Only Forever

by Linda Lael Miller

  Vanessa smiled, despite the feeling of quiet despondency that had possessed her since the day she left Portland. “You’ve been watching the shopping channel again,” she said, evading the question her grandmother had asked her about Thanksgiving.

  Alice Bradshaw chuckled, but the sound was a little hollow. “I watch every day, sweetie. Last week, I even ordered a cordless screwdriver for your grandfather. Now, are you going to change your mind and come home or not?”

  “I have to work,” Vanessa apologized, pushing her hair back from her forehead and letting out a long breath. Actually that statement was slightly wide of the truth because she had had the day off but offered to fill in so that another host could spend the holiday with family. Even so, she wasn’t in the mood to celebrate anything since Nick was out of her life.

  Her grandmother was clearly disappointed. “Can we look for you to visit at Christmas, then?” she pressed.

  Vanessa swallowed. Christmas seemed far away, though she knew it wasn’t. Maybe by then she’d have a grip on herself. “Okay,” she agreed, looking distractedly at the wall calendar on the pantry door. “It’s a date.”

  Alice was clearly pleased and excited. “You could bring that young man of yours along—the one Rodney’s been telling us about.”

  Vanessa closed her eyes, feeling as though she’d just been struck a blow to the midsection. When I get through with you, Rodney Bradshaw, she thought venomously, it will take every chiropractic instructor in that school to put you back together. “Nick and I aren’t seeing each other anymore,” she said with cheery bleakness. “How’s Grampa?”

  “What do you mean you aren’t seeing Nick anymore?” Alice demanded, not to be put off by questions about the hearty health of her husband. “Rodney said this was it!”

  “Rodney doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Vanessa said tightly.

  Alice sighed. “I knew something was wrong by the way you looked. That man went and did you dirty, didn’t he?”

  Saying yes would have satisfied Alice, but Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to lie. Nick had been stubborn, unbending and chauvinistic, but he hadn’t made a deliberate effort to break her heart. “Nothing so dramatic,” she confessed. “There were a few fundamental things we couldn’t agree on, that’s all.”

  The conversation ended a few minutes after that and, just as Vanessa was hanging up, Rodney rapped at the back door and let himself in.

  He was obviously ready to make the long drive to Spokane. “Sure you don’t want to go along?” he asked slyly.

  Vanessa glared at him, her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with you, you big mouth,” she said. “What did you mean by telling Gramma and Grampa about Nick?”

  Rodney sighed. “Every time I called them they asked how you were getting along and whether or not you had a man in your life. I suppose I should have lied?”

  “Of course not,” Vanessa said, sagging a little.

  “Call Nick,” Rodney told her. “You’re never going to be happy until you do.”

  Vanessa shook her head. Being a man, Rodney probably wouldn’t understand if she explained, so she didn’t make the effort.

  One of Rodney’s shoulders moved in a shrug. “It’s your choice, of course. I’ll see you on Monday, Van.”

  She accepted his brotherly kiss on the forehead. “Be careful,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying. “It’s snowing on Snoqualmie Pass.”

  Rodney grinned. “I’ll be okay,” he promised, and then, after giving Vanessa a quick hug, he left.

  It was time to leave for the studio, so she wrapped herself up in her warmest cloth coat, pulled a fuzzy green stocking cap onto her head and left the house.

  When she arrived at work, a message awaited her. Paul wanted to see her in his office immediately.

  Vanessa pulled off her stocking cap and coat as she walked down the hallway and knocked at her boss’s door. While she hadn’t actually given notice, it was common knowledge at the network that she wouldn’t be renewing her contract.

  Paul was standing when she stepped through his doorway. “Before we get down to business,” he said when Vanessa was seated in a chair facing his desk, “I’m under strict orders to invite you to our house for dinner tomorrow night. We’re having turkey and pumpkin pie—the whole bit. Say you’ll be there and Janet will be off my back.”

