Falling Again

by Peggy Bird

  And because her guilt about what happened to Nick grew every time she read about the man “badly beaten” as the reports kept saying, she also spent the time avoiding phone calls from Nick, Amanda, and Margo, too embarrassed to talk to any of them. Because of her, Nick had been hurt. Not only could she not face him, she had to avoid her friends, too.

  When she did go back to work, her boss kept telling her she’d done everything she should have done to protect herself—notified the right people, kept in touch with her office, even left a note in the car.

  And, he pointed out, her instinct to run down the story about the White Power Knights by looking at the cabin again had been a good one. When the police searched the place, they found a gold mine of information on the shady organization and the money behind it. Once the lid had been torn off the story, everything unraveled quickly.

  The only thing she could do to forget was to follow her story. In a phone call she made to get his take on what happened, Duke Wellington said he had, indeed, leased the property where the cabin was located. But he’d sublet it to a group headed by Sherman Bischler, supposedly for a summer camp for teenagers, when Wellington’s plans for a second home for his family changed. He’d never been up to see what Bisch had done with the land.

  And from a friendly source in City Hall she confirmed what she’d already suspected—Tyler Radke had been feeding misinformation to staffers and reporters alike for months trying to keep suspicion away from himself and the man who was paying him to be the eyes and ears of the White Knights—not the city commissioner he worked for, but Sherman Bischler.

  Radke was currently in police custody after one of the passersby outside City Hall on the morning of the second shooting identified him as the man who whisked away the shooter in his car. When the security tape from the day of the first assassination attempt was reviewed again, it was Tyler Radke who was seen avoiding the metal detector and someone who looked a lot like him herding Preston Garland out the door after his attempt on the mayor’s life.

  The second assassin was still at large, but they had a description and a huge reward posted by Duke Wellington, which had generated hundreds of tips.

  Finally, when her best attempts to avoid being part of the story instead of just writing it failed, Fiona asked the law enforcement officials on the case if she could stay with her parents in Tacoma for a couple weeks. They agreed. She left Portland without talking to any of her friends, hoping she would find at her parents’ house a place to write her stories in peace and maybe find a way to manage her guilt.

  • • •

  “Nick, would you take some of this cake with you?” Amanda had a cake knife in one hand and a paper plate in the other.

  It was bad enough he had presents to take with him reminding him of his Fiona-less birthday. The last thing he needed was cake. “I loved it, Sis, but I don’t think it’ll survive in my carry-on,” Nick said.

  “Tony?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Margo said. “I’ll eat it if we take it home, and I’ve already had two pieces. I have absolutely no resistance to chocolate.”

  Sam took the knife and plate from his wife. “Here, I’ll take some of it to work tomorrow and eliminate the problem.” He cut a large slab of cake and put it on the plate.

  “Put it out for the others, Sam. You’ve already had…”

  “Nick, are you sure you have to leave? When you’re here my wife splits her hovering between the two of us, but when you’re not here, I get the brunt of it,” Sam said.

  “You signed up for it, Sam. I was just born into it. Can’t stay. Have to go teach all those people who signed up to learn from a famous photojournalist how to get more out of their cameras,” he said.

  “At last you’ll have a chance to put all the experience you got teaching Mom how to use her various cameras,” Amanda said.

  “I doubt anyone who signed up for these classes is so camera illiterate. And if you ever tell Mom what I said, your husband will be arresting his brother-in-law for the murder of his wife,” he said.

  “I better get going. I have to pack all these goodies you gave me.” He kissed his sister and gave her a hug. “Thanks for a great birthday dinner, Amanda, and for the Kindle gift cards. Tell Kat again how much I love her pictures when she wakes up tomorrow, especially the one of Chihuly. I think we’ve discovered the next generation artist in the family.”

  He clapped his brother-in-law on the back in a guy hug, did the same with Tony, and then kissed Margo on the cheek. “Thank you for the DVDs, you two. They’ll be a great distraction on the plane flight.”

  “Fly safe, Nick,” Margo said.

  “When will we see you again?” Amanda asked.

  “Not sure. I have these two photo instruction gigs, then I have to work out my schedule. I thought I’d be coming…never mind. I’ll let you know.”

  Amanda put her arm around her brother as she walked him to the door. “Have you called her?” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Not in the past couple days.”

  “Don’t you think…?”

  “I think when someone doesn’t return a dozen text messages, even more phone calls at work, at home, and on her cell and won’t answer my emails, she doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  Sam had followed them and chimed in. “I tried calling her at work, to apologize, but everyone at the paper’s covering for her. Couldn’t get through the wall they’ve got around her. I feel bad about this, Nick. Most of the reason she’s avoiding you is what I said to her.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Nick,” his sister put her hand on his cheek, “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m okay, Amanda. I really am. Things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to. It happens.” Nick walked to the door. “Thanks again. It was a great birthday. I’ll call you when I get back from my second trip and let you know I arrived.”

