White Picket Fences

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Barbara nodded. “She wouldn’t even let me help.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Randi asked, meeting her friend’s gaze.

  “No.” Barbara shook her head, smiling the most peaceful smile Randi had ever seen. “No one’s going to change what Dawn and I share,” she said. “Besides, I want her to be happy more than I want her with me. Whatever it takes. And if that means she has her memories, then she has them.”

  “What if it means she goes back to him?” Randi asked, not because she thought for a minute Dawn would, but because she couldn’t stop herself from testing the bounds of Barbara’s faith.

  “It won’t happen,” Barbara said with a confidence Randi admired. “But if it ever did, I’d wish her well. I’ve never felt this way before, Randi. It goes beyond Dawn and me living together or having a relationship. It’s love in the purest sense. I can truly put her first.” Barbara looked down, then chuckled, obviously embarrassed. “It’s a new one for me,” she admitted sheepishly. “And it’s odd as hell, I can tell you that.”

  This time it was Randi who didn’t join in the laughter. She envied her friend.

  And listening to Barbara, recognizing the feelings she was describing, she knew something else, too.

  There was no more denying it.

  She was completely in love with Zack Foster. A man who’d lost his faith.

  TWO DAYS LATER because she was strong, capable and in control, Randi put on her in-line skates. She’d been skating alone for ten years. She enjoyed it. She could do this.

  And she’d be damned if she’d stop because of Zack Foster. Or his absence. She wasn’t going to let him do that to her.

  Her legs hurt. She should have stretched before starting out. The road was rough, too. Her wheels didn’t glide as easily as she was used to. Or she wasn’t pushing off hard enough.

  The air still felt good in her face, though. And waving at her neighbors lifted her a bit. She belonged here. Was part of a community—more like a huge family. She’d never be truly alone, because she had Shelter Valley.

  The elementary/junior high was straight ahead, and Randi decided to turn off. To avoid it. The place reminded her of Zack. Of their runs around its perimeter.

  The turn came up too quickly; it would’ve been too sharp. Now she had to go through the school grounds whether she wanted to or not. And once there, she was damned if she’d let Zack scare her away. She’d skated these sidewalks long before he’d come along. And she’d skate them again. This was her turf. Her town. He was the interloper.

  Oh, shit. He was also out there in the middle of the field, throwing a Frisbee for Sammie.

  Head down, Randi found a burst of energy, intent on getting out of their line of vision before he saw her. In a town the size of Shelter Valley, they were going to run into each other. But it didn’t have to happen yet. It had been only six days since he’d walked out of her life. She deserved a little more time.

  She hadn’t told anybody yet that she was no longer seeing him. Had skipped Sunday dinner with her family over the weekend so she wouldn’t have to answer any questions.

  She felt a rush of relief as she made it past the field and around the corner of the school, cutting across the empty parking lot. Or was that disappointment? No. It was relief. These were tears of relief in her eyes. They were also the result of the wind blowing up dust. True, there wasn’t much wind. But in the desert there was always dust, she told herself. You didn’t have to see it to know it was there.

  Something was coming up behind her. Heart in her throat, Randi poured on the speed. She was in Shelter Valley. These things didn’t happen here. She could hear the thudding behind her, but couldn’t make it out. It was too light to be a man. And didn’t sound like a normal gait, either.

  But she couldn’t mistake the heavy breathing.

  Leaving the deserted school grounds behind her, Randi skated as hard as she could up the street toward houses she knew. Doors she could knock on for help. She was halfway up the driveway of her high-school English teacher’s white frame house when, in her peripheral vision, she caught sight of her pursuer.

  Turning her feet out, Randi circled the dog, grinning. Breathing. And still crying.

  “Go home, girl,” she said, and headed back out to the street.

  Sammie, as stubborn as her owner, didn’t pay Randi’s word any heed. No matter how many times Randi yelled at her, cajoled her, commanded her, the dog continued to trot at her heels. If Randi sped up, so did Sammie. When Randi slowed, the dog did, too.

  At first she’d been certain Zack would appear any second, then realized there was no way he could’ve kept up with them. He was on foot. Not on skates. And by the time he’d managed to get from the field to the Explorer he’d left parked on the road, Sammie would’ve been around the corner after Randi and long gone.

  Which meant he was probably waiting for Sammie at her house.

  Or out combing the streets looking for them.

  Which left her nowhere safe to go.

  Slowing, figuring the poor demented dog must be exhausted, Randi eventually skated up her own street. If he was there, she’d skate right by him and go into her house, leaving him to take his dog home.

  And if he wasn’t there yet, she’d leave Sammie outside watching for him. Either way, she didn’t have to speak to him.

  She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  Not with tears streaming down her face.

  ZACK WASN’T THERE. And Sammie, barking her fool head off at the door, refused to wait outside.

  “Okay, but this doesn’t mean anything and you’d better be good,” she said, stepping aside to allow the dog entry. “You have to stay right here on the tile.”

  Randi needed these two, dog and man, out of her life. She’d always been in control, dammit! Was used to having people listen to her when she spoke and do what she said. She was the boss in her little corner of the world.

  She didn’t have any idea how to communicate that piece of information to a dog.

