Borrowed Time

by Edie Claire

  She reached the library’s front door. She opened it.

  You never plan anything far ahead. You don’t even have a will.

  A flicker of fear raced through her brain. She had never even thought about making a will. Not because she didn’t have money—both her parents had been heavily insured against accidental death, and Dee’s suicide had made her their sole beneficiary. She had more assets than she knew what to do with, and once the county compensated her for the property it was seizing, she would have even more. If she were to die without a will, who would inherit it all? Her uncle?

  Her teeth gritted. Her parents had not worked hard their entire lives just to pad Dwight Bird’s retirement account. The man was so miserly he had tried to place his own demented but still physically active mother in a third-rate nursing home so that her care wouldn’t drain all her savings before she died. If Sarah hadn’t stepped in and insisted her grandmother go to a specialized Alzheimer’s facility, the poor woman’s mind would have deteriorated even faster than it had.

  Uncle Dwight wasn’t getting jack.

  She had to write a will. Immediately. She couldn’t risk leaving her grandmother without an advocate, without some care plan in writing. The woman existed now as little more than a vegetable; her son would shove her in a drawer if Sarah weren’t around.

  If I weren’t around.

  She breathed in with a shudder. If she were gone, her family’s graves wouldn’t be tended. Dee’s favorite flowers wouldn’t be put on her headstone every winter. No one would ever visit them again…

  A coldness pierced her.

  No one visits them now.

  She stopped outside the double doors, staring blankly into the nearby bushes. Guilt pummeled her insides. It was true. She hadn’t visited the graves in years. She had paid for flowers to be put out—but she had no way of knowing if they had been. She hadn’t taken care of the farm. She hadn’t preserved her family’s belongings. Now, in a matter of days, the house and everything in it would finally, completely, be gone. And so, dead or alive, would she. Run out. Run away. Like a rat from a burning barn.

  She felt herself shivering. She had to go back. But how could she? She couldn’t face that house again. She couldn’t stand in that living room, remembering—

  A man’s hand clutched her arm.

  Chapter 8

  Adam Carmassi jumped back as if he’d been struck. If he hadn’t moved so quickly, he probably would have been.

  "I’m sorry," he soothed, holding up his palms. "I didn’t mean to scare you. But the way you were—. When you didn’t answer me, I thought you were about to pass out again."

  Sarah stood several feet away, staring at him, breathing heavily. Her blue eyes, stricken with terror mere seconds ago, now flooded with remorse.

  "It’s not your fault," she said, her low, normally melodic voice reduced to a croak. "I just wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t…hit you, did I?"

  "No." He would have liked to crack another joke. Make her smile, put her at ease. But nothing seemed funny. The second he had touched her arm, she had whirled on him like an animal in a trap, terrified beyond all reason, ready to defend her life. Almost expecting, it seemed, to lose it.

  What the hell had happened to her?

  They didn’t speak for a while. It was unlike him, but for once, he could think of nothing to say. The doctor visit had clearly upset her. On the drive back to the library earlier she had done nothing but sit and stare out the window, and when he had asked her how it went she had dutifully answered—but in the guarded, listless tone of someone who doesn’t care to think about what they’re saying. I need more tests. I won’t be driving for another week.

  When he had tried to press, she had retreated, and he had given up.

  Temporarily.

  "Are you…ready to go?" he asked tentatively now, gesturing toward his car.

  She nodded.

  ***

  He studied her as they drove. He seemed incapable, in fact, of not doing so. The more time he spent with her, the more intrigued he became. Sarah had a strength about her that was incredibly rare in someone her age—a fierce independence, a determination to overcome. The sort of person on whom societal forces like peer pressure and materialism had no effect. She held herself outside of all that, piloting solely by her own sense of reason. And yet she was a paradox. Because in moments like the one he had just witnessed, her eyes betrayed a soul so haunted, so vulnerable, that one wrong move could shatter it like glass.

