by Mary Monroe
“Oh, please.”
He held up his hand to gesture for more time. “Cara, listen. Give me a chance to explain. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Right. Well, you did. I took a major hit with no backup. You just left me hanging in the wind.”
“I didn’t expect you to leave town! I’ve been going crazy these past months wondering where you were, how you were feeling. I tried to call you at home. On your cell phone. You had to have gotten my messages! Why didn’t you call me back? You could have spared me months of agony and I could have spared you all these months of wondering what happened.”
“I caused you months of agony? How delightful.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I suffered. Okay? You left word that you’d call me when you got home. So I waited by the phone for several days that turned into several weeks. Then I started trying to find you. No one knew where you were. It was like you’d dropped off the face of the earth. I didn’t panic. I knew how much you loved travel and I figured you’d taken some time away. And I knew you were royally pissed off at me.” He had the grace to look sheepish.
Cara wasn’t falling for the illusion that he really cared. He wanted something from her and she just had to wait it out to discover what. Her foot wagged in agitation under the table, but at eye level, she appeared calm and in control. He seemed to take her quiet fury in stride, having expected it. But he was holding a trump card.
“That all happened a long time ago,” she responded coolly. “It’s ancient history.”
“Okay, I admit it. But when you were gone for the summer I was damn scared I’d lost you for good. I put feelers out everywhere. I even considered hiring a private detective. Do you want to know how I finally found you? I had lunch with Adele. She told me you were still with your mother in Charleston but she wouldn’t give me your number. So I went straight to my office, looked up Rutledge in the Charleston phone book—by the way, do you have any idea how many Rutledges there are in Charleston?—and I finally reached your brother’s house. And here I am.”
“That’s quite a story. And I’m only left to wonder why you bothered?”
He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then spread his palms open on the table and shrugged. “Darling, I know you’re angry. I’m sorry for not telling you about the layoff. I really am. But you have to believe me. I planned all along for you to come back. It was all a matter of timing. And that’s what I’ve come to tell you.” His dark-brown eyes glowed in the candlelight. “That fast-food campaign you were working on? It went over. We got the account. And they want Cara Rutledge to head the campaign. So do we. We want you back. We need you back.” He paused for drama. “As Senior Vice President and Group Director of the account.”
Cara’s foot stopped wagging and she dropped her shoe. “You can’t be serious,” she said, searching his face.
He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Can’t I?”
She paused for only a moment. “I want it in writing.”
“Cara…”
“I want a contract specifying all that you just told me and all that you haven’t gotten around to telling me yet. FedEx it to me. No faxes. I don’t have a machine. And if it looks good, I’ll let you fly me to Chicago, put me up at the Four Seasons and wine me and dine me. And then, if after the few days of negotiating I like what I see, you’ve got me back.”
He returned a wry smile, half admiring, half annoyed. “You’re not joking are you?”
“I never joke about money or my career. I don’t lie, either.”
He laughed then, a high, grating sound, and she wondered what she had ever found so attractive about him. But business was business and she knew that, regardless of her personal opinion of him, the offer was valid if he’d come all this way to woo her. She gathered her purse and rose to stand.
“Where are you going?”
“Our business is completed. I really don’t see the need to continue this any further. It was good to see you, Richard, and I look forward to seeing you again in Chicago. At the office.”
“But dinner…”
“I hear the food is marvelous here. Enjoy. But I’ve got some trout I’m just dying to taste. Oh, and I hope you get that round of golf in while you’re here. You look a little pale. Bye!”
She tucked her bag under her arm and sauntered from the room with the glorious knowledge that he was watching every move she made as she walked away from him.
Cara felt so high she thought she was flying across the connector to the Isle of Palms. She’d put the top down on the Saab, turned the music up loud and was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she zoomed home. It seemed as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. She wanted to shout out to the universe, “I’m back!” And not just to a job but a whopping promotion. They must really want her to have sent Richard begging and she planned to translate that into meaningful negotiations before she was through with them. As the wheels of her car turned, her mind spun with the names of good people from her team who’d been laid off who she could hire back. Oh, it was sweet to have a job and money coming in again. A future to look forward to. Cara Rutledge was back on track, she thought, then laughed out loud again as she reached the top of the connector and saw the ocean sparkling under the still-shining sun. She was soaring!
Inside the beach house, it was quiet.
“Hello!” she called out, setting her purse down on the table. The kitchen was sparkling clean. Sniffing the air, she didn’t catch the scent of fish. “Where is everyone?”
Toy came out from her bedroom. It was only seven-thirty and the sun was still out, but she was already in her pajamas, tying the sash of her robe as she came down the hall. “Oh, hi, Cara. How did it go?”
“Fine. It’s so quiet. Where’s Palmer?”
“He left a little while after you did.”
“And Mama?”
“I’m in here!”
