Despite the wine and the romantic atmosphere, he was remote enough that she began thinking in panic, He wishes we hadn’t slept together. He’s trying to figure out how to tell me.
“Mark,” she said finally, “is something wrong?”
Lines furrowed his brow. “Wrong? Why do you ask?”
“You just seem…distant.”
His face didn’t soften. “I’m sorry. I’m a little tired tonight. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Oh. Well.” His tone hadn’t invited questions, so she said, “Do you want to make it an early night? My feelings won’t be hurt.”
Did he look relieved? “If you don’t mind.” He signaled the waiter and asked for the check. “So, are you and Suzanne getting together this weekend?”
Didn’t he remember about the awkwardness she and her sister had been left with after Carrie had stupidly opened her big mouth?
“No,” she said, “but my parents do want to meet her. I’m excited. I haven’t told her yet.”
“That’s great,” he agreed, as if he were only half listening. He handed his credit card to the waiter and then, a minute later, signed for the bill. “Shall we?” he asked her.
Maybe he was just tired. She smiled and stood. “Of course.”
Even at night with the farmer’s market closed and dark, outside the Pike Place Market Carrie could smell fresh baked bread and fish and flowers. Laughter floated out of the darkness from one direction, voices from the other. Several restaurants brought evening traffic, well-dressed couples and crowds of young, stylish-looking downtown dwellers. The condos in this neighborhood sold for a million dollars plus, many having views of the waterfront and Olympic Mountains in one direction and the Space Needle in the other.
Tonight the air was warm and soft. They’d had to park several blocks away. They strolled, shoulders bumping, but Mark didn’t wrap his arm around her or take her hand. The silence didn’t feel comfortable to Carrie.
To fill it, she began to chatter. Since the last thing they’d talked about was Suzanne, she speculated on what her parents would think about her and whether it was a good idea to plan the meeting soon. “What do you think?” she asked finally.
“I don’t know your parents. I have no idea.”
Stung by his curt answer, she tried to keep her response light. “Wow! That’s a conversation stopper.”
“Damn it, Carrie,” he said with a flash of anger. “I’m not a psychologist!”
They’d reached the car. He unlocked the door without looking at her.
Past the lump in her throat, she said, “You’ve given me good advice before.” And he’d given it generously, kindly, not acting as if she were imposing.
He made a sound in his throat. “Ignore me. I’ve been in a lousy mood all week. I should have canceled tonight. I’m sorry, Carrie.”
“No. It’s okay.” She got in and fastened her seat belt.
Mark closed the passenger door and circled the front of the car, getting in, too. He put the key in the ignition, then let his hand fall. “Carrie…”
Her heart constricted.
He looked at her, his eyes shadowed by the angle of the streetlight coming through the windshield. “I might as well just come out and say this. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Maybe I’m the only person you can turn to. But I’m getting the feeling that you need me right now because of everything going on in your life, not because of who I am.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “The other night…”
“Maybe the other night shouldn’t have happened. You felt cut off from the people you loved, and there I was. You were emotionally vulnerable, and I took advantage of that to get you in bed.”
That did spark anger. “I’m an adult, Mark. And I’m not a sheltered Victorian woman. I was there, and I wanted you, too.”
“Do you know, we’ve talked three or four times since, and you haven’t once mentioned the night?”
“Neither have you!”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. After a pause, he inclined his head slightly. “You’re right. I sensed that you had other things on your mind.”
Her cheeks warmed. “A lot has happened. And honestly…I had no idea what the other night meant to you, and I suppose I was being timid enough to wait to see what you said.”
“You know what? I’ve been falling in love with you. But it’s finally hit me that I’m more like your therapist than I am the man you love.”
Anguish and outrage knotted inextricably together in her belly. “Maybe if you’d told me how you felt or asked me how I felt, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“I didn’t say I’m being fair.” His voice had gone dead. “But I guess I’ve just realized I’m not up to this.” As if nothing Carrie had to say mattered, he reached for the key and turned it. The engine roared to life.
She tried anyway. “I didn’t want a therapist. I turned to you, I wanted you, because I’m in love with you.”
He just shook his head, then looked over his shoulder and accelerated away from the curb. “Do you even know me? When I think back, I realize we’ve mostly talked about your parents, your sister, how you feel.”
Feeling wounded and sick, she still argued. “I thought I did know you. The ways you helped me, the kind of father I saw you were with Michael, told me more about you than, say…” Her mind went blank. “Whether you were in a fraternity in college.”
He shrugged. “That may be my fault, too. I wanted to get to know you, to help you work through your confusion. But now I’m thinking you’d rather not find out how angry I still am with my wife, who my friends are, what I’m like when I’m not in therapy mode. Be honest. Have you ever wondered who I was before my whole life was taken up by work and parenting? Whether I have dreams? Regrets?”
She was silenced, shocked by her lack of answers. Oh God. Was she that shallow?
He gave her a glance, read her reaction and said nothing.
Carrie had never in her life felt so small. Her father’s anger had devastated her, but it hadn’t belittled her, not the way Mark had just done. Wrapped in shame, she stared straight ahead, pride keeping her head high and her eyes dry.
