by Stacey Keith
He touched the side of her face, her warm, lovely face, hoping to make her understand. But all he could think was that this might be the last time he saw her. There were knots in his stomach he’d never felt before and they had nails in them.
“I know you feel what I feel,” he whispered. “Maybe there are things in this world we aren’t supposed to control.”
For a second, the hardness in her eyes seemed to soften. Then she slid her hand inside his jeans pocket and pulled out her keys.
“No,” she said. “I’m not throwing my life away on some jerk who doesn’t deserve me. I’m not throwing it all away on you.”
Chapter 9
“Are you throwing those away?” Joanna reached across the picnic table outside Raymond County Child Protective Services and grabbed April’s uneaten Nilla Wafers. “These things are delicious. Ever spread peanut butter and chocolate on them? Or marshmallow fluff? I could eat a whole jar of marshmallow fluff.”
April lifted her eyes off the table, which she had been staring at for the past few minutes. It was exhausting, trying to have a good time. This was supposed to be a fun lunch, the kind she’d always enjoyed having with her sisters and her friends. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get in the fun lunch mood, not even with Joanna sitting across the table from her, adorably pregnant.
Next to Joanna was Felicia Hewitt, who picked at a scoop of tuna salad with her fork. Denise from the reception desk sat on April’s righthand side. Denise had an annoying habit of giggling every five seconds and calling her hon.
Everyone was talking about babies, food, what you fed babies, and what a doctor told you to eat when you were having a baby. No one at the table even had children except Joanna. Of course April had said yes when Joanna invited her outside for a girls’ picnic, but all the warm comfort she usually felt being around other women just wasn’t there today.
“Where’d you get that adorable skirt, April?” Denise asked. “It looks super cute on you.”
April glanced down at it, not quite used to the way it felt to wear pretty, sensuous fabrics. It still embarrassed her when people noticed.
“April’s been doing a little shopping,” Joanna said with a wink. “I think there’s a new fella in her life. Maybe one of our fine young men in blue?”
“Oh, so it’s official?” Felicia’s fork had red lipstick on it. She used it to keep turning over delicate flakes of tuna without really eating them. “Are you two finally a couple?”
“We just went on one date,” April said. “To San Antonio. For dinner. But I wouldn’t read too much into it.” She could tell from their faces that no one believed she and Ryan weren’t absolutely on the brink of matrimony. A part of her wished she were. Not with Ryan, exactly, but celebrating something—a new outfit, a new boyfriend, a bachelorette party—with her girlfriends. Having fun, feeling free, being happy.
Because she so wasn’t. Pretending sucked.
April remembered the night of Tessa’s bachelorette party at the Double Aces, how Brandon had found her alone on the patio. From the moment she looked up and saw him, she’d been on an endless, seasick rollercoaster of fear and desire. It seemed as though the harder she fought and clawed to save herself from those feelings, the harder they chased her.
And underneath it all was something else, something she yearned for but couldn’t identify. More than sex. Maybe even more than Brandon.
“Well, I think it’s wonderful you’re getting out more,” Joanna was saying. “Seeing you come out from behind your desk puts a big smile on my face.”
“We’re all rooting for you,” Felicia added. “He’s such a nice young man. I just know something good will come out of this.”
April felt sick. What little food she’d managed to choke down threatened to come back up again. Joanna, Felicia, Denise—none of them had any idea what had happened yesterday with Brandon. Not only had she failed to help Lisa Fisher, a client who was in serious trouble, but she’d wound up in another client’s shed saying things, feeling things, that she should rightly be fired for.
There were no excuses for her behavior. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know better. April remembered every word of the Code of Ethics for Caseworkers, especially the part about violating the worker-client relationship.
Caseworkers are forbidden to engage in physical connectedness with a client, such as touching, kissing or providing support. Caseworkers must voice a firm and unequivocal objection to same when initiated by client.
Caseworkers will be fired for crossing the line.
April looked down at the lunch table again. She had no idea how to stop this. She was drowning and couldn’t even cry out for help.
Joanna picked up a plastic fork and stabbed Felicia’s tuna salad with it. “I can’t stand watching you not eat. What’s wrong with y’all? And don’t you dare tell me you’re dieting.”
How many times had Joanna gone to bat for her? April thought miserably. How many times had Joanna patiently corrected her rookie mistakes? Maybe it was time to accept that she, April Roby, was unsuited to the position. Let Joanna hire a caseworker who actually deserved the job, who was good at it. Quitting was probably the only honorable thing to do.
Because now that Brandon had broken her heart and then made such a ham-handed effort to put it back together again, all she thought about was him. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She’d started doing things with her shower massager that were clearly wrong. But she was powerless to make those feelings go away.
She wanted Brandon all the time now, even though there were moments when she hated his guts.
“I lied to my whole family last night,” Joanna said. “I told them all the Easter candy was gone, but it wasn’t. I hid the last chocolate bar in the freezer so they couldn’t have any.”
