Taking Love in Stride

by Donna Fasano

  "Ian shouldn't have promised her he'd come," Andrea told Harry as she watched Denise go out through the gate and jog up the grassy slope toward the lot.

  "It must have been something important to keep him away," Harry said.

  "I guess you're right." But Andrea's voice held an edge. She'd made the statement only to be polite. Inside she fumed, remembering the hundreds of times that very excuse was given to her by well-meaning people as a justification for her own father's absence.

  Andrea knew those excuses, even though born out of the best intentions, wouldn't help Denise. Just like they had never helped her. Denise needed to clear her mind and concentrate entirely on running her race. Andrea knew that was the only way the girl would get over feeling dejected.

  "Denise," Andrea called, meeting the sullen teenager halfway from the parking lot.

  "He's not coming."

  "Look, you've got to forget about that right now," Andrea stressed. "It's time for you to run your mile. Are you up for it?"

  Denise nodded solemnly.

  They hustled back to the track as the runners were called to take their marks.

  "I want you to focus on the track in front of you." Andrea squeezed her shoulder. "You can win this if you put your mind to it."

  "I'll try," Denise said.

  The gun went off and Andrea called, "Be tough!"

  As the runners rounded the first lap of the race, some of them began to straggle behind the rest. Denise wasn't in the lead, but she was staying with the head pack and Andrea knew she was saving her strength for the final and toughest lap.

  Three of the competitors dropped out during the third lap and as the remaining runners went into the fourth, Andrea watched as Denise lengthened her stride. She passed into second place and in the last quarter lap, she passed the leader, crossing the finish line the winner.

  Andrea heard the crowd yelling for her and realized that her voice was loudest of all. The Striders gathered around Denise, clapping her on the back and cheering. Harry Powers looked proud enough to cry, his craggy face lighting with a huge smile.

  "You did it," Andrea hollered above the others' voices as she made her way through the press of bodies toward Denise.

  "I can't believe it," Denise panted.

  "I knew you could do it!"

  "So did I!" Harry had wheeled himself beside his granddaughter.

  "Pops!" Denise threw her arms around the old man. "Thanks for being here." Pulling back to look at him, she suddenly burst into tears before running off toward the locker room.

  "What's with Denise?" The girl who had skinned her chin looked up at Andrea with curious eyes.

  "She'll be all right," Harry proclaimed gruffly. "She's just overexcited." He turned his chair and started toward the parking lot.

  "She'll be okay," Andrea assured the concerned team members. But she wondered if she was telling them the truth.

  "Denise," Andrea called as she pushed open the locker-room door. She'd tried to plan what to say in the short time it took her to walk up to the building, but she was afraid that no words she could prepare would make Denise feel any better.

  "I'm in here."

  Andrea rounded the corner into the rest room and found Denise staring, red eyed, into the mirror. When Denise saw her coach, fresh tears fell down her cheeks.

  "Why didn't he come?"

  Silently, Andrea enfolded Denise in her arms and hugged her tight.

  "If he loved me, he'd be here." Denise's voice was muffled against Andrea's shoulder.

  Andrea sighed deeply, fighting tears of her own.

  "I don't know why he didn't come," she said softly. "But I've spent the last four weeks getting to know your dad and I do know one thing—" Andrea tipped up Denise's chin so their eyes met "—he loves you, Denise. Very much."

  After Denise calmed down, the two of them sat on the wooden bench in the locker room.

  "It wasn't always like this," Denise explained. "We used to be a real family. We used to be so close." She blew her nose on a tissue. "But after Mom died, everything changed. Pops came to live with us, and all Dad did was work."

  "Maybe your mother's death was hard on him and his work was cathartic."

  "But it's been years. Years."

  Having been there herself, Andrea knew there was no excuse good enough for a child in Denise's place, but for some unknown reason she had this overwhelming urge to try to explain Ian's behavior.

  "I know, honey, but he's your father and he wants to give you everything he can, everything he thinks you need. So he has to work." Guilt, thick and heavy, washed over Andrea as the words left her mouth. She, too, felt Ian should have attended the meet today, and here she was giving Denise the very excuses she'd hated to hear as a child.

  "But I need him."

  "I know. I know." Andrea shook her head. "It's hard to be a single parent. It's almost impossible to be the provider and caretaker both at the same time." She ran a hand down Denise's silky ponytail. "That's why you have your grandfather."

  "Yeah, Pops loves me."

  "Denise," Andrea chided mildly, "your father loves you, too."

  "I know that. But I get so disappointed, and then I feel angry and I know I shouldn't."

  "I understand." Andrea's tone was consoling. "It's tough being a kid these days."

  Denise sighed.

  "That was a fantastic run," Andrea said. "It won the track meet for us."

  Chuckling, Denise said, "I didn't know that. I must have done all right."

  Dropping her hands to her lap, Andrea asked, "You okay now?"

  Denise nodded and smiled. "Thanks for talking to me."

  Andrea held the door open for Denise to pass. "Wait. I've wanted to ask how the painting is going."

  Denise's expression brightened. "It's great. The studio is terrific. I'm painting Pops something special."

