Back in Service

by Isabel Sharpe

  “That’s what love is, honey. Massive, unbearable vulnerability.”

  “Well, ick, why does anyone do it?”

  Lena gave a blissful sigh. “Because, sweetheart, in all of life, there is simply nothing better.”

  “You’re right. I just wish I could get rid of the fear.” Kendra echoed Lena’s sigh, but hers wasn’t blissful. “I’m being really whiny and annoying, aren’t I?”

  “Tremendously.” Lena led the way back to the path. “Remember when Paul broke up with me the year before we got married? Remember how I was then?”

  “Ugh.” Kendra made a face. “Unbearable.”

  “See? You owe me.” By mutual consent they started running again. “Have you talked to Jameson about this?”

  “All I’ve told him is that I don’t want to get serious. Since then we have just been enjoying each other.”

  Lena shrugged. “Start with what you feel now, even if it’s just laying out your confusion. Don’t go farther than that. It’s like this baby. We can think about his or her entire life now and drive ourselves into a complete panic...or we can just have a lot of really great sex and see what happens.”

  “I see your point. Especially about the sex.”

  “Yeah, you guys do okay, I can tell by seeing you together. Unlike that last guy you dated, what was his name?”

  “Grant.” Kendra blew a raspberry. “Old Faithful. Same time, same position, same...”

  “Do not say eruption.”

  Kendra laughed, feeling more stable, more optimistic and eternally grateful to her friend. “I’ll talk to Jameson. Thanks, Lena.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s scary giving your heart to someone, but if he’s right for you, you’ll do it no matter what.” She swerved closer to nudge Kendra with her elbow. “So you might as well woman up and admit it.”

  * * *

  JAMESON GAVE HIS nervous mother a kiss on her soft cheek and shook hands with his scowling father. The visit, his first since he’d been back in town, had gone well. At least for him. He hadn’t squirmed and mumbled under his father’s crossfire over his physical therapy routine and gradual return to normal daily activity. He’d answered clearly, honestly and for the first time, his dad’s bluster and puffery hadn’t bothered him. Dad had done basic training on an injured hamstring? Good for him. Jameson’s older brother had recovered completely from shoulder surgery and was back flying within weeks? Hayden was amazing. Jameson was glad for him. Mark didn’t think twenty years in the Air Force sounded like enough? Jameson wished him all the happiness in the world. But over the past few days he’d come to see clearly that four would be enough for him.

  “Thanks for lunch, Mom. I’ll see you Thursday. I’ll bring wine.” He wished he could say he’d be bringing Kendra.

  “Bye, Dad, see you Thursday.”

  His father nodded curtly, shook his hand and slapped him on the shoulder, his equivalent of a hug. His dad would get over his disappointment eventually. More important, he’d figure out that his youngest son was his own man, sure of what he wanted. Jameson had Kendra to thank for a lot of that. Her crazy questions and her insistence that he get up off his poor-me ass and take a look around him had done more than break his depression. They’d given him the impetus to take a look at his life, too, and to choose what he really wanted to fill it with.

  Mostly he wanted to fill it with Kendra.

  Jameson nodded to his parents and turned to climb into the SUV he’d rented when he’d gotten sick of having to depend on other people for transportation.

  He pulled out of his parents’ driveway and headed south on Via Cataluna. An idea had come to him the previous evening, a way he could ease some of Kendra’s conflict and get some resolution himself. It might be a colossally bad idea, but he didn’t have any others. She seemed caught between what her mouth and words told him—that she did not want to get serious—and what her body and actions told him—that she was falling as far and as hard as he was.

  Or so he hoped.

  So what should he do? Back off, leave town and send her a how-are-ya email once in a while from Keesler and then whatever base they sent him to next?

  There was only one person in the world he could talk to about this. He’d been meaning to call Matty today anyway, to find out how things were going with the Creepy Professor. He’d wanted to call every day, hell, he’d wanted to tag along on their dates with his service weapon...but she was an adult and, like all of them, had her own stupid mistakes to make.

