Coincidences: #3 Diana & Anya

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “Amber will be here about nine, Anya,” Ian dropped to his haunches and drew one finger along her jaw. “I told her to leave the gauze off after your shower. Tonight after dinner, we’ll go to the hot tub and see about some physical therapy.”

  “I have no swim suit.”

  “Taken care of. Jane will drop one by for you later,” Ian kissed the surprised mouth and stood up, moving as she bolted upright, groaning in the process. “Slow down, Anya.”

  Anya pushed against the sofa, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, and disappeared into the bedroom. She had the keys to her van. She had the use of her right hand and if she pushed it, she could make the left side function. Her van was an automatic, she could drive it.

  She pulled the pillow from the bed and pushed it over her face, her scream buried in the fluff. She bent over the edge of the bed, face down.

  What are you running from? Demanded a voice. Fear. Pain.

  So to be alone forever to avoid a possibility…yes! Wasn’t that where she had been hiding when Will forced her into the sunshine?

  “I’m not sure whether I should ask or not…but can you breathe in there?” Ian had followed her and stood for a long minute just admiring the lace covered, unturned behind, the sarong falling short of covering her in the bent in half position. He reached out immediately when she sprung up like a jack in the box puppet and spun to face him, teetering precariously. “Whoa…Anya…you need to slow down…”

  “Why?” Anya’s one good arm was flung into the air. “Why?” Hot tears stung her eyes, frustrating her all the more.

  “I’m not sure you’re asking why you need to slow down,” Ian asked after a long minute of silence, pain filled dark eyes stabbing at him. “Honey…why what?”

  Anya closed her eyes, her palm resting on his arm. “Why did you kiss me, Ian? Is it…because of your promise?”

  “Did I kiss you because I promised Will I’d take care of you? No, Anya,” Ian moved his palm beneath her chin, meeting the dark eyes when she slowly opened them. “Will was my friend. We had a lot in common. But I don’t go around kissing girls just to keep a promise…and you’re much more to me than a promise. I don’t know when. I don’t know why. What is happening is between you and me…and maybe throwing us together was Will’s way of keeping us from hiding again.”

  “It would be so much easier to…to go,” she whispered plaintively. “To just go away…to work…to sew and design…to not…to not feel…”

  “Easy isn’t always what’s good for us, though. I think this costume thing with Chloe is a great idea,” his thumb brushed her lip. “My grandmother told me you were happy and filled with excitement when you were telling her about designing. Anya, that is where you belong…”

  “No one has ever…”

  “Will understood, too, didn’t he? We were friends, Anya…it’s bound to be we have some things familiar,” Ian took a step closer, ignoring the shaking in his hands when they rose to cup her face. “Please don’t run away from me. I need you. I want you in my life. And if I don’t get to the hospital, Pembrook will hang me out to dry,” his kiss was swift and filled with hunger.

  “It is alright to talk of things…of Will and…and the past…”

  “Yes, honey, it’s very alright,” He kissed her forehead, hands moving to her waist to set her back. “I gotta go, Anya. Later…”

  “Later…I will not go,” she promised, lowering the pillow in her hand and sliding up on the bed, laying back and closing her eyes. So many emotions.

  Amber entered the house shortly after nine when there was no response to her knock. She smiled softly and laid a quilt over the sleeping Anya, closing the door and humming to herself as she straightened the kitchen, opened doors and windows and settled down with her new book. It was almost eleven thirty when the bedroom door was thrown wide, guilty eyes scanning the room.

  “Amber! I am so sorry…I did not sleep well last night and…” Anya stopped when she smiled and rose to come around the sofa.

  “It’s alright, Miss Miller. I completely understand. Your friend, Jane Foster, left this for you just after I arrived. Are you going to shower this morning?”

  Anya took the bag, opening it and pulling the one piece swim suit from inside. She shook her head. “No shower…Ian said we will work physical therapy this evening. I will shower after that, I think.”

