Glancing at the luminous dial of her clock radio, Hope saw it was only a little past ten. She rubbed her eyes, cleared her throat, and nodded.
“Like we used to?”
Just like in the old days, Charlene wanted to have a heart-to-heart chat. Settling back against the pillows, Hope smiled.
“Okay.” Hesitant to share her worries, Hope decided to focus on the facts for now. “I think Jeff’s getting better. He said he remembered bits and pieces.”
“Really!” Charlene beamed. “Did he tell you what he remembered?”
Hope felt her face heat. Glad her friend couldn’t see her too well in the dim room, she sighed and said, “Not really. Most likely it had to do with football.”
“Football,” Charlene snorted. “Do you think he’ll remember what happened, what he did behind your back that night at the lake?”
“Right before graduation,” Hope finished, amazed that her tone sounded so steady. Inside, her nerves jangled. “I’m sure he will remember, eventually.”
“What will you do then?” Charlene whispered. “Promise me you won’t leave before the reunion.” The reunion. She would have to face all her old classmates again, knowing that all of them knew. Hope told herself they probably had forgotten; after all, it had happened ten years ago.
It appeared that leaving was, for now, out of the question.
“I’ll go to the reunion.”
“Good,” Charlene sighed. “I can’t wait to go shopping. We’ll show them that all former cheerleaders don’t necessarily get fat”
Hope giggled. ‘ ‘It’ll be interesting to see what everyone looks like now.”
“And to see if Clay can still dance,” Charlene said wistfully.
Her friend had always loved to dance. With a pang, Hope remembered how well she and Jeff had fit together, how sexy dancing with him had always made her feel.
That was in the past, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t dance with Jeff at the reunion. It would be too dangerous.
“So what do you think?” Charlene asked. “Should we do it or not?”
Hope realized she had been so deep in her thoughts that she’d missed what Charlene was saying.
“Should we get dresses similar to the ones we wore when we were on the Homecoming Court? Mine was violet sequins, remember?”
“And mine was emerald green,” Hope mused. “The color of Jeff’s eyes.” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and went on, “You know, I still have that dress back in my closet in Dallas. It looks brand new. I’ve never worn it since.”
“But can you still fit in it?”
“I think so.” Hope wore the same size she had in high school.
“I still have mine, too!” Charlene’s voice rose with her excitement. “Let’s wear ’em.”
Though she knew Charlene couldn’t see her, Hope shook her head. “I didn’t bring it with me and Dallas is too far to go to get a dress. I’d rather go down to Amarillo and buy one.” Preferably one without sequins, she added to herself, and a different color.
Charlene sighed loudly. “You’ve lost it, Hope.” Her tone was teasing. “You’ve gotten old. You aren’t fun anymore.”
Tempted to agree, Hope gave a short laugh instead. If only Charlene knew, though she couldn’t tell her. Losing a child did that to a person; it zapped the zest right out of a vibrant life. Sometimes she felt eons older than her twenty-eight years.
“I am different,” she told her old friend in a soft voice. “I’ve grown up a lot since then. I want to buy a dress that reflects that”
“Not something old-ladyish and made of chiffon?” Charlene said with mock horror.
Hope laughed. “Heck, no. Nothing like that. I was thinking more basic black, subtly elegant yet seductive.”
“You’ve been watching too many Melrose Place reruns. I think we should show up and make a splash.”
Making a splash was the last thing she wanted to do, but Hope didn’t know how to tell Charlene that “I’ll be there with Jeff,” she said softly, hoping her friend couldn’t hear the way her voice trembled.
“So?”
“Everyone knows what happened between us.” Hope ran her hand through her hair in agitation. The worst part of it was that they only knew half of it. “It was—it will be—humiliating. I don’t want to draw a lot of attention.”
All traces of laughter vanished from Charlene’s voice. “Hope, honey, that was ten years ago. No one remembers or cares. We’ve all gone on with our lives, haven’t we?”
The question hung between them, vibrating in the air.
“Of course we have.” Hope’s answer came out sharper than she intended. “But this is a small town. You know that better than most; you stayed here. People remember. People talk. I don’t want to be the main topic of gossip for the next month.”
“What do you care?” Charlene’s voice rose, showing her frustration. “You’re leaving at the end of the month anyway.”
Because she was right, Hope fell silent. She couldn’t expect her old high school friend to understand. Too many years had passed, too many nights of needless regret and hurt had changed Hope’s life forever. Things would never be the same. Never.
And Jeff and Charlene and all the rest of them must never find out why.
The next morning, Jeff pulled into the yard before dawn. The glare of his truck headlights into her bedroom window pierced her sleep, partially waking her, and his tapping on her bedroom window did the rest. Groggily, she grabbed a robe and staggered down the hall into the kitchen, and unlocked the back door to let him in.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, holding her hand to her chest to still the pounding of her heart.
She made out his grin in the dim glow of the back porch light. “Don’t you remember?” he challenged her.
Hope swayed, allowing herself to fall into a kitchen chair. “Remember what? Is your memory coming back?”
He crouched down over her, his breath warm against her cheek. “Like I said. Only in bits and pieces.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think with him so close, so big, so warm, smelling like minty aftershave and coffee.
