Mommy Said Goodbye

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Several of the other families were here as well, some at tables next to each other in the main dining room. Madeline had called to Robin when they walked in.

  “Robin! Won’t you join us? Oh!” She pretended to surprise at the sight of Craig and Brett. “Are you two already…”

  “Yes, I’m joining the Lofgrens.” Robin had managed a smile for everyone.

  Not a soul said, “Sit with us.” They always nodded civilly at Craig, and would never be outright rude, but he made them uncomfortable. He knew it and they knew it.

  “The boys want to eat in the railway car,” Robin said.

  There were smiles and murmurs of relief. Her chest felt tight with distress when she continued after the hostess, Craig behind her.

  “If you’d rather join them…”

  She had shaken her head. Because of the boys, Robin had let the subject go.

  But now, with just the two of them at the table, the candle guttering low, the light dim, she said, “I wonder what would have happened if we’d just joined the rest.”

  She wished she hadn’t said anything when his face became expressionless.

  “Nothing.” He shrugged. “They’re nice people. For Brett’s sake, they would have been pleasant.”

  “How can you be so calm about it?”

  “Practice.” His mouth twisted. “At least these families are willing to be decent for Brett’s sake. Not everyone is.”

  “So much for a nation founded on the principle of innocent until proven guilty.”

  He actually let out a low, rough laugh. “Public opinion has never been that restrained, Robin. You know better.”

  “I guess I didn’t,” she admitted. “I understand why people who don’t know you would be wary, but this is a public place. They’re safe.”

  His long fingers toyed with his coffee cup. “I doubt it’s literal fear, as least in their case.” He nodded toward the other dining room. “More a level of discomfort that shuts down conversation.”

  She hated his acceptance as much as she did his impassive expression, which must hide a cauldron of bitterness and anger and humiliation. “Cowards!”

  “Maybe.” Craig’s mouth relaxed. “You’re the abnormal one, Robin.”

  She sniffed.

  Now he was almost smiling, but his eyes were watchful. “Are you so sure I’m not a murderer?”

  “Yes!” she snapped without thinking. Surprise—no, not even that—confidence came in the wake of her instinctive response. Not even a thread of doubt remained. She knew this man would never have hurt his wife, no matter what.

  He blinked and sat back. “I wish…” He cleared his throat and said more clearly, “I wish I’d met you in other circumstances.”

  “Why?” Her heart was pounding and she knew what she wanted him to say.

  “Because…” Craig stopped. A muscle twitched along his jaw. “No,” he said, with a ragged edge to his voice. “If the circumstances had been different, I’d never have known…”

  “Known?” she whispered.

  “How extraordinary you are.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I hadn’t realized how bitter I’d gotten until I met you. You’ve made me believe almost anything is possible.”

  Her throat clogged, and she had to wait a moment before she could say—as lightly as she could manage, “I can’t promise ‘anything.’ I don’t do miracles.”

  His mouth crooked into a painful smile. “Is finding Julie a miracle?”

  Feeling his grip relax, she withdrew her hand from his. “Wouldn’t it be? In a way?”

  Robin watched his face closely. Despite everything he’d said, she wondered if he didn’t still love Julie. She remembered the way he’d smiled at his wife in the stands as if she were the only person there. The only one who mattered, to him.

  “Yeah.” He moved his shoulders as if they ached. “It would be. The kids need to know what happened to her. For me…” His chest rose and fell with a long breath. “You know there’ll be mixed feelings, especially if something terrible happened to her. I’ll mourn. But mostly, I’ve alternated grief with hate for so long, I think I’m done with both. I’d be grateful for closure. Freedom. I’d feel like a man who’s been in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and suddenly he’s being ushered out into sunlight with everyone apologizing.”

  She hoped he couldn’t see the tears trying to sting her eyes. “They would apologize, wouldn’t they?”

  “Some people would.”

  “Will you…accept?”

  He was silent, candlelight casting the lines of his face deeper, aging him, accentuating the bitterness he still carried.

  “I’d nod and thank them and say I understand. But you can’t go back from this kind of thing. It would…lie between you forever.” For a moment he was quiet again. “When this is over, one way or the other, the kids and I need to start afresh, somewhere else. I’ll ask the airline to transfer me.”

  Was he warning her? Telling her that, as nice as she’d been, he’d be packing up one of these days, so she shouldn’t get any ideas?

  “Dad intends to go, too.” Craig’s smile wasn’t quite successful. “He’s been sprucing up his house to put it on the market for the past year. That’s what he keeps saying.”

  “Then…” Her voice caught. “Then he’ll be all set.”

  “Robin…” He closed his eyes, then opened them and shook his head. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Way ahead of myself. I’m still waiting for a second miracle.”

  Surprised, she said, “Second?”

  “Your…faith is the first.” He held out his hand again, palm up, and waited until she laid hers in it. Then, his voice low and husky, he said, “Thank you, Robin.”

