He punched the pillow and flopped over, staring at the wall, a pattern of jets and bombers that Bobby had insisted on in his junior year. Even if Claire had been willing to give up Chile, it wouldn't have been enough. Greedy, he thought, he wanted too damned much. He wanted it all, everything, and no commuting, one-weekend-a-month marriage would allow the kind of life he needed. He didn't want to father a kid, only to spend half his life either wondering what the kid was doing, or playing ball with the kid while his wife sat on a lonely mountain resenting the fact that she'd have to leave her stars for the monthly family visit.
And that was the end of it.
Mercifully, Blake was absent the next morning when Claire arrived at the boatyard to work with the boys. He must have been there earlier, to unlock the building and throw the breaker on, giving them electric power, but there was no sign of him or his truck when she parked in front of the shipyard.
Jake was there, and Tim, and together they dove into the business of measuring, sawing, screwing, and sanding, faces intent as they followed her instructions and asked questions.
"You'll be OK," she said. "The pieces are all cut out, and you've got the instructions. We've done the calculations, so you know exactly where to fix the mirrors when they come. It should be about a week. They'll be coming here, to the shipyard."
"We'll e-mail you," said Tim. "Tell you how it's going."
"Yeah," agreed Jake. "Or if we get in trouble."
"I check my E-mail twice a day, so if you do have any questions, you won't have to wait more than a few hours for the answer."
When they'd finished everything they could do for the day, she helped them clear up, and she wanted to hug them, the way Jennifer had hugged her when she'd set out on this vacation. But she wasn't sure how they'd react, so she held her hand out instead, and shook hands with each boy.
"When we've got it ready," said Jake, "we'll e-mail you, and tell you the date we're going to go up to Mount Walker. Can you tell us exactly where your comet is then?"
"I'll send you a picture of it from the telescope," she promised.
"You'll have to mail it," said Tim.
"She'll send it as an attachment with an e-mail," said Jake. "Won't you?"
She did hug him then, because she couldn't stop herself, and although he looked embarrassed, she thought he also looked pleased.
Later, when she drove up the hill and past the turnoff to Blake's house, she wouldn't let herself turn her head to look. She didn't cry, either, because what was the sense of crying? She'd had five days, a whole five days of romance and loving. She had to remember it that way, not the end, not the lies she'd told, not the bitterness in his voice when he sent her away.
She drove to San Francisco on autopilot: across the Hood Canal bridge to Bainbridge Island, across the island to the ferry terminal. Then Seattle and I-5, southbound. She'd arrive midday Friday and have a whole day before her Saturday afternoon interview.
San Francisco. The hotel. The university. Then, in the library Saturday morning, she turned a corner and walked into Kevin Stanhope.
"Claire!" He was smiling, pleased to see her. "How are you?"
"Good," she said, realizing she was becoming practiced at lying.
"I hear you're interviewing for Chile this afternoon."
"Yes." She wondered what she'd actually felt for this man because now, standing in front of him, she felt only a vague pleasure at seeing an old friend.
"Are you alone, Claire? No man?"
"No man," she said, although her stomach lurched at the question. "You know my priorities, Kevin."
"Don't I." He grimaced, but the bitterness she remembered was gone.
"It wasn't you," she said gently. "I wouldn't have given up that observatory job for anyone. You deserved someone who wanted what you want, Kevin."
"I married her last year," he said, smiling now.
"I'm happy for you."
They parted with a light hug, the sort two old friends gave every day. They'd been lovers, but she couldn't bring it back, couldn't imagine wanting him. She supposed it had been loneliness, and he'd been convenient. A poor reason for taking a lover, and she'd hurt Kevin while keeping her own heart intact.
Was Blake right? Had she wanted an affair with him simply because the emotional risks were low? If so, it had backfired, because the ache in her heart seemed to be growing, not fading, with each hour.
At the computer, instead of looking up the CTIO observatory to catch any last-minute news, she keyed in a search for her father's name. Twenty minutes later, her hands shaking, she reset the terminal.
She remembered Nevada, eleven-and twelve-year-old memories of a compound in the desert, of her mother, who'd worked as a nurse at the clinic.
In another year or two she might have begun to wonder what her father did at the research station, but given the secrecy that went with scientific research stations, she doubted she'd have ever known much about his job, even if they'd stayed.
Dad's work was all she'd known, and it kept him working late nights, often seven days a week. After her mother's death, Claire sat alone in the empty house evening after evening, until one day he announced that they were moving. First to Seattle, where he spent a year at the university acquiring the teaching certificate he said he'd always wanted. Then to Port Townsend, where he told her he'd found the perfect job.
He'd never told her that he'd published an impressive string of articles in scientific journals. When she was at the university studying, she'd never thought to look, but now she could guess at the nature of his top secret job, because the papers he'd published showed a string of discoveries around the edges of his real work.
Frederick Welland had been the director of a major research center, a coveted position that would have given him a great deal of freedom to pursue his own passion for research. Then, when his daughter was twelve years old, he'd left his job and moved to Washington state to prepare for a second career as a high school teacher in a town of eight thousand people.