Jeff leaned closer. Hope drew in her breath, wondering if he had come all this way, so early in the morning, to kiss her, to hold her. His eyes, dark in the faint light, gazed into hers. She felt boneless, weak, trembling.
“Jeff . . .” she whispered his name, a trembling plea.
“Yes?” he whispered back, closer still, his mouth mere inches away from hers.
She heard a sound, a quiet moan, startling only in the fact that it had come from her. Slowly, Jeff bent over her. Hope slowly reached up and put her hands on his shoulders.
“Fishing!” he whispered, his mouth brushing hers in the lightest of dry kisses. It was the kiss of an acquaintance, the kiss a man might give to an elderly aunt. A kiss utterly, totally devoid of passion.
Jarred and hurt, Hope reared her head back. “What?”
‘ ‘Fishing! ’ ’ Finally he moved, taking both her hands in his and squeezing them. “Don’t you remember how much you used to love to go fishing with me?”
She remembered every moment they’d spent together, including the lazy afternoons and evenings they’d whiled away out at the lake, two poles stuck in the water. She simply hadn’t expected it, not now, not without warning.
“You want to go fishing?” she asked faintly. “Now?”
“Yep.” His smile gleamed again, reminding her exactly how foolish she’d been. “I got licenses yesterday, our poles are in the truck, and I bet no one has taken our old spot.”
It must be sleep fogging her brain. “You remember fishing.”
“Yes.” His deep voice still rang with excitement “It woke me up, out of a dead sleep. I remembered, Hope. I remembered.”
In the darkness, she had to smile. He reminded her of one of her third graders, flushed with triumph over an accomplishment
“Give me a minute.” Pushing him away, she felt irrationally gla
d she’d worn boxer shorts and a pajama top to sleep in instead of something sexy.
She stumbled to the bathroom, closed the door, and flicked on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. Cold water and soap took care of her face. With a few deft motions, she braided her hair and tried to remember what she’d worn to go fishing on those long ago summer mornings.
In her bedroom, she turned on the small lamp on the dresser. Looking at home, Jeff lounged on the end of her bed, watching her expectantly. He wore a faded pair of shorts and an equally worn T-shirt Hope reached into a drawer and pulled out her lone pair of shorts, the ones she only wore inside her apartment or over a swim suit Grabbing a bra, panties, and an equally decrepit T-shirt, she traipsed back to the bathroom, oddly happy.
Jeff remembered something. It was a start. Pulling the T-shirt over her head, Hope grimaced. What would happen when he remembered what had happened at the end, between them? She had to leave before he had a chance to find out what a horrible thing she’d done.
She had to leave before he had time to hate her.
A light tap on the door startled her.
“Are you ready?” Jeff hissed, his voice sounding loud in the quiet house.
For an answer, she swung the door open, pasting a smile on her face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
With an unselfconscious assurance that broke her heart, he took her hand, pulling her along the hallway after him. “Let’s go, then. I want to get out there while the fish are still biting.”
He let his truck coast backwards to the end of the driveway before starting the engine. Still, the rumbling roar of it seemed to echo down the slumbering street. It was a wonder Hope could hear at all, with the sound of her heart hammering in her ears.
She was glad Jeff had released her hand when they got into the truck. She slid all the way across the bench seat until her thigh pressed against the passenger door. If he noticed, Jeff gave no sign.
The full moon cast a silver glow on the deserted streets. Jeff rolled down his window. After a moment’s hesitation, Hope did the same. The sound of crickets and locusts filled the cab, along with the muted hum of traffic on the interstate.
“They’ve started rebuilding the store,” he told her, never taking his gaze off the road. “Or at least, they’re scheduled to begin framing today. It will look just like it used to, only new.”
Hope swallowed, and hoped her tone sounded casual enough. “Do you remember what it looked like?”
He gave a quiet laugh. “No. Not really. But there are pictures. The blueprints were on file in city hall. I’m hoping that, as the thing takes shape, I will remember.”
Odd, how it all fit: rebuilding the store while Jeff struggled to rebuild his life.
When they turned onto the dirt road, the back end of the truck skidded. Jeff let out a quiet laugh, touching her shoulder lightly. Hope jumped.
“Remember?”
She did. Though she knew he meant the way he used to drive, reckless and full of life, she remembered more. The last time they’d come down this road had been the end of them. She’d flung accusations at him like stones, hoping he would refute them, hoping what she’d heard had been only a lie.
But he hadn’t even tried. He’d stood there, head bowed, finally admitting, in a voice so low she’d had to strain to hear it, the truth. The hurtful, hateful truth.
Closing her eyes, Hope bit her bottom lip. She could see herself then, still feel the tears that she’d refused to cry burning like a hot ache in the back of her throat Without another word, she’d turned and left him there, the moonlight reflecting silver in the lake. She’d left him there and begun to walk, her anger fueling her, though it was at least ten miles back to town and she’d worn sandals.
Of course he’d hopped in his truck and offered to drive her. She’d kept on walking, head held high, ignoring him, pretending he wasn’t there. Somehow, she thought the simple action of putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until her feet were blistered and raw, might exorcise the emotional pain.