  Or not. He hoped not.

  She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Jameson, how was lunch?”

  “It was fine. Dad was Dad. Mom was Mom.”

  “I’m so surprised!”

  “I told them I’m not reenlisting after this contract expires.”

  She gasped. “Jameson, wow. I’m...okay, I’m thrilled. But only if you’re sure it’s what you want.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “How did Dad take it?”

  “Pretty much the way you’d expect. But I let it roll over me.”

  “Good for you, Jamie. I know how hard it is to let Dad roll. But good for you. I’m really happy that you’re standing up for—” She gasped again, louder this time. “Is this because of Kendra?”

  He smirked. Looked like his segue had just been handed to him. “Are you kidding me? You think I’d change my life for a woman? What kind of wimp do you—”

  “I knew it! This is awesome! Have you talked to her yet?”

  “That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

  A third gasp. “You asked her to marry you!”

  “Who-o-oa, there, Nellie.” He did his best cowboy imitation, which admittedly wasn’t very good. “She is not in any place to ask right now. She freaked out when I invited her for Thanksgiving. You saw her.”

  “But if she were in a place to ask, would you?”

  He pulled over, parked the car and reclined his seat. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it’s none of your business.”

  “Which is why you called me to talk about it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That.” He shoved his hand through his hair, thinking he’d have to make an appointment for a cut before he showed his face back at Keesler. “First tell me how things are going with Creepy.”

  “Chicken.”

  “You’re having chicken?”

  “No, you’re chicken. I’m having...complications.”

  “Matty.” He struggled upright, not comfortable relaxing when his sister might need him to drive to Claremont and punch someone. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re having nice times, actually. Really nice. Whether or not he’s right for me, whether or not I’m a masochistic idiot, there is still something really big going on between us.”

  He wanted to growl. “Okay.”

  “But even after all these really nice times...” She sighed.

  “You still can’t totally trust the bastard.”

  “Not completely. At the same time, Jameson...” She growled in frustration. “I really need to come up with a way to put this to rest, or I’m going to kill any hope of having something special with this man. Essentially, I’m killing any happiness we might have because of crap I can’t stop worrying about that might not even be a problem.”

  “Or it might.”

  “Or it might. But guilty until proven innocent is not a good basis for any relationship.”

  “True.” He frowned thoughtfully. Something important was circling in his head, looking for a place to settle.

  “I confronted him when we first hooked up again, we’ve talked it over and he has a logical explanation. Either I have to reject that explanation and leave him, or accept it and leave him alone. This is my crap. I have to own it.”

  Jameson opened the car door. He cou
ldn’t sit still any longer. “Is there anything he could do that would help you deal with this?”

  “Yes.” She laughed dryly. “One thing. About as likely as a solar eclipse.”

  “What’s that?” He knew her answer before she said it, knew that she’d been the right person to call, knew his next stop and what he’d say to Kendra next time he saw her.

  “He could tell me he wants to marry me.”

  * * *

  MATTY PULLED UP to the small Mediterranean-style house on Oak Avenue in Manhattan Beach and whistled softly. Two million, easy, in this town. Clarisse had done very well for herself. Or found a man who had.

  She parked in front of the house and turned off the Kia’s engine, wrinkling her nose. This was probably one of the more risky ideas she’d ever had. It could turn out a dozen different ways. She hadn’t called to let Clarisse know she was coming. She didn’t want to give her former friend any time to prepare for the encounter, or guess any of the reasons Matty was coming. And in case Matty decided this was one of the worst ideas she’d ever had, she wanted to be able to ditch it with no consequences.

  Talking to Jameson the day before had gotten her thinking. Saying out loud that she wished she could come up with a way to put her doubts about Chris to rest had made the solution pop into her head. Only one person could corroborate Chris’s version of what Matty had seen that day six years ago. The problem, of course, was that Clarisse might still be as unreliable as she’d always been. In which case Matty would be back to square one.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Mom would say.

