Look into My Eyes

by Glenda Sanders

  As Holly suspected they would, not long after they reached the tide line, Meryl and Sarah dropped back, leaving her paired with Craig.

  They didn’t talk at first. Holly walked briskly, letting the breeze caress her face and the sound of the ocean wash over her frazzled nerves. Craig kept up with her easily. He seemed content to walk in silence, as though he was tuned in to her mood and was sharing it.

  Holly wondered what was going through his mind. For a moment, she envied him the freedom from the kind of memories that haunted her, from the pain of remembering sweetness and knowing that it had been snatched from her forever. It might be easier to live without the memories of what she’d lost.

  Unexpectedly, he spoke. “Tell me about him.”

  Holly didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, knowing that if she looked in his eyes, she’d feel that strange connection. “Who?”

  “The man you used to dance with. The man who wore the after-shave I’m wearing.”

  Holly sighed. He had no right to hear the story, to ask it of her, but his voice was gentle and coaxing. Persuasive. “His name was Craig,” she said softly.

  He emitted a small gasp of surprise, and a moment of silence followed before he said, “He was important to you.”

  It wasn’t so much a question as a speculative observation. Holly stopped and turned to face the water, which stretched as far as the eye could see before disappearing beyond the horizon. The moon glistened like liquid silver on the undulating surf. “He was everything to me,” she said softly.

  “You loved him.”

  “With all my heart. We were going to be married.”

  “What happened?”

  Holly swallowed. “He died.”

  Behind her now, he put his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t question the liberty he took in touching her. His being there seemed too right.

  “Can you talk about it?”

  “He was a cop. He answered a routine call and then...he was gone.” So few words! His life snuffed out, her life inexorably changed, their future destroyed, all summarized in a matter of sentences.

  His arms slid around her, enfolding her. The familiar scent he was wearing blended with the briny breeze coming off the ocean, and for a moment—

  Oh, Craig—why did you have to die? She relaxed against the strength and solidity of the man holding her. How long they stood there, with the ocean slapping the packed sand just inches from their feet, she wasn’t sure. Nor did she care. She had done so much of her grieving alone, and had had so little human consolation once the funeral was over and everyone had gone back to their busy lives. She’d purposely kept her grieving private, not wanting to burden anyone else with the desolation that plagued her. But she was tired of being strong, of holding up, of pretending. It was a relief to lean on someone else for a change.

  Gradually, the texture of the embrace changed. Comfort segued into awareness, and the contact took on a sensual quality. The emptiness Craig’s death had left inside Holly suddenly became unbearable. She had lived with the loneliness one day too long, and she was desperate for a man’s touch, for the affirmation that she was desirable, for the confirmation that she was still capable of feeling desire.

  Without a word, she turned in his arms and tilted her head back. Without a word, he lowered his lips to hers and claimed her kiss.

  4

  THE FIVE MILES from the beach to the Victorian house two blocks from the library had never been longer. Holly didn’t know why she was surprised that Craig Ford had wound up in her car. She’d known Meryl and Sarah were setting her up the moment Meryl had casually invited Craig to join them for dinner. She should have anticipated the argument that, since she was the only one who would be passing the library on her way home, it made sense that she should be the one to take Craig home.

  So there they were—side by side in the front seat of her compact car, she and Craig Ford. And between them, sat The Kiss.

  For half of the endless trip, seven minutes that seemed more like a week, they ignored each other so vehemently that neither of them dared to speak. Holly had no idea what he was thinking, but from his demeanor, she suspected that he was as shaken as she by what had happened between them.

  The Kiss had been none of the things a first kiss was supposed to be. Not short. Not sweet. Not tentative. It had been a kiss of lovers, hot, urgent and demanding. And it had gone on forever, or threatened to, titillating, inflaming, exciting.

  They’d parted shocked and trembling, stunned by the swiftness with which their passions had been aroused. Without saying a word, he’d taken her hand in his. They’d walked farther along the beach, letting the sea breeze cool them before they turned around to walk in the opposite direction, knowing they’d soon encounter Meryl and Sarah.

  Holly stopped for a traffic signal and stared through the windshield at the glistening red orb of light. Just a few more minutes, and then she could go home to her small apartment, to the furniture she selected for comfort, to the cat who would saunter over to demand affection.

  Craig spoke unexpectedly. “I knew it would be that way.”

  Holly twisted her head to look at him.

  “I told you when we were dancing that I knew what it would be like to kiss you,” he continued intently. His face was a mask of anguish and frustration. “If we don’t know each other, how do I know you so well? How could we be that familiar to each other? Why don’t you know my name, Holly?”

  His belligerent, challenging tone sent goose bumps up her spine. What did she know about him, really? Indeed, what did he even know about himself and what he was capable of?

  “Are you accusing me of deceiving you?” she asked woodenly.

  He didn’t answer. The silence grew thick and oppressive.

  “The light’s green,” he said at last. Holly stepped on the gas pedal. “I wouldn’t withhold that kind of information from you,” she said after a pause, not looking at him. “I’m not capable of such cruelty.”

  She heard him exhale wearily before he said, “I...it’s just so damned frustrating. How can I know you if I don’t know you? And why it is that you’re the only person who seems familiar to me?”