She walked into the CTIO interview still trying to take in the fact that her father hadn't been who she'd thought he was. She remembered him as a high school teacher with a passion for knowledge, not a world-class physicist who'd voluntarily consigned himself to oblivion in the quiet backwater of a town whose main claim to fame lay in being one of only three registered historic U.S. seaports, and home to an annual Wooden Boat Festival.
For his twelve-year-old daughter, Frederick Welland had given up a career that put him on the front page of several scientific journals each year. He'd never told her what he left behind, never laid the responsibility on her door. Instead, he tried to get her to take part in social events with other kids, fostered her curiosity and gave her a scientist's love for knowledge.
She'd always known he loved her, but she'd never realized being a father had meant so much sacrifice for him. In some ways, Blake had known her father better than she did.
By rights, she should have made a hash of the interview. Her mind wasn't focused, and she didn't know, sitting in the uncomfortable chair across from four interviewers, whether she even wanted the job. She answered questions about her comet, her publications, her feelings about life in isolated places. Then she asked her own questions—about the equipment, the international research project, the facilities.
As a research astronomer, most of her time would be spent in the city of La Serena, with frequent visits to the telescopes, a drive of one to two hours. There would be hospitals, doctors, schools—everything a new baby would need.
Even if she carried Blake's child, she could accept this job in Chile.
"We'll contact you within two weeks," she was told.
She left the interview knowing she would very likely be offered one of the new research positions. She should have felt excitement.
In Pasadena, she spent Sunday morning listening to lectures without hearing a word. She ate lunch with a publisher who wanted to launch a series of science books for children. Then, in midafternoon, h
alfway through a lecture that should have fascinated her, Claire stood and quietly left the lecture hall, the symposium, and the city of Pasadena.
She had five days of vacation left before she was due back at work, but she was heading home. There, she would escape on a four-day hike, where nobody could ask her any questions, make any demands, or tell her she was running from life. After four days, she'd be sane again, and ready to get on with her life.
Chapter Thirteen
"You look like hell," said Jennifer, standing on the front porch of her home.
Claire slammed the Honda's door. "That's not a very flattering greeting. How's Tammy?"
"Come and see."
Ten minutes later, Claire was sitting on the sofa while the baby against her breast chewed on a tiny clenched fist.
Claire closed her eyes. She'd needed this, she thought. Jennifer's simplicity and the baby's breath sweet against her throat. "Maybe I will have a baby. Maybe I've already started one."
It wasn't often she saw Jenn silenced, and it didn't last long.
"A woman needs help to make a baby. The man in Port Townsend? Your high school sweetheart?"
"He was Lydia Dormer's sweetheart in high school, but last week he was mine for a few days." She wasn't going to cry. She absolutely was not going to let one more tear spill over. She'd been weepy all the way from Pasadena. Enough was enough.
"What does he think about this baby?"
"He doesn't know. I don't know for certain myself. I told him I was on the pill."
"Let me get this straight. You lied to the guy about being on the pill? You wanted to get pregnant? You had an attack of ticking clock syndrome and decided to turn your high school idol into an involuntary sperm bank?"
Claire didn't know if the sound breaking in her throat was laughter or tears. "It wasn't something I reasoned out in cold blood."
Jenn's lips twitched. "In hot blood?"
"It was wrong."
"Damn right, it was wrong. If there's a baby, you'll have to tell him."
She'd figured that out somewhere around Tucson, this morning.
"He wanted to marry me."
"And you?"
She held Tammy closer. "I thought I'd go over to the east ridge today. I'll probably stay in the old trapper's cabin tonight, then end up on the clearing at the far end of East Ridge tomorrow night. I've probably got the job in Chile."
Jenn stood when Claire did and took the sleeping baby from her. "You'll be back Friday?"
"Late afternoon. And thanks. I had to tell someone."
"You haven't told me much. Good thing I'm a writer and can read between the lines... Claire, babies bring responsibilities."
"Yes, and fathers, but I can't decide anything until I know."
"If you love him, it shouldn't make any difference."
"This isn't fiction, Jenn. It's more complicated."
Her friend gave her a hug that pressed the baby between them. "Honey, it's always more complicated, but in the end it's simple. Love is a verb. It's not just something you feel, it's something you do—a decision you make, to love the person you feel love for, even when it's not easy."
Claire slept in the old cabin the first night, as she'd said. She reached the high clearing at the end of East Ridge Wednesday, the second day. Her legs ached from the unaccustomed walking by then. It had been months since she'd taken such a long hike, and she'd never driven herself this hard before.
Wednesday night, sitting against a rock with a universe of stars overhead, she realized it wasn't going to make any difference how far she hiked, how many stars she looked at, how far she ran.
The stars had been enough for her once, but stars couldn't take the place of a man's arms, couldn't replace the feel of his fingers twisted through hers as they stood together at the helm of his boat. Stars couldn't fill up a lifetime of loneliness, and she'd been lonely all her life. Her father had seen it, had done what he could to draw her into the world after her mother's death, even to the extent of leaving his job, his research, his life, to make a life for her.
