Finding You

by Maureen Child

  A small curl of warmth sputtered to life in the pit of his stomach. He shoved one hand through his hair, then scrubbed that hand across his mouth again. A tightness in his chest squeezed his lungs. He needed air.

  Turning around, he grabbed the window sash and threw it open. The wood scraped against its frame, like fingernails down a blackboard. Instantly a cool ocean-kissed summer breeze rushed in and flooded the room, carrying the combined scents of sea and pine and the jasmine bush at the edge of Carla’s yard. He inhaled it all, taking it inside him, making a memory of this moonlit night when the magic ended.

  “Diane and I weren’t happy,” he said, and almost laughed at the pitiful understatement. Weren’t happy. That didn’t go anywhere near describing the fights, the slammed doors, the whispered insults, and the icy chill that had settled over their apartment. “We hadn’t been for a long time.” Shaking his head, he let the night air brush past him and studied the darkened backyard as if he could find answers in the shadows. “Got married for all the wrong reasons and couldn’t find enough good ones to stay married.” He threw Carla a quick glance, then turned away again. “She was talking to a lawyer. Told me that last morning that she was going to file for divorce.”

  She looked confused. “I’m sorry.…”

  Jackson didn’t even acknowledge her. Sympathy for a long-dead marriage wasn’t important. What was important was that she understand why he wasn’t doing what his heart wanted him to do right now. Why he couldn’t. “It was raining. I mean pouring. The sky was black and the rain was hard, falling down so thick it was like some bucket in heaven had been upended.” His hands tightened on the window frame, his fingertips digging into the old, worn wood. “Diane was afraid to drive in the rain. Didn’t like it. Said the slippery roads scared her. Asked me to drive her and Reese to the doctor.”

  He nodded to himself as he saw that morning all over again. His memory was crystal clear. He saw Diane’s face again and the angry tears gathered in her eyes. And he saw himself, dismissing it.

  “But I had a big meeting,” he told Carla, snorting now at the stupid excuse that had seemed so important at the time. “So I told her to grow up. Told her that once we were divorced she’d have to drive herself, so she might as well get used to it.”

  “Jackson—”

  “I told her she was being ridiculous!” his voice boomed out, smothering hers and forcing Carla to really hear him. “It was just rain, for God’s sake.”

  And Diane had screamed at him. Her society friends probably wouldn’t have recognized her with her features twisted and red with anger. She’d called him a few names—nothing he hadn’t heard from her before—then she’d taken Reese and slammed out of the apartment.

  It was the last time he saw Diane.

  Until the cops pulled back that yellow tarp and he stared into her open, lifeless eyes and saw guilt staring back at him.

  “An hour later,” he said abruptly, closing off that particular memory, “she was dead.” He pushed away from the wall and forced himself to turn and look at Carla again. “My wife was dead and my little girl went from screaming for her dead mother to absolute silence in the blink of an eye.”

  One tear rolled down Carla’s cheek and shone silver in the moonlight until she brushed it away. It touched him that she would cry for him. For Reese. And his insides raged because the one woman who had ever given a damn about him was the one he’d have to walk away from for the sake of his child.

  He’d failed Reese once.

  He wouldn’t again.

  “I can’t even imagine how terrible that was to live through,” Carla said, her gaze locked with his, “but how was it your fault?”

  “Are you serious?” Dumbfounded, he just stared at her for a heartbeat or two. He’d confessed his deep dark secret and she still didn’t get it? Didn’t she understand the torment he’d been living with for the last year? Throwing his hands high again, he asked, “Didn’t you hear me? Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yeah, I was.” She took a step closer. “I heard you describe a terrible accident. I didn’t hear where you caused it.”

  “Christ, Carla. Diane was scared. She asked for help and I turned her down. If I’d been driving, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “That’s the point,” he snarled, angry at himself, not her. “I’ll never know that.”

  “This is nuts,” Carla said, and followed him as he walked out of the bedroom. She was only a step or two behind him when he entered the kitchen. “You can’t blame yourself by playing the ‘what if’ game.”

  He grabbed a glass off the counter, turned on the water tap, and filled it. Then he shut the water off, drained the glass in one long gulp, and set it back onto the counter. He didn’t look at her. “What ifs are all I’ve got left.”

  Carla’s mind was spinning. Yes, it was terrible. A hideous accident. Diane died and that was tragic. What had happened to Reese was horrible. But the fact that he was going to punish himself for the rest of his life was ridiculous.

  “Only if you let them be.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh, yes, I do,” she said. “What if you’d been driving? Well, gee, Jackson, what if it hadn’t been raining? What if Diane hadn’t been afraid to drive in the rain? What if Reese’s doctor’s appointment was for the following day instead? What if you hadn’t lived in Chicago?”

  He shot her a dismissive glance, then stomped past her to pace the living room. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “And your scenario does?” She went right after him.

  “I was there. I could have helped. I didn’t.”

  “And if you hadn’t been home, then what?”

  “But I was.”

  “Maybe if you’d been driving, you all would have been killed.”

  “We don’t know that, though, do we?”