  Vanessa smiled sadly and shook her head. “I’m in no mood to ‘accidentally’ run into your best friend,” she said.

  Paul sighed and spread his hands. “I tried. Janet had some idea that if your eyes met Nick’s over the stuffing and candied yams, lightning would strike.”

  “Nick is going to be there, then?” Vanessa asked, unable to stop herself.

  Paul shrugged. “I was going to ask him after you went to do your segment. Which brings me to the real reason I called you in here. The network is prepared to offer you a sizeable raise to stay on.”

  Vanessa lowered her eyes and shook her head, but after a few moments she met Paul’s gaze steadily. “I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful,” she said. “You gave me my first real job, and I’ll never forget that.”

  There was a short silence, then Paul asked, “Have you made any decisions about where you’ll go next?”

  She sighed, thinking of her ordeal on that talk show with Parker and of the lurid stories that had come out in the tabloids a week afterward. BASEBALL GREAT RESCUES DRUNKEN EX, one of the headlines had read. It still amazed her that the publicity had helped her career instead of ending it once and for all. “No,” she answered at last, “but I am leaning toward the job in San Francisco.” It was the first time she’d admitted that, even to herself. She wanted to be a long way from the memories of Nick.

  “You never heard from Seattle This Morning?”

  Vanessa tried to smile as she shook her head. “Ironic, isn’t it? They were probably the only ones who were put off by the article in the National Snoop.”

  “Nobody takes that rag seriously,” Paul said, dismissing the subject. “We’ll all be very sorry to see you go, Vanessa,” he finished.

  Vanessa couldn’t answer since she had a lump in her throat the size of a football helmet. She paused in the doorway, though, and when she was able to speak again, she asked, “What was Nick’s number? When he was still playing ball, I mean?”

  Paul thought for a moment. “Fifty-eight, I think. Why?”

  Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered, and when she looked back at Paul over one shoulder, there were tears glistening in her eyes.

  Her boss got out of his chair, crossed the room and simultaneously closed the door and drew her into his arms. “Van, no job is worth this,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t say that if I were a man,” Vanessa wailed, completely miserable.

  Paul chuckled. “I wouldn’t be holding you if you were a man, either,” he pointed out.

  Vanessa began to sob as the enormity of losing Nick washed over her once again. It was like parting with a lung.

  Paul led her back to the chair she’d just left, seated her and buzzed his secretary to ask her to bring in a glass of cold water.

  “Nick is a reasonable man,” he insisted once the secretary had gone. “I’m sure you could come to some kind of agreement if you’d just talk things over!”

  She dabbed her eyes with a tissue plucked from the box on Paul’s desk and then wadded it into a ball. She was a wreck; she had to pull herself together and stop moping around all the time. “When I was married to Parker,” she said in the thick lisp of the terminally weepy, “I had to hand over all my dreams like a dowry. He didn’t want me to go to college, so I quit. He didn’t want children, so I gave up on the idea of having babies. Do you really wonder why I don’t want to wake up one morning and find myself in the same trap with Nick?”

  Paul sighed. “Take the rest of the day off, Vanessa—you’re in no shape to sell ceiling fans. Mel is on a roll today—I’m sure he won’t mind filling in for you.”

>   Vanessa refused. She wouldn’t have it said that she couldn’t pull her own weight.

  Fifteen minutes later she went on camera and started pitching musical jewelry boxes. Despite Margie’s skill with makeup, a glance at the monitor assured Vanessa that she looked bad enough to scare Boris Karloff.

  She was demonstrating the ugliest floor lamp in captivity when Oliver smilingly announced that it was time to take a call from a viewer.

  “What’s your name?” Vanessa’s cohost asked, reaching out to touch the lamp fondly.

  “Nick DeAngelo,” responded the caller. “What’s yours?”

  Vanessa stepped on the base of the lamp at that moment, causing it to wave madly from side to side. She flung both arms around the thing just as it would have toppled to the floor.

