Borrowed Time

by Edie Claire

  "Did you have a good morning?" she asked hopefully. Realizing how difficult she had been in Auburn and how much mental energy he had wasted worrying about her, just paying his expenses didn’t seem a fair trade anymore. She could only hope he had recouped some of the weekend’s losses in the time he had spent alone.

  "It was great," he answered cheerfully. "I did a little more driving around. How about you? Did your grandmother seem comfortable?"

  She nodded appreciatively. Adam’s line of work did bestow him with some useful talents; knowing what to say when it came to ill relatives was one of them.

  He glanced at his watch. "Well, let’s head off then. The security lines can be pretty long on Sundays."

  "Sarah? You still here?"

  The nasally tone hit Sarah’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. It was her uncle again, and he was heading their way.

  He sidled up rapidly, his eyes fixing on Adam with an eager smile. He extended a beefy hand. He didn’t even look at her. "Hello, there," he said pleasantly. "I’m Sarah’s uncle, Dwight Bird, CPA. And who might you be?"

  She cringed. The last thing she wanted to put Adam through now was some Southern gentleman’s chest-beating routine. But it was too late. As her only male relative, her uncle felt responsible for her—no matter how old she was, and no matter whether either of them liked it. His familial duties could be discharged only by passing her off to another of his gender, and at long last, he had one in his sights.

  "Adam Carmassi," the victim returned, his smile easy as he shook the older man’s hand. "I’m Sarah’s neighbor, from Pittsburgh. This weekend, I’m also her chauffeur. It’s nice to meet you."

  Dwight’s smile faded. But only slightly. He considered a minute. "You helped her fly down, then," he surmised.

  "She’s a trouper," Adam said tactfully.

  Sarah’s uncle offered a lop-sided grin, still eyeing Adam like a piece of meat. "She seems to be doing much better these days," he offered, speaking as if she weren’t there. "I sure was happy to hear she’d finally sold that house. That’s a load off my mind, I tell you what." He shook his head. "Just wasn’t healthy, her hanging on to it like that. But there wasn’t anything I could do."

  The blood drained from Sarah’s face. She braced for a hefty glare from Adam, but he responded to her uncle’s revelation without missing a beat.

  "Oh, I think Sarah’s handled the situation beautifully, considering the circumstances," he said smoothly.

  "So, what line of work are you in?" Dwight belted, ignoring the previous statement.

  Sarah glanced at her watch. She had to get Adam out of this.

  "I’m a Methodist minister," he answered proudly.

  Her uncle’s eyes widened. It was clear he couldn’t decide whether that was good news or bad. "Sarah goes to your church?" he asked incredulously.

  "No, I don’t," she said quickly, not giving Adam a chance to answer. The interview was over. "We just met each other a few days ago. But right now, we’re running late for our plane, so we’d better get going. Goodbye again." She turned to leave.

  Her uncle cast a quick, irritated glance her way, then extended his hand to Adam once more. "Well, thank you for bringing her down. I hope you have a nice flight back."

  "I’m sure we will." The men exchanged a courteous farewell, then Adam turned to join her. She studied his face as they walked away, expecting to see mortification at least, anger at worst.

  What she saw, unaccountably, was a grin.

  ***

  "I’m really sorry about that," she apologized as they settled into the car. "My uncle means well, but he’s impossibly aggravating. I didn’t mean to subject you to him."

  Adam was still grinning. "You didn’t think that little exchange was fun?"

  She rubbed her face with her hands. "You have to understand the mentality. I could be President of the United States, and in that man’s squinty little eyes, I’d still be a failure. A woman isn’t a success in life until she snags a husband and has babies. I’m twenty-six, and I’m single. Ergo, he’s failed as my guardian. I’m nothing but an albatross."

  "You could never be anyone’s albatross."

  She looked up. He seemed to mean what he said, and she couldn’t fathom why. If she were him, she would drop her carcass off at the nearest mental health facility and never look back. He knew now that it was her, and not her uncle, who had held on to the house until it crumbled. He also knew that she had lied to him about it. He should be confronting her, not saying something sweet.

  She took a breath. "What happened to the house was my fault," she admitted without segue. "I inherited it outright after I turned eighteen. My uncle had nothing to do with it."

  Adam kept his eyes on the road. The day was blistering hot, as expected. Waves of heat rippled over the concrete before them. "I kind of figured that."

  She stared. His claim not to have believed her carefully crafted story disappointed her. It also made her nervous. "Oh?"

  "What you told me didn’t make much sense," he explained. "And I still don’t understand. I’m sure you have some good memories associated with that house, but you also have some very bad ones. Why would you choose to hang on to it?"

  She stiffened. This was precisely the conversation she had lied to avoid. "My reasons for not wanting to sell are personal. I didn’t want to get into them, but I didn’t want you to think I was a nutcase, either. That’s why I tried to put the blame on my uncle."

  "I see." He was quiet for a while. A long while.

  She looked out the windows as they drove, but the scenery on this part of I-285 had little to recommend it. She was struggling to read the message on a faded bumper sticker ahead of her when it began. A queer, disorienting sensation, much like one feels when dreaming of falling. Her head felt light; her body, heavy. Her pulse began to race. Her heart thudded loudly against her breastbone.

