From the Beginning (26 page)

It was a different dynamic than she was used to and one she had to admit she liked. Maybe he wasn’t joking when he’d mentioned that he’d made some changes in his life. And if that was the case, so far she thoroughly approved.

Part of her wanted to go back to their discussion from the night before—the one about being friends, or maybe something more. The idea excited her, but at the same time, she was more nervous than she could ever remember being. They’d tried this whole thing before and both of them had ended up getting hurt. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to do that again—especially now that she wasn’t only worried about herself getting hurt. The idea of hurting Simon was as painful.

At the same time, she obviously wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him. She’d tried that a few weeks ago and here they were, sharing cozy dinners for two and painting her bedroom. She wished she knew what was happening between them, why she kept coming back to him. Was it because of her feelings for him—or because of his connection to Gabby? Until she figured that out, she’d be better off keeping her eyes, and her thoughts, to herself.

They finally finished the walls around ten-thirty, and she stepped back to peruse their handiwork. “Not bad,” she told Simon with a smile. “For a jet-setting journalist, you’re pretty good with your hands.”

He smirked at her and she blushed as she realized how her words could be taken. Or at least how
he
was choosing to take them. But instead of rubbing it in—or offering to remind her how talented his hands were—he reached for a gallon of creamy-white paint.

“You want to knock the trim out tonight? It shouldn’t take long to do the door wells and windowsills.”

“Actually, I’m kind of tired. It’s been a long day.”

He immediately put the paint back down and crossed to her. “Turn around,” he murmured, and when she did, he started kneading her neck and shoulder muscles. It felt so good that her eyes nearly crossed, though she didn’t know what she appreciated more—the massage or the fact that Simon was the one giving it to her. She had a feeling it was the latter. So much for good intentions.

By the time he was done, she was a puddle on the ground—or pretty close to it. “Don’t fall asleep,” he told her as he pulled his shirt on. “You’ve got to lock the door behind me.” He grabbed her hand and started down the stairway.

“You don’t have to go so soon,” she protested, even as she wondered what she was doing.

The look he gave her seared her all the way to the bone. “I think we both know if I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Who was this woman and when had she completely lost her mind? Amanda wondered dazedly.

“Not from my point of view.” Simon grabbed her and pulled her in for a smoldering kiss. “But then, I wasn’t the one who, less than twenty-four hours ago, was saying that we needed to be friends. This is what friends do.”

Another kiss that turned her brain to mush and he was gone, disappearing into the night with a click of her front door. As she turned the lock, she thought about what he’d said. And the fact that from the second he’d shown up in Africa, Simon had done nothing but what was best for her.

It was a whole different side of him, one she wasn’t sure what to do with.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TWO WEEKS LATER, Amanda dragged herself determinedly out of bed. It was already seven forty-five and she was due to open the clinic at eight-thirty. Getting ready for work hadn’t been a problem any other mornings so far, but today it seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

When Lucas had asked her what day she wanted off this week, she’d been an idiot not to say today. Though she’d been dreading it, somehow she’d thought that having something to do, someplace to go, would make things easier. After all, she loved working with these patients, loved being able to help in a way she hadn’t been able to in Africa. But that wasn’t enough. The idea of going into the clinic today made her want to slam her head into the nearest wall until she fell into blessed unconsciousness.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Getting dressed was. Going to work was. Not sitting here, dwelling on the fact that today would have been Gabby’s ninth birthday. That there should be chocolate-chip ice-cream cake and new art supplies instead of tears and recriminations.

She wanted that alternate reality, wanted her baby safe and whole and healthy, so bad that she could barely stand the torment of being in her own skin. She wanted to scream, wanted to smash things, wanted to burn her whole existence—including the new life she’d started working toward—straight to the ground.

She wanted her baby back.

Dear God, she wanted Gabby in her arms where she belonged.

The agony of it—the absolute, horrible unfairness of it—brought her to her knees, and for long seconds, she was unable to move. Unable to think. She could only kneel there, arms wrapped around herself, face buried in the sheets of her brand-new bed, slowly breathing as the pain rolled through her.

During the past nineteen months, she’d learned that if she could just wait it out, if she could just concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, the pain would become bearable. Not good,
never good,
but manageable—a dull ache that she could cope with. Today, the pain had become an excruciating wave, one that would easily drown her if she let it.

The abyss beckoned and Amanda felt herself sliding toward it, felt herself giving in. It would be so easy to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. So easy to disappear. She’d done it before—literally and figuratively—and it had been so much better than this.

Then again, anything was better than this.