He'd made a wonderful life for her, filled with stars and dreams, but somewhere along the road she'd missed the part where a girl grew into a woman and created her own family, her own babies, her own life. A life separate from the stars, because the stars might be everywhere, but they only came out at night.
Blake was right. She hadn't turned him down because of her job. She'd run away because she was afraid... afraid of being vulnerable, of getting hurt, of failing to be the sort of woman, the sort of wife and mother Lydia would have been.
Lydia, who was divorced. Great yardstick for comparison.
Blake hadn't asked her to give up her mountaintop, although he had asked her to give up Chile. The ironic thing was, if she carried his child, she wouldn't be going to Chile. It didn't matter if there were hospitals, doctors. She wasn't willing to bring up a child in a small community of English-speaking scientists in a foreign country, any more than her father had been willing to subject her to the research station environment after her mother died.
If she did have Blake's child, she knew now that she wouldn't be staying on this mountain either. A single-parent family wasn't enough on an isolated mountaintop, any more than it had been enough on the research station in Nevada.
She didn't know what she'd do, where she'd work if she had to leave, but there had to be options for a woman with three degrees and a comet to her name.
The point was, she hadn't run away from Port Townsend to defend her quest for the stars. Blake was right—she'd left because she was too much of a coward to stay. And now...
Well, she was still afraid, but once she knew for sure about the baby, maybe she could think of some way to make amends. Not that he'd want a life with her now, after the lies she'd told him—although if she wasn't pregnant, he'd never have to know about that part of it.
More lies.
It shouldn't make any difference, Jenn had said. Whether there was a child or not, if she loved him....
But it did make a difference, because without a child, they could find a way to bridge their worlds. With airports and long weekends, they could...
No, it wouldn't be enough. He wanted more, a family, and so did she. Hadn't she told a terrible lie, trying to create her own family without sacrificing anything?
Choose, Claire. The man or the mountain. You can't have both. Choose now, before you know about the baby, because it shouldn't make any difference.
What if she went to him, only to find he'd stopped loving her? What if she confessed her lie and destroyed his love?
She could write, confess everything, and leave the choice to him.
The coward's way. Even if she'd lost him with her lies and her stupidity, she owed him the words, face to face. But even if she started walking back to the station at dawn, she wouldn't get back before midday Friday, and she was due for her first shift Saturday at six. It would be weeks before she could manage a flight to Port Townsend.
What if she phoned him? She could tell him she loved him, that there were things she needed to tell him. Would he meet her somewhere, halfway, somewhere they could both reach in a few hours?
It wasn't ideal, because she wouldn't blame him if he hung up on her, but she very much wanted to do something before she knew if they'd made a baby. If she waited, how could she ever persuade him that it wasn't because of the child?
She would hurry back, phone him and somehow make him listen.
Thursday, she woke in time to see the morning star, but she was too sick to care about Venus. Doubled up at the side of the clearing, heaving with nausea, she searched her body for sensitive spots, signs of a bite that might have poisonous effects. She thought of Blake taking chances in the storms, and wondered if she would die here, in the desert, from a bite she'd gotten while sleeping.
She drank some water, relieved when it stayed down.
An hour later, she started out slowly, expecting the nausea to return, but it didn't. There was no bite
, no rash, no fever. No reason for the nausea.
Except one. Pregnancy.
Blake's child. Hers. Growing inside her. She wasn't sure why she was crying—happiness or misery. If only she hadn't tricked him.
At noon, she washed her face in the cool water of Thomas Creek and told herself to stop this ridiculous crying. She wasn't the sort of person who cried. She was decisive, rational... a woman in love.
A pregnant woman in love, and she'd made a stupid mess of it.
She walked faster then, because tonight there would be a moon, and if she could make it to the final slope before sunset, she'd be out of the shadow of the mountain and could pick her way up to the observatory by moonlight. Then she'd have all day Friday and maybe, if she could talk Blake into it, there'd be time to fly somewhere she could meet him, face to face, and tell him...
She'd tell him the truth, just the truth, and forget trying to get out of it unscathed. She filled her water jug in the creek and set out up the hill. With luck, she'd reach the cabin by three.
Just before two-thirty, she stepped over a rock and froze at the sound.
Rattlesnake. To her right.
Very slowly, she eased back... one foot, then the other. She hadn't penetrated the center of his territory, just the perimeter, and he'd warned her. About to circle around him, she heard another sound. Rocks, little rocks falling, uphill from her. She swallowed, realizing this was no small animal, but a hiker coming around the corner.
"Don't come any farther!" she shouted. "There's a rattler in your path, just around the corner!"
The rocks stopped rolling, then a voice called out, "Claire?"
Blake's voice, here. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting sudden dizziness. Blake? He'd come to the mountain to find her?
"Blake?" She heard the rattler again and said urgently, "Don't come any farther! Is it really you?"
"It's me, sweetheart, but I'm not up on rattlesnakes, except for the basic instructions I got from your friends."
"Don't move. Just don't move, OK? What instructions?"
"Keep my boots on and walk in the clear, away from rocks and scrub."
Seeing Stars Page 20