  "I'd love to see it," Andrea said. "When it's finished, maybe you'll bring it in?"

  "Sure."

  As Andrea watched Denise walk to the special van that enabled her grandfather to drive, her mind was cluttered with a multitude of emotions. She felt sorry for Denise. She was aggravated by the reticence Harry showed when Denise had burst into tears. But most of all, she was angry with Ian.

  He'd forced her to lie to Denise, and she planned to let him know exactly how she felt about that. She'd see him tomorrow morning. If he showed up.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunday afternoon Andrea found herself weeding the flower border in the backyard. She'd never been more depressed than she was today. She'd waited for Ian this morning and he never made an appearance. She had known he wouldn't. Why, then, was she so disappointed?

  She chopped at the weeds with a vengeance. Gunther nuzzled her with his cold wet nose and dropped a slimy tennis ball beside her. She picked it up with gloved fingers and heaved it.

  "Go get it, boy."

  Gunther bounded after the ball, and Andrea turned back to mutilating the weeds.

  After several well-aimed jabs at the unwanted plants, she sighed and sat back on heels. It was warm for May, and she swiped at her forehead with the back of one hand. She sighed again and remembered this morning's run.

  She'd waited thirty minutes past the time she and Ian had arranged to meet before setting out without him. Despite the beautiful day and Gunther's company, it was the most desolate and lonely run she'd ever experienced.

  Even now she felt covered with a cloud of isolation. She spent a great deal of time alone and never had she been bothered by solitude. In fact, she enjoyed it.

  It wasn't until Gunther whined that she realized he'd brought his ball back and had dropped it into her lap to be thrown again. She tossed it and stood, removing her work gloves and dusting off her trousers.

  She went into the kitchen and soaped her hands under warm water at the sink. She didn't feel angry at Ian any longer. She was just disappointed with him.

  What was so important that would make Ian miss the track meet that he'd promised Den
ise he'd attend? Important enough for him to miss their scheduled run? Did he plan on continuing his training? If so, when?

  The questions rolled around in Andrea's head until she thought she would scream. She wished he were here right now so she could vent some of her frustration at the source.

  Drying her hands, she thought about how nice it would be to get a few answers to her questions. And slowly her anger returned.

  Good, she thought, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She could deal much better with anger than she could with this hollow emptiness she'd been feeling. And she couldn't wait to see Ian!

  At that moment, the front doorbell chimed.

  Chapter Six

  Andrea crossed through the living room, still clutching the tea towel she'd used to dry her hands, and pulled open the door.

  Ian. His name rang loudly in her mind, but she was momentarily shocked speechless at the sight of him. She'd been thinking about him so intensely all weekend, she wondered if she'd conjured his image.

  Immediately she was assaulted by his raw sensuality, the sensuality she had vowed to ignore. It was hard to shun something so powerful, so distinct. Especially when he looked so good standing there in his shorts and casual cotton pullover. But then he'd look good in anything, she thought. Or nothing.

  That shocking reflection snapped her out of the intimate vision that had popped into her head, and she stared at an obviously amused Ian. It annoyed her that he seemed to constantly read her thoughts, perceive her longing.

  It's your imagination, she scolded herself.

  Placing one hand on her hip and one on the doorknob, she tilted her head and glared. The twinkling in his eyes vanished and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He pulled one arm from behind him and offered her a bundle of fresh-cut tulips.

  "A peace offering," he said.

  She silently took the flowers from him, fingering their delicate petals, but when she lifted her gaze, her eyes were still ice cold.

  "Come on, Andrea. Let me come in. We need to talk."

  "You wouldn't survive a conversation with me right now," she informed him before stepping back and flinging the door closed.

  As she turned and headed for the kitchen, she heard Ian stop the door from shutting completely by sticking his foot in its path.

  "Ow!" he yelled. He shoved the door open and was hot on her heels in an instant.

  "What is it with you?" he asked, following her into the kitchen.

  Andrea ignored him, reaching into the cabinet under the sink and pulling out a white milk-glass vase.

  "Andrea." Ian crouched down beside her.

  Andrea stood and flipped on the tap, filling the vase with water.

  Ian heaved a sigh and lifted himself up from where he'd been squatting.

  Using his index finger, he brushed at a strand of her hair that was clinging to her jaw.

  "Talk to me," he coaxed.

  Still refusing to acknowledge his presence, Andrea began to arrange the bright tulips in the hobnailed vase.

  "There's no use in trying to hide it," he said silkily. "I know you're angry."

  "Ian..." Falling for his teasing lure like a trout swallowing a baited hook, Andrea pushed his caressing hand away. "Angry doesn't even begin to describe the way I feel." She moved the vase of flowers over to the table, amazed at how steady her hands were when her insides were trembling so violently.

  She was hit with a rush of emotion—from relief that Ian was back, to disappointment at his lack of commitment to the training; from sheer pleasure at seeing him, to fury that he'd expected a puny bouquet of flowers to exonerate him.

  "I've come to explain—"

  "Just save your explanation," Andrea interrupted. "Go bare your soul to your daughter, she's the one who needs to hear your excuses."

  "I've apologized to Denise," he said quietly.