  In her house, sitting on the floor of her foyer because it was the only way she could get Sammie to stay there and not risk getting dog hair on her carpet, Randi leaned her head against the wall and gave in to the memories she was just too exhausted to keep at bay.

  That first meeting, when Zack had refused to cancel the pet-therapy club, her defeat on the basketball court, the lost races, the ribbing, the time he’d left her alone in the nursing home with Sammie—the list went on and on.

  As she sat there, one thing became very clear. Zack Foster stood up to her. He was one of the few people in her life who had ever done so.

  And it was part of the reason she’d fallen so completely in love with him. He’d given her companionship, brought her intense sexual pleasure, taught her a lesson or two; he’d also earned her respect.

  She relived it all. Right up until that last night. She put a stop to things then. Refused to acknowledge the pain that was waiting to suffocate her.

  Sammie, lying on the tile beside her, laid her head on Randi’s outstretched leg and sighed.

  Fresh tears dropped from Randi’s eyes onto the dog’s fur. If Sammie noticed, she didn’t seem to care. She just lay quietly, unthreatening, as Randi ran her hand along Sammie’s back, taking comfort from the warmth of the body pressed against hers.

  She wasn’t alone.

  At that moment Sammie’s presence was the only thing that kept her going.

  And suddenly that last night with Zack slipped past her defenses, filling her mind with memories and her heart with pain.

  Not you, too. Zack’s words screamed through Randi’s mind, like the painful screech of iron wheels on a train track, refusing to be quieted.

  His words, the judgment he’d passed on her, was a crushing blow. She’d thought he was different. That he saw inside her, that he’d believe her. But he’d compared her to Dawn, claiming that, like Dawn, she’d chosen Barbara over him. Randi’s words, her defense and explanations, had fallen on
deaf ears.

  It was the past careening toward her, a speeding locomotive, its lights bearing down, mesmerizing her where she stood, blinding her. She could hardly see, couldn’t think, merely sat there on the floor, shaking with panic.

  Her entire life she’d been fighting stereotypes—the spoiled baby sister, a daughter of Shelter Valley, a female athlete. She’d steadfastly ignored what others had to say about her, whether they were writing in national newspapers or right here in her hometown, among the gossips. She’d insisted nothing they said could possibly matter.

  “But it did matter,” she said now, so softly she wasn’t sure she’d said the words aloud. It was all so clear, in that heart-stopping instant, as she looked at those years speeding toward her, ready to crush her. It had mattered what they’d said, what they’d thought. There’d been so many misconceptions, so many hurts, and she’d pushed each one away, pretending it had never touched her.

  They had said she was too spoiled, too pampered to make it big. That her brothers weren’t going to be able to make the world right for her once she left Shelter Valley.

  In fact, the guys had never made her life easy. She’d thanked God many times for how hard her brothers had been on her, teasing her mercilessly, scoffing at her high-reaching dreams. Because they’d made her strong. Strong enough to do everything she’d boasted to them, in her self-righteous little-girl haughtiness, that she was going to do.

  They had paired her up with other women, simply because she was an athlete. Tarnishing the sweet innocent spirit of romance and loving, the dreams of finding a warm and caring man someday, one who was strong enough to take her on, confident enough to keep her. Forcing her into a relationship with Sean when she wasn’t ready, when she didn’t love him, simply to refute the rumors.

  They had made her feel so violated she’d almost quit the circuit.

  And after the accident that had stolen her career, they had said she wasn’t ever going to be the same. That something inside of her had died.

  And maybe they were right. But how could she live, knowing that about herself?

  By pushing all of them away, that was how.

  “But I wasn’t pushing them away,” she explained to the dog who raised her head to stare up at her, as though she treasured every word Randi said.

  “I was pushing me away.” Away from the words, the thoughts, the opinions, the pain. She’d pushed herself right into her always lighted, beautifully decorated little house on Shining Way. Barricaded herself so that nothing could hurt her again.

  And when that hadn’t been enough, she’d ordered a white picket fence. Another boundary between her and them.

  What was it she’d said to Barbara? Something about how hard it was when things happened and you couldn’t claim any control. She’d been referring to Zack and the way he’d been told about the end of his marriage. Barbara had turned Randi’s words right back on her. Said Randi’s accident had done the same thing to her.

  “Is that what this was all about?” she asked Sammie, almost convinced the dog could understand her. Might even answer if Zack could teach her to speak English. Instead, Sammie lifted a paw, put it on Randi’s lap.

  “Surely this isn’t a result of my own need for control.”

  Another paw on her lap.

  The accident had taken the control of Randi’s life away from her. Had she compensated for that with her carefully crafted home, her insistence on a white picket fence, her stubborn inability to acknowledge any kind of fear? Like refusing to admit that she was scared to death of dogs? And of being alone?

  Sick, trembling, Randi hardly noticed when the rest of Sammie’s body arrived in her lap. She knew only that she was relieved to find something warm, something she could hug, when the tears came anew. Anguished, frightened, weary tears that wracked her body and left her weak.

