by Geri Krotow
“And wanted to be a detective?” Sasha obviously knew Carolyn Keene’s heroine.
“Yes, of course!” When Claire laughed, Sasha let out a giggle, and they exchanged a glance that reminded Claire of the joie de vivre she and Natalie had shared for their entire childhood. Until Tom’s death. And Dutch’s betrayal.
Claire’s laughter died. Until recently, she’d blamed Dutch for their breakup. But they’d been kids, teenagers, and she’d been so focused on getting out of Dovetail… Maybe she’d played a bigger part than she’d realized.
Maybe you never forgave Natalie for not understanding your pain.
That sudden insight brought a stab of guilt.
Sasha stared at her. Could she read Claire’s mind?
“Why don’t we knit for a while? Did you bring yours?”
Sasha hauled her backpack onto her lap. “Yeah, I’ve got a scarf I’m making for my friend Maddie.”
They each put down their hot chocolate and started to knit. Claire admired how natural it was for Sasha. The needles still felt rather foreign in her own hands, especially when she was working on a new stitch.
“Claire?”
“Hmm?” Claire looked up from her knitting.
Sasha had a somberness in her eyes that Claire suspected she’d better get used to. It always preceded a doozy of a question.
“Why didn’t you ever come to see my mother?”
Claire’s hand jerked and she lost her stitch. The lush wool fell from her fingers.
She took a deep breath and lowered her hands to her lap, forcing them to be still. Sasha deserved her complete attention.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to. It just…got too difficult. Between my job, your mom’s job and family life, it was almost impossible to schedule any visits. Your mom didn’t have time to come into D.C. very much, and I couldn’t take time off to drive out here.”
Claire knew she owed Sasha more than such an ambiguous reply. “Sometimes adults let distractions get in the way of doing what’s right,” she finally said.
“What kind of distractions did you have?” Looking into Sasha’s brown eyes, Claire felt as if she’d been convicted. She tried to explain, anyway.
“Well, I was working in the press corps—the group of reporters who follow the president all over the world. We were in the midst of one crisis after another, and I had to stay on top of every story.”
“But weren’t you one of lots of people who reported about the president?”
“Yes, I was one of many reporters, actually. But everyone thinks they’re the most valuable—that the story won’t get told properly without them. I believed that, just like everyone else, I’m afraid.”
“You never got a day off?”
“Not really.” She looked at Sasha and wondered what was going on behind that clear, open gaze. “But that’s not the point, Sasha. I realize now that I could have, should have, made time to see your mom, especially when she was sick. My last visit, you were in full-day school already. Before that, I hadn’t seen you since you were an infant.”
Claire remembered Natalie’s baby shower all too clearly. The baby, Sasha, had arrived two weeks early and so the shower had taken place after the birth instead of the week before.
It had been a nightmare for Claire. She’d been the only unmarried woman there—and the only one without a baby in her near future. Seeing Dutch and Natalie’s baby had been excruciating. She’d thought back then that she simply didn’t relate to the whole baby thing, but today she realized it was more than that.
She hadn’t wanted to see that Dutch and Natalie were truly happy together. That their love had created a tiny human being.
“I don’t remember you, except from TV.”
Ouch.
“There’s no reason you would—you were a newborn when I first met you and, as I said, in school during that last visit. Your parents might not have even mentioned that I’d stopped by.”
Claire would never admit it to Sasha, but she’d planned that trip for late morning, when she knew Dutch would be at work and Sasha in school. Natalie on her own she could handle.
When it was just the two of them, she could pretend that their friendship had survived the years and Claire’s broken heart.
Claire had never told Natalie about her sense of betrayal or her unrequited feelings for Dutch. Part of it was Claire’s unwillingness to hurt others. A bigger part of it was pride. She’d never told anyone that Dutch had broken her heart.
Including Natalie.
Claire knew she had to examine her resentment against Natalie. How could Natalie have sympathized with Claire if Claire hadn’t told her how hurt she was over her marriage to Dutch? And yet…Claire had come to understand that she bore some responsibility for what had happened. After high school she’d let her relationship with Dutch grow stale, diminish in importance. And she’d let her friendship with Natalie die away.
“I loved your mom like a sister the entire time we were growing up. As adults our lives took different paths. Like I said, it wasn’t only me not coming home, your mom never made it into D.C., either.”
In truth, Natalie had come to Georgetown once, before she got sick; and stayed with Claire overnight. Claire gave her a tour of the White House and Natalie sat through a press conference.
After which Natalie, in true brute-honest Natalie fashion, had told Claire she needed to have more in her life than work.
Claire had been a press corps reporter for two years already, and Natalie made it clear that she thought Claire had been ignoring her social life, that she lacked balance.
Claire hadn’t wanted to hear Natalie’s opinion, no matter how sensible. But instead of arguing, she’d used it as an excuse to further distance herself from her friend. Natalie had assumed Claire was angry at her for what she had said, and Claire never corrected the assumption. She thought it was easier for both of them if she dropped the relationship.
“I spoke to your dad after your mom’s last chemo.” The one they’d all prayed would allow her to pull through, protect her from the last stages of her disease. But it hadn’t.