  "And she's forgiven you?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, I'm not a gullible, sweet tempered sixteen-year-old."

  "You can say that again." Ian's words were weighted with sarcasm.

  Andrea glowered at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

  Ian shrugged and grinned. "That you're certainly not sweet-tempered today."

  "How can you expect me to be?" Andrea pulled out a kitchen chair with force and sat down. "You committed yourself to train for the Wilmington Challenge. You literally forced me to coach you. And after four solid weeks of hard work, you just decide not to show up one day. An important day! A day we were scheduled to increase mileage."

  "Andrea, I had to go—"

  "What?" she interrupted again. "Did you get wind of a business you could buy for a song?"

  "It was a little—"

  "Some poor bankrupt store owner who had no other choice but to sell?" Her voice rose, and she felt herself losing control.

  "If you'll let me explain." He pulled a chair close to her, sat down and took her hands in his.

  Andrea wasn't aware of the tears that spilled down her cheeks as she dug into her memory, thinking of the hundred and one excuses her father had given her for his absences and failings. He'd never been there when she needed him. Never. And now Ian was doing the same thing.

  "Andrea, I can't believe you're so upset." Ian's fingers slowly rubbed her wrist. "I didn't completely ignore my training. I ran this morning before I caught the plane home. I even added a mile."

  She sniffed and then breathed deeply, feeling numb and barely hearing his words.

  "Denise was so disappointed," she mumbled. "There were so many times that I felt the same way when I was her age." She shook her head. "Every time I expected my father to show up, he never did." She'd been gazing off, but now looked into his eyes. "Ian, you shouldn't do that to Denise. It hurts too much."

  Ian wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against his chest, realizing there was more to this than just his being away over the weekend. She wasn't just talking about Denise being hurt. She was talking about her own raw memories. Andrea must have experienced tremendous pain because of her father, and that infuriated him. It angered him further to think he had done something that would cause her to relive it all. The urge to protect her was strong and he tightened his embrace, resting his cheek on her silky hair.

  He waited, hoping she would open up and talk to him, tell him about the memories that hurt her so. After several silent seconds he asked, "Want to talk about him? Your father, I mean."

  She didn't respond.

  "Do you ever see him now? Talk to him?"

  "He sends a card on my birthday." Her comment was faint, as though her thoughts were still miles away. But her voice quickly grew strong. "No, I don't ever see him or speak to him." She tried to shrug out of the embrace. "And I'd rather not discuss him."

  Ian opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that he thought she should have some sort of relationship with the man who was her father, but sensing Andrea's turmoil concerning the situation, he remained silent. He'd let it rest. If she wasn't ready to open up to him, he'd wait until she was.

  He leaned back and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I want you to let me explain why I stayed away longer than I'd planned."

  Her eyes were clouded over and he was sure she wasn't fully attentive, but he continued anyway.

  "There was a fire in a plant I'm part owner of in Connecticut. Several workers were badly burned. I stayed the extra day making sure that the families involved had everything they needed." Ian inhaled deeply. His frustration over the accident was still just below the surface and highly volatile.

  "I'll have to go back in a few days, but I won't stay any longer than what's absolutely necessary."

  He felt her hand cover his, her grasp warm and reassuring. Her eyes were clear and he knew she was once more there with him; no shadows of her memories remained.

  "Of course, you had to stay," she whispered. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss." She stood and moved to stare out of the kitchen window.

  "It's okay.
" Ian grinned. "That's what I like about you. You dive into things headfirst."

  "The only trouble is," she said dryly, "I don't stop to check how deep the water is. One of these days I'm going to break my neck."

  She turned again to gaze out the window where Gunther romped in the backyard. She hugged herself tightly, holding off a shiver. She'd almost poured out her heart to him. That would have been a terrible mistake. Once she let down her defenses, she didn't know if she'd be strong enough to raise them again.

  You've got to keep things on an impersonal plane, she told herself. Don't let him in. Once he's in, you'll be lost against the desire you feel for him.

  When she had told Ian that he had no other choice but to stay where he was needed, she had meant it. But her resolve to fight this attraction she felt for him was strengthened by this whole incident, not weakened. More than ever she felt the need to deal with him on a business level alone. She was sure her decision not to become involved with Ian was a solid one.

  "You're awfully quiet."

  Ian had come to stand behind her; his soft voice was close to her ear.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She whirled around and glared.

  "Look, Ian, I've already told you that I'm not interested in any kind of relationship with you!"

  "Okay!" He removed his hand and made a signal of retreat. Turning his back on her, he muttered, "Although I think you're fooling yourself."

  "What?" Andrea demanded. "What was that you said?"

  He faced her again, unable to hide the devilish gleam in his eye. "Damn, but it's easy to rile you. You shouldn't be such an easy target."

  "Ian," she warned, "I mean it."

  "I know you believe everything you're saying, okay? Now, can we drop the whole issue?"

  "Yes, I think that's the best thing for us to do." Andrea flushed, sure that she'd agreed too quickly.

  They stood staring at each other, Andrea uncomfortable, Ian looking cool and composed. She was searching for something to say when one of his earlier comments came to mind.