  She put a hand to her chest.

  "I know that none of this is my business," Adam was saying. "But the truth is, I’m worried about you. Keeping secrets can be a huge burden, and despite what you told me about going to therapy, it’s obvious that you’ve left some issues unresolved."

  She whipped her head around to look at him. She wasn’t sure which upset her more: what he was saying or the bizarre feeling that had come over her. But as she sat there staring at him, the extraordinary thumping stopped—as suddenly as it had begun. Her heart was beating plenty fast still, but not quite so urgently. The lightheadedness was gone.

  She was fine. It was nothing.

  "I appreciate your concern," she stammered, averting her eyes again. She didn’t want him to see how frightened she was. The doctor had told her to call if anything unusual happened. But it was Sunday. The only doctor she could reach down here would be at a hospital ER, and she did not want to spend four hours sitting in some overcrowded waiting room. Adam would have to take her; then he would miss his flight, too.

  No way. She was fine. In a couple hours she would be back in Pittsburgh. If it happened again, she would take care of it there.

  She stole a worried glance at Adam, but they had hit a patch of heavy traffic, and he seemed not to have noticed her lapse.

  He was, however, interrogating her again.

  She settled against her seat back with a sigh. Her reasons for bringing him along had all been practical, utilitarian. She had never expected to enjoy his company so much. And even though it was contrary to her goal in moving to Pittsburgh in the first place, the idea of having a male friend appealed to her. Surely they could share a laugh once in a while without his getting too close. She could be honest with him about select things; he had no way of finding out the whole truth.

  Not until construction begins.

  Her hand flew to her chest again. Her heartbeat was still rapid, but she was fine. There was no accompanying funny feeling. Just a sickening image of backhoes and bulldozers, rolling through the weeds—

  "But?" Adam asked.

  She couldn’t remembe
r the reference. She looked at him. His eyes were still on the road. The traffic was horrible. "But what?"

  "You appreciate my concern, but," he prompted. "But I’m a pain in the neck and you just wish I’d leave you alone, or but you’re convinced there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help you?"

  The kindness in his voice sent a warmth through her, even as his earnestness made her squirm. "The latter," she answered softy. "You’re not a pain in the neck, Adam. As hideous as yesterday morning was, you made me enjoy the rest of the day, which was a real miracle. I really do appreciate that."

  His face lit up with a smile. "So, you admit it."

  "Admit what?"

  "That I can help you."

  She squirmed even more. She didn’t want to offend him, and she didn’t want to hurt him. But he had to back off. "I do not need any more help," she stressed. "Of course it still bothers me to think about what happened to my family, and of course I still miss them. What else do you want me to say?"

  He paused. A silence hung in the air. "I want you to deal with whatever else it was that happened to you. Besides losing your family." His voice turned deliberate. "The thing that frightens you so much."

  Her heart seemed to stop altogether. Her limbs felt paralyzed. He could not know. He simply couldn’t. She hadn’t said anything. There was nothing to see. She hadn’t—.

  There was no way.

  But he couldn’t keep on frightening her like that. "I told you I’m not afraid of anything!" she said adamantly. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

  Her reaction seemed to distress him. It distressed her too. Could she have done a better job of acting like she had something to hide?

  "Sarah," he said calmly, almost penitently, "please don’t—"

  "What is it you think I’m afraid of?" she demanded.

  He didn’t respond. His face was red. The traffic was demanding a good deal of his attention, and she could tell he was frustrated.

  "I don’t know what you’re afraid of," he said finally. "But I’ll be honest with you. I don’t believe the story you told me about getting accidentally beat up by a drunk. I know that you’re afraid of something because I can see the fear in your eyes—and I’ve seen it more than once. Nobody can live with that kind of fear and be happy, Sarah. That’s why I keep pestering you. I want to help you, if I can. To be happier. That’s all."

  She forced herself to breathe. In and out. Slow and easy. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He was assuming that she was afraid of a person.

  A person.

  That was fine.

  She collected herself. "My past hasn’t been a bed of roses, and I suppose I do spook easy because of it. But I’m not in any danger now."

  He turned his head to the side, as long as he safely could, to look at her. "Are you sure about that?"

  She forced her eyes to meet his. "Yes."

  He looked back at the road. She got the feeling he wasn’t convinced.

  "I don’t need a bodyguard," she continued. "Or a shrink. I’ve been thinking that a friend might be nice, but only if he can restrain himself from giving me the third-degree every other second."

  He smiled a little, but his jaw was clenched. "And what if he can’t make any promises?"

  Her heart sank. The man was more tenacious than she thought. Telling him anything would be a mistake.

  She looked into his passionate, sincere face. Of course it would be a mistake. A person like him could bring her nothing but trouble. For nine years she had held herself emotionally distant from everyone and everything that could threaten her carefully constructed cocoon. Her world was temporary; everything about her was temporary. She had never so much as indulged in a pet. There had been no point in building relationships, putting down roots. Kansas City was the closest she’d ever gotten to having real friends, which was exactly why she’d had to leave it. She never wanted anyone who cared about her to learn the truth. She couldn’t bear it.