  She was unable to look away from his shadowed gray eyes. “You’re welcome,” sounded inane, but what else could she say? It was nothing? I stand in defense of the accused every day? She’d never even met anyone suspected of murder before.

  He let her hand go, but she felt reluctance—imagined reluctance—in the way he lifted one finger at a time.

  “Maybe we’d better get back,” she said.

  He took out his wallet and laid a pile of bills on the table. When she opened her purse, he shook his head. “My treat. No. Don’t argue.”

  “You always say that.” He’d insisted on paying for breakfast, too. She had bought lunch for herself and Malcolm only because she’d stood in line at the concession stand ahead of Craig.

  “You were willing to sit at the same table with me. If you at least let me pay for the food, that restores my sense of balance.”

  She puffed out a sigh. “I sat with you because I wanted to.”

  His glance was cool. “Still…”

  Robin made a face and muttered, “Fine.”

  Craig laughed, the amusement reminding her of carefree days, of the man who had always made her heart flutter just a little, even though he belonged to someone else.

  “I didn’t play fair, did I?”

  “No, but I’ll forgive you.”

  She was relieved to see that the other team parents had already left the restaurant. When she and Craig started across the dark parking lot, she became conscious of how alone they were. His arm brushed hers, and she felt a quiver in her belly. If only, whispered in her mind.

  If only Julie hadn’t disappeared. If only she and Craig had gotten the divorce that Julie had hinted at.

  No. Robin didn’t care. She ached for a different if only. For him to suddenly grip her arm and stop her, to say, “Will you kiss me, Robin?” For his mouth to descend onto hers, his arms to close around her and pull her against him. She ached for him to groan, for the kiss to deepen with desperation and passion, for…

  She must have made a sound, because he turned his head. “Did you say something?”

  Grateful for the darkness, Robin shook her head. “No.”

  No, he wouldn’t do any of that. Not even if he was attracted to her, not even if he cared.

  If he wa
s falling in love with her, as she was with him.

  Because he was a good, principled man who would not touch her, no matter how he felt, until he was free.

  Pain pierced her. If Julie wasn’t found, he would never be free. And Robin would never know whether he reciprocated all of the joy and tumult and hunger she felt for him.

  But perhaps he was right, and it was better this way. If he never did find out what had happened to Julie, he and Robin might hurt less if they’d never spoken their hopes aloud, never shared a kiss.

  EVEN THOUGH she’d heard the doorbell ring inside—twice—Ann hammered on the door. She’d stopped by Lofgren’s house yesterday afternoon, called a couple of times during the evening, come by this morning, too. Where in hell was he?

  Maybe he’d taken his kids and fled.

  Maybe he just wasn’t answering the door.

  She glared at the paneled door with shiny doorknob and deadbolt and wished it was flanked by sidelights. If this were a weekday when she could feel confident she was unseen, she’d have peered in a few windows. As it was, a man two doors down was edging a flower bed and a woman across the street was sweeping out her garage.

  In exasperation Ann marched over and asked whether she had seen the Lofgrens depart.

  The woman didn’t even glance at the shingled house across the street. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t pay any attention to his comings and goings.” She put faint, sneering emphasis on “his.”

  The neighbor working on an already razor-sharp divide between dark earth and velvet lawn shook his head, too.

  “Haven’t seen ’em today.”

  Which would suggest they genuinely weren’t home. Ann climbed back into her car and stared with intense frustration at the blank face of the house. Now that she had some leads, some important questions to ask, he had to make himself unavailable.

  Well, she had other things to do. Like stop at the grocery store and pick up something for dinner. Or grab fast food. Ann didn’t like going into a restaurant for a sit-down meal when she was alone and therefore pathetic in the eyes of others.

  Her best friend was a cop, too, working tonight. Ann hadn’t dated in… She couldn’t remember.

  On impulse she called her partner on her cell phone.

  “Diaz,” he answered.

  Voices and laughter and music murmured and swelled in the background and Ann heard the clink of glass against glass.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not if you have something important.”

  “Not important. It can wait until Monday. Have fun.” Without waiting for a response, she pressed End.

  Starting the car, Ann willed herself not to think about the party to which she hadn’t been invited, and thought, pizza.

  And ice cream. She’d pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. The more sinful the better. She could eat pizza and then ice cream in front of the TV at home and tell herself she was having fun, too.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HE WISHED HE HADN’T suggested they go swimming with the boys. Last night Robin had barely taken a dip before wrapping herself in a thick beach towel and announcing that she was going to take a shower and read for a while, if he didn’t mind waiting for Malcolm and Brett.

  But tonight…

  Tonight she floated with her arms outflung, her hair spread in the water like kelp, her eyes closed and her expression serene.

  Craig couldn’t look away even though a part of him was saying, The boys will notice. They’re going to wonder if you keep standing here staring.

  Brett and Malcolm were at the other end of the pool taking turns diving to the bottom for something.

  If only she hadn’t worn a bikini. Modest, compared to what teenage girls paraded in, but revealing enough to strike him dumb.