  “Then let me change the dressing, we’re to leave it open today, let the air work on it,” Amber put her bag on the kitchen counter, waiting while Anya settled on the kitchen stool.

  Chloe wandered into the hospital, her pack on her shoulder and destination in mind. She smiled at the receptionist. “Could you point me towards Pembrook Carpenter…damn, Cameron?”

  “I can page her for you. Have a seat, please,” the young woman nodded to the chairs around the small office. “Can I tell her who’s looking for her?”

  “Chloe Oliver. It’s personal stuff…we’re friends.”

  “I always get nervous when you come to my office,” Pembrook said from behind her, the grin on her lips crooked. “Come inside,” she moved to the inner office, closing the door behind them.

  “Hey…I’m semi reformed,” Chloe said with a slight wince. “Simon is such a stickler for details.”

  “He doesn’t want to put up the bail,” Pembrook said with a laugh, perching on her desk patiently. “So what’s up?”

  Chloe set her pack down, pulled her laptop from inside and began the powering process. “You said you had been trying to convince Anya to come work for you?”

  “I’ve talked to her about being a surgeon again, yes. Why?”

  “Well…Jane and I have been doing a little research…don’t groan like that. We tracked down all of Anya’s certificates, licenses, etc, etc…and low and behold…have you ever talked to Cat about Anya?” Chloe tapped over the keyboard, bringing up an enlarged photo of a hospital identification badge.

  “Not that I remember. Surgery is mostly my section…why?” She stared at the photo Chloe had up when she turned the laptop for her to view. “How…what…”

  “Anya already works for you. All her stuff is current and transferred. She’s been working one of your neighborhood buses three days a week, Pembrook. She’s been at that for almost a year now,” Chloe’s fingers moved over the keyboard, closing the laptop with a snap. “She works pediatric care.”

  “How about that…she never said anything,” Pembrook shook her head. “Because I only asked if she was interested in surgery. I never said a thing about any other positions.”

  “From your records, she’s doing good…oh, Jane is making an appointment with your computer people. She says it was way too easy for me to get in there and read files,” Chloe grinned cheekily. “Donated support, of course.” She pulled out her phone, frowning at the read out, blue eyes up. “Would you mind?”

  “I’m off on rounds…just close the door when you’re done and thanks, Chloe,” Pembrook left her alone in the office.

  “Chloe Oliver, how can I help you?”

  “Miss Oliver, my name is Millicent Trent,” came the soft British voice through the line. “I have a request to make of you, if you have a moment?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anya stood in the bathroom, the sling lying on the counter as she worked the swimsuit up her legs. It had one shoulder strap and was a very nice shade of red and white flowers. She stared for a long minute at the wound, turning to check the back. Nothing leaking, she thought hopefully, retying the sarong and going to search the cabinets in the kitchen.

  Pasta, basil, olive oil…fresh tomatoes and cheese, wincing only occasionally, she managed to pull together the meal she wanted, checking the clock when the light tap came on the glass of the patio door.

  Nerves, she told herself. Ian should be coming in the front door any minute now. But she waved to Emily Sheffield, her smile uncertain. She didn’t have enough experience with family, she thought, leaning on the kitchen stool as the older woman came inside.
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  “Ian is not home yet from the hospital,” Anya said easily.

  “I’ve come to speak with you, Anya,” Emily moved another stool close to the kitchen bar, her gaze going over Anya critically. “You appear quite comfortable here.”

  Anya’s head tipped slightly to the side. “It is a very nice home. It is easy to be comfortable here.”

  “Are you pretending to not understand my meaning?”

  “Anya doesn’t understand your meaning, mother, because she understands English on a literate level, implied innuendoes take a lot longer to learn,” Ian stepped from the front foyer, his keys dropped to the table.

  “Ian,” Anya’s smile was genuine and welcoming. “I do not understand, you sound angry. Your mother just came to visit with you.”

  “I’m sure she did, honey,” Ian met the set features of his mother before he moved to Anya’s side, his mouth down to lightly brush over hers. “Something smells great.”