He’d followed her, no doubt hoping she would grow tired and give up. She hadn’t
When she’d staggered home, an hour from sunrise, her entire body had hurt But nothing, nothing, hurt as badly as her heart
“Hope?” Jeff’s deep voice, ragged with concern, penetrated her thoughts. “Are you all right?”
Numbly she nodded. “Just remembering,” she choked out
He pulled under the spreading branches of an ancient gnarled pinon and killed the engine. Turning in his seat to face her, he looped one arm along the back of the seat and cocked his head. “The last time that we came here?”
Shock knifed through her. “You ... you remember?”
“Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “I know we argued, but about what I don’t know.” His sigh was full of regret and frustration. “My memory is coming back, but it’s full of holes. Help me out here. I need you to tell me.”
Hope gaped at him, clasping her hands together to try and still their trembling. “Tell you? ’’she repeated.
“Please.” Urgency trembled in his voice.
The moon reflected in his eyes, making them gleam silver, reminding her of that long ago night. Jeff, who had no idea what he asked, wanted to make her rip open her heart and bleed again.
“It shouldn’t hurt” she whispered, half to herself. “After all these years, it shouldn’t still hurt”
But it did.
He covered her hand with his own, big and warm and comforting. Somehow, Hope controlled the nearly savage urge to yank her hand away.
“Tell me,” he urged, leaning close enough that she could smell the scent of his aftershave.
Taking a deep breath, Hope clutched his hand like a lifeline and tried to decide where to begin. “I returned your ring to you that night” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I had worn it around my neck, on a chain, under my clothes so no one would see. We planned to get married once we were away at college. We planned ...” her voice broke. She stared out the window blindly, trying to compose herself, wondering why it was so hard.
“I asked you to marry me?”
Wordlessly, she nodded. “We were secretly engaged for most of our senior year. No one knew except for Clay and Charlene.”
With a gentle motion, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “We came out here right before graduation, I know. And we fought”
“We fought” The stark phrase couldn’t begin to sum up what had happened that night—that cloudless, moonlit night when her world had begun to shatter.
Jeff waited. Patiently, he continued to stroke her hand while the sun colored the eastern horizon in vivid shades of orange and gold.
“We fought,” she said again.
He nodded. “And you walked all the way home, though I begged you to get in my truck.”
“If you remember that” she turned on him, yanking her hand away, anger and panic making her tremble, “then why don’t you remember the rest?”
“I don’t know.” Sliding over to where she huddled next to the passenger door, he pulled her stiff body into his arms and held her. He held her close to his broad chest, stroking her hair to comfort her the way he used to so many years ago.
It felt so good. Too damn good.
“Jeff—”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear.
She gave an involuntary shudder, feeling herself weaken. How easy it would be to allow herself to sink into the familiar comfort of his embrace, to allow his touch to erase the years of pain and hurt How easy it would be to start anew.
It would be so easy—at least until Jeff remembered. When he remembered, he would start asking questions. Questions that she didn’t want to answer.
He nuzzled her neck, causing an involuntary groan to escape her. It would be so easy ... but there was her secret. The ten-year-old story of the horrible secret she’d kept from him.
When he found out, he would hate her.
Though it took every ounce of her self-control, she pushed him away.
“Come on.” Her voice sounded artificially bright, overly loud in the hushed silence of the early morning. “We’ve got fish to catch.”
After a moment’s stunned silence, Jeff gave a stiff nod. He slid out of the truck, came around to her side, and opened the door.
Careful to avoid touching him, Hope moved past him to stand at the edge of the lake. “So many memories,” she murmured to herself.
Though she hadn’t intended it, Jeff heard her. Setting down his poles and tackle box, he came to stand at her side, staring as she did out over the still water. “Were they all bad?” he asked, his voice expressionless. “The memories, I mean.”
Deliberately, she forced herself to think back, before his betrayal, before the end. It was absurd how she suddenly wanted to comfort him the way he’d attempted to comfort her earlier.
“Oh, no,” she told him, filling her lungs with the damp morning air. “We had some wonderful times out on this lake. Every weekend in the summer we would come here. Clay’s parents had a boat—”
“The Lucky Striker.”
Stunned, Hope stared. “Tell me what you remember.”
Head down, he kicked at a pebble, sending it flying into the shallow water at the lake’s edge. “I remember water-skiing. Clay drove, and you and I skied double.”
“All the time.” Excitement warred with dread inside her. “You were good.”
He lifted his head to smile at her, a smile so full of life and joy that it made her heart stop. “So were you.” His husky tone seemed to contain a double meaning.
She flushed. “We caught a lot of fish on this lake. Night fishing for crappie, bottom fishing for catfish, and trolling for bass. You would skin and fillet them and we would cook them right here, over an open fire.”
He moved closer. Hope had to keep herself from moving away.
“We made love under that tree.”
She gasped at his murmured words. Involuntarily, she turned her head to stare at the tree. A hundred pictures filled her mind: the slow, drugging kisses, the sensual exploration, the explosion of passion. Jeff didn’t know it, but they’d done more than make love under that tree. They’d made a baby under that tree.
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