  Her legs were long and pale and shapely, her hips curvy, her waist as small as it must have been before she had her son. Her breasts were creamy swells barely covered by scraps of coral colored fabric. The tie floated between them. Craig looked at the innocent bow and imagined giving it a tug. She might squeak and put her feet to the bottom, maybe clasp her hands over her breasts, but too late. He’d have seen them in all their glory, pink-tipped from the chilly water.

  He groaned and at last wrenched his gaze away. He had a hard-on and two eleven-year-old boys were present to notice if he wasn’t careful. Craig dunked, hoping the water would slap some sense in him, but when he surfaced for a breath, he was looking for her even before he’d blinked to clear his eyes.

  She’d rolled onto her stomach and was doing the breaststroke toward the boys. Away from Craig. His gaze went straight to her bottom, rising as the kick pushed her higher in the water, sinking as she glided.

  He turned his back to them all and swore under his breath. Think about something else, he ordered himself. What if she came over? What if she suggested getting out and going over to the hot tub?

  As if he’d planted the notion, she called, “Hot tub, anyone?”

  Powerless, he turned just in time to see her climbing the ladder. Her hair streamed over her shoulders and back and water sluiced over her bare skin. His body tightened further as she turned, laughing at something one of the boys called, and lifted her arms to wring out her hair.

  He had never in his life wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one. Right now.

  And he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t even hint at what he felt.

  Because either his wife was dead and the world would continue thinking he’d murdered her, or he was still married. How many times did he have to remind himself?

  “What are you doing, Dad?” Brett swam toward him.

  Lusting after your friend’s mother. Not an appropriate response.

  “Being lazy.” He forced a smile and dove deep, coming up under Brett and grabbing an ankle.

  They wrestled and chased each other around the pool, Malcolm joining the fun. Craig was only grateful Robin didn’t jump back in and grab him.

  Eventually he had enough confidence to pull himself from the pool and casually step down into the hot tub with Robin, who smiled at him through the steam.

  “Hi.” Her cheeks were pink now, her eyes sleepy.

  “Hi to you.”

  “They’re having fun.” She yawned.

  “Mmm.” He sank lower and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare look at her, her wet hair seal dark, her throat pale, the curve of breasts just rising above the bubbling surface. “You look ready for bed.”

  Poor choice of words. No, wishful thinking.

  “I guess I am. It’s been a long day.” Her jaws made a cracking sound as she yawned again, then laughed. “All that yelling.”

  “Right.”

  He must have sounded clipped, because she sat up and looked at him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes, big and warm and gentle, searched his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure?” He heard himself give a harsh laugh. “I’m not sure about much anymore.”

  “Craig…” Robin’s voice was as soft as the steam.

  He ached with wanting the impossible. Why had he thought this weekend would be a good idea?

  “I’d better get out of here. Can you wait for the boys?”

  She started to stand, water sloshing. “Something is wrong.”

  He could have touched her. They faced each other, both standing hip deep.

  “I should have kept avoiding you.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “Now you know what’s wrong.” His voice was guttural. “I’m either a murder suspect or a married man. Take your pick.”

  As quiet as a breath, she said, “I don’t care.”

  In the act of turning away, he stopped. “What?”

  “You can’t…stop your life because she’s gone.”

  “I don’t see that I have much choice.”

  She slipped back down in the hot water. Tiny waves lapped at his
thighs.

  “Go ahead, Craig. I’ll wait for the boys.”

  He couldn’t move. “What did you mean?”

  She was quiet for so long that he faced her. Her teeth were worrying her lower lip.

  At last her lashes rose and she met his gaze. Color bloomed on her cheeks. “If you were to ask for…for almost anything, I’d say yes. And it’s incredibly immodest of me to tell you that, I know. So let’s just both pretend I didn’t.”

  Pounded by a tsunami of desire, he took a step toward her.

  “Hey, Mom!” Malcolm hoisted himself from the pool, Brett behind him. “Can I do a cannonball into the hot tub?”

  “You may not,” she said automatically. Still blushing, she seemed glad of an excuse to look away from Craig.

  He turned, left the hot tub and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

  At the moment, he didn’t care what the boys thought. He had to get out of here before he made a fool of himself.

  He didn’t even see her when she followed half an hour later with the boys. Brett let himself into the room. “Coach kicked us out of the pool and told us to go to bed,” he reported, sounding disgruntled.

  In bed, Craig looked up from his book. “The semifinal game is at nine in the morning. I’d say the coach is right.”

  His son made a face and disappeared into the bathroom. Craig heard the sounds of a hasty toothbrushing, the flush of the toilet and then Brett appeared in pajama bottoms. “Are you going to keep the light on?”

  “Nope.” Craig closed the book. Hell, he couldn’t remember a word he’d read anyway. “Just waiting for you.”

  Climbing into the other queen-size bed, Brett said, “We get this huge trophy if we win. The team does, I mean. Did you see it, Dad?”

  “Yep.” Brett knew he had. “Let’s get through the first game before trophies dance in your head.”