by Donna Fasano
Cathy remained silent.
“She and I have gotten close these past few weeks. Because you and she are such good friends, she’s probably already told you how close.” Cathy’s steady gaze made him uncomfortable, so he gazed off into the kitchen. “Really…” He forced himself to look into Cathy’s eyes as he finished, “Close.”
“Come on.” Her brows arched. “Not that close. I know Heather pretty well.”
“True. But not because we haven’t… wanted to.” He swallowed. “Be. That close. I mean.”
“We’re both adults here, Daniel. We can say the word sex and not be cast into the bowels of hell.” Her expression turned pointed.
“You’re right.”
When he didn’t offer more, she said, “So… you’re saying that you and Heather have wanted to have sex. But you haven’t had sex.”
“Exactly. And I need to know why.”
Cathy crossed her arms. “Don’t you think that’s something you should ask Heather?”
He nodded. “We did talk. She did tell me. A lot, actually. But she didn’t tell me enough. Because I still don’t understand.”
The delicate skin around Cathy’s eyes tightened as she contemplated what he said.
“Heather told me about her jackass of a fiancé.”
“Steve,” she murmured.
“Yes. And that he left her.” Daniel tugged lightly on his pinky finger. “She told me about her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. She told me about helping her mom through the cancer treatment, and how her mother died three years after being diagnosed.”
The commiseration emanating from Cathy told him that the friends had gone through the whole ordeal together.
“And Heather told me about testing positive for BRCA1.”
Cathy’s gaze widened slightly, but she didn’t say a word.
“She told me about the operation. The double mastectomy.”
Her lips parting, Cathy gasped. “She told you about the scars?”
Agitation had him ticking off all he knew as if the facts were items on a grocery list. But her question silenced him.
“What are you talking about? What scars?”
The color drained from her face, and ever so slowly, she brought her lips together, then pressed them tight between her teeth.
“Cathy?” he urged. “What are you talking about? I know Heather had reconstructive surgery…” He shook his head slowly. “But she didn’t mention anything about scars.”
Her eyelids rolled closed. “Oh, my. What the hell have I done?” she groaned out the words softly, almost to herself. She pressed the fingers of both her hands to her bloodless mouth and looked up toward the ceiling. Her gaze went shiny and were suddenly rimmed with a deep pink.
“Daniel, you can’t tell her I told you. She will never forgive me, do you hear me? Never.”
Her agony scattered with the force of buckshot, trumping his need for more information about what she’d said. If he didn’t calm Cathy’s distress, he was sure she would shut down and refuse to tell him anything more.
“Look,” he said, keeping his tone calm even though his insides were in a flurry, “I’m not going to say a word to Heather. I promise you. I’m not going to tell Heather anything. You can trust me on that.”
Tears glistened in Cathy’s eyes now, and he watched her hands tremble.
“You can’t say a word.”
Her gaze darted from his face, to the front door, to the cash register, yet Daniel knew she wasn’t really seeing anything; she was so swallowed up by her guilt and anguish.
“She won’t let anyone see,” Cathy whispered. “Even after the operation. Sara and I helped get her through that awful time. She was so sore…so… wounded. Physically and emotionally. She refused to let us check her bandages. A-and, and…even after she healed, she became so self-conscious… so protective of her body. Once, we were out shopping. I found a dress I thought she’d love. I didn’t even think about it; I walked into her dressing room. She was wearing a bra, for goodness sake. I didn’t see anything more than a flash of bare shoulders and chest. But she was mortified. I’ve never seen her so angry. She didn’t speak to me for three weeks.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “I promise you.”
“If she ever finds out, it won’t be okay. I’m telling you. My friendship with Heather is on the line here.”
Cathy had worked herself up to the point that Daniel worried about her. She was ghostly pale and shaking. He slid off the stool, and as he rounded the counter toward her, he said, “You’ve got to calm down. This isn’t good for you.”
He clasped her elbow and placed one hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her out into the dining room.
“You need to sit down. Relax. Let me make you a cup of tea.”
She let him lead her, and she sat at the table nearest the counter.
“I’ll put lots of sugar in it,” he told her. “You’ll feel better in no time. You’ll see.”
Just minutes later, the color had returned to Cathy’s cheeks and she did look and seem less tense. Surprisingly, she’d continued to talk, continued to answer his questions. Her responses were brief, but he continued to pull small bits of information from her.
“A bilateral mastectomy,” Cathy told him. “Search images on Google.”
He nodded. “I have.” And he explained about having done research on the subject for a book he’d written. “But, I’m guessing, her results don’t match the pretty images I’ve seen.”
“I’m guessing you’d be right.” She sipped her tea, and then swallowed.
“I still don’t understand. She told me she had reconstructive surgery.”
“Sara and I found her sobbing one day. Years ago. She called herself disgusting. She revealed to us that her scars slashed across the center—” Cathy closed her eyes and shook her head. “She said her breasts looked—” Cathy heaved a heavy sigh “—as smooth as two water balloons.”
Realization suddenly dawned on Daniel. Now he understood everything clearly. The surgeon had removed Heather’s nipples.