  “That doesn’t change the facts, Jackson.” She reached out, grabbed his arm, and tugged until he turned around to look at her. “You can play ‘what if’ forever, but it’s useless. You can’t change what happened, and torturing yourself won’t make it any easier.”

  “It shouldn’t be easier.”

  Carla drew her head back and looked at him. He wanted to suffer. Thought he deserved it. And wouldn’t settle for less.

  “I get it,” she said softly. “You have to be a martyr.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She choked out a short laugh. “Sure you did. But for how long, Jackson? One year? Five? Ten?”

  “I—” He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

  “You’re hiding from the past,” she said, “but you’re going to miss the future.”

  “Yeah?” he snapped, whipping his head around to pin her with a steely blue gaze. “Look who’s talkin’.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She played dumb despite the fact that she knew darn well where he was headed with this.

  “You’ve been hiding, too, Carla. Running from the one time you weren’t able to help. You took all the blame for that, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know,” he said, his voice soft, his words decisive. “You didn’t find the boy. Neither did anyone else who was looking for him. You know what the difference is?” he asked, closing the gap between them. “The difference is, you’re the only one who quit. Everyone else who was there that day is still working, aren’t they? They’re going out on other searches, helping when they can. You walked away from something you were meant to do. That only a handful of people in the world are capable of doing.” He reached out and tilted her chin up with the tips of his fingers.

  Her gaze met his and everything inside Carla went still. Even her heartbeat seemed to stop.

  “You quit rather than help others who might need you.” He shook his head and smiled sadly. “So don’t stand there and tell me not to live on ‘if I’das.’ You’re doing it yourself
.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she blinked frantically to clear them. She wanted to argue his point. She wanted to remind him that the others who’d been looking for Jamie hadn’t loved him. She wanted to say that her failure had been more than messing up on her job. It had been losing a little boy who was a part of her life, her world.

  Carla choked back the tears crowding her throat. She wanted to tell him all of that. But she couldn’t. Because he was right. Damn it, he was right. For two whole years, she’d clung to her failure and hugged her hurts close. She’d taken the blame for Jamie’s loss, though she was no more culpable than any of the other searchers out there that long, miserable day.

  “Oh God.” Carla clutched her fingers together in front of her. Looking up at him, she said softly, “Good shot, Jackson. You hit your target dead center.”

  “Carla, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, just—”

  “To make me understand.” She pulled in a long, shaky breath and felt it shudder through her. “Well, congrats. You did it. You scored where no one else has been able to. Not Jamie’s parents, not my family.” Her bottom lip trembled and she bit into it briefly. “I have been hiding. From the pain? From the failure? I’m not sure which.” Carla walked past him, kicked a fallen throw pillow out of her way, and stopped at the wide front window. “I’d never failed before. Not at anything that was important to me. And it shames me to think that maybe it was my own failure and not the loss of Jamie that’s kept me hiding all this time.”

  “Carla, that’s not true—”

  She lifted one hand to cut him off. “It’s not the point right now, anyway,” she said. “That’s something I’ll have to figure out on my own.” Turning around to look at him, she studied him as if it was the last time she’d ever see him. In the dim light, his features were drawn and tight and looked as though they’d been clawed out of marble. “The point is, Jackson … that I’m at least willing to admit that I’ve been wrong. You won’t. Instead, you’re going to live with a guilt that isn’t yours and let it punch you in the heart every time you look at your daughter.”

  He swayed as if her words had hit home.

  “I can’t put myself first, Carla. Not now. Not when Reese needs me so much.”

  “I love her, too, Jackson,” she said. “And I want her to be healthy and happy again. But tucking her—and yourself—away isn’t the answer.”

  “Do you know what is, then?” he asked, his voice a low growl in the silent room. “Because I’ve been looking for that answer for a year now and I haven’t been able to find it.”

  “Maybe,” Carla said softly, “it’s because you’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “YOU DID IT, DIDN’T you?” Stevie demanded, and tightened her grip on the phone.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Nice try, Carla. I know you better than that. And you’ve been crying.” Damn it. He’d made her cry. That son of a bitch. Stevie picked up a pen and stabbed it at her desk blotter.

  She usually liked the early-morning hours at the Leaf and Bean. It was quiet, just a few regulars at their favorite tables. But this call from Carla had blackened her mood in an instant.

  “I knew it last night,” Stevie said tightly, and took another stab with the pen, pretending it was going straight into Jackson Wyatt’s black heart. Just wait until she caught up to him. “When you guys left the picnic I knew you were headed for bed.”

  “Gee,” Carla said, “a psychic.”

  “Fine. The signs were there for anybody to read. But I also knew you’d gone and fallen in love with him.”

  On the other end of the line, Carla sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not,” Stevie defended. “He is.” Damn it. Hadn’t she warned that bastard what she’d do to him if he hurt Carla? Hadn’t her threat been clear enough?

  “Look,” Carla said on a heavy sigh. “I didn’t call to whine or to sic you on him. I just called to say I’m going to skip out on our lunch today.”