  She could not let Adam get any closer. In one weekend he’d found out more about her than people she had worked with for years. Could she convince him to stop the inquisition, or would he keep on pushing, regardless?

  Had he not just answered that question?

  Moist heat pressed behind her eyes.

  She would have to stay away from him. Period. There could be no more carefree afternoons, no more witty repartee, no more laughter. Just her new job, her funky split-level house, her books, and her garden.

  Her stomach felt like lead. She had had the nerve to really enjoy something. It figured it couldn’t last. She had been foolish to think it could.

  "Is that a no?" he asked.

  Her insides churned. "You’d better get in the right lane now," she said without emotion, her gaze locked on the windshield. "Our exit’s just ahead."

  Chapter 17

  The cab pulled out of Sarah’s driveway, shifted gears, and sped out of the cul-de-sac with a loud squeal of its nearly bald tires. Sarah’s eyes searched the empty front windows of Adam’s house as they passed by.

  Then she caught herself, and looked away.

  She hadn’t seen Adam since Sunday, when she had thanked him profusely for his services over the weekend and then politely dismissed him. He had called yesterday, but she had kept the conversation short.

  "So how was your weekend?"

  Sarah looked over the front seat to the back of her cab driver’s shaved head, which was tattooed with a flying lizard. The man’s name was Dustin. He had been her driver almost every day since she had placed the standing order, and he talked too much.

  "It was fine," she responded dully. Politeness was admirable in a cab driver, but she found Dustin’s continual chitchat unnerving.

  "I went to the most awesome club on Saturday night," he continued eagerly, oblivious to her tone. "Komo’s Dungeon, on the South Side. Ever heard of it?"

  Sarah squirmed. She didn’t drink, had never been to a "club" in her life, and did not care to hear—as she had last Friday—how many times he’d thrown up on his way home.

  Dustin made her nervous. Men in general made her nervous, but this one was just young enough, strong enough, and creepy enough to set her teeth on edge besides. She kept hoping she would get somebody else.

  Her lack of a response did not deter him.

  "It’s an awesome Goth scene. Crushed Meat is there a lot. I think they’re playing again next weekend."

  Sarah stared out the window and willed the cab forward. Dustin stopped at a yellow light and turned to face her. Reluctantly, she met his gaze.

  He smiled lazily, revealing a chipped tooth—no doubt a casualty of his tongue stud. "If you’re into it," he said slowly, "I could take you sometime."

  Panic surged, bringing heat to Sarah’s face.

  Calm down!

  No amount of experience in putting men off had ever seemed to make the task easier. She had no idea what attracted them. Didn’t her modest wardrobe say enough? Her aloofness? Her outright rudeness? She never wore any makeup. Her hair was plain. She was a librarian, for crying out loud! But still, there were men like Dustin. Men who assumed she would take their leering as a compliment.

  Even greater than her annoyance with them, however, was her frustration at her own anxiety—a reaction she couldn’t seem to control, no matter how old she became…or how much time passed.

  She summoned her resolve. She would not play the hunted doe. She would act like the mature, capable woman she had fought so hard to become.

  "No thank you," she said, keeping her tone even. "All I need is a ride to work. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not chitchat on the way."

  Dustin’s head snapped forward. His face reddened, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

  He didn’t say a word the rest of the ride.

  When they reached the library, Sarah handed over his tip without making eye contact and stepped hastily out of the cab. She held her head high as she walked into the building, but she could not keep her knees from wobbli
ng.

  You’re being ridiculous. Everything is fine.

  Was it? She had no idea what kind of man Dustin really was. And he knew not only her name, but where she lived, where she worked, and exactly what hours she was in transit between.

  She rushed into her office and shut the door behind her.

  Her shoulders shivered.

  Stop that! Just breathe…

  There was no reason for alarm. She would simply cancel with that cab company and call another. She would never see Dustin again, and within five minutes he would forget she ever existed.

  She would not overreact.

  Her desk phone rang. She snatched it up immediately, grateful for the distraction.

  "East Allegheny Library, Older Adult Services," she answered. "Can I help you?"

  "Is this Sarah Landers?"

  She recognized the doctor’s voice, and her body tensed all over again. "Yes, it is."

  She had taken off work the day before to have an EEG—the last of her assigned diagnostic tests. Her boss had been curious as to the reason for it, but Sarah had not explained. Her health concerns were nobody’s business.

  "This is Melissa Gardner. I wanted to let you know that the results of your EEG were normal. There’s no indication here of any abnormal brain function, so that’s good news."

  Sarah let out a breath. "That means I wasn’t having seizures, right?"

  "It’s highly unlikely. But I am still concerned about your heart. How have you been since Friday? Any episodes of lightheadedness or dizziness?"

  Sarah twisted a strand of hair around her finger. She hadn’t told anyone about the bizarre feeling she had experienced in the car on Sunday. Now it was difficult to remember exactly how she had felt, and why it had frightened her so. Her heart had raced, but her heart raced all the time. It was doing it again now. Could she really be sure she hadn’t imagined the rest of it?