by Marin Thomas
“Yes.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Didn’t the team have a basketball game today?”
“We lost.”
“That’s too bad. Now, if you don’t mind…” She reached for the doorknob, but he snagged her hand.
“Wait.” What could he say to prevent her from shutting him out? Right then his stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry,” he blurted. “Let me take you to lunch.”
“No, thanks. I’m having Blair’s homemade chicken-noodle soup.” Leaving the door ajar, she called over her shoulder, “You’re welcome to stay.”
An olive branch. At the very least, he owed her an apology for his Neanderthal behavior. He stepped inside, then secured the door. The first word that came to mind was color. Everywhere. Unlike his shades-of-gray living quarters, reds and golds warmed the walls, and dark oak trim and flooring added richness to the living space. A fabric-covered sofa sat by the window. Two overstuffed matching chairs in a lime-and-cream stripe faced a coffee table covered with cooking magazines. The table rested on an Oriental rug in the middle of the room.
Black-and-white studio portraits in ornate gold-flecked frames arranged artfully along the walls drew his attention next. He moved across the room to study them. Since Anna had grown up in foster homes, he assumed the pictures belonged to her roommate.
“I bought them at estate sales,” Anna observed from the kitchen doorway.
“They aren’t long-lost relatives, are they?”
She shook her head.
Intrigued, he asked, “Why did you buy them?”
“Because I don’t have a family of my own and I wanted one.”
Her candor startled Ryan.
“That’s Marcus you’re looking at.” Anna shuffled into the room.
“You named these people?”
She motioned to the portrait. “I always imagined having a father who favored this man.”
The dark-haired, middle-aged gentleman wore an ascot and possessed kind eyes and a hint of a mischievous smile. “Marcus” had a good heart and a sense of humor. He was the kind of man who would never abandon his child, as Anna’s biological father had abandoned her.
“How many pretend family members do you have?”
“Twenty-three,” she boasted, indicating more framed photos along the dining-room wall.
Ryan studied the faces watching him from the walls. Why would Anna surround herself with pretend relatives when she could have easily married and started a family of her own by now?
Unless…Anna, too, was hiding from the world—but out in the open, instead of behind closed doors like Ryan.
Chapter Seven
“I’ll purchase Boardwalk for four hundred,” Ryan announced after he rolled a six and moved the top hat to the Monopoly property next to GO.
“And you said you weren’t any good at board games,” Anna grumped, accepting the five-hundred-dollar bill Ryan handed her. She issued him a hundred in change from the bank, all the while resisting the urge not to squirm under his penetrating stare. They’d been playing the game for over an hour, and several times she’d glanced up to discover Ryan studying her. So far she’d resisted the urge to run over to the mirror and check for bits of noodles or chicken stuck in her teeth from lunch.
She rolled the dice and moved three spaces. “Blair offered to buy me the newest version of Monopoly, which uses Visa and debit cards instead of paper money, but I’m rather fond of the blue, pink and yellow bills.”
Flashing a smug grin, Ryan handed her more cash. “Add these pretty bills to the bank. I’m buying a hotel for Marvin Gardens.”
“Greedy man.” She slid the hotel across the board and motioned to the red hotels covering Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky Avenues. “With my luck, I’ll be in debt to you for a hundred thousand dollars before I travel one more time around the board.”
“Once I have you backed into the corner, I can afford to be generous.” His words teased, but his eyes flashed with double meaning.
Caught off balance—a condition suffered frequently around Ryan—she rolled the dice, then moved her thimble five spaces to Community Chest. She plucked the yellow card off the top of the pile. “‘Pay school tax of $150.’”
Rich, baritone laughter filled the dining room, the sound resonating deep within Anna…warming her. “You should do that more often,” she insisted.
“Do what?”
“Laugh.”
An emotionless mask slid over his face, and his gaze latched onto the game piece he fiddled with.
Why hadn’t she kept the comment to herself? The way Ryan blew off his teammate’s praise during the basketball game a week ago should have warned her that he preferred not to draw attention to himself. Although she appreciated that he wasn’t a man who thrived on others’ admiration, she reasoned Ryan carried his humbleness too far by avoiding people altogether.
