Memories of You

by Margot Dalton

  What if the police officer had registered the make and color of his car, perhaps even made a note of the license plate?

  He must have looked pretty suspicious, sitting there all alone and casing the street like a real amateur. Maybe the officer would remember this encounter next week after Zeke and Speedball knocked off the liquor store. He could look up the license-plate number in his notebook and track down the car.

  Steven had a sudden desperate longing to be free of the whole thing, to be safe at home in his room, far away from all this danger.

  But that wasn’t possible any longer. He’d given his word to the guys. If he backed out now, they’d think he was just another spoiled rich kid, jerking them around for his own selfish pleasure.

  All too well, Steven knew how it felt to have people break their word. His jaw tightened when he thought about his mother, who hadn’t bothered to call this weekend even though it was a holiday.

  Not that it was anything unusual for her, he told himself bitterly. Sometimes she even forgot to call at Christmastime.

  He seemed to be the only one who was really troubled by her behavior. The other kids never gave it much thought, but Steven always waited, even though he knew it was hopeless. And he felt so hurt when she didn’t bother to call or write for a long time, as if she was rejecting him all over again.

  Steven didn’t know what to do with his pain. It boiled inside him, seething and bubbling like a volcano. There were times when he felt as if he needed to explode somehow, blow into a thousand little pieces and destroy everything around him.

  Let the police come looking for him, he thought grimly as he turned off the freeway and started down the road to the farm. What did it matter anyway?

  Nothing mattered, except that he was committed to this plan and he intended to go through with it.

  He parked his car and strode into the house, now ablaze with lights and activity. They were back, all of them. His father must already have taken Dr. Pritchard home, because she seemed to be absent. Everybody else was very much in evidence.

  Steven, who was always sensitive to moods and emotions, felt something different in the air tonight, a strange sense of heightened emotion. His father looked tense and unhappy, but the twins were more rambunctious than ever, yelling as they displayed their birthday gifts, demanding that somebody help them with a model engine they were trying to build.

  Vanessa was utterly transformed. She sat curled in the leather armchair where Steven had spent most of the day, and seemed, amazingly, to be helping Enrique study for a psychology test.

  Steven looked at her in astonishment, wondering what had happened to her. But she merely smiled and waved at him casually. “Hello, Steve.”

  “Hi, Van. How are you, Enrique?”

  “I am fine, thanks.” Enrique looked different, too. The miserable, haunted look he’d worn for so long was gone. He seemed as shy as ever, but happy and at peace.

  “Enrique, pay attention,” Vanessa said sternly. “I asked you to name three specific examples of behavior modification.”

  Enrique gave Steven a rueful smile, then turned back to answer her question.

  “Hello, son.” Jon passed though the room on the way to his office. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “It was okay.”

  Margaret bustled in from the laundry room with an armful of sheets and towels. “Steven, did you have something to eat?” she asked.

  “I ate Thanksgiving dinner in town,” he said curtly. “Thanks, Margaret,” he added with forced politeness, feeling his father’s eyes resting on him.

  “Hey, Steve!” Ari shouted, waving a handful of colored building blocks. “Look what we got. It’s a Lego set that makes little cars and stuff, and they have engines. Look, we get to build the engine! Can you help us? Daddy says he has to do some paperwork in his office, and we don’t know how to install the pistons.”

  Steven cast a wistful glance at the bright clutter of toys.

  It looked kind of neat, the little engine the twins were assembling for a race car they’d built. He felt a sudden longing to settle on the floor next to them and help with the engine. He wanted to forget all about getaway cars, dangerous bags of stolen money and police officers chasing him, and just be a part of his family again.

  Amy glanced up at him with a shy, hopeful smile that tugged at his heart Abruptly, before he could weaken and be drawn into their play, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

  “I don’t have time,” he said. “I need to finish a term paper.”

  He ran up the stairs two at a time, hurried into his room and closed the door gratefully behind him. But soon after he settled at his desk and got out some books, he heard a knock at the door.

  “May I come in?” his father said as he opened the door.

  Steven sighed and pulled the books closer, pretending to be reading. “Sure,” he muttered. “Why not? Nobody ever gives me a chance to study.”

  “You’ve had all weekend to study,” Jon said mildly, coming into the room and looking down at his son. “Are you okay, Steve?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We missed you at the ranch. All the cowboys asked about you.”

  Steven pictured the clean sweep of land, the horses and cattle grazing placidly under a warm prairie sun. “Was the weather nice?” he asked wistfully.

  “It was beautiful. Everybody went riding on Saturday except for Vanessa. We brought the bulls in from the north pasture.”

  Steven looked up at his father. “Did Dr. Pritchard ride with you?”

  Jon’s face softened. “Yes, she did.”

  “She must have thought our horses were pretty ordinary after riding in the Olympics.”

  Jon sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think she ever rode in the Olympics. In fact, I doubt she’s even been on a horse before this weekend.”

  Steven glanced at him, startled. “So where did all those stories come from?”

  Jon shook his head. “The lady’s a complete mystery to me. I don’t know what to think.”.