From there on, they drove in silence, Carrie staring straight ahead, but nonetheless aware of the rigid set of Mark’s shoulders and the tense way he gripped the wheel. Headlights flashed by; the car slowed, speeded up, turned. She was completely unaware of surroundings until they bounced over the speed bump at the entrance to her apartment complex and Mark steered into the slot next to her Miata.
Only then did he say, voice low and rough, “Carrie, I don’t even know if I meant any of that. I was a jackass.”
“No. You were honest. I don’t like the person you described, but I can’t deny that it’s me. Maybe…if we’d met at some other time in my life…” Her eyes stung. “But isn’t our true character supposed to come out under stress? So I suppose you’re right.” She opened her car door. “Thank you for dinner, Mark.”
She got out and walked away, climbing the steps while conscious of him watching. She fumbled in her handbag for her keys as she went, gripping them tightly, intensely grateful when she managed to insert her key in her door and open it. Breathing as if she’d raced up the stairs with a pursuer on her heels, she closed it hurriedly and locked the dead bolt.
Without pausing, she dropped her keys and then her purse as she crossed the living room. In the bedroom, she curled into a tight ball on her bed and gave into the pain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PARALYZED, Mark sat in the car and stared at Carrie’s apartment building. He kept seeing the devastation on her face. Now he panted for breath and thought, I didn’t mean it. Let me unsay it.
But he had meant it, a more collected part of him thought. Or, more accurately, he’d feared that what he was saying was true.
His thought processes slow and agonizing, he reexamined what had seemed like a smart decision the other day. Was all of this really about Emily? Would he hav
e trouble believing any woman could love him deeply only because Emily hadn’t?
He shook his head. Not true. Emily had loved him. Just…not enough. Nothing she felt for him competed with her desperate, terrible need to bear a baby. If she’d been able to have a baby in the normal course of events, he might never have known that she was capable of more powerful needs than any she had for him. They might have been happy. Happy enough, anyway. He might never have known he could be loved more passionately.
But with her foolhardy gamble, she’d let him know where he stood. And, God help him, he wanted to be loved more than that. For himself, as a flawed man, not as a sperm donor, and not as some imaginary saint who was always wise and comforting and who had no needs of his own.
Go knock on her door. Tell her you love her, that you were just afraid.
He didn’t reach for the door handle. Am I just afraid? he wondered.
What if he didn’t offer advice? What if next time Carrie called because Suzanne had said something hurtful, he was too busy to listen? If he quit being her refuge, how long would she “love” him?
You don’t want her to turn to you? that inner voice asked. If you love her, why the hell do you resent being her anchor when she needs one?
A groan tore its way from his chest. He wanted her to call him, he wanted her to need him, he wanted her to tell him her every fear and doubt and hope.
He just needed her to want the same things of him.
And now, he thought wretchedly, he’d lost all chance to find out if she did.
Finally, he felt able to drive. He put the gearshift in Reverse and backed out.
IT WAS ODD that she was able to keep functioning now, when she hadn’t been able to after finding out she was adopted. She went to work, attended an informational session at the U.W. about the Master in Teaching program, prerequisites and deadlines, spoke to her mom a couple of times, met her dad at the hospital for lunch one day. But inside…inside, she was so achingly empty, it was as if the rest of her—the Carrie that everyone else saw—was a mere shell.
Both of her parents separately asked if she was okay, and she said, “Fine.” She didn’t know if she’d ever be “fine” again.
Tuesday, she called Suzanne. “Hi,” she said, a little tentatively. “It’s Carrie.”
“Who else has a voice that sounds exactly like mine? How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Please, not about what I said. That all came out of me. My confusion about where my loyalties lie.”
“Actually, not about that,” Suzanne said. “I hoped you’d accepted my apology.”
“Of course I did! So what have you been thinking about?”
“Tell me first. Have you talked to your parents?”
“They want to meet you.”
Suzanne muffled a squeal. “You did see them! Why didn’t you say that right away?”
So Carrie told her about it, comforted by the way her sister said the right things at the right time, as if they had grown up together and knew each other that well.
Finally she stopped and said, “Your turn. Or did you do so much thinking, we need to get together for you to tell me about it?”
“Actually…yeah. Can we? I’d really like to know whether you think I’m nuts.”
“Intriguing,” Carrie said, a laugh in her voice that she knew to be calculated. She didn’t feel amusement. She didn’t feel much of anything but an ever-present ache.
They agreed to meet for dinner at an Italian restaurant in Bothell, more or less halfway between Edmonds and Bellevue.
Wondering what Suzanne had been thinking that would qualify as “nuts” gave Carrie something to concentrate on for the rest of the day, something to prevent her from rehashing again and again that Friday evening.
Suzanne was already there when Carrie arrived. They ordered and waited for the waitress to pour a house merlot into their wineglasses before Carrie said, “Okay, tell.”
Her sister took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of adopting.”
Carrie choked on her wine. After she was done gasping, she squeaked, “What did you say?”
Suzanne winced. “That bad, huh?”
“No, no, not bad, but… Adopting?”