After he’d finished two helpings of Blair’s homemade soup, she’d waited for him to make a dash for the door. Instead, he’d surprised her with an announcement that he intended to visit awhile. They’d sat on the couch in the living room and chatted about inconsequential things, while drizzle wet the pavement. When the subject shifted to favorite hobbies on rainy days, Anna had challenged Ryan to a game of Monopoly. To her surprise, he’d accepted, offering hope that he wished to give friendship an honest try.
For the past hour she’d gone crazy with wanting—to kiss him. She hadn’t been able to forget the taste of his mouth or the feel of his lips against hers. Even though she’d convinced herself that a serious relationship with Ryan was out of the question, her body hadn’t received the message.
“Here’s my school-tax money.” She waved the paper bills in the air, but Ryan’s attention rested on the portrait hanging above the hutch. Taken in the early 1920s, it showed an elderly woman wearing a cloche—a closefitting hat—which complimented her sleek, gray bobbed hairdo. Obviously, the lady had caught his interest.
In truth, after Anna had revealed her pretend family to Ryan, she’d expected him to assume she was a kook—at the very least, insane. But again he’d surprised her. Instead of mockery, sympathy had shone in his steady brown gaze—as if he understood her pain, her loneliness, her need to feel connected to someone and not be alone in the world. “That’s Viola. She was sassy, outspoken, educated and loved to dance the Charleston.”
“And how are you related?” he played along.
“My grandmother.”
A sad smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “My parents and grandmother died in a plane crash when I was two years old.” Ryan hadn’t spilled his guts, but coming from such a private man the statement was a treasure trove of information.
“I’m sorry.” A hot lump clogged Anna’s throat. They’d both lost their parents at an early age. “Who raised you?”
“My grandfather.” The note of affection in his voice testified to a childhood filled with love despite the loss of a mother and father. How fortunate for him.
“Did your grandfather ever remarry?”
“Nope.” Ryan’s face softened as he spoke of his grandfather. “All those years he’d insisted he didn’t have time for women or marriage. He claimed my grandmother had been the love of his life and he didn’t have room in his heart for another woman.”
Did Ryan feel the same way about his ex-wife? Had the woman once been the love of his life?
“We went through several nannies over the years,” Ryan continued. “But each evening, our grandfather tucked us three boys in bed.”
Anna clasped Ryan’s hand, her fingers threading through his, turning her insides mushy when he stroked his thumb across the center of her palm. “If you don’t mind my asking, why weren’t you and your brothers on the plane with your parents and grandmother?”
“They’d planned an adult vacation. My brothers and I had been left in the care of a nanny for the weekend. Grandpa was to meet up with them at the ski resort. Thank God he had a business meeting that had delayed him, or my brothers and I wou
ld have been orphaned.” He winced. “I’m sorry, Anna. That was thoughtless.”
“Don’t worry.” She waved off his concern. “I cried all my tears years ago.” At least, she hoped so. Sometimes she wondered at her bouts of melancholy. “The guys at work and their families have adopted me. We look after one another.”
“And Charlie,” Ryan added.
“Yeah, Charlie’s a good guy. We lived a year with the Clemsons and became as close as any biological brother and sister. Even though he graduated from high school three years ahead of me, he’s stayed in the area and keeps in touch.” Before Ryan had a chance to fire off another question, she asked, “What about you? I assume your grandfather has passed away. Are you and your siblings close?”
Ryan chuckled. “At ninety-one, Grandpa’s alive and kicking.”
“Amazing.” She motioned to the wall in the living room. “He’s outlived half of my portrait family.”
Stretching his arms over his head, Ryan yawned—the movement meant to appear casual, but Anna understood better. She’d hit a nerve with her interest in his family and Ryan was slamming the door in her face.
“Hungry?” she asked.
His dark eyebrows curved inward. “I’m stuffed from lunch.”