  “We’ve got to talk,” Nick said. “Will you have dinner with me tonight, Vanessa?”

  “No,” Vanessa answered, and it was a struggle to get the word out.

  “You’re being stubborn,” Nick insisted.

  “Do you want a floor lamp or not?” Vanessa yelled, wondering when those jerks in the control booth were going to disconnect the call. It was obvious that this was no ordinary viewer.

  Nick laughed. “I’ve missed you, too, babe,” he said, and his voice was a brandy-and-cream rumble that brought pink color pulsing to Vanessa’s cheeks.

  The floor director seemed delighted. He stood beside one of the cameramen, signaling Vanessa to continue. Her chest swelled as she drew a deep, deliberate breath in an effort to keep her composure. She tried to smile, but the effort was hopeless.

  “This is really not the time or place for this,” she said, speaking as pleasantly as she could. “Some of our other viewers are probably anxious to talk to us about these lamps.”

  Again the item in question teetered dangerously; again Vanessa caught it just in time.

  “Far be it from me to stand in the way of free enterprise,” Nick replied. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

  Vanessa squared her shoulders and looked directly into the camera. “I’ve moved,” she lied, hoping he would take the hint.

  “I’ll find you,” Nick replied.

  It was all she could do not to stomp her feet and scream in frustration. “All right, all right. If I agree to see you, will you hang up?”

  “Absolutely,” was the generous response.

  “Then I’ll see you at seven-thirty,” Vanessa said moderately, seething inside.

  The cameramen cheered and, at the end of her segment, Vanessa learned that the switchboard had been lighted up for the entire three hours she was on. It did seem that everybody loved a lover.

  Vanessa stepped through her front door at five-fifteen, screamed in a belated release of her temper and hurled her purse across the living room. Her cat gave a terrified meow and fled up the stairs, and Vanessa was instantly contrite.

  “I’m sorry,” she called out, but it was no use. Sari would not forgive such a transgression unless Vanessa groveled and made an offering of creamed tuna.

  Nick arrived promptly at seven-thirty, wearing the tuxedo he’d had on the first time Vanessa met him. He was as handsome as ever, although there was a hollow expression in his eyes.

  He took in Vanessa’s glimmery blue dress with appreciation as she stepped back to admit him. “I half expected that you would have moved out of state before I got here,” he said.

  Vanessa averted her eyes. She’d fantasized about seeing Nick again for days but, despite all those mental rehearsals, the reality was nearly overwhelming. She couldn’t help hoping that he was ready to give some ground where their relationship was concerned so that they could forge some kind of future together.

  “You look very dapper,” she commented, ignoring his remark. The lapels of his coat were of glistening black satin, and it was difficult not to touch him.

  “Thank you,” he replied with a slight inclination of his head.

  Vanessa, who earned her living by thinking on her feet, talking for as long as three hours virtually nonstop, was tongue-tied. All the things she longed to say to Nick were caught in her throat, practically choking her.

  He seemed to be looking into her soul and reading her most private emotions. “It’s all right,” he said, touching her face briefly with one hand. “We’ll find our way through all this somehow. I promise.”

  Vanessa wished she could be so sure. As he laid her velvet evening coat over her shoulders, she fought to hold back tears of confusion and fear.

  A lot of people would have said she was crazy, she thought, as she and Nick whisked through the rainy night in his Corvette. Jock or no jock, this was a rare and gentle man, the kind most women would have tackled and hog-tied. And Paul had been right when he’d said that no job was worth the kind of pain the loss of Nick DeAngelo had caused her. As if that weren’t enough, Vanessa knew she loved the man to distraction.

  She’d been holding him at arm’s length since the night they met, comparing him to Parker. Down deep, she’d known all along that Nick was as different from her ex-husband as salt was from sugar.

  There could be only one reason for her failure to make a commitment, and that was fear—fear of loving and then losing, trusting and being betrayed.