“The truth is,” Cathy said, emotional exhaustion softening her voice, “my beautiful friend doesn’t feel beautiful. In fact, the opposite is true. She feels quite ugly.”
His nod was meant to convey his full comprehension. He didn’t say anything more. There was no more need for questions and probing. He knew all he needed to, and his heart was filled with such sadness for Heather.
“You’re not going to tell her?”
The beseeching quality in Cathy’s eyes, in her tremulous question, touched him to the very marrow.
How could he let Heather know that none of this mattered to him if he didn’t tell her he knew? What she saw as a physical abnormality would never bother him one whit. But how would she ever come to understand that if he remained silent?
He reached across the table and encircled her wrist with his fingers. “Listen to me, Cathy. I swear to you that I will never tell Heather that you and I talked. I won’t. You can trust me. I mean it.”
She visibly relaxed, and she even gave him a small smile of thanks.
After a moment, she asked, “So, why me? Why did you come to talk to me? Especially when you thought, you know, that we’re two countries that don’t get along and all that.”
He had to grin.
“Why didn’t you talk to Sara?” Cathy went on. “Most days, she’s right next door. You’ve got to have noticed that she’s far nicer than I am.”
Daniel pulled his hand back to his side of the table. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t looking for nice. I was looking for honest.”
She seemed content with his answer.
Chapter Ten
Fake it till you make it. It wasn’t an attitude that normally resonated with Heather. She preferred expressing honest emotions. But living in a place of truth just wasn’t possible for her right now.
She wanted Daniel. Craved him. That was the truth.
Every night sh
e dreamed about his hands skimming over her body, touching her in every dark, secret place, his eager kisses nearly bringing her to orgasm. She would wake up, gasping and sweaty and aching with need.
But that need would never be satiated. She would never tremble under his fingertips. She would never trail her fingers over the firm muscles of his naked body.
Never.
Her body might be weak, and her imagination—at least while she slept—might fail her, but her mind was made up.
When she’d told Daniel that she couldn’t engage in a physical relationship with him, she’d meant it with every fiber of her being. The only thing waiting for her were she to relax her stance would be more humiliation than she would ever be able to bear.
So for the past few days, she’d faked it. She’d plastered on a smile and a happy disposition, and she’d played the efficient, cheerful host of The Lonely Loon. It wasn’t difficult, and there were times when it didn’t feel all that phoney—as long as she avoided that intense gaze of his. And little by little the ploy continued to work its magic. Her pleasant yet detached demeanor helped her maintain some space between herself and Daniel. She didn’t see him all that often, she now realized. The toughest part was the time she spent serving him breakfast.
She stood at the island in the kitchen, a juice pitcher and a carafe of coffee ready and waiting. Rather than choosing one, which would turn into two trips, she picked up both and headed toward the dining room. When she passed through the door, she contracted her cheek muscles and forced a smile onto her mouth.
Damn, he looked good. His black hair was still damp from his shower, and his clean-shaven face seemed to invite her to reach out and trace her fingers along his jaw. Thank goodness both her hands were full.
“I’ve got orange juice,” she told him brightly. “And coffee. I’ll fill you up with both, and then I’ll leave you alone so you can eat in peace.”
His gaze met hers, and she immediately focused on his juice glass. The air temperature rose, and she scrambled for something more to say.
“I can’t believe it’s nearly February.”
He jerked or flinched; she wasn’t sure which. Then the butter knife he’d reached for thumped on the table top.
Instinctively, she stopped pouring.
“What’s the date?” he asked her, scrambling for his phone. “Aw, damn it.”
Butter from the knife he’d dropped had smeared on his thumb and palm, and a glop of it now adorned the case of his cell phone.
Heather set down the coffee carafe, pulled free the tea towel that had been tucked into the waistband of her apron, and held it out to him. He ignored her.
“The date!” he repeated.
“It’s the twenty-fifth.”
Misery made his face go stark. He took the towel she offered, but he didn’t use it to wipe off his hand or phone. He simply sat there, staring up at her.
“What is it, Daniel? What’s wrong.”
“It’s her birthday.” His lips were dry. “I can’t believe I forgot. How could I have forgotten?”
“Mia’s birthday?” The imaginary bricks she’d used to build her wall of protection seemed to crumble to dust the very instant she saw guilt snuff the light out of his eyes.
She set down the juice pitcher, pulled out a chair and sat down close to him. “Daniel, it’s going to be all right.”
“But you don’t understand.” Absently, he set the phone down and began swiping the greasiness from his hand. “Her birthday is our day. Together, I mean. Ever since her mom died, I’ve gone out of my way to make Mia’s birthday special. I take off work. I plan an outing of some sort. We make a whole day it. Just Mia and me.” He went quiet, shaking his head as he tossed the towel aside. “She’s going to be so upset.”
Heather could no more not reach out to him than she could keep herself from drawing breath. She slid her fingers over his forearm. “You’ll make it up to her just as soon as she comes home. It won’t be long. You’ve said that, over and over. And I believe you’re absolutely right. It won’t be long, Daniel. It won’t be long.”
Although the corners of his eyes still crinkled with distress, he offered her a tiny semblance of a smile, and Heather felt her insides grow molten, as if she were filled with hot, radiant sunlight.