Everyone laughed, except April. Denise laughed so hard, it sounded as though she were cackling. Being here made April miss her sisters so much it brought a painful lump to her throat. Maggie would sit her down, tell her she was overthinking things and then help her find a solution. Cassidy would remind her of other times they’d felt lost or alone but how it always worked out.
Then everyone saw the expression on Joanna’s face and the laughter stopped.
With a blank, distracted stare, Joanna gripped the edge of the table. “Oh, crap.”
Felicia glanced over at her. “What is it, Jo?”
“Somebody call my mother.”
April said, “Your mother?” Then she looked under the table and saw that Joanna’s water had broken. “Omigod, the baby!”
Denise cupped both hands loosely over her mouth. “Don’t you mean call your husband?”
“No!” Joanna said. “I love Wes, but when it comes to having babies, he couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. Call my mother and tell her to meet me at the hospital.”
Felicia’s mouth hung open. She looked vaguely horrified. Maybe she didn’t know going into labor involved fluids. April came around and helped Joanna to her feet. “I’m taking you up to St. Joseph’s,” she told her. Then to Denise, she said, “Go get Joanna’s purse.”
Denise ran inside screaming that Joanna was having her baby on the picnic table. All the female staffers came pouring out of the building, clearly ready to commiserate or help, but April noticed that the male staffers just peered uneasily out the window. Joanna was probably right about men in the delivery room. Better they wait outside with the cigars.
Joanna leaned on April’s shoulders as they shuffled out to the car. “I sure hope it’s a girl this time,” Joanna said, blowing out a breath. “If not, I’m going to have enough boys for a basketball team.”
April guided her around the car and then opened the door. “Here we go. Don’t bump your head.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t sit there,” Joanna said. “Don’t you have a towel?”
&n
bsp; April helped her inside the car and then pulled the seat belt way out before attaching it. “I’ve got leather seats, so I’m not worried about it. All you have to do is hang on.”
Denise came sprinting across the parking lot with Joanna’s purse and cell phone. She practically threw them through the window at April and said, “I’m going back to call Joanna’s mother now!”
“Tell her to bring snacks!” Joanna yelled to Denise before April rolled up the window. “They never feed you in these places,” she complained to April as they took off. “Hospital food is just sad.”
April fishtailed out of the parking lot and then floored it toward the Interstate. St. Joseph’s was about thirty minutes away. Since this was Joanna’s fifth pregnancy and her water had broken, they might not have much time. April trained the air conditioning vents on poor Joanna, who was sweating bullets and had a death grip on the arm rest. But it was such a relief not to think about her own problems. That was the great thing about babies. When they were ready to make their appearance, every other worry had to be put aside.
“How are you doing there?” April asked, trying to divide her attention between her friend and the road. “Do we need to start timing the contractions?”
“Every time I have a baby, I promise myself it’s the last one,” Joanna said through clenched teeth. “The pain…it’s like somebody’s stabbing you with a pitchfork.”
“When my sister, Cassidy, had her daughter,” April said, “she said it was like being set on fire.” The first of Cuervo’s two stoplights loomed ahead. Should she wait for it to turn green or cautiously run it?
“So that’s why you’re so good at this,” Joanna said.
“Good at what?”
“Helping. You didn’t freak out and you knew what to do.” Joanna grimaced and clutched the arm rest. She closed her eyes while April waited in an agony of suspense. “That was a rough one,” Joanna finally said.
April’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Those contractions were getting closer together. She had a vision of pulling over and delivering the baby on the side of the road. When Cassidy went into labor, the contractions had started small, nothing like this. April and her family had taken their time driving to St. Joseph’s because the doctor told them first babies were often slow to arrive. But Joanna’s situation was looking grimmer by the minute.
To hell with that traffic light, April thought. She slowed down just long enough to see that no one was coming and then hit the gas. That was when Ryan’s squad car came roaring up behind her.
I’m not stopping, April thought. He can just arrest me later.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Joanna said. “Here, let me talk to him.” She dug her phone out of her purse, scrolled through her contacts list and then hit call. April doubted Ryan would answer it while he was busy trying to pull her over.
Joanna gasped, clearly gripped by another contraction. Ryan’s red-and-blue police lights flashed in April’s rearview mirror. Why couldn’t he read her mind and just know what was going on? Why else would she be driving like a maniac?
“Slow down!” Ryan’s voice blasted from the cell phone.
April grabbed the phone and said, “I’ve got Joanna Westin in the car. We’re on our way to the hospital.”
“I know,” Ryan said. “One of your people from work called and told me. I’m trying to give you an escort up there, but you’re driving so fast, I can’t get in front of you.”
Oops. April let her foot off the gas and watched Ryan storm by. Joanna waved to him weakly, but she was clearly in a lot of pain. Thank heavens Ryan set such a hard pace up Old Mill Road. Now it was April who was having a tough time keeping up. She felt a surge of gratitude and appreciation for him, but even she knew it wasn’t love.