  In those moments, his desire to help her swelled almost to a compulsion. It was in his nature to want to help anyone, but his zeal in Sarah’s case was unusual. He knew plenty of ill people who needed transportation to doctor’s appointments, and he was willing enough to provide it when asked¾once in a while. But coercing a hesitant woman into accepting him as a regular chauffeur was not part of an ordinary day’s work. Nor was taking advantage of a personal friendship in order to schedule a medical appointment over lunch.

  He was overcompensating with Sarah, and he knew it. He had failed miserably with Christine, and that guilt still tormented him. It would continue to torment him whether he helped Sarah or not, and he knew that, too. But analyzing his motives didn’t change what he was feeling. Not when the sight of Sarah’s troubled eyes wrenched his insides like a dishrag.

  As if reading his mind, she straightened. "I’ll call the cab company as soon as I get home and work out a standing reservation. Dr. Gardner said that I should ask someone to check on me at home now and then, and I’m sure Rose wouldn’t mind popping over in the evenings. But that’s all I need at the moment. You’ve done far more for me already than I could ever have asked for. Thank you."

  He looked back into her stony, determined face. Her false bravado wasn’t fooling him—she could barely talk without her voice quavering. But she did seem bound and determined to shut him out.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  "Actually," he said with mock seriousness, "I’m still a couple points shy of renewing my good Samaritan license. I could help a little old lady across the street, but I can’t move fast enough to keep up with Rose, and all the other seniors in the neighborhood still drive. That’s why you’ve been such a find for me. It’s okay if you take a cab to work, but if I could ferry you to just one more doctor appointment—that would be all I need. Any chance you’ll have another this week?"

  She stared at him, her almond eyes narrowing slightly. He could tell she was fighting a smile. "Are you always like this?" she asked.

  His eyebrows arched. "Like what?"

  "So…unministerlike."

  He grinned. "And how would you know what other ministers are like? You said you’d never been to a church."

  Amazingly, she grinned back at him. "Touché."

  "You want to hear—"

  "No."

  "I was going to ask if you wanted to listen to the radio."

  "No, you weren’t. How dumb do I look?"

  He could answer that question in a heartbeat. There wasn’t one dumb thing about her. She was bright, articulate, and wise to his tricks. She even shared his sense of humor.

  A queer sense of dread passed over him. Lighthearted moments with Sarah had been few and far between, but when she smiled at him, she seemed uncannily familiar. Almost as if they were old friends. As delighted as he was to know that he had cheered her, that particular sensation disturbed him.

  He started talking again. "You look quite intelligent, actually. Which is why I was hoping you wouldn’t let a little pride get in the way of your common sense. You don’t like being dependent on other people—I get that. Most people don’t. But how’s a do-gooder like me supposed to get any satisfaction if everybody else in the world is completely self-sufficient? I mean, really. Have a heart!"

  She rolled her eyes playfully, then let out a sigh. He watched as a lock of her long, straight hair drifted over her shoulder, then splayed across her chest.

  With an effort, he moved his eyes back
to the road.

  Sarah was a difficult woman not to look at. Never mind that she made no attempt to attract the opposite sex. She wore no makeup, and her clothes, although flawlessly professional, were quite intentionally boring. But none of that mattered. It would take a man much blinder than Adam not to spy the subtle curves of her lean figure beneath the dowdy fabrics; not to be entranced by her smooth, almost feline movement. The very fact that she didn't decorate her body lent her a beguiling aura of earthiness, a fresh-faced, natural grace that drew the male eye like a siren.

  He would definitely have to watch himself.

  "Will you ask me if you need another ride somewhere?" He continued, keeping his tone light. "Please?"

  She paused before answering. "Yes, I will. Thank you."

  There was a new softness in her voice, and the sound of it warmed him. But the pleasure was short lived.

  "The doctor—" she began, "I mean Melissa, your friend, told me about your wife. I’m sorry, Adam. Very sorry."