  “Dinner,” Anya answered. “There is enough, Mrs. Sheffield, if you would like to join us.”

  “Perhaps another time,” Emily moved gracefully to the patio door.

  “Mother, I suggest you seriously consider talking to me about whatever is on your mind,” Ian walked to slide the door wide for her. “Keep in mind that I am not Eloise or Shannon. I won’t tolerate the things you put them through.”

  “Ian, what is wrong?” Anya moved to stand at his side, the door slid closed and the sound of his mothers’ shoes on the walkway becoming distant. “There is tension between you and your mother. Why?”

  “There has always been tension between me and my mother,” he admitted with a sigh. “For now…I am hungry. I’m going to change into swim trunks and have dinner with you.”

  Anya frowned and followed him to the bedroom. “Ian, I am not blind or stupid. Is your mother upset because I am here?”

  Ian pulled a pair of trunks from the bottom drawer and tossed them to the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and aimed it to the laundry basket before reaching for the belt at his waist. He wondered how long she would stand there and chuckled when she remained but turned her back to him.

  “You are maddening,” she ground out, arms crossed over her chest. She heard him in the bathroom and peeked over her shoulder. He’d taken the trunks with him. Anya went to the kitchen, mixed the pasta and sprinkled the cheese over top of the tomato mix, setting both plates on the tall counter.

  “Wine?” Ian accepted her nod and poured from the bottle he pulled from the fridge.

  “You will not talk about your mother?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to explain it, Anya.”

  “Is there tension because of me, Ian?”

  “If I say yes, are you going to run on me?” Ian took a big bite of the fragrant pasta and herbs, chewing thoughtfully.

  “I gave you my promise,” she answered, eating slowly. “I…I like being with you. I like having friends to talk to and not worry that I will say something wrong. I do not want to run,” she concluded, aware of the relief on his face.

  “You did, and I’m sorry for questioning. You took off the sling.”

  “The muscles must get used to working again. I have been careful.” Anya watched him patiently, sipping the red wine he had poured for them. “It is good wine.”

  Ian smiled. He found peace in her simple use of language. If Anya gave him her word, it would be. There was no doubt, no deception.

  “You are smiling.” Anya commented, studying him closely. “Why are you angry at your mother?”

  “I am smiling because you are in my life,” he told her honestly. “My mother came here to cause trouble, not to chat with me.” He waited, watching the curiosity in her eyes. “I have two sisters and an older brother. My sisters are married and happy now, but only because, for the most part, they don’t talk to my mother. Her idea of a good match caused them a lot of heartache when they were growing up. My brother, like me, for the most part, avoided my mother.”

  Anya held up her hand, one finger raised before she crossed the floor and found her phone on the low table. Thumbs moved over the key pad, her head tilted as she read.

  “Match…as in partner?”

  “Yes. My mother interferes and causes trouble.”

  “Why would she want to do this?” Anya returned to her dinner, phone at her side. “If you are happy, that should give her joy.”

  Ian considered his answer. “Why did your parents insist you study medicine, even when it was not your passion?”

  “They said it was for the best future for me,” she answered instantly.

  “Did you like their choice?”

  Anya sat back and sighed. “No. But they were elders and you are raised to believe in them.”

  “Well, my mother believes she knows what is best for her children,” Ian held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “But her standards for what makes a good partner are not the same as we would choose.”

  Anya lowered her gaze to her plate, slowly finishing her pasta in thought. She added more to Ian’s plate when he held it out to her.

  Ian was positive he could see her mind digesting his information and almost laughed.

  “She does not like me. I am not good enough for you.” Anya said after several quiet minutes. “Before people began choosing their own partners, it was based on how many cattle the father had or how much land or how much gold….now I am not sure what it is based on for families to make choices.”

  “Well, considering you and I are adults, we are capable of making our own choices,” Ian set his plate in the dishwasher, adding hers and helping straighten up before going to the hall closet and pulling two large towels free.