Tapping her dwindling cash pile, she declared, “If I’m leaning toward bankruptcy, I deserve dessert before I land in jail.” She went into the kitchen. Her belly wasn’t hungry, just agitated. Probably caused by the mixed signals Ryan had been giving off since he’d shown up on her doorstep earlier this afternoon.
One moment he gazed at her mouth, another he avoided eye contact. He’d brushed her hand with his fingers when he reached for the dice; the next time he’d waited for her to toss them across the board. She didn’t need to be a brain scientist to understand he was attracted to her—and didn’t want to be.
The box of store-bought cookies on the pantry shelf vied for her attention and she debated whether her hips needed the sweets. Ryan would be the perfect treat. His kiss would satisfy her sugar craving without adding inches to her waistline. The telephone rang, interrupting the kissing thoughts. “Hello?”
Joe’s panicky voice echoed though the connection. “Oh, no!” she murmured. A moment later Ryan appeared in the kitchen doorway, his expression clouded with concern. For a guy who wanted to be left alone, he appeared at the most interesting times.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.” She disconnected the call and explained, “Joe’s brother, Willie’s, been shot. They’ve taken him to Queens Hospital Center. I have to go.”
“I’ll drive you,” Ryan offered.
She hated to ask such a favor…but she wanted Ryan by her side. She’d put a lot of energy and time positioning herself in other people’s lives, ensuring they could depend on her, that she’d always be around for them. Yet in order to protect her heart, she’d never allowed herself to lean on anyone else. She’d been abandoned by her mother, father, grandmother and aunt. Her heart didn’t have the strength to watch another person walk away.
It’s just a ride, Anna. “You’re positive you have time to drive me to the hospital?”
“Absolutely.”
“Let me leave a note for Blair, then I’ll grab my purse.”
“Don’t forget shoes.” He nodded to her pink socks.
“Right. Shoes.”
Ten minutes later they left the apartment. “You can drop me off at the E.R. doors. I’ll catch a ride home from one of Joe’s relatives.” Anna clutched Ryan’s arm as they hurried along the sidewalk. Solid, dependable and by her side—she couldn’t ask for anything more than Ryan at this moment. They rounded the corner and he pointed his key fob at a Lexus. Two bleeps sounded.
“That’s your car?” she blurted.
Instead of answering, he held open the passenger-side door. She sank onto the plush leather seat and gawked at the dashboard, which resembled an instrument panel from NASA. Her instincts had been correct. Ryan was definitely an uptown guy. What else besides this car waited for him in Manhattan at the end of each workday?
Uncovering the reasons Ryan was slumming in Queens for a trash company would have to wait. Her main concern at the moment was Joe’s fifteen-year-old brother.
“How do I get to the hospital?” Ryan inched the car into traffic.
“East on the Long Island Expressway, then take the Kissena Boulevard exit. The service road leads to 164th Street. Make a right. The hospital isn’t far after that.”
They drove several minutes in silence, then he asked, “How bad is it?”
“Joe didn’t say. Willie was in surgery when Joe called.” Surgery was bad. She’d watched the Health Channel enough to understand that if the teen required an operation, he was bleeding internally.
Ryan squeezed her hand. She appreciated that he didn’t utter meaningless platitudes—everything will be okay, or don’t worry. She’d heard those utterances all her life from social workers. Most of the time they turned out to be false.
According to the dashboard clock, the drive to the hospital took twenty-seven minutes. He stopped the car in front of the emergency doors. “I’ll park, then—”
“You don’t have to stay.” She searched for the door handle, which appeared to be invisible. “You probably have better things to do.”
He leaned across the front seat and opened the door for her. If he had better things to do, he wouldn’t have spent an entire afternoon with Anna. An afternoon he’d enjoyed very much—until she’d spotted the Lexus and thrown up a wall between them. Peeved, and maybe a tad offended, he argued, “I’ll meet you inside.”
Without a word she scrambled from the car and charged into the hospital. If he was smart, he’d wait outside. He wasn’t part of Anna’s adoptive family. Not that he wanted to be. Did he?