  So it was venture time. She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, self-consciously smoothing the hem of her favorite teal top and fluffing her hair, wishing she’d gotten it trimmed. She laughed at her vanity. As if her outfit or hairstyle would make any difference. What a complication she and Jameson had made of their love lives. How long since their biggest concern was whether Mark and Hayden were cheating at Monopoly?

  Someday they’d both be happily married and laugh at these worries, too. She hoped.

  Blowing out a breath, Matty forced herself to start toward the front door, telling herself Clarisse could easily not be home, so she might not have to face this confrontation today after all. Her next thought was that Clarisse had better be home, because she wanted this confrontation the hell over with.

  On the front step, she made herself jab the doorbell without stopping to think, because otherwise she might stand there agonizing forever.

  Two seconds went by.

  Clearly Clarisse wasn’t home. Matty could just turn around now and—

  The door opened.

  She was home.

  Still beautiful, still slender, the kind of face that drew men’s glances, wide-set blue eyes and shoulder-length nearly jet-black hair that spilled over itself in a silky cascade when she tipped her head.

  Her lovely dark brows drew down. “May I help— Oh, my gosh, Matty!”

  “Hi, Clarisse.” Matty was suddenly overcome with emotion. Before she’d started to clue in to the depth of Clarisse’s issues, they’d had a lot of fun together early in their senior year—midnight beer runs, working out together, seeing movies, writing crazy poetry, trying out for shows on campus, talking until four in the morning.

  So when Clarisse burst into tears and went to hug her, Matty did the same.

  “I am completely undone. I can’t believe you’re here.” Clarisse sniffed and wiped her eyes with long pink-nailed fingertips. “Come in. Please, come in.”

  Matty followed her into the living room: exposed beams in the ceiling, hardwood floors, a brick fireplace and an unusual collection of modern paintings. “What a gorgeous house.”

  “Thanks.” Clarisse turned as if seeing the room for the first time. “The art is mostly John’s. My husband. I met him— Gosh, Matty, we have so much to catch up on.”

  Matty nodded, guilty at Clarisse’s warmth when she was primarily here to ask if she’d screwed Matty’s boyfriend six years earlier. Of course, with Clarisse, you never quite knew what was real. This Clarisse did seem calmer, more self-possessed. And if she’d gotten married, maybe she was doing better. Or maybe her husband was nuttier than she was.

  “Would you like a beer?” Clarisse grinned mischievously. “I have our favorite, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.”

  “I’d love one.” She gave a hyperenthusiastic double thumbs-up, their sign for a good time and place for beer, at the same time Clarisse did.

  A few minutes later, Clarisse was back in the living room with a tray on which stood two opened beers—both of them preferred to drink straight from the bottle—a bowl of pretzels, a plate of baby carrots and a hunk of what looked like really good cheddar with some crackers.

  “Sit, sit. Help yourself.” She put the tray on the spotless glass-topped coffee table and sat on the white couch, her simple red top, diamond solitaire necklace and slim black pants making a stunning contrast. “Matty, I about fell down when I saw you at the door. I’ve thought about you so many times, thought of picking up the phone, but I figured you didn’t ever want to see me again.”

  “Oh.” Matty fingered the label of her beer, then took a swallow. “I’m actually here for a reason besides just catching up.”

  “Okay.” Clarisse abruptly uncrossed her legs and reached for a pretzel.

  “It’s about Chris.”

  Clarisse met her eyes, then looked away. She put the pretzel on her napkin. “I thought it might be.”

  “I bumped into him a few weeks ago.”

  “Really.” She was speaking cautiously, holding her body tight. “When did you last see him?”

  “At Pomona. Senior year.”

  Her face fell; her hand crept to the diamond resting on her chest. “Matty, I...I hoped you’d get back together someday.”

