older sister to...let her in, to let her close.

  Sometimes, it had even happened. Pattie remembered once when she'd been about eight years old, Savannah had showed her how to put on makeup. She remembered the two of them looking in the mirror and laughing together. Another time her older sister had let Pattie tag along when Savannah'd met her teenage friends at the local coffee shop. Over hamburgers and French fries, the older kids had teased Pattie, but in a good-natured way. Savannah had led the pack, smiling possessively over her younger sibling.

  Maybe those moments, here and there, had stayed in Pattie's mind somewhere. Maybe they'd even contributed to a secret dream, deep down in her heart, that they could string together into something real.

  Long after it had become clear this would never happen, the dream had lived on. And the yearning.

  Was this love? Feeding on—nothing? Based on—nothing? Bah. In that case, love was just a stupid fantasy.

  Five hundred dollars heckled Pattie from the depths of her purse. Are we a fantasy? they wondered. Those five hundred bucks didn't think so. Nor did they think they were a guilt offering. Pattie had adopted Savannah's child. If she'd ever owed her older sister a debt, taking on her son amply repaid it.

  The bottom line was that Pattie didn't have to keep the newspaper in business. She didn't have to find Savannah's killer—assuming she hadn't already. Not out of guilt anyway.

  A funny sound emerged from Pattie's throat. Did she still love Savannah? Did she love a mean-spirited, deceitful woman who didn't deserve it?

  "I stand corrected," Angela declared. She put a hand over her chest. "You still love him."

  That frappuccino was not sitting well in Pattie's stomach. "Zane doesn't deserve it, either," she muttered.

  "What?"

  Pattie drew in a deep breath, hoping it would calm her inner storm. "Okay, maybe I did, sort of, fall into some kind of infatuation thing with Zane. But it was a mistake. We didn't— He wasn't—"

  Angela lifted her eyebrows when Pattie halted.

  Pattie meant to stop there, but somehow blathered on. "He wanted me to be this person I'm not. I'm not a person who needs. I don't...trust anyone that far, you know?"

  "I see." Angela gave a slow nod. "And that's why he didn't deserve your love?"

  "Right," Pattie agreed, but she frowned.

  Angela frowned too. "I'm not sure that makes sense."

  It didn't. Because the real problem, Pattie suddenly realized, wasn't that Zane didn't deserve her love, but that she was afraid she didn't deserve Zane's love. No wonder she didn't trust him. The real problem was that she didn't trust herself.

  She didn't trust herself to be lovable...to anybody.

  And why should she? Nobody ever had loved her, had they? Look at Savannah. Even when she and Pattie were grown, when their parents had died and there was no other family left—even then Savannah had struck out at Pattie, rather than embrace her. No love there. When it came right down to it, Pattie couldn't actually claim her parents had loved her. Was benign neglect really love?

  How could she believe Zane might do what none of the rest of them had been able to manage? Why should he love her?

  Angela let out a sharp breath and sat back in her seat. "You should go see him."

  Pattie's eyes popped wide. "What?"

  Her friend nodded sagely. "You regret breaking up with him. You should go see him, tell him that."

  Pattie pressed her lips together. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

  "The most ridiculous?" Angela raised her eyebrows. "Not overstating the situation, are you?"

  "Oh, Angela, you have no idea—" Pattie shook her head. "First of all, I did not break up with him. He dumped me—" She paused, wondering if this was accurate. Had he dumped her? Or had she pretty much forced him into it? "Okay, that doesn't matter, who broke up with whom. What's more important is I don't want to make up."

  Angela sucked in her lips. "I see."

  Pattie felt a sinking sensation. Did she want to make up with Zane? She blew out a breath. This was stupid. Even if she did want that, it would be impossible. Zane didn't love her.

  Right?

  Fortunately, Pattie didn't have to agonize over an answer to her own question. Just then Bree pushed open the glass entry door of the café.

  Pattie placed a warning hand on the tabletop. "Here comes my appointment."

  Bree had already spotted them—there weren't too many people sitting in the place at noon. Wearing a determined expression and clutching an oversized khaki handbag, Bree strode through the forest of tables toward them.

  Pattie stood as the older woman approached the table. "Hello, Bree. Do you remember my friend, Angela?"

  Angela waved unenthusiastically and Bree gave her a curt nod.

  "I don't have much time," Bree informed Pattie. "Gotta get the upload to the printer by two if
we're going to print tonight."

  Pattie didn't bother asking why it mattered if they printed tonight in particular. Nothing the Rattler wrote about was breaking news. Instead, she sat and reached for her purse. "I was pleasantly surprised when you didn't ask for printing money last week."