  The temperature in the car around him seemed to drop. He felt as though he had stepped into a rain shower.

  "I just want you to know," she continued, "that I understand what it’s like to lose someone unexpectedly. I don’t know if Rose told you, but I lost my whole family nine years ago. My parents and my sister. I know that’s not quite the same thing, but still, I think I understand. You’re young. You had plans. Now you feel cheated."

  The rain around him turned to hail. Biting, driving pellets of ice. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t speak. Sarah thought she understood about Christine. But she didn’t. No one did.

  "I know you think I’m upset about my health," she offered. "But the fact is—" Her voice broke off.

  With one glance he knew her thoughts were no longer with him, and the knowledge brought instant relief. Christine’s death was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her. Sarah had been about to say something about herself, something important.

  Seconds passed. She turned her head and stared out the window. He had almost given up hope of her completing the statement when she whispered, almost inaudibly. "I haven’t visited their graves in years."

  Her voice was suffused with guilt, and a cold twinge of pity twisted in his stomach. He swallowed. "Would you like to?"

  She nodded.

  He asked the next logical question. "So, why haven’t you?"

  She made no response.

  He waited as long as he dared. Pressing her wouldn’t work, but the moment was too precious to lose. He was searching for the right thing to say when she spoke again.

  "I was supposed to take care of their things, but I never did that either. Next week it’s all going to an estate auction."

  Her voice was distant now, almost matter-of-fact. But the anxiety on her face was plain.

  She’s afraid to go back there, Adam reasoned, his mind racing. He remembered all too well the phone conversation he’d overheard the day before, though it had made little sense at the time. What was there in her hometown to be afraid of?

  Perhaps he was there. The man who had hurt her. The man she had mistaken Adam for as she lay in her driveway, bleeding and delirious.

  A flash of anger shot through him, and his teeth clenched. But he forced himself to concentrate, to keep the ire from his voice. He had to be careful what he said.

  "It sounds like you’ve still got the weekend," he suggested. "Where are we talking about?" He knew she came from Alabama; he hadn’t forgotten a single nugget of the information Rose had passed along. But it wouldn’t do for her to know that.

  She gazed sightlessly out the window, her mind still not fully in his company. "Auburn, Alabama. It’s too far to drive in a weekend, even if I could drive."

  "You could fly." No sooner had the words left his mouth than he remembered that her parents had died in a plane crash.

  "I don’t fly," she confirmed, still not looking at him. "I mean, I haven’t. Maybe I will someday. But I can’t now."

  He took a deep breath. The tone of her maybe struck a chord in him. It was a tone he used himself whenever he talked about hang gliding, bungee jumping, or any of the other dangerous amusements he longed to try. The calculated risk had always made them seem foolish, even indulgent—particularly when he had been married to a woman who depended on him so much. But his own fear wasn’t absolute. Under the right circumstances, he knew he could be coerced. In fact, in the back of his mind, he was counting on it.

  Sarah had every right to be leery of flying. But he was willing to bet she wasn’t as afraid as she’d convinced herself she should be.

  "Desperate situations call for desperate measures," he began. "It sounds to me like if you ever needed to fly, it’s now. Wouldn’t settling your unfinished business at home take a load off your mind?"

  She turned her face farther away. It was a long time before she responded. "I would like to go," she said finally. "But it’s impossible. Even if I did fly, I would still need to drive to get around down there."

  Adam gazed at the quarter of her face that he could see, and the pain entrenched there stabbed at him like a knife. She was terrified, yes, but not about flying. She was afraid of the man who had hurt her, and her fear was preventing her from following her heart—from setting things right with her conscience. The conflict had to be torture. The driving thing was just an excuse.

  He didn’t think about what he said next. Didn’t stop to consider, to debate. It was foolhardy, idiotic, and totally inappropriate, and perhaps because he knew that, he said it all the more quickly.

  "I could drive you around."

  Slowly, Sarah turned her head and stared at him. "In Alabama?"