When he entered emergency five minutes later, the combined smells of disinfectant, bleach and human body slapped him in the face. The waiting area was noisy and hot. An elderly woman sang to a whimpering baby. Two teens held ice packs to their swollen faces, while a mother ranted at them. A barefoot, homeless man with an oozing gash along his calf slept propped against the vending machine—at least, Ryan hoped he was sleeping, and not dead. He searched for Anna in the crowd.
Her voice reached him. “Over here, Ryan.” She stood with Joe in the hallway.
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother.” Ryan shook the other man’s hand.
“Thanks for bringing Anna. Willie’s still in surgery.”
“Joe needs a coffee. I’ll make a run to the cafeteria.” Anna hurried to the elevator.
“Whether my brother lives through surgery or not, he’s as good as dead,” Joe muttered, then kicked the wall next to him.
“What do you mean?” Ryan was bothered by the sheen in Joe’s haunted eyes.
“A gang member came in a few minutes ago asking about Willie.”
“They’re concerned—”
“They’re concerned, all right. Concerned he’ll live.” Joe snorted. “They want my brother dead.”
“You’re certain about this?”
“Willie didn’t show up for lunch, so my mother sent me looking for him. I checked the basement of an abandoned apartment building, where Willie said the gang meets. As I approached, I heard gunshots, then gangbangers ran out of the building in every direction.”
Ryan clenched his jaw. He anticipated how the story would end.
“I found my brother slumped in a corner, shot twice in the gut. They shot him because he’d asked to leave the gang.” A tear leaked from the corner of Joe’s eye.
Maybe Ryan wasn’t as dead inside as he’d believed, because his heart was ripping in two at the sight of the grown man’s tears. “Did your brother name the shooter?”
Joe shook his head. “He fell unconscious and never came to, not even when the paramedics arrived.”
Rage not dissimilar to what Ryan had experienced after 9/11 filled him and he fought the urge to shake his fist at the heavens and demand someone above the
clouds answer for the violence on earth. For the loss of innocent lives.
The elevator doors swooshed open and Anna walked toward them. “Here.” She shoved a hot coffee into Joe’s hand. “Drink.” Then she inquired, “Is Linda here?”
“She’s in the waiting room with the others. C’mon.” Joe and Anna walked off. After a few steps, Joe glanced over his shoulder. “You coming, Jones?”
The invitation startled Ryan. He wasn’t a relative and he wouldn’t call himself much of a friend. At his hesitation, Anna held out her hand.
Against his better judgment, Ryan followed. They rode the elevator to the fourth floor, where they entered a private waiting area, packed with family, friends, neighbors and the hospital chaplain.
A middle-aged woman Ryan assumed was Willie’s mother rushed to Joe’s side. Anna hugged her way around the room, offering sympathy and kind words. Attempting to make himself invisible, Ryan remained by the door, his gaze skirting the curious glances of others. Too many tears. Too many sad faces. Why would a kid turn to a gang, when all this love was his for the taking?
You could ask yourself the same question.
A vision of his grandfather and brothers pacing in a waiting room while he underwent surgery for his burn injuries flashed before Ryan’s eyes. He’d been heavily sedated that first week in the hospital, but he’d regained consciousness in snatches, and each time he’d recognized his grandfather or one of his brothers sitting by his bedside. They’d cared. They’d worried. Probably even cried.
And you repaid their love by shutting them out.
9/11 had been a dark, hellish time in his life. He’d permitted his despair to consume him, thus making others miserable. At first, he hadn’t realized his depression and anger had affected his family. But as time passed, he’d begun to see the damage his misery had inflicted.
Instead of asking for help, he’d nurtured his rage and resentment, all the while finding a strange comfort in believing he was disappointing his grandfather and weakening his ties with his brothers.
The door at the other end of the room opened and a rumpled, haggard surgeon in bloody scrubs entered. The room went silent—no one dared to breathe. The urge to flee overwhelmed Ryan. He didn’t want to be with these grieving people. Most of all, he didn’t want to hear the fate of a young boy he’d never met.