  “We didn’t.” She watched Clarisse closely, saw her struggle to keep back tears. “I couldn’t trust him after I found him with you.”

  “But I wrote to you explaining.” She got up from the couch and stood by the mantel, three-quarters turned away. “Didn’t I write to you?”

  “No. Saying what?”

  She faced Matty in obvious distress, hand still at her throat. “So many things are still...missing or confusing from that time. I thought I wrote you a letter a month or so after graduation. Or maybe an email. In it I told you about that night and begged you to forgive me.”

  Forgive what? “If you did, I never got it.”

  “I don’t know, maybe I dreamed it or hallucinated.” She laughed bitterly. “Well, that explains why you never answered. I thought you’d written me off.”

  “I did.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words.

  “I meant after you found out what really happened.”

  Matty made herself count to three. “What really happened?”

  “You probably figured out I’m bipolar.”

  Matty winced. No, that wasn’t the truth she was after, but Clarisse was due genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry. I knew you were struggling.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it.” She strode back to the couch and sat again. “I’m on meds now. I’m doing really well. But back then I did a lot of really messed-up things that still haunt me. Trying to seduce Chris was a big one.”

  Matty took a casual sip of beer. “Trying?”

  “I was jealous of you.” Clarisse lifted her hand, let it flop down on the couch cushion. “I wanted what you had.”

  Did you get it? She nodded, unsure how else to respond.

  “I know it makes no sense, not even to me anymore. But back then in my twisted way of looking at life, it was pure logic.”

  “I’m sorry to make you talk about all this again.” Matty smiled grimly, getting impatient. “But I need to ask—”

  �
��No, no, talking about it is really fine. I feel so much better knowing you never got my letter.” She made a face and shuddered dramatically. “If I even sent one.”

  “I’m sure you—”

  “Which it looks now like I didn’t.” Clarisse sighed, shaking her head, hair sliding out of place, then settling back to perfect. “Honestly, Matty, having a mental illness stinks.”

  “I’m really sorry, Clarisse.” She bit her lip. “And I’m so glad you’re in a better place now. But I—”

  “I’m a new person.” She grinned and stretched her slender arms up over her head. “I have my husband, John, to thank for that. He’s a remarkable—”

  “Clarisse.” Matty held up her hand to stop the chatter. “I need to know if he slept with you.”

  Clarisse gaped in astonishment. “Who, John?”

  “No, Chris!”

  “Chris?”

  “Yes! Chris!”

  “No, of course not. He didn’t even touch me.” She looked at Matty as if she was the one with a mental illness. “He was crazy in love with you.”

  15

  KENDRA CHECKED THE half turkey breast browning beautifully in the oven. On the rack below it she had sweet potatoes baking. Once the turkey was cooked and resting, she’d bake the stuffing and roast the balsamic and olive oil–coated brussels sprouts she’d combined with onions and chestnuts. Already on the table, whole-berry cranberry sauce flavored with orange zest and potato rolls she’d mixed the day before and baked that morning.

  Funny thing about life-changing events. Some of them were huge baseball-bat blows to the head, like her parents’ deaths. Some of them were little tickles or itches that you didn’t notice changing your life until you gained perspective later on. Then there were those in between, like when you went jogging on the beach with your best friend and she made some astute and challenging observations you didn’t want to hear, and you realized the new direction was up to you to put into place.

  Kendra was making some of those changes now, preparing for others later. She couldn’t go on in this limbo—well, she could, but she no longer chose to—of half her old life and half a new one. She could sell the car and buy one that fit her better. She could get a dog and incorporate him or her into her counseling practice, though she’d feel horribly guilty abandoning Byron to days alone in the house at Lena’s. She could talk to Matty about putting the house on the market within the next year or two, maybe find out what she’d need to do to fix it up and start working on that now, then eventually look for a new place for herself.