  “But it is important to make your family happy, Ian,” Anya frowned when he took her hand and headed to the patio doors.

  “It is important to make us happy, Anya. I will not go out of my way to make them miserable or hurt them, but I will not tolerate their interference in my choice,” Ian closed the patio behind them, walking along the path to the back of the house.

  “But you did not tell me why she does not like me,” Anya frowned at him only to find him ignoring her. “Ohhh…then I shall ask her myself,” she pulled her hand free and turned toward the house, holding her head high and shoulders back.

  “Anya!” Ian made a grab for her hand only to have her swing it out of his grasp, her fingers on the patio door handle.

  Anya stood in the light of the dining area, three sets of eyes turned to her when she stepped inside.

  “Good evening,” Anya smiled brightly. “I am so very sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I must ask Mrs. Sheffield why she does not like me for her son.”

  “Anya…” Ian looked at the amused expressions on his grandparents faces.

  “I have asked him, but he does not wish to talk about it. He is very smart and compassionate. He is handsome and funny and sometimes annoying,” Anya catalogued thoughtfully.

  “Ian, would you please remove…” Emily began stiffly.

  “Is it because I am not American?” Anya had been frowning, wracking her brain for the answers.

  “You deserve someone in your own class, Ian.”

  “Class?” Anya looked from one to the other.

  Ian closed one eye, trying to think. “Aristocracy?”

  “Aristocracy? Because I am a peasant?” Anya looked at the loud hoot of laughter from Ian, the chuckles from his grandparents and frowned. “Why would you not want him to be happy?”

  “Emily, have you been meddling?” Millicent tsk-tsked at her daughter.

  “Don’t mind Emily, Anya,” Tom told her with a wink. “Millicent and I believe you are very good for our grandson. And we do not believe you to be a peasant at all.”

  “But I do not understand,” Anya glared when Ian tried taking her hand again, slapping his hand sharply. Ian sunk into a chair, his head thunking on the table and chuckles coming from his grandparents. “What is wrong with me?”

  “You two are
not helping with this,” Ian chastised mildly. “There is nothing wrong with you, Anya.”

  “I think she’s absolutely charming,” Millicent said firmly.

  “We’ve waited a long time to see the woman who would capture your attention, Ian,” Tom told him with a chuckle.

  “You can’t deprive your grandparents a little amusement,” Millicent added with a soft laugh. “It is our right, you know.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” Jason Sheffield came through the main entrance to the dining area. “Got caught up in a traffic jam on the golf course and then another on the way home,” he stopped, taking a minute to look from face to face. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, dad,” Ian stood up and put his arm around Anya’s waist, hauling her back against him and toward the patio. “Don’t mind us. We were just leaving. Have a nice dinner. See you tomorrow…”

  “Ian! You…you...put me down!” Anya tried struggling but her feet weren’t on the ground and the arm that was free wasn’t completely healed. A loud burst of Croatian filled the air.

  “Yeah, that’s me…brute…c’mon, into the hot tub,” he set her on the ground near the large steaming tub. “I’ll talk in the water, alright?” He saw the dark narrowed lashes, her fingers removing the sarong and laying it on the wide cedar bench.

  Anya climbed the three steps and moved carefully into the water, a long sigh breaking free as she sunk lower and lower into the heat. She watched Ian set his glasses on the bench along with their towels before he sat on the edge and dropped into the tub.

  “Wait…no lower until I put these on,” Ian held up two pieces of shielding for her wounds, removing the backing and pressing them into place. “Turn,” he instructed, applying the second one. “Alright…down and let the water heat your shoulder.”

  “Oh my…this feels so very good,” Anya just let her body sink to the lowest level, her chin at the water line. “Ian, we must deal with this issue. You cannot repair a problem by avoidance.”

  “And we will, my sweet…but not tonight. It has been an emotional week and I just want to relax.” He watched the full lips pull into a small pucker, her head nodding.