  The end of her relationship with Parker had been bitterly painful, even though she’d wanted the divorce and known that she had no other choice. If that happened with Nick, she knew she wouldn’t be able to endure it.

  She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the back of the seat.

  “Don’t be afraid, Vanessa,” Nick said softly. “Please.”

  Vanessa looked at him, drew in the scent of his cologne. “That’s like asking a burn victim not to be be scared of fire,” she replied in a sad voice.

  Nick sighed. “I’m not the guy who burned you,” he reminded her. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “You have more power over me than Parker ever dreamed of having,” Vanessa admitted, unable to keep the words back. “If you wanted to, you could crush me so badly that I’d never find all the pieces.”

  He turned his head and glowered at her. “You’re stronger than you think you are,” he said, clearly annoyed. “Give yourself—and me—a little credit.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the car after that, and neither Nick nor Vanessa spoke until they’d reached DeAngelo’s and been seated inside a private dining room.

  Vanessa had never seen a more elegant room. There was a single table in front of a view of Elliot Bay. The streets were lighted up like a tangle of Christmas tree lights, the colors smudged by the rain that sheeted the windows. Candles provided the only light, and a violinist serenaded Nick and Vanessa as they sat looking at each other, comfortable with the music.

  When the music stopped the first waiter appeared, bringing champagne. He popped the cork and poured the frothy liquid into their glasses, being very careful not to look at either Vanessa or Nick.

  Vanessa arched an eyebrow the moment they were alone. “No diet cola?” she joked.

  Nick grinned. “I’m trying to get past your defenses here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Vanessa said with a sigh, clinking her glass against Nick’s as he lifted it in a toast.

  “To page 72,” he said.

  Vanessa laughed and sipped her wine. For the first time in days she felt whole and human. It would be so easy to give herself to Nick body and soul, and that was exactly why she had to keep herself under control.

  “I saw a shadow in your eyes just now,” Nick said, reaching across the table to take her hand in his. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Guess.”

  His jawline tightened then relaxed again. “The perils of loving Nick DeAngelo?” he ventured.

  Vanessa nodded and looked away toward the harbor. “Did Paul and Janet invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject. God knew, the one at hand was a blind alley.

  His hand
gripped hers for a moment, then moved away. “Yes,” he said. “Vanessa, look at me.”

  She hated the fact that her first impulse was always to do exactly what Nick told her. Before she could do anything about it, her gaze had shifted to his face. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  “Will you come home with me tonight?”

  Vanessa wanted to be flippant. “You move fast,” she said, and immediately felt like a bumbling teenager.

  “Vanessa.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, I won’t sleep with you, Nick.”

  “Why not?”

  The nerve. “Because pilgrims don’t sleep around, that’s why.”

  Nick tilted his head to one side and studied her. “What?” he asked, looking honestly puzzled.

  She smiled, albeit very sadly. “Tomorrow morning I have to get up, put on a pilgrim costume and sell my little heart out. Does that answer your question?”

  “Not by a long shot,” Nick grumbled as a second waiter appeared with enormous salads.

  Vanessa ate with good appetite, having learned her lesson about too much wine on an empty stomach, and by the time the broiled lobster had been served, she felt almost human.

  Dessert made her positively daring. When Nick took her home, she invited him in for a drink.

  The living room was dark, but Vanessa didn’t bother to turn on a light since there was virtually no furniture to bump into. She was leading the way toward the kitchen when a crash and groan behind her made her leap for the switch.

  Nick was sprawled on the floor on his back, looking for all the world like someone who had fallen off a ten-story building.

  Vanessa dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you all right?” she cried.

  “My back is out,” he answered, moaning.

  There was no time to be wasted. Vanessa went right to the heart of the matter and panicked. She scrambled for the afghan her grandmother had knitted and covered him with it as if he were a war casualty. His eyes were closed, and he was pale.

  “Nick, say something!” she cried.