And in that moment, she knew. This man was on the verge of stealing her heart. She could so easily fall in love with him. All the signs were there. She wanted him to be happy, wanted only good things, joyful things, for him. She wished to level out all the rough patches from his path. She wanted to make his way easy. Wanted to soothe his hurt, take away his pain.
Oh, Lord, she silently prayed, she was going to have to tread very carefully. Allowing herself to fall in love in the past had brought nothing but disastrous results—heartache and misery.
Blinking her way out of dreary thoughts that had sucked her in, she inhaled deeply and focused on his face, concentrated on easing his worry.
Her bolstering words seemed so weak and ineffectual. But that’s all she could offer him. She couldn’t bring his little girl home to him; and right now, that’s the only thing that he longed for.
Daniel covered her hand with his, nodding his head. “You’re right, of course,” he told her. “It won’t be long. And that means I have to be ready, right? I think I’ll go out shopping. See if I can find a present or two.”
Seemed like he, too, had decided on employing the fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude, and surprisingly, that made Heather smile.
“What a wonderful idea.” Buying gifts for Mia would be the perfect plan to help him feel more in control of a miserably out-of-control situation. “You could go to the outlets in West Ocean City. Or you could go to the Salisbury Mall. Or the Rehoboth Outlets. There are plenty of places to shop around here, that’s for sure.”
They talked for a few minutes longer, and he cleaned the mess off his phone while she gave him directions to Salisbury.
Soon, he was on his way upstairs to grab his car keys and coat, and she was left sitting at the dining room table. And that’s when the idea came to her. While he was out looking for a surprise for his daughter, Heather would be busy making a surprise for him.
* * *
Three hours later, Heather hummed a cheery tune as she put the finishing touches on the birthday surprise. The two-layer vanilla cake she’d baked might be slightly on the boring side, but the outside was a work of art. She’d tinted the shiny marshmallow icing pink and used a liberal amount of rainbow-colored sprinkles on top. The resulting fluffy confection would have made any child feel special. Heather hoped Daniel thought so, anyway.
Party streamers and banners were standard supplies she kept on hand just in case her guests were celebrating a birthday or an anniversary during their stay and wanted an impromptu party. A colorful HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner swooped in an arc on the dining room wall, and crepe paper draped gracefully from the corners of the ceiling to the center-most point on the chandelier hanging over the table. The decorations weren’t the fanciest, but they were enough to let Daniel know she supported him in his effort to celebrate Mia’s birthday.
When Heather heard his key turn in the back door lock, she set the cake on the table and headed toward the kitchen to meet him. Automatically, her hands went to her hair and she combed her fingers through the long, soft curls. When she realized she was primping, she snatched the tea towel from the back of the kitchen chair to give herself something to hold on to. How she looked didn’t matter. The important thing was what she had done.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
He carried several bags, one made of stiff brown paper with braided jute handles, the others, plain white plastic.
Her gaze dipped to the front of her shirt and she checked for any errant dustings of flour or smudges of pink icing.
“Looks like you were successful.” She heard the happy excitement in her own voice.
Daniel nodded as he made his way over to the table. “I found some things I think Mia
will love.” He set the bags on the table, inhaling deeply and gazing around at the mess she’d left in the kitchen.
“Smells good in here,” he told her, taking in the batter-smeared and icing-encrusted bowls, unwashed baking pans, measuring cups, spoons, and spatulas that littered the counter tops along with the ingredients. “I’ve never seen the kitchen so… lived in.”
Heather chuckled at his polite choice of words. He was right; cleaning up as she cooked was her normal practice. But while the cake had been baking in the oven, she’d been too busy decorating the dining room to wash up the bowls and utensils she’d used, or wipe up the drips of batter from the kitchen counter. And then she’d focused on icing the cake and making it pretty. No matter. She’d set the kitchen right soon enough.
“What’s going on?”
A thrill shot through her as she anticipated his reaction to what she was about to unveil.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She gave a slight jerk of her head toward the dining room. “Come on in here.” Then she paused. “Bring Mia’s gifts.”
She hurried through the doorway and into the dining room, then she’d pivoted a hundred eighty degrees and took the last few steps backward so she could watch his face.
“Ta-da!” She spread her arms, palms facing upward.
The wonder on his handsome face was almost too much for her to bear. Her heart squeezed with a painful pleasure even though she could tell he was still uncertain about exactly what he was seeing.
“Wha…?” He gazed at the decorations and the cake. “Heather?” He looked into her eyes.
“It’s a birthday party,” she announced brightly. “For Mia.”
“I can… see that. But I don’t understand.”
His words came haltingly and she laughed.
“You’re going to set out Mia’s gifts,” she explained. “We’re going to light the candles and sing happy birthday.” She reached over and picked up her cell from where she’d placed it on the buffet. “And I’m going to video the whole thing. With my phone. I’ll text it to you so…” Her tone went quiet. “When you see your daughter, you can let her know you remembered. She’ll see that you kept her and her day special. Even though the two of you couldn’t be together. You celebrated… just like you always do.”