  When he got to his rental car he sat with his hands on the steering wheel, not starting the car, just staring out the windshield. He wasn’t sure he believed what he said back there. But maybe he did. Maybe the truth was, what had happened was for the best. Maybe he was doing what he always did—leaving town when it got complicated with a woman and burying himself in another assignment. It had always worked before. It would work again this time.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Chapter 16

  Fiona spent two weeks in Tacoma, finishing up her White Knights series, laying a ghost to rest, and investigating the possibility of a new job where she could maybe do her work differently. But she knew, no matter what she accomplished staying with her parents, nothing would be settled until she went home to Portland and dealt with the past. So she went home to her house in St. Johns, to dusty furniture, a cat that was happy to be out of kitty day care, and fences that needed mending.

  She unpacked, started a load of laundry, donned old sweats, took a deep breath, and picked up her phone to make the first difficult call. If she was lucky, she’d get voicemail.

  But Amanda answered on the second ring.

  “Hi,” Fiona started. “Any chance you’ll talk to me?”

  “Oh, God, girlfriend. I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to find out where you were.”

  “I’ve been with my parents, sorting things out, returning an old robe.” She took another deep breath. “I owe you a big apology. I should never have…”

  “Returning what? Never mind. No apology needed. After what my husband said to you, you’re the one who’s owed an apology.”

  “He was right. I was…”

  “You were doing your job. Just the way I’d expect you to.”

  Fiona could hear voices in the background, calling to Amanda. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if this was a good time. Sounds like I’m interrupting something.”

  “I have some people here, a new board I’m on. We’re having lunch.”

  “You should have told me. Why don’t I call you back?”

  “
I’ll call you. Have you talked to Nick?”

  Fiona could feel her eyes fill with tears. “I think that bridge was burned even more thoroughly than any other.”

  “I don’t think so. But we’ll talk about it later. I’ll call as soon as I get through with this meeting.”

  Thinking about Nick was not a good thing, so she put music on and set about cleaning with a vengeance to take her mind off him. Several hours later she turned off the vacuum just as Simon and Garfunkel finished accompanying her in singing “I Am a Rock.” In the sudden quiet a pounding on the front door startled her. Sure it must be a neighbor with some emergency, she ran to the door saying “What’s wrong?” as she opened it.

  It wasn’t a neighbor. Nick was on the other side of the door looking crisp and neat in tan trousers and a beige and white striped shirt. He was still clean-shaven and still smelled like heaven, if heaven smells like spice cake. She wiped her hand on the side of her sweatpants to get some of the dirt off, then realized she probably wouldn’t be shaking hands with him.

  “I tried the doorbell but you didn’t answer,” he said. “I knew you were here because I could hear your music.”

  “Nick. Hello…what are you…did Amanda call you?”

  “Amanda? No, I haven’t talked to her since I got off the cruise ship. I came to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  “It’s not really convenient.”

  “Please. For a few minutes.” He touched her arm.

  She recoiled. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “Well, I have things to say to you. And I’d rather not say them out here on your doorstep with all your neighbors walking by.”

  Over his shoulder she could see the couple from down the street slowly walking their Cock-a-poo past the house, staring at her front door. Right behind them was the woman from across the street with her grandson in a stroller. She, too, was looking at Fiona’s house. It seemed like everyone on the block had seen or heard Nick pounding on the door. They all waved when they realized she’d seen them and she waved back.

  “Okay, for a few minutes. I’m in the middle of…of stuff.” She walked into the living room, where she stood avoiding his eyes, her back straight and her shoulders set, not offering him a seat or taking one herself.

  He glanced around the room. “You’ve moved the furniture around.”

  She didn’t respond. She wasn’t about to tell him she was trying to find a way to stop seeing him every place she looked in her house.

  He picked up the Willamette Week edition with her last White Knights story featured prominently on the cover and flipped through it. “I read all your White Knights stories online. You won’t need a cat named Pulitzer after these stories; you’ll have the real thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  The thump of the newspaper dropping back onto the table was followed by a long awkward silence.

  He cleared his throat. “The…ah…'For Rent' sign out front...are you moving? I thought you loved this house.”

  “I do. But…” She stopped, shook her head and continued, “It’s time to move on.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have a job offer in Seattle with a start-up online site modeled on Politico I’m considering.”

  “You’d leave Willamette Week?”

  “Nick, what do you want?”

  “Can we sit down? It would be more comfortable, wouldn’t it, to sit while we talk?”

  “I’m not interested in comfort, thanks. And I told you, I don’t have anything to say.”

  “I do. You didn’t give me a chance to say it before I left. Hell, you haven’t given anyone a chance to say anything ever since we were in the middle of a crime scene and my brother-in-law was yelling at both of us.”

  “Right. Because I…” She could feel herself begin to tear up. “You can’t just push your way in here like some intruder and then not leave when I ask you to. I’ll call the—”

  “The police? I can outrank you on that call.” He sat on the couch. “Look, you might as well sit down and listen. I’m here until I’ve said what I came to say. When I’m finished, if you still want me to leave, I will.”