They made it to St. Joseph’s in half the time it usually took to get there. Just as April pulled up to the entrance, Ryan came outside pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Joanna just whimpered softly. It took April and Ryan both to get her out of the car and into the wheelchair, but April gave a huge sigh of relief when Joanna’s mother, Mrs. Bridges, rushed out to greet them. She looked just like Joanna, right down to the thick brown braid, and was, if possible, even more of a hippie than her daughter. If you needed goat cheese, scented candles or farm wine, you went to see Mrs. Bridges. Now, she looked as frazzled as any other mother whose daughter was about to deliver.
“You made it here in no time,” Mrs. Bridges said as they all hurried inside with Joanna moaning in the wheelchair. “I told Jo this baby would be in a hurry. After six of my own, I think I know what I’m talking about.”
They barreled through the lobby, into an elevator, and then up to labor and delivery, where Joanna’s husband, Wes, waited with a big grin. “It’s just like Christmas, isn’t it?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “And I can’t wait to see what kind of present we’re getting.”
April hugged Wes and Mrs. Bridges and then knelt to talk to Joanna. “I’ll be in the waiting area, so if you need anything, just let me know.”
Joanna patted April’s hand before the nurse wheeled her away. Then April was left with an uncomfortable sense of her own problems again.
One of them was standing right in front of her in a policeman’s uniform.
“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” Ryan said. “I saw a coffee shop downstairs and sure could use some. How about you?”
April gazed worriedly down the hall where Joanna had gone. “What if they need me and I’m gone?”
“We won’t be long,” Ryan said. “I thought we could…you know. Talk.”
She darted a glance at him as they got back into the elevator and went downstairs. Having a talk always sounded so ominous. It might’ve been nice if she’d been able to simply thank him for helping her get Joanna to the hospital, and they left it at that. Now there would be awkwardness and—on her part, at least—things left unsaid.
The coffee shop had red vinyl seats and a fifties feel to it. The waitresses wore carhop outfits that reminded April of the one her sister Cassidy had when she worked at Artie’s Burger Express. Ryan turned heads. He was tall and handsome in his policeman’s uniform. When the waitress came to take their order, she fluttered a bit.
“All you want is coffee?” he asked April after the waitress left.
“Can’t stay,” she said. “I really do have to get back upstairs.”
Ryan gave her an uneasy glance. He crossed his arms and rested both elbows on the table. “April, if I ask you a question, will you be straight with me?”
Despite the fact that her heart was now thudding in alarm, April nodded. It was worse than she’d thought. She had a moment of dread thinking he knew about her conversation with Brandon, but that was just the guilt talking.
“I had a great time the other night,” he began. “But sometimes I get the feeling you aren’t in this thing. Not like I am. I mean, sometimes you’re there with me. But then you just…check out.”
April’s hands were on the table and she kept spinning her ring around and around on her finger. She forced herself to stop and tucked both hands on her lap. “I’m trying, Ryan. But it’s like I told you. We’re friends. We work together. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”
With a pang, she saw all at once how confused and unhappy he was. The realization shocked her. Had she made him feel that way? Her stomach squirmed with dread. She’d always assumed that Ryan’s attention to her was nothing more than a fleeting crush. He was single, she was single, and people expected them to get together. What if she’d been making him miserable this whole time and hadn’t known it?
Another thought popped into her head that made her heart race even faster. That scene at Brandon’s house yesterday, the one she kept going over and over in her mind. How she’d allowed herself to want him and to daydream about being with him, only to open the door and find Roxanne and that oth
er woman half naked. The humiliation ate at her. It was awful, knowing she wanted Brandon and he wanted somebody else…and here she was doing the exact same thing to Ryan.
Her shame over wanting Brandon might have been at the top of a long list of reasons she had a hard time liking herself these days, but she owed it to Ryan to tell him the truth. And to admit to herself that worthy or not, deserving or not, Brandon had a hold on her she would never shake loose. It would kill her first.
“I’m so sorry,” she began. “I owe you an apology.”
Ryan looked at her warily from across the table. “What do you mean ‘apology’?”
“You’re a wonderful man. I know I should have told you the truth before.” She paused when the waitress set two steaming mugs of coffee on the table. After the waitress left, April took a deep breath and made herself finish it, even though she would have given anything not to hurt Ryan. “I don’t have the kinds of feelings for you that you want me to have. And I don’t think I ever will.”
She didn’t have the courage to look him in the face yet, but as she let the words sink in, a strange feeling of calm came over her. It was different from her despair in knowing she couldn’t tell Ryan what he wanted to hear—and what she herself wished she felt for him. But maybe it was possible to tell people the truth without breaking things. All this time she’d been sparing his feelings, even at a cost to herself. But she’d been wrong.
“Any particular reason why?” Ryan asked. “Is there some other guy you like better?”
“No one I can have a relationship with,” she admitted sadly. “I guess we don’t get a choice when it comes to love and attraction. It is or it isn’t. And no amount of wishing can change that.”
Ryan took a gulp of coffee and gazed moodily into the distance. She recognized that look. He was hurt and, yes, probably pissed at her, which meant their friendship might have been permanently damaged.
“So are you going to let him be your first?” Ryan asked her. “This guy you can’t have a relationship with?”