  Understanding, Stevie said, “Okay, you’re excused.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “For one day,” Stevie told her, standing up in her office as if Carla could see her making the point. “I give you one day to feel sorry for yourself. Tomorrow I want you fighting mad.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “I’ll call you later.” When Carla hung up, Stevie replaced the phone in the cradle and gave serious thought to hunting down Jackson Wyatt. But as soon as the urge presented itself, she realized she’d be better off waiting until she’d cooled down a little. Going after the man while her best friend’s teary voice still rang in her ears almost guaranteed that somebody was going to get hurt. And it wouldn’t be her.

  Grumbling under her breath, she left the office and went out into the shop. She checked her regulars, refilled coffee cups, served some cinnamon bread, and kept repeating, Stay busy. That’s the secret. Stay busy.

  Naturally, the rest of her morning was shot to hell when the front door opened and Nick walked in. And as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, thoughts of Carla flew out of her mind the minute Nick showed up.

  He paused on the threshold as if unsure of his welcome. Stevie took that moment for a good, long look at him. Nick Candellano looked like thirty miles of bad road.

  His hair stood on end; his clothes were wrinkled as if he’d slept in them—which she was pretty sure he had done, since jails seldom furnished jammies. His cheeks were covered in black stubble, and one of his eyes was swollen shut and blossoming purple like an overblown hydrangea.

  He caught her gaze, winced with his one good eye, and sheepishly made his way over to the counter. The few people in the shop insisted on stopping him to talk football, which gave her a long opportunity to observe him. Those long legs of his moved with an easy grace that made her think he really belonged swaggering on board a ship. A pirate ship. She could see him, hair flying in the wind, barking orders to his men, sailors scrambling to comply—and some dumbshit woman standing beside him, gazing up at him adoringly.

  Oh, good God.

  She was just a touch crankier than usual when she greeted him. Planting one hand on her hip, she said, “Well, hi, Dick. I mean, Nick.”

  “Funny,” he said, and his voice sounded low and raspy. “Real funny.”

  “Who’s making jokes?”

  “Gimme a break, will you, Stevie?” He planted his elbows on the counter and cupped his head in his hands. “It’s been a rough morning.”

  “Preceded by a crappy night.” God, he looked miserable. By all rights, she should be happy about that. But she wasn’t. Nick had been the one big heartbreak in her life, but she still didn’t hate him.

  “Pretty much,” he agreed, then added, “Don’t talk so loud, okay?”

  Stevie buried the smile twitching at her lips. He surely wouldn’t see the humor in it. “Whose door did you walk into?”

  “Huh?” He lifted his head to stare at her.

  “Your eye, dumbshit. How’d you get that black—excuse me, purple—eye?”

  “A present from my brother.”

  “Intriguing. Which one?”

  “Which one has the key to the jail cell?”

  “Ahh.…” Reaching behind her, Stevie grabbed the coffeepot and an empty blue ceramic cup. Filling it, she set the cup in front of him, right under his nose. “Well, you could always sue him for police brutality.”

  Nick choked out a harsh laugh and made a grab for the coffee. “You want him to kill me?”

  When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off.

  “Never mind. Don’t answer that.” He rubbed one hand across his whiskery jaw and said, “I came to get my car keys. Tony said you have them.”

  Nodding, Stevie reached for the hook beneath the counter. Picking up his key ring, she set it down in front of him. “You didn’t need your keys last night, apparently.”

  “Don’t r
emind me.”

  “What is up with you?” she asked when her curiosity overrode her common sense. “Drinking and driving?”

  “I know,” he muttered, and cradled his coffee cup between his palms. “Stupid.”

  “Beyond stupid.”

  He lifted his bleary one-eyed gaze to hers and Stevie saw real misery—not just the pangs of a hangover. A flicker of worry sparkled to life inside her before she could stop it. “What’s wrong?”

  He almost told her. She could see the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. Then for some reason, he changed his mind. Nick lifted the coffee cup and paused to inhale the rich, full scent of the hot brew before taking a deep gulp. “God,” he said on a heavy sigh. “That’s good. I may live after all.”

  Stevie smiled and pushed her curiosity aside for the time being. “Glad to hear it.”

  He flicked her a wary glance. “You are? That’s a switch.”

  “Believe it or not, Nick, I’m over you.” Stevie set the coffeepot back down onto its warming plate, then leaned her forearms on the counter. Staring directly into his one good, but bleary eye, she said frankly, “Who would I torture if you were gone?”

  * * *

  Carla had been crying.

  But she was finished now.

  Jackson was right about one thing, anyway. For two years, she’d moped and cried and felt sorry for herself. She’d mourned sweet Jamie and her own failure. She’d run home to Chandler, with a figurative tail between her legs. She’d hidden away, refusing to risk failure again, even if it had meant turning her back on the chance to help those who needed her.

  Jamie’s parents had grieved with her, never blaming, never accusing. Her own family had tried to make her see. They’d tried to tell her exactly what Jackson had only a few hours ago. Apparently, though, she hadn’t been willing to listen until she had the chance to be completely humiliated. Okay, not completely. At least she hadn’t confessed to being in love with him. She’d been spared his pity, if not his anger.