  “She’s…” Steven paused, leafing idly through his book. “She seems really nice. I thought she’d be kind of a dragon, but she isn’t.”

  “No,” Jon said with a faraway look. “She’s not at all what I expected, either. You know, Steve, I keep thinking…”

  “What?” Steven asked.

  “Nothing.” His father got to his feet and dropped a hand onto Steven’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right? Nothing you want to talk about?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine, Dad. I just need to get this work done.” Steven gripped the book, conscious of his father’s eyes resting on him.

  Finally Jon turned and started toward the door. “Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Steve.”

  Steven muttered something, then looked around in relief when he heard the door close.

  At last he got up from his desk, flung himself onto the bed and lay staring moodily at the ceiling, tense with misery.

  THE NEXT DAY was Tuesday, so Jon wasn’t scheduled for Dr. Pritchard’s creative-writing session. He delivered Enrique and the twins to their destinations on campus, went to a couple of his own classes in the morning and then strolled around enjoying the mellow autumn warmth of the campus. Mostly, though, he hoped to run into Camilla somewhere.

  He found himself hungry to see her again, even though they’d been together all weekend. And the need wasn’t only physical. He wanted to hear her voice, see her luminous smile, find out what she’d been doing and thinking since he last spoke with her. He wanted, quite simply, to walk and talk with her.

  He was in love.

  Jon sank onto a bench under a rustling golden cottonwood tree, picturing her face.

  He wanted her walking at his side, in his life, sharing everything with him. He wanted to bring her into his home to spend time with his children.

  And if he couldn’t manage to win her love, he’d probably pass the rest of his life in a painful yearni
ng for what might have been.

  But what, exactly, was he going to do about these feelings? Camilla had made it painfully clear that she didn’t want the relationship to go any further. A moment of physical closeness, a couple of stolen kisses prompted by the romance of a weekend in the country…that was all she was prepared to give.

  She wouldn’t even tell him who she was, or anything about her family or background. And, whoever she was, she’d certainly made it obvious that she wasn’t the least bit interested in a weathered rancher with four kids and assorted other responsibilities.

  But Jon Campbell wasn’t a man who gave up easily on something he wanted. He lounged on the wooden bench for a while, frowning thoughtfully as he watched students passing by with their arms full of books.

  It was time, he decided, to make a move. He needed to grasp hold of this quicksilver woman, demand her attention and make her talk to him. Somehow, he had to find a way to get close to her and penetrate all those mysteries she wanted to keep hidden. No man could endure this kind of frustration.

  Finally he got up, grasped his load of books and went into the arts building, stopping first at the twins’ classroom to see if perhaps Camilla had taken them for an afternoon session.

  “Not today,” Gwen told him, meeting him at the door with a laughing, yelling crowd of children. “We’re just leaving for our field trip to the library. There’s a puppet theater this afternoon.”

  Jon smiled down at his own children who stood in the midst of the excited group. Both Amy and Ari looked so happy that his heart warmed briefly.

  “Thanks, Gwen,” he said. “Maybe I’ll try Dr. Pritchard in her office.”

  But the office door was locked, and the secretary shook her head when he inquired. “Dr. Pritchard’s at a faculty meeting, Mr. Campbell. She said she’d be busy all day, and I should take messages.”

  Jon looked over at Camilla’s closed door, then back at the secretary. Some of his fierce determination must have shown on his face, because she gave him a small, teasing smile.

  “Honest truth, Mr. Campbell,” she said. “The professor’s not hiding in that room, so there’s no point in battering the door down. I really wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

  At last he nodded reluctantly, smiled back at her and left the building.

  The October day was balmy and caressing, but for once its golden beauty was lost on Jon. He drove west toward home, drumming his fingers restlessly on the wheel as he struggled to decide what he should do about the feelings raging through him.

  At the farmhouse he found Vanessa with a laundry basket, hanging damp bedsheets on a clothesline in the backyard. Jon paused by the gate and watched her in surprise.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said casually through a mouthful of clothespins, her dark hair whipping in the breeze. “I’m helping Margaret. She’s busy canning pickles this afternoon.”

  “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “We’re hosting a visiting football team. No classes this afternoon.”

  “Didn’t you want to stay at school and watch the game?”

  She reached for another sheet. Jon moved over automatically and took the other end of the wet fabric, holding it clear of the grass while Vanessa fastened it in place.

  “I wouldn’t have minded watching the game,” she said, taking another peg from her mouth, “but I wanted to come home and talk with Priscilla’s dad.”

  “You mean George Rathburn, next door?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Priscilla says he needs somebody to work in their stable for three or four hours a day, cleaning stalls and exercising horses. And he’s willing to pay almost ten dollars an hour for somebody who’s a good, reliable worker.”

  Jon’s mind reeled. “You’re…Van, are you telling me you plan to clean stalls?”

  She looked at him in astonishment, then burst into laughter.

  “Not me, Daddy. I thought this job would be totally perfect for Enrique. He wants to work and help pay his way, but it’s so hard for him to have a job and try to look after himself in the city. This way, he could keep living here, work right next door and pay you a fair amount for his room and board. Mr. Rathburn already said he thinks it’s’s a good idea.”