Cara and Toy walked into Lovie’s bedroom. The windows were wide-open and there was a steady breeze blowing in from the ocean, but Cara could still smell the stench of medicine and illness in the room. The wastebasket beside her mother’s bed was filled with crumpled tissues, an oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose and the TV was on. She put on a smile and went directly to Lovie’s bed.
“Hey there, Mama,” she said, sitting on the bed and giving her a kiss. “How are you feeling?”
Lovie reached up to remove her mask. Toy hurried over to turn off the oxygen.
“Oh fine, fine. I just use this to help me out a little.” She used it more and more each day but hated to admit it. “Well, look at you!” Her eyes brightened at seeing her daughter dressed up and Cara felt a flush of pleasure at her approval.
“How was your visit with Palmer? He didn’t stay long.”
“A little of this and a little of that. He likes to keep things light. He had to leave and, honestly, that was fine with me. I can’t take long visits anymore.” She sat up a little higher on the bed, coughed long and hard, then settled again, smoothing the sheet across her chest. “Toy, be a darling and turn that thing off, would you?” she asked, pointing to the TV. Then she turned to Cara, her nose pointed like a bloodhound. “So, what did he want?”
Cara laughed and felt the tingle of excitement stir again. “You won’t believe it,” she said, settling on the mattress beside Lovie for a good chat.
Lovie’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation.
“He offered me my job back. With a promotion! Remember that fast-food account I was working on before I left the agency? Well, it flew and now they want me to come back to head the account.” She smiled to herself, the wonder of it all just beginning to sink in.
“Wow, that’s great,” Toy said in a breathy voice.
Cara turned her head to acknowledge the girl’s words.
“I worked very hard for that account. Oh, Mama, this is such a big deal for me.”
Lovie looked puzzled. “You mean, that young man flew all this way just
to offer you a job?”
Cara’s smile slipped. “Yes. What did you think he came for?”
“Well, I suppose I thought he’d come to propose marriage.”
“Marriage?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? That’s the usual reason a man comes storming in unannounced like that. At least in my generation.” She lifted her slight shoulders. “In your generation, who knows? Everything is so different. I thought you were quite taken with the young man. Wasn’t he your fella for several years?”
“Yes,” she replied slowly. “We had some good times. But trust me, Mama, I’ll never be Mrs. Richard Selby.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know now that we don’t want the same things out of life.”
“How about Mrs. Brett Beauchamps?” chimed in Toy.
This time, Cara didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ve wondered about it sometimes,” she said, surprising everyone. “But the moment I heard Richard offer me that promotion, I knew what I wanted. I said yes.”
Lovie made a face. “Brett is such a fine man and you two seem to get along so well. Are you sure you know what you really want?”
“As much as anyone, I suppose.”
“But to live alone, Cara. That’s so hard on a woman. Every woman needs a man to love her. To provide for her. You’re not getting any younger.” She tsked and shook her head with worry. “If only you could find yourself a good husband.”
All the soaring elation Cara had been feeling crashed to the earth. She felt a familiar clutch inside her gut and her first instinct was to let the iron wall fall between them again. But she’d had enough of the old patterns. She took a deep breath and looked at her mother long and hard.
“Mama, you really don’t understand, do you?”
“Understand what?”
“How things are today for women like me. And Toy.” She looked over to include the young girl in the conversation. “You’ve lived a privileged life. It’s not like that for us. There isn’t anyone out there who’s going to write a check to cover our health bills or the rent or to put gas in the car. If we even have a car. We have to provide for ourselves. You know, sometimes I think you forget that I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“What do you mean?”
Cara looked straight at her. “You and Daddy didn’t put me through college. You didn’t set me up with my first home. You didn’t contribute one dollar to my well-being after I left Charleston. When I was eighteen. Toy’s age,” she added, driving the point home. “There were more years than not when I was running one paycheck away from the street. I’ve worked very, very hard for many years to get to the point in life where I’m offered a position like this one.” She took a ragged breath. “It’s a big moment in my life.”
Lovie looked at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
“And all you can say is that you wish I’d find myself a good husband?”
Cara stood and walked to the window to look out. As always, the sea rolled in and out in its monotonous, never ending rhythm. She turned to face her mother again, crossing her arms tightly around herself. “Mama, do you even know how you’ve just dismissed me?”
“I did no such thing! I simply said how nice it would be for you to find a husband, someone to provide for you. Is that so wrong to wish for my child?”
“Oh, Mama, I’m not saying I wouldn’t like a relationship with a man. Even marriage—maybe. But I’m not looking for a man to provide for me. I’m not going to settle for marriage just to be married or to find security. That’s a pipe dream I can’t count on. I’m counting on myself.”
Instead of drawing herself up with indignation or lowering her shoulders in a sulk, as Cara expected, her mother lay back against her pillows and studied her as though she were seeing someone she hardly knew.
“I’m so sorry,” Lovie said softly. “I didn’t know…. You always wrote such positive, upbeat letters and told us how well you were doing. I wanted to believe that. You’ve always been so capable that it was easier to think everything was fine.” Her eyes filled with tears, which she hastily wiped with a tissue from the box by her side. “I didn’t know.”