  “You’re not remembering me,” she said. “You can’t be. You’re remembering someone who looks like me.”

  “Looks wouldn’t account for what happened between us tonight. That was chemistry, person-to-person.”

  Holly pondered the point a moment. “Doesn’t it make sense that if you were attracted to a certain type of woman—a certain physical type, I mean—that you’d be attracted to the same type now? If I resemble someone you love, then you may be reacting physically to me the way you’d react to her.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s you.”

  She found his conviction unnerving.

  She waited until they had reached his house before speaking again. After pulling up to the curb, she turned to look at him. “You’re reaching,” she said. “I’m the only thing you have to cling to, and this...feeling you have that you know me has taken on more importance than it deserves.”

  His jaw was clenched, his mouth hard. In an eruption of emotion, he brought the pad of his hand down on the dashboard. “Damn it, who am I? And who the hell do you remind me of?”

  “If I could answer those questions for you, I would,” Holly said quietly.

  He looked at her a long moment, then turned away. “I’m sorry, Holly. I keep trying to make you a part of this, when—”

  A lengthy sigh vibrated through him. Holly had never seen a person appear more alone. “You need a friend,” she said.

  He looked at her and smiled sadly. “I wonder if I have any.”

  She returned the smile. “You have one sitting right here, if you want one.”

  “Want one?” he said in a rush. “God, Holly—”

  He put his arm across the seat and leaned toward her, cradling her cheek with his right hand. His intentions were unmistakable. Holly’s breath caught. She twisted her head away from his ha
nd and swallowed. “That’s not part of the friendship package.”

  He withdrew his hand, but left his arm behind her.

  “It wouldn’t be...healthy for either of us,” she said. “I’m...I thought I was ready, but tonight...at the beach...I realized that I still have a lot of sorting out to do. And you—”

  “I have no right to ask, not when I don’t know—”

  Her heart went out to him; he was so miserable. “Can we be friends?” she asked.

  “I would like that.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

  She watched him let himself into the house before driving away.

  The phone was ringing when she arrived home a few minutes later. Assuming it was either Meryl or Sarah wanting to talk about what had happened on the beach, she stood next to the answering machine and waited for the caller to leave a message.

  Meryl’s voice came over the speaker. “Holly—give me a call so we can talk.”

  Her emphasis on the word talk confirmed what the subject of their conversation would be, so Holly let her hang up without picking up the phone. She wasn’t ready to “talk” about what had happened on the beach. She hadn’t sorted it out in her own mind yet.

  She had been vulnerable. It had been her first physical contact with a man since Craig’s death. But that didn’t fully account for her explosive reaction to Craig Ford. The chemistry between them was strong, as strong as the emotional chemistry that had linked her to him the first time she’d looked closely into his eyes. And his insistence that he knew her was unsettling. He seemed so sure, so positive. He was as convinced that they had met as she was that they had not. Her strong reaction to his touch wasn’t doing anything to shake his confidence in that conviction.

  The only thing clear to her at this point was that she was going to have to avoid getting into situations where her hormones could feed his delusion that he knew her.

  * * *

  “YOU WON’T BELIEVE why I’m late,” Holly said, locking the drawer on the cabinet where the librarians kept their purses while on duty.

  “A full five minutes,” Sarah teased. “We were getting ready to send out the militia to hunt for you.”

  “I wish you had,” Holly said. “I could have used some help. I was chasing a skink.”

  “A skink!”

  “Yes. I was just finishing my cereal, when I heard something rustle the blind on the living room window. I looked over just in time to see a huge skink leap from the sill into the middle of the floor.”

  “How huge?”

  “As big around as my pinkie and half a foot long, plus tail.”

  Craig, who’d been straightening reference books, stood up. “What’s a skink?”

  “You’re not from Florida, are you?” Sarah asked.

  Holly saw the pain the question inflicted skitter across his face before he replied, “Apparently not.”

  “Well, sooner or later, anybody who lives in Florida encounters a skink.”

  “Want to give me a hint what they look like so I’ll know when I’ve seen one?” he suggested.

  “It’s a lizard,” Holly said.

  “But it looks more like a snake with legs,” Sarah said with a shiver. “It’s shiny and jet black. Or so blue it looks black.”

  “Are they poisonous?”

  “They don’t bite, but if a cat or dog eats one, it can make them really sick or even kill them,” Holly answered. “That’s why I had to catch the one in my house before Buttercup found it.”

  “Buttercup?” Craig asked.

  “Holly’s cat,” Sarah said, then turned to Holly. “How did you catch it?”

  “I didn’t. I trapped it under a trash can. I’m going to have to worry about getting it outside when I get home tonight.”

  “Eeeeeeeee,” Sarah said, shivering again.

  “Exciting Saturday night, huh?” Holly said drolly. “Actually, I’m hoping that Mrs. Grayson is baby-sitting her grandson tonight so I can get him to catch it. He loves creepy, crawly things. Otherwise, I’ll just have to slide a cookie sheet under the can and carry the little squirmy little devil out myself, garbage can and all.”