  Jon considered, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s right, it’s a terrific idea, and just great for Enrique. Good for you, Van.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his praise and she began to rummage hastily in the laundry basket.

  “Van,” he said, moving closer, “what’s happened? You seem so different.”

  She looked up, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. “Do you…do you love me, Daddy?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  He stared at her, shocked by her words. “Sweetheart…of course I love you.”

  “You don’t think…” She kicked nervously at a tuft of grass beneath the clothesline. “You don’t think I’m too much like my mother? You’re always saying how much I look like her.”

  His heart twisted with pain. “Oh, Van…”

  “I was so afraid of turning out like her. I think there was a point when I made a decision to quit fighting and let it happen. I’d try to be as totally like her as I could, just so I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. Like, it was inevitable, so I might as well go ahead and let it happen, you know?”

  “I know, honey.” Jon took her in his arms, holding her close. “And most of your unhappiness was my fault. It’s not fair to evaluate people so lightly, and judge them by their looks. But I was hurt, too, with everything that happened to our family. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own problems to pay enough attention to the way you were feeling.”

  She burrowed against him, sniffling. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Daddy,” she murmured. “It’s not your fault that she’s such a selfish person. Besides, I was doing a pretty good job of being a prize witch. No wonder you all hated me.”

  “I never hated you, Van.” He hugged her tighter, stroking her hair. “I just…worried about what the future might hold for you.”

  “Like when you first brought Enrique into the house and I…I looked at him and said he was… dirty,” she choked, “and you were so disgusted with me.”

  Jon held her silently, remembering how appalled he’d been at his daughter’s reaction.

  “That wasn’t what I was feeling at all,” Vanessa whispered. “I was really sorry for him, and embarrassed because I had so much and he didn’t have anything. But I couldn’t say anything like that because it wouldn’t have…”

  She gulped and stopped talking, still nestled against his shirtfront. Jon stroked her hair tenderly, the way he’d often comforted her when she was a little girl.

  “It wouldn’t have been in character,” he said. “Is that what you mean, honey? It wouldn’t have suited this hard-boiled, selfish personality you were trying to project.”

  “Something like that,” she muttered.

  He looked over her head at a drift of cloud in the blue arch of prairie sky.

  He should have been more sensitive and observant with this girl, more alert to her feelings….

  “What made you change your mind?” he asked. “Why did you finally decide to come out of your shell and be yourself again?”

  “Camilla talked to me.”

  He drew away, looking down at her questioningly.

  Vanessa took a wad of tissue from the pocket of her jeans and wiped her eyes and cheeks, then gave him a misty smile. “Camilla told me people do all kinds of self-destructive things to deal with pain, and that there was a point in her past when she…”

  “What?” Jon asked tensely when his daughter paused. “What did she say?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “It’s a secret. She told me some things about herself that I’m not supposed to tell anybody. We talked a long time on Sunday morning when everybody else was outside. I told her I was afraid of being like my mother, and she told me some things about what happened to her when she was growing up.”

  Jon gripped his daughter’s arm. “What kind o
f things?”

  “Daddy, I can’t give away her secrets. I promised. But she told me that the only way to heal the pain is to reach out. She says that’s what she did. She decided that helping people would make her feel better, and it did.”

  “Helping people? How?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me, but I suppose it’s some kind of charity work. Anyway, I said I didn’t know where to start reaching out, and Camilla said I could begin with my own home.”

  “Enrique?” Jon said.

  Vanessa nodded. “I was afraid to talk to him at first,” she murmured, looking down again. “Because I’ve been such a jerk. But he’s…Enrique’s really nice, Dad. And the terrible things that have happened to him and his family…” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks again.

  Jon lifted the girl’s face and wiped her cheeks, then kissed her on the forehead.

  “So you made friends with Enrique and now you’ve even found the perfect part-time job for him.”

  “It wasn’t much. But from now on I’m going to try to help people as much as I can. I was thinking…” She blushed.

  Jon looked down at her, bemused and enchanted by this beautiful daughter he’d never really met. “What were you thinking?”

  “I’d like to put my name in for a volunteer job at the hospital. A candy striper, you know?”

  He nodded, smiling.

  “And I think I want to go into premed next year and study to be a pediatrician. What do you think, Daddy?”

  “I think,” he said huskily, “that I’m so proud of you I can hardly stand it.”

  “Really, Daddy?”

  “Absolutely.” Jon gathered his daughter into his arms, holding her and patting her back while bedsheets whipped on the clothesline and the autumn sun poured warmly onto their shoulders.

  ON WEDNESDAY night Camilla went to the hostel early, preparing to serve a couple of long extra shifts to make up for her absence over the Thanksgiving weekend.

  She took an armful of books and her ever-present folder of term papers to be marked, settled herself at the desk and got out a flask of coffee and some crackers, along with a couple of grocery sacks full of fruit. Then she went into the adjoining room to see what was happening.