Cara watched her mother weep and felt ashamed for her outburst. Why hash this out now, she asked herself? Her mother was dying, she had enough to deal with. Besides, after all these years, what was the point? She came closer to stand at the bedside, wishing she could just drop the whole subject.
“Oh, Mama, never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore. I didn’t come in here tonight for a row. I shouldn’t have told you. I just thought you’d like to know about the job offer, that’s all.”
Lovie wiped her eyes and sniffed in the tissue. “No, I’m glad you told me. I didn’t mean…It’s just that I’ve always believed a woman is happier being married.”
“Can you honestly tell me that you were?”
Lovie looked up, her eyes red rimmed and watery, and opened her mouth to respond. But no sound came out. She seemed to be struggling with an answer that left her mute.
“Does that mean you’ll be leaving for Chicago soon?” Toy wanted to know.
Cara turned to face Toy who was standing by the door. She looked as if she were halfway in the room and halfway out.
“I’m not going anywhere until after you have that baby!” she said, pointing her finger and interjecting a little enthusiasm into her voice. She saw relief blossom on Toy’s face. “But, after that, I’ll have to go to Chicago for a series of interviews. It should only take a few days. A week at most. I imagine you can hold the fort for that long if I bring in help. And Flo’s promised to be on call, but we all know she just wants to hold that baby. I won’t dally. I’ll hurry right back.”
Cara sat on the edge of the mattress again and took her mother’s hand. She squeezed it and said with intent, “I love you and I won’t leave you. You understand that, don’t you?”
Lovie mustered a weak smile. “Of course I do.”
In the pause Cara could almost hear the subject drop. She had never felt the role reversal so strongly as she did at that moment. The responsibility for these two lives—one about to depart life, the other about to bring a new life forth—fell squarely on her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” she asked Lovie.
Lovie nodded feebly.
“Did you eat dinner? I don’t smell any fish.”
“We just weren’t up to cleaning fish,” Toy replied apologetically. “So we ate the leftover tuna casserole from yesterday and a little fresh pea soup.”
“It was delicious, dear,” Lovie said, distracted.
“Can I get you some?” Toy asked Cara.
Cara’s stomach growled. “I didn’t eat and I’m starving. But don’t get up. I think I’ll scrounge around in the fridge after I change into something more comfortable.”
“You look quite nice in that dress,” Lovie said. She was eager to make amends.
“Sexy,” added Toy. “I can’t remember the last time I wore anything like that. Or high heels.”
“Me, neither,” she quipped as she left the room.
As she kicked off her heels and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, Cara wondered what Brett was up to. She picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang several times but there was no answer. It was just like him to forget to turn on his answering machine. He was probably out on the dock, cooking up some shrimp. Her stomach growled again and she decided to go right over. Tying her tennis shoes, she thought how much she wanted to see his face again after staring at Richard’s.
“Mama?” she called out, grabbing her purse. “I’m going over to Brett’s. Don’t wait up.”
“Okay,” Toy called out over the television noise in Lovie’s bedroom. Before closing the door, Cara heard the weatherman announcing that the tropical storm in the Caribbean had been upgraded to a hurricane.
The hatchling swims from the dangerous, shallow water near its natal beach to the deep water of the Gulf Stream. Once there, it will hide and
feed in the relative safety of enormous floats of sargassum weeds and flotsam.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cara pulled into Brett’s driveway and found him in a black leather jacket standing beside a big, mean-looking black Harley motorcycle. The leather made his shoulders appear even broader and lent him a dangerous air. He turned his head toward her when she parked.
“I didn’t even know you owned a motorcycle,” she said, coming close. Her gaze was glued to the gleaming bike.
“I don’t ride it much anymore. Don’t have the time.”
She caught the crispness of his voice and looked up. There was no easy smile of welcome, no sweet kiss or arm around her shoulder.
“I’m starved,” she said. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I thought you were going out to dinner with what’s-his-face.”
“Richard? I did. Or rather, I went to the restaurant with him. But our business ended quickly and I left before I ate.”
“Business? What kind of business?”
“He offered me a job.”
Brett digested that without a word. He turned back to his motorcycle and checked gauges.
Her excitement fizzled as disappointment settled in for the second time that night. She’d hoped at least for a lame question about the job, or even a polite acknowledgement.
She tried again. “I was hoping I’d find you boiling up some shrimp.”
He shook his head. “I just grabbed a frozen pizza.”
“Oh.” She was deflated. She stood for a moment trying to decide if he was angry with her for not cooking up the trout for dinner or whether he was jealous. She preferred to think the latter and tried one more time.
“Are you going out for a ride?”
“Yep,” he replied, still not looking at her. He walked into the garage and returned a minute later carrying a black helmet.
That did it. Now she was mad. She didn’t deserve this treatment. “What is your problem?” she asked angrily.
“My problem? I don’t have a problem.”