  He returned his eyes to the road. She had to think he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had. His heart beat wildly, but he covered with a casual shrug. "Sure. Why not? I’ve never been to Birmingham. I was going to look for an E-saver flight to Chicago this weekend, but one’s as good as the other."

  He didn’t add that he already had plans in Chicago. He had arranged to spend his long-awaited weekend off with a college friend, stroll The Loop, and take in a Cubs’ game. But none of that was set in stone. In fact, now it sounded boring.

  He didn’t look at her, but he could tell she was still staring. "You don’t fly to Birmingham to get to Auburn," she corrected offhandedly. "It’s quicker to drive from Atlanta."

  He shrugged again. "Same difference. I’ve never seen Atlanta either, outside of the airport."

  She was silent. He imagined he knew what she was thinking—she was struggling to find the proper words to tell him just how absurd the offer was. Minister or not, no man in his right mind would fly across the country just to be helpful to a new neighbor. Not without an ulterior motive.

  He stole a glance at her face.

  That was exactly what she was thinking.

  He couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t believe the truth, even if he could explain it. What he really wanted was to spend more time with her, to get to know her better, to earn her trust. Only then could he get inside her head enough to assuage that wretched look of fear in her eyes—and perhaps some small portion of the guilt that haunted his own.

  "You can’t be serious," she stated.

  "Of course I’m serious," he answered, thinking fast. Convincing her that his motives were pure would be a challenge. No woman as attractive as she was could be unaware of the effect she had on men. She would never believe that he had no ulterior motive. His only shot would be to convince her he had a different one. Like, say, avarice.

  "Who wouldn’t jump at the offer of a free weekend away?" he proclaimed, cringing inwardly at his own brazenness. The ploy was both presumptive and rude, but if it worked, it would be worth it. "I love traveling; I just can’t afford to do it much, and playing chauffeur to you would be a small price to pay for the chance to see a new part of the country. You’d have to give me a chunk of time to see the sights by myself, of course, but other than that I could drive you anywhere you wanted
to go. You pay for my plane ticket, my motel room—and I don’t mean some dive, I want something nice with a pool—and the rental car. I’ll pay for my own food. What’s there to see around Auburn?"

  He assessed her reaction. She seemed flabbergasted. He decided to keep talking.

  "Isn’t the Civil Rights Memorial down there somewhere? In Birmingham?"

  She blinked at him. "It’s in Montgomery."

  "Is that close to where you’re going?"

  "More or less."

  He smiled to himself. Five whole seconds, and she hadn’t said no yet. Clearly, she was tempted. A man who could be bought would seem like a man she could control. But he doubted she was convinced yet. And her house was only three doors down.

  "You don’t have to give me an answer right now," he offered. "I know it would be an expensive weekend for you. And you’re probably worried about the flight. But you don’t have to be. Air travel is still the safest way to go, statistically, and I’m good company on a plane. I got my brother—who is the world’s most paranoid conspiracy nut—safely to LA last year, and he hadn’t flown since nine-eleven. It’s all about distraction."

  He pulled into her driveway. She remained sitting stiffly, her face thoughtful. He caught her eyes and grinned at her. "Honestly, I’d love to go. But don’t feel obligated just because I want to see the South. You don’t owe me anything. If you decide my services are too expensive, I can still do Chicago as planned. No big deal. Just let me know by tomorrow so I can get an E-saver ticket."

  She looked back at him, her expression searching. She was considering it, he could tell. The thought of having someone with her, even someone she barely knew, seemed to be mitigating her fear.

  The man she was afraid of was in Alabama. He was sure of it.

  But she didn’t trust him yet, either.

  She moved to get out of the car. "Thank you for the ride. I’ll take a cab tomorrow. As for the—"

  He was quick to interrupt her. "If you do need a ride anywhere else, call me. As for the trip, please, just sleep on it. I’ll check back with you tomorrow. Goodbye, Sarah."