“I’m sorry, Sasha. I should’ve come back to see your mom, to meet you. I had every intention of coming. But I missed my chance by a week. I had an emergency trip with the president that my network needed me to cover.”
And after that, it was too late. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, intrude on the family’s grief.
“Dying, like having a baby, is intensely private. I didn’t want to take anything away from your mom’s time with you and your dad.”
“Hmm.” Sasha’s ponytail swished as she nodded.
Claire hoped “hmm” meant that Sasha’s inquisition was over.
Claire picked up the wool she’d dropped and stuck the needles into the ball.
“Would you like a refill on your hot chocolate? I’ve finished mine.”
“I’m okay.” Sasha kept knitting and pulled her yarn from a beautiful silk yarn bag. No doubt it had been Natalie’s. Claire’s throat tightened and she turned her face away.
She had no illusion of replacing Natalie in Sasha’s life. But she wanted to somehow make up for her own transgressions against Natalie. She hadn’t realized it was going to be this difficult. She hadn’t understood the depth of her own grief at Natalie’s loss.
Fingers rapped on the glass panes of the side door and Claire opened it.
Dutch’s eyes flashed in obvious anger. “Time to go, Sasha.” He remained on the top step, ignoring Claire.
“Claire’s making me another hot chocolate.” Sasha had apparently developed a convenient thirst.
Dutch’s lips thinned and his face grew impassive.
“Why don’t you come in for a minute, Dutch? It’s cold, and you’re letting all the heat out.”
He didn’t reply as he stepped inside the kitchen and shut the door behind him. His stance conveyed his wariness of Claire.
“Don’t act like a cornered mouse, Dutch.” She spoke in a low voice.
“You’re safe here.”
Dutch grunted. Claire wanted to smack him, but instead poured hot water into a mug and mixed in more cocoa powder.
“How are my llamas?” she asked.
Dutch blew out a breath and shoved his clenched hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Claire hated herself for permitting her gaze to follow his hands and linger over the area between his pockets. He’d filled out since their late teens and become more rugged.
Sexier.
Claire looked away, but not soon enough. Dutch’s eyes narrowed, and she knew that if Sasha hadn’t been in the room he’d have a few choice words about keeping her distance.
She shoved the mug at him. “Here. This’ll warm you up.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and took the mug before she spilled its contents all over his chest. One eyebrow rose, indicating that even he saw a hint of humor in the situation.
“Your llamas? They’re doing well. The weather should help when it decides to warm up, but they’re fine.”
“Thank goodness,” she murmured. “It’s been so cold. I don’t remember a March or April this cold when we were kids.”
The childhood memory produced a moment’s awkward silence.
“Would you like something to eat?” She’d found her manners again.
“No, thanks. We need to leave as soon as we finish this.” He downed the rest of his cocoa. “Sasha?”
Sasha’s eyelids were lowered as she held her fresh cup of hot cocoa. Claire knew the kid hadn’t missed a single note of the conversation. What did she make of Claire and Dutch? The blatantly rude way they addressed each other?
Sasha threw back her head and drained the mug.
She stood. “Thanks, Claire. I had a nice time.”
“Me, too.”
Sasha stood there expectantly, watching Claire. Claire looked back at her, dumbfounded. What was it?
“Okay, well, bye.” Sasha walked over and stood in front of Claire.
Oh…
“See you around.” Claire gave Sasha the hug she’d been waiting for, all the while conscious of Dutch’s perturbed glare.
Sasha passed her dad and ran down the steps.
“Cozy.” Dutch issued the one-word observation like a missile.
“You’ve raised a daughter who’s used to lots of love and support. That’s commendable.”
Dutch sent Claire another hard gaze—and then she saw his stony expression dissolve.
“She has had that. It’s important to me that she not get hurt. She craves female adult attention and I hope you realize what a trusting young girl she is.”
Claire appreciated his honesty, and was stunned that he’d opened up even this much. But she didn’t need another reminder of the gap Natalie’s death had left in all their lives.
“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for checking on the animals.”
“It’s my job. I’ll be back in a few days. Call me if you need me sooner.” Dutch turned on the porch, his foot raised to go down the steps, then turned back.
“You’ve done an admirable job with the llamas.”
She watched him descend the steps before she closed the door and leaned against it. Not until she heard the pickup’s engine, did she respond.
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“CALL ME WHEN you get in.” Dutch knew Ginny didn’t like being treated like his kid sister. But she was his kid sister.
“Sure.” Ginny put the last of her books in the back of her small sedan. She straightened up and shut the door. They’d both known this day would come. And with Ginny’s commitment to the law preparatory class, it had arrived a few months earlier than he’d hoped.
“You be good.” She patted his upper arm. “Dutch? Try to keep an open mind.”
“About what?” His sister always had an uncanny sense of his emotional state.
“About everything. Natalie’s been gone for over three years, and she never wanted you to be a monk.”
“Why do I think you’re talking about Claire?”
“Claire?” Ginny opened her eyes wide in pretended innocence. But Dutch knew damn well that his little sister wasn’t naive on this subject at all.