  "Yeah, well." Bree briefly smiled. "I lined up a gay dating service for a back page ad. They liked my idea for the headline story: 'X-rated means X-tra Bucks.'"

  Across the table from Pattie, Angela grimaced.

  Pattie determinedly ignored her. She also ignored the meaningful look Angela gave the envelope Pattie took out of her purse to hand Bree.

  "Speaking of good headlines—" As she accepted the money, Bree didn't even glance at Angela. "Are you sure that big story Savannah had been working on turned out to be nothing? I know you said the details were confidential, but if it was a hot enough story, you wouldn't scruple to tell me about it, would you?" Bree held up the envelope. "If I had that story, I wouldn't need to ask you for this."

  Oh, yes, the 'big' story Savannah had once promised Bree. Turned out that had been nothing but a sordid attempt to extort money from Ted Cranston. Pattie doubted a tale of the sexual peccadilloes of a beauty supply company owner would put the Hollywood Rattler on the map.

  "I'm afraid that story wouldn't have sold you a single advertisement," Pattie assured Bree, "let alone a back page."

  "That's too bad." Bree's fingers worried the envelope while her gaze narrowed on Pattie. "'Cause I don't want you to feel you have to get rid of the paper."

  Pattie's gaze shifted. It was as if Bree had read her mind. Maybe this should be the last week. Maybe Pattie should pull the plug and let the paper sink or swim on its own. For four weeks now she'd been wondering if keeping the paper in print wasn't her way of doing what Zane had suggested: trying to keep Savannah alive.

  A thin smile curled Bree's mouth. "Hell. I hope you're not worried about me. I always land on my feet."

  "Oh, I wouldn't—"

  "Not that it has to come to that," Bree claimed. "I can make this little paper profitable. All I need is time and the right tools. Savannah never did give me the rein I required, always pulling one good story or another. But now I can make a go of it." Bree shoved Pattie's envelope deep into her oversized bag. "Our advertising base is growing as we speak. There'll be more weeks I won't need a handout, and soon I'll be paying you. The Rattler will become a top-notch performer."

  "Yes, I'm sure you think—"

  "But if you don't want to stick it out...?" Bree lifted a shoulder. "It's no skin off my nose."

  Pattie opened her mouth. It was the perfect opportunity, handed to her on a silver platter. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't cut off her one last chance to find out what had happened to her sister. She couldn't...give up loving her.

  Emotion crashed through Pattie. She did love Savannah. With all her many flaws, her horrible selfishness, her malicious deceit and backstabbing—Pattie still loved her.

  Because...love didn't care about worthiness. Love just happened.

  Pattie dragged in a breath. Love just happened, whether it was warranted or not. And it didn't disappear merely because the object of love happened to be imperfect. A wash of sensation filled her chest.

  Love was a gift, free and clear.

  Ignoring Angela's sour regard of the newspaperwoman, Pattie drew in another breath and told Bree, "I'm not closing the newspaper." At least not yet. But maybe she ought to soon. Maybe it was time to put this chapter behind her. Time to stop pretending it was guilt, and not love, behind the whole undertaking. In the end, neither was going to bring Savannah back.

  Bree smiled and patted her handbag. "Not this week, anyway," she said knowingly. Smiling, she turned to leave, then suddenly turned back.

  "Say," she asked. "Do you know this fellow, Norman Debbert?"

  Pattie and Angela exchanged a glance.

  "Norman?" Pattie cleared her throat. "Sure. He was a fan of Savannah's. Something of an oddball, but harmless." Even as the words came out of her mouth, however, Pattie remembered how strangely Norman had behaved the last time she'd seen him, when she'd come with Zane to bring the box of Savannah's memorabilia. She'd almost suspected drugs.

  "I don't know if I'd call him exactly harmless." Bree's iron-gray brows knit. "He's taken to coming by the newspaper office, sometimes more than once a day. Keeps asking about this locket necklace of Savannah's. Like I'd know where such a thing was."

  Interesting. Norman was still looking for that locket. He must not have found anything he liked better in the box Pattie had lent him.

  "I keep telling him Savannah didn't leave personal articles around the newspaper office." Bree snorted. "She hardly came by the office at all, actually. But the little twit won't believe me. He's gotten...insistent." Bree's brows knit more, giving her tough features a nearly vulnerable expression.

  "I...don't know what to tell you," Pattie faltered. She remembered Norman had gotten "insistent" with her a time or two lately, as well.