  SEEING HER AGAIN split his world wide open. Zack had been so busy standing like an idiot in the middle of the schoolyard, staring as his ex-lover skated past him, completely oblivious to anything else, that he’d missed seeing Sammie dart after her until it was too late.

  His completely disloyal canine had already been rounding the corner of the school building when Zack called her. She either hadn’t heard him or had chosen to ignore him.

  He’d run after her, but he’d gotten such a late start and Randi had such an advantage with the skates, he hadn’t had a hope of catching them.

  After a moment of useless sprinting, he’d given up, walking slowly back to the schoolyard, feeling as though he’d been hit by a truck. His entire body ached with needing her. With lack of sleep. With tension.

  He’d have to run by her place at some point to pick up Sammie. But he wasn’t ready yet. She wouldn’t let anything happen to his dog. After their pet-therapy visits, he knew that much. So there wasn’t any real rush.

  The more he thought about it, the less rushed he felt. He liked the idea of a member of his family being with Randi. In her home.

  Maybe it would do Randi good to have a dog in her house for a while. Once it quit driving her crazy. She’d be watching her carpet every second. And probably covering the furniture, too. But he’d bet money she’d also find Sammie much more of a comfort than the lights she always left on in that house.

  Zack was almost home before the spurt of energy that had brought him there dissipated.

  She’d looked wonderful, her slim muscular body well-defined in the cycling shorts and top she’d had on. Even with the knee pads and wrist guards, she’d looked completely feminine to him.

  And seeing her unexpectedly like that, after a week of trying to convince himself of many things that weren’t true—like the notion that he was getting over her, that she wasn’t vital to him—Zack had to face reality.

  He needed her. He needed her. There, he thought, leaving the Explorer in the driveway and walking slowly up to his house. He’d admitted it.

  And the sky hadn’t fallen in. He was still standing. Still capable of unlocking his front door, heading inside, grabbing a beer. Still capable of thought. Of motion. Still himself.

  And with that shocking discovery came another. He’d been an ass. He’d been wrong. He’d wronged Randi.

  It was something he’d known all week. Something he’d regretted five minutes after he’d walked out her front door that last time.

  It had taken him this whole week to really hear what Randi had been trying to tell him. That his own fears were the problem. Dawn’s choices were all about Dawn, Randi had said. They had nothing to do with him.

  And the whole situation didn’t have anything to do with Barbara Sharp, either. It had to do with him, and the fact that he was letting a broken relationship prevent him from loving again. Letting it cripple him…

  Randi wanted faith; he’d give her faith. But more, he’d give it to himself. He’d be the man he knew he was capable of being, the man he’d always expected himself to be.

  He had to go and see his ex-wife. Now.

  Decision made, Zack changed quickly out of the shorts he’d been wearing to play with Sammie and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It was going to be dark soon, and he had a drive ahead of him.

  The things he’d done, the words he’d said, were haunting him. With the insight Randi had given him six nights before, he could see clearly where he’d gone wrong.

  And where his chance lay to make things right.

  It might be too late for him and Randi. But he had to do this for himself.

  Just as he was grabbing his keys, he heard her Jeep in the drive. Everything he was going to say to her clamored for release. Her car door opened, Sammie jumped down, the door closed and Randi was gone.

  She’d dumped him—and she’d dumped his dog.

  He let Sammie in, forgoing any kind of chastisement. She’d disobeyed him, true, but he figured she was responding to a higher authority. He grinned.

  Randi didn’t know he needed her to wait for him tonight. And that meant he had to hurry.

  LIGHTS
WERE STILL ON when he pulled up in front of her house with its white picket fence three hours later. Almost midnight. But he’d already made up his mind to wake her if she’d gone to bed. Even if she didn’t want to renew their relationship—if the past week had shown her that she really was happier alone—he still had to talk to her. Now. She was the only person in the world who could understand this strange tangle of emotions….

  And she deserved to know what had happened this evening.

  Not wanting to startle her by pounding on her door this late at night, he called her from his cell phone.

  “I’m out front,” he said. “I’m going to be knocking at your front door right about—” he paused “—now.”

  He rapped twice.

  The door opened and Randi stood there, in another one of those tank tops that should be illegal and a pair of the shortest gym shorts he’d ever seen. He was going to have to talk to her about the way she dressed. It was fabulous for him. But he wasn’t happy about the idea of sharing.

  Not that she’d pay one bit of attention to what he said if she didn’t want to.

  Standing back silently, she waited and closed the door behind him. A bit confused, he looked at her, wondering why, after a week of silence, she seemed to be expecting him.

  “Did Barbara call you?” he asked. They’d said they wouldn’t.

  “Barbara?” she frowned. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  They stood there staring at each other, and Zack had the distinct impression that they were both expecting something. He just wasn’t sure what she expected.

  “Can we go into the living room?” he asked.

  Then again, if she wasn’t impressed with his self-discoveries, if late turned out not to be better than never, maybe he should be closer to the door.

  “Sure.” She seemed nervous. Less confident than he’d ever seen her. Oddly enough, her nervousness gave him strength.

  She must need him a little bit if she was this uncertain.

  But despite all the hours of mental preparation, when he got into her living room, the place where he’d first kissed her, Zack didn’t know how to begin.