  Eyes closed, head bowed, she thought about how hard it had been for her to come to terms with what had happened on the mountain and how scared she was he could bring it all back. But she also knew she owed him at least the courtesy to listen to what he had to say. After a long moment she gave in. “All right, have your say and then leave.”

  He indicated with a gesture for her to sit next to him. Instead she went to the rocking chair across the room. Moving to the edge of the sofa cushion, he leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, and watched her intently as he said, “When we were on Mt. Hood...”

  “We’re not going there.” Her tone was as defiant as she could make it.

  “Yeah, we are. But if you don’t want to go there first, I’ll start with something easier. I’ve missed you. I told you before everything blew up I thought we had something special. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Dismissing his words with a wave of her hand, she said, “It’s irrelevant now.”

  Another long silence followed.

  From the tension in his shoulders and the frown on his face, her refusal to engage seemed to be frustrating him, but he sat back on the couch and looked at the ceiling for a moment before saying, “Since you don’t want to warm up with the easy stuff, let’s get to the hard stuff then.” He lowered his gaze and tried to catch her eyes. “What happened on Mt. Hood wasn’t your fault. You’ve been punishing yourself and all the rest of us ever since because you think it was.” His look dared her to contradict him.

  She didn’t. She didn’t say anything at all.

  “Fiona, did you hear me? I said…”

  “What you said is bullshit. It was made perfectly clear to me whose fault it was.” She looked down, feeling tears beginning to form again, wanting desperately not to cry in front of him, not sure she could hold it back. Her hands were folded on top of her knees, which were glued together like a well-behaved schoolgirl as she dug her fingernail into the pad of her thumb, trying to concentrate on the pain to keep from crying.

  “What got me into trouble was ignoring Sam’s instructions, not anything you did. If you’d talk to Sam or me, we’d tell you,” Nick said.

  “Oh, good. Just what I need, more dissection of what I did. Here’s what I know: if I hadn’t let my…what did you call it? My passion for a story? If I hadn’t let it drive me up the mountain, you’d have never been used as a punching bag by those skinheads.” She stopped to wipe at the tears now flowing freely down both cheeks.

  “How do you think it felt when Sam accused me of getting you seriously hurt? When he asked me if I realized how upset Amanda would be?” She took several shuddery breaths to get the tears under control. “The worst part…the very worst part…is I had to admit to myself who I am.”

  Finally, she looked straight into his eyes and said, “I wanted the story. I went up there to get it and you got beat up because of it. That’s who I am—a person who would sacrifice the man she…sacrifice another person to get a story. So between guilt piled so high I can barely see over it and realizing my job trumps everything else in my life—which probably makes me not a very good person—it hasn’t been…”

  She stopped talking and stood up again. “What difference does it make? If you came here to make me feel bad by bringing it all up again, you’ve accomplished your goal. I’m sure it’ll make me a better person to have rehashed it for the millionth time.” She started for the door.

  Nick rose and grabbed her arm. “I’m not finished. What Sam told me afterward, when he’d looked at things with a clear head, changed everything.”

  She stared at his hand on her arm so intently he removed it. “It’s time for you to leave,” she said. “You’ve run out of the few minutes I had to listen to you.”

  “You’re sure you’re not curious about what Sam said?”

  “It ca
n’t change anything so, no, I’m not.”

  He looked long and hard at her face. She willed the tears to stop as she held his gaze with a look as fierce as she could make it. Finally, he sighed and said, “Okay, if you’ve made up your mind. I don’t know what else to do.” He walked to the door. “This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  His hand was on the doorknob. He waited a few seconds before turning it, as if he had more to say. Then he turned it and pulled the door open. “Disappointed hardly begins to cover what I feel.”

  Chapter 17

  She fell back against the door after he closed it, torn between relief he’d left and misery he wasn’t still in the room where she could smell his aftershave; touch him. God, she wished she’d touched his face just once while he was there, his sweet, handsome face. The memory of how his mouth tasted washed over her. Damn it, why did he have to show up just when she thought she was getting over him?

  With the sleeve of her sweatshirt she wiped away the tears leaking from her eyes. As soon as she heard his car pull away, she’d start getting over him—again. Start all over forgetting how much she loved him—because she did love him. Had loved him for a long time now. But it didn’t do her any good to finally admit it. She didn’t see any future for them. Not after what she’d done.

  She realized she’d heard no car door slam. No sound of an engine starting up. Hadn’t he left yet? What was he doing out there? Waiting for her to come out? Did he think she’d chase after him?

  And what had he meant, Sam had said something to change things? How could words change what happened? She already knew the story. She’d written thousands of words about it. What else was there to know?

  Still no sound of a car driving away. Had she missed it because she was crying? She opened the door a crack and saw an unfamiliar car at the curb, but there was no sign of Nick. When she fully opened it, she found him leaning against the railing around the small porch in front of her door.