  “That sounds like a lot of trouble,” Craig observed. “Why not just pick it up?”

  “Pick it up?” both women asked in unison as though he’d suggested they swallow it alive.

  “I couldn’t touch it,” Holly said.

  Craig chuckled.

  “They move like lightning,” Holly said defensively. “I probably couldn’t even catch it, and if I did, they’re too squiggly to hold on to.”

  “Squiggly?” he asked, disbelieving.

  “They are squiggly,” Sarah assured him.

  “Oh, I’m sure they are,” Craig said, obviously amused.

  “I just don’t touch lizards,” Holly said, bristling.

  “It’s a girl thing,” Sarah explained.

  Craig rolled his eyes. “I’m going back to work.”

  Holly forgot all about the lizard as she dealt with the Saturday crowd in the children’s section.

  As closing time approached, the area remained busy, and Holly resigned herself to staying late to put the section in order. Once again, Craig showed up to help. They straightened the picture-book shelves from opposite ends, just as they had the first time he’d worked in the reading corral. They reached the base of the U at the same time and exchanged smiles.

  “So,” he said, “other than evicting a skink, do you have a big Saturday night planned?”

  “Not a lot,” Holly admitted. “There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to see on cable.”

  Craig paused thoughtfully. “I could try to catch your skink for you.”

  Holly considered the offer, which he’d presented with an almost heartrending earnestness. His hope was almost palpable. He was lonely, she realized. It was Saturday night, and he had no one to spend it with.

  Nor had she.

  “Sure,” she said. “Why not? You can watch the movie with me.”

  He smiled endearingly. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  THE OVERTURNED TRASH CAN, weighted down with a heavy book, was quite conspicuous as they entered her apartment a half hour later. “So that’s where the little guy is,” Craig said.

  “Hopefully,” Holly said. “If the book was heavy enough to keep him from slithering underneath the rim.”

  Unexpectedly, there was a hard thunk on the far side of the closed door at the end of the hall, followed by an impatient howl. “That’s Buttercup,” Holly said. “She must have heard us come in. I put her in the bedroom so she wouldn’t hear the scratching inside the can and knock it over. She’s probably going stir-crazy. She can’t stand closed doors. I’d better go give her some attention and calm her down. Just...make yourself at home.”

  She gave Buttercup a thorough rubdown, then took advantage of the private moments in her bedroom to change into comfortable clothes, a one-size-fits-all T-shirt over stretch leggings and a pair of socklike slippers. She removed the barrette at her nape and brushed her hair, leaving it free around her shoulders.

  Shooing Buttercup away from the door, she left the bedroom to rejoin Craig. Buttercup was already butting the door, protesting being confined again by the time she reached the living room, where Craig was sitting on the couch. He stood as she approached, in an automatic reflex that bespoke etiquette training in his early years. She wondered if he realized that might be a clue to his identity, or, at least, to the nature of his upbringing, but chose not to bring up the subject just then.

  He was smiling at her, and the glint in his eyes was clearly one of frank approval. She was both pleased and uneasy. Being admired by a man, especially one as attractive as Craig Ford, was flattering. But without realizing how it might seem to him, she had, literally, changed into something more comfortable and let her hair down. And the way he was looking at her made her fear that she had given him the erroneous impression that she
had selected her attire and hairstyle with seduction, instead of comfort, in mind.

  She decided to tackle the potential misunderstanding head-on. “I hope you don’t mind my changing into my grubbies,” she said, choosing the most unromantic word she could think of. “I thought my skirt might be a bit formal for skink chasing.”

  Craig had never seen a woman who looked less grubby. Or less like a librarian. She looked...delicious. He shrugged benignly. “If I had any grubbies, I’d have changed into them, too.”

  “That’s right,” she said as comprehension dawned. “You wouldn’t have any clothes, would you?”

  “The shorts and T-shirt I was wearing when I had the accident were ruined. The social worker found some clothes for me to work in, but not much else,” he told her. “She gave me a list of local thrift shops, but I haven’t gone to any yet.” He paused. “I like your hair that way.”

  Light brown, it framed her face in loose waves. She combed her hand through it self-consciously, tucking the front strands behind her ear on one side. “The barrette gives me a headache if I keep my hair pulled back too long.”

  Another impatient thunk from the bedroom drew Craig’s attention. “How big is that cat, anyway?”

  “She’s not all that big. I think she takes a flying leap at the door.”

  “We’d better evict that skink before Buttercup hurts herself,” he said chuckling.

  “I’ll get the broom,” Holly said, spinning on her heel and exiting the room.

  “The broom?”

  “In case it makes a dash for it,” Holly called from the kitchen. She returned, armed for combat. The way she was wielding the broom, bristle-end up, like a cudgel, she could have defended her virtue against plundering Viking hordes.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a more substantial weapon?” Craig asked, still smiling. “A cannon, perhaps? Or an Uzi?”

  She responded with a pout of irritation that sent his blood pressure soaring. For a chance to taste those pouty lips again, he’d face a fire-breathing dragon. Putting those thoughts aside, he knelt next to the wicker trash can, removed the book and set it aside. “Ready?”

  Holly gave a little nod and tensed, prepared to spring into action.