“Well, now that you mention it, Sasha needs a woman in her life. Since I’m leaving, it is rather fortuitous that Claire’s around. And that she knew Natalie as a kid. They were really close, Dutch.”
“Don’t even try to guilt me into this, Ginny.”
Ginny’s signature laugh-with-a-snort coaxed his lips up in spite of his exasperation with his sister. Her dark corkscrew curls bobbed about her face.
“Any guilt you have is because you know it’s the truth. You’re entitled to your opinion of Claire, Dutch, but she’s a good person underneath it all. Don’t deny Sasha a connection to Natalie because of your own selfishness.”
Dutch opened his mouth to blast Ginny, then snapped it shut. He wasn’t going to win this one, and besides, he didn’t want to send Ginny away in a bad mood.
“Give me a hug, bro.”
Ginny hugged him tight and he hugged her back.
“I can’t thank you enough, Gin.”
“Shh, don’t be silly. It helped all of us. It’s time for me to get my degree, and for you and Sasha to get your own life.”
Tears burned his eyes as he hugged his sister. She’d been such a rock for all of them.
Ginny pulled away. “Knock it off, Dutch. You need to get dinner going if you want to eat tonight.”
“Yeah.” He stood there as she walked around her car and slid into the driver’s seat. After a few adjustments, she backed down their drive, shifted gears and headed for Baltimore.
Ginny would be fine; he knew it. And God help whoever crossed her in a courtroom.
Yeah, Ginny would be okay. And Sasha would, too; he’d make sure of it.
But would he?
CLAIRE ENTERED the bookstore, where the knitting group was in session. The previous time she’d tried to join them, she’d been unprepared, but today her basket held several balls of yarn, several varieties and sizes of needles and three different projects she’d started.
Today she knew that this used to be Natalie’s group, and when she’d first shown up the women present couldn’t help but connect her to her childhood friend.
Plus, she had her wits about her now. Wits weren’t something she’d had a lot of immediately after she’d left the press corps. Until the doctors had determined the extent of her mother’s illness and Claire got used to small-town living again, she’d been in a whirl of change.
Then it’d taken her a while to adjust to the idea that her mother was fine, and her dad could take care of her very well, thank you. They didn’t need Claire over there each and every day. And she had to face the fact that she hadn’t come home for Mom, not really. She’d come back to find herself again. Mom’s illness had only precipitated a quicker move.
Mrs. Ames looked up, her black-penciled eyebrows in sharp contrast to her snowy mane of shoulder-length hair and her crystal-blue irises.
“Oh, you’re back?” Mrs. Ames spoke as if Claire had been there last week and not nearly a year ago.
“Of course! Where is everyone?”
“Group starts at ten-thirty. You’re early.”
Mrs. Ames returned to her knitting—a gauzy length that Claire surmised was a lace stole or shawl.
“That’s lovely.” She pointed at the other woman’s work. “What are you making?” Claire knew good manners would carry her further than an antagonistic attitude, warranted or not.
“A prayer shawl for my church ministry.”
Claire slid into the seat across from her. “That’s a wonderful idea! Do you think I could learn to make one?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Ames peered into the basket Claire placed on the table between them. “Ooh, looks like you’ve been making progress!” The pleased tone was unexpected.
“I’ve been learning on the Internet and from a friend. I know I s
hould finish one project before I begin another, but I can’t help myself.”
“Nonsense. It’s important to have several projects going at once. I always do. Keeps me interested. I finish them as needed—whether a gift for me or someone else.”
Relief washed over Claire. “I must admit I’m thrilled to hear you say that. I thought I might have some kind of knitting attention-deficit disorder.”
Mrs. Ames laughed. “No more than the rest of us—oh, look, here comes Patsy.”
Patsy Lovette sashayed in, her giraffe-print jacket an odd mix with her blueberry shade of dyed hair and fuchsia scarf.
“Hey.” She cast a curious glance at Claire and bent to air-kiss Mrs. Ames.
“You remember each other, don’t you?” Mrs. Ames offered as introduction.
Claire smiled at Patsy. How could they forget? They’d both competed for the same spot on the high school gymnastics team. Claire won in ninth and tenth grade, but Patsy had taken the spot as a junior and senior. They’d never been real enemies, but not close friends, either.
“Hi,” Claire said.
“Hi, honey, I heard you were back in town. Didn’t know you were a knitter, though.” Patsy wasn’t at the group that disastrous time the year before.
Claire shoved the memory aside. She’d assumed it would be a group of genteel older ladies all too willing to teach a young woman like her the techniques of their craft. Not the lively women she’d discovered, many of whom still grieved Natalie.
“So what are you working on?” Patsy nodded at Claire’s basket.
Claire had faced world leaders with what they perceived as hostile interview questions. She’d stared down prevaricating government officials. She could handle opposition and criticism with the best of them; she knew not to take it personally.
But her knitting projects were highly personal. She’d labored over learning the stitches and deciding which patterns she could attempt with her limited skills. Learning to knit was part of how she’d redefined herself.
To her dismay, her hands shook as she reached into her basket. She yanked up the first project she touched, hoping that her action covered her nervousness.