“I’m almost thirty-two years old. I’ve always wanted children. When I was a kid, I’d dream about finding you guys and raising you. When I got married, I could hardly wait to start having a family, but Josh wanted to wait and I went along with it. As things turned out, I’m glad I didn’t have a baby with him.” She shivered. “Just think. We’d have been tied together forever. He might have had visitation rights! I’d have had to worry every time he took our child. Or I would have had to go to court to fight for sole custody.” She shook herself. “No, I’m glad, but… My clock is ticking, Carrie. I want a child.”
Carrie couldn’t help thinking about Mark’s wife and her hunger to bear a child. She bit her lip. “Will adopting satisfy that need? Don’t you want to have your own?”
“I’d like to, sure. If I ever meet the right man and get married.” She made a face. “And I’m not fifty years old by then, I’d like to have a baby. But no, mostly I want a child. And adopting would satisfy something in me. As if…” She hesitated.
Carrie finished softly, “As if you were enfolding Lucien and me safely in your home.”
Suzanne didn’t deny it. She gazed at her wine pensively. “Full circle,” she murmured. She looked up, expression vulnerable. “So. Am I nuts?”
Carrie laughed and reached across the table for her hand, feeling the strength of the returning grip. “Nope. And I’ll be happy to be Aunt Carrie.”
“Wow.” Suzanne took a deep breath. “I feel better. I’ve been brewing this for a long time. But it was you, talking about making changes in your life, that set me off. Because, honestly—not much about my life fulfills me right now. And I’m not getting any younger.”
“Don’t tell me you gave notice at work, too?”
She’d expected a laugh, and instead got a sheepish, “Well, not quite, but… I applied for a Small Business Administration loan. Carrie—” she leaned forward, her voice gaining speed and resonating with excitement “—there’s a perfect storefront for rent. I’ve been watching. It’s on a side street, so the rent is a little lower than it would be on one of the main shopping streets, but it’s just around the corner from a wonderful boutique and an art gallery that often features textiles. Any shoppers on the crosswalk there would see my sign.”
“Will it be profitable enough to pay you a salary in the first year?”
“I hope so. I think so. I’d offer classes, and maybe even have a baby-sitter for some so that women who wouldn’t otherwise be able to could come. And I have almost enough material to stock the store! You’ve seen my collection. There’d be furnishings, of course—the shelves and bins and counter and cash register and…” Out of breath, she stopped. “I’ve been saving for a long time. I can do this.”
“Wow,” Carrie said again, for the first time in days feeling a tingle of excitement and optimism. “I’m the one who was full of talk, and you’re the one with the courage to really gamble. Is getting the loan going to be a problem, Suzanne?”
“The guy I talked to sounded pretty positive. Oh, Carrie! Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”
Tears burned her eyes. She smiled, hoping Suzanne wouldn’t notice. “Of course it would! I could help you get ready to open, at least on weekends. I don’t know beans about knitting, but I’m a good organizer. And I have muscle.” She flexed a bicep.
“Thank you.” Suzanne studied her face. “What’s wrong, Carrie?”
She didn’t bother with pretence. “Mark and I parted ways.” Carrie tried to smile. “Isn’t that funny? I’d been dating a man for almost two years, and I felt a little sad after I broke it off with him. Mark and I haven’t gone out more than six or eight times, and…and…”
“You’re shattered,” her sister mur
mured.
She sniffed and nodded.
“Was it him…?”
Carrie nodded. “He thinks… Oh, damn.” Surreptitiously, she used the napkin to swab tears. “He thinks I see him as some kind of father confessor. That I’m not in love with the real him, I just want advice and comfort. He’s convinced I need him now, but I won’t later.”
“Is any of that true?” Suzanne asked gently.
“No.” She fought for control. “But I can see why he believes it. I’ve been…self-centered, I suppose. He said all we talk about is me. And I know we have more than we should.” She gazed through tears at her sister. “But I’m not my normal self, Suzanne! I haven’t quite worked through the humiliation, but I do know he’s not being fair. My life is in turmoil right now. His isn’t! Do conversations always have to be divided right down the middle? Do we keep score?”
“You know what?” Suzanne took her hand again. “He’s wrong, wrong, wrong. You and I have spent quite a bit of time together now, and I haven’t seen any sign whatsoever that you’re self-centered! I’ve been so grateful for the person you turned out to be.”
Carrie let herself cry for a minute, then mopped up and smiled tremulously. “Thank you for saying that. I know I hurt Craig, and then my parents, and I’m embarrassed about the ever-shifting career—at twenty-six, shouldn’t I know what I want to do with my life? Anyway, I really needed to hear someone say I’m okay.”
“You’re more than okay. And I’m betting your parents say so regularly, too. As for the ever-shifting career…” She grinned. “I’m the one who is throwing away a good job and a regular paycheck to start a small business even though I’ve read that something like ninety percent of them fail. And I’ll feel like a ninny if mine does.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll know you gave your dream a chance. Failure is a heck of a lot better than being too scared to try.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I sound like some schmaltzy greeting card, don’t I?”
“But we buy those cards because they express things we feel too awkward to put into words ourselves. And you’re right. I will be glad I tried, no matter what.”
Open Secret Page 21