  "He acts as if I should know every in-and-out of Savannah's life. As if I were her keeper!" For the first time since Pattie had met the newswoman, Bree looked anxious. "I'm going for a restraining order," she announced. "If he comes by one more time—you can tell him. I'll go in for one."

  "I— Do you think that's necessary?" A restraining order sounded rather dramatic. Could pathetic little Norman actually be dangerous? On the other hand, he might be on drugs, and why was that locket so important to him?

  "I do believe it's necessary," Bree said.

  Her tone was so emphatic, it took Pattie aback. Suddenly, she wondered: what if Norman's obsession was rooted in a guilty conscience? What if his desire to find Savannah's necklace was the emotional equivalent of returning to the scene of the crime...?

  No, no... Norman a killer? The idea was too far-fetched. The poor guy could barely keep himself together. He couldn't have planned an elaborate murder.

  While Pattie was rationalizing this, Bree turned. With her back straight and her gait determined, she marched out of the café.

  "It's refreshing to see that battle-ax afraid of something," Angela muttered. She'd met Bree when Pattie had first taken over the newspaper. Angela now repeated the advice she'd given Pattie then. "You ought to get rid of that rag. How much money have you spent on it already, with Bree's promises she's going to 'turn it around?'" Angela shook her head. "And Norman Debbert, too. Why do you have anything to do with the guy? All he wants is to gush about Savannah."

  "Yeah, that's exactly why," Pattie murmured. Norman could gush about Savannah, and maybe make Pattie feel better about her own misguided love for her sister. All along, that had been his true appeal.

  Angela sighed. "I don't know how you can put up with him, and not Zane. That's just weird."

  Pattie's gaze shot over to Angela. "I've told you: it's not me who needs to put up with Zane, but Zane who won't put up with me."

  Angela didn't say anything, just raised her eyes to Pattie.

  Slowly, Pattie sank into a chair across the table from her friend. "Okay. It's more like I don't believe he could put up with me."

  Angela tilted her head.

  Pattie frowned. "I didn't believe in him. That's what drove him away. And now I get it. I didn't believe in his gift."

  "What?"

  Pattie shook her head. "It's not a matter of just deserts, is it? It's a matter of the giving and receiving of gifts."

  And when she put herself in Zane's position, she could understand how he must have felt four weeks ago when she'd scorned his gift. It was probably very similar to the way she'd felt at her father's funeral. There she'd been ready to hand Savannah a gift—her love—and Savannah had tossed it aside.

  Maybe Savannah hadn't believed she was worth it, either.

  In her seat at Starbucks, Pattie shuddered. How hurt Zane must have been. She knew how she'd felt when Savannah had emotionally slapped her at the funeral.

  It hurt when somebody woul
dn't accept your gift.

  When someone refused to take it.

  Understanding was slowly dawning on her. This giving and receiving of gifts wasn't about action and consequence—because nobody earned them. It was about...faith.

  That's what Zane had been talking about when he said she didn't trust him. She lacked faith. The faith that anybody would give her the gift of love.

  Angela raised an eyebrow. "It's not too late."

  "Oh, but it is—" Pattie stopped herself abruptly. Wasn't believing it was too late yet another manifestation of lack of faith? She set her palms on her cheeks, her thoughts spinning.

  "Go," Angela insisted. "See him."

  Pattie's gaze met her friend's. She couldn't go see Zane, not after he'd given up on her, not after she'd hurt him so.

  On the other hand, how would she have felt if, instead of seducing Nick months after the funeral, Savannah had come by and seen Pattie, had asked to have lunch or dinner? Would Pattie have spurned such an olive branch?

  Or would she have grasped the return gift her sister had been trying to give her? Held on with all her might?

  To Pattie's consternation, tears sprang to her eyes. If only Savannah had done that!

  "But—" Pattie whispered. But—this was different. Zane had to be angry with her. He had to be disgusted with her, done with her. Washed his hands of her.

  That was logic talking anyway, or maybe the sickness she and Savannah had shared, as it turned out: the sickness of disbelieving in love.

  What did faith have to say?

  Maybe he's waiting for you to walk through his door.

  Oh, boy. Had she just had such a—bold thought?

  "Go," Angela said.

  Pattie bit her lower lip, hard. She didn't want to go. She was scared; it would be useless, maybe even annoy him.

  But she was starting to see she didn't really have a choice.

  Not if she wanted to break out of the same sick cycle Savannah had suffered.

  "Oh, but I couldn't," Pattie whispered, even as she knew, deep down, she was going to have to.