She’d actually pulled the covers back, had started to slide between them, before she regained control.

Withdrawing from the world wasn’t going to solve anything, she told herself through the pain. Hiding wasn’t going to bring her daughter back, and running away would only ensure that it hurt worse when the pain finally caught up with her. If she’d learned nothing else in those last, desperate months in Africa, she’d learned that.

Besides, if she gave in now, all the work she’d done since coming to Atlanta would come tumbling down around her like so many blocks, and she didn’t think she had it in her to start all over again.

Doing her best to ignore the sadness crashing around her, Amanda forced herself to finish dressing. Then she dragged herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, leaving her oh-so-tempting bed behind. She skipped the kitchen, with its brand-new flooring and paint, knowing there was no way she would be able to choke even a granola bar down, not the way her stomach was crazily churning.

Instead, she went straight to the garage and her SUV. The sooner she got to work, the sooner she could concentrate on something besides the fire in her gut and the flames that were slowly roasting her alive.

As she drove, she wondered how Simon was doing. Or if he even remembered what day it was. All week, she’d waited for him to mention something about Gabby, to suggest that they spend the day together, since they’d both be hurting, but he hadn’t said a word. Then again, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say anything, either—somehow, in her head, vocalizing their loss just made it worse.

Maybe he felt the same way.

Or maybe he’d forgotten it was Gabby’s birthday altogether. He’d been known to do that when she was alive. She’d wait to hear from him for hours—hoping for a phone call, an email, a present delivered via Federal Express—but more often than not, she was disappointed.

Two days or two months later—or sometime in between—Simon would blow back into town, with an apology and a fantastic gift to smooth everything over. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t—

She cut her thoughts off as anger welled inside her. The past was over. Yes, Simon had made some mistakes, but then, so had she. If they were really going to move on and give this friendship-and-maybe- something-more relationship of theirs a shot, she couldn’t afford to dwell on what had happened in the past. She had to let it go.

She pulled up in front of the clinic, checked her cell phone for the tenth time. Still no text or call from Simon. She tried not to let it get to her.

Despite her best intentions, though, the day at the clinic started a little roughly. She was off her game and more than once found her mind wandering when she needed to be concentrating on her patients’ symptoms. But as the day progressed, she managed to settle in, find her stride. That’s when she knew she’d done the right thing. Better to be here, swamped with work, than at home, hiding, as the day crept slowly by.
Better to be living,
she repeated for what might have been the millionth time in the past few weeks,
than the alternative
.

And by the time six o’clock rolled around, she was functioning, which was more than she could say about this day last year. That was definitely progress, right? If you took enough baby steps, you could still cover the distance. It would take you longer than if you sprinted, but it didn’t make crossing the finish line any less sweet.

Amanda washed up, took off her coat and stethoscope, then prepared to work her way through the last of her charts. Pulling out her cell phone, she checked her messages—again—but still nothing from Simon, which was weird. Very weird.

Usually, he called once or twice to check on her or ask her to lunch—or to firm up plans for dinner. They’d seen each other every day since he’d shown up on her doorstep with Chinese takeout, and so far, she hadn’t regretted a minute of the time they’d spent together.

Despite their past relationship—or more likely, because of it—they were taking things slow. Concentrating on rediscovering what they liked about each other aside from the sexual chemistry that had always flared between them.

But as the sun prepared to set for the day, Amanda didn’t know whether she should be hurt, angry or concerned. She ended up being a combination of all three and flipped on the television in the break room no one ever had time to use, just to see if all hell had broken loose somewhere in the world. It hadn’t, at least no more than usual, which meant Simon hadn’t had to drop everything and fly off to some hot spot.

So where was he? she wondered, stewing about the situation as she worked her way through the charts. Should she be worried that he hadn’t called? Atlanta could be a dangerous place, after all. Or should she assume he was busy? Just because her life was beginning to revolve around him—

Amanda closed her eyes as she realized what she’d admitted to herself. Her life was beginning to revolve around Simon? How was that even possible? And if it was true, how could she be so stupid? She knew better. Absolutely knew better.

Relying on him was like relying on the wind. He showed up when he was least expected, stuck around for a while, wreaking havoc, and then disappeared as quickly as he came. Sure, she was enjoying spending time with him, enjoying contemplating the possibilities of what could be, but that didn’t mean she was starting to
rely
on him. She’d made that mistake once and it had nearly killed her. Doing it again was worse than stupid. It was emotional suicide, and now that she’d climbed out of that hole, she wasn’t going there again.

“You look like someone shot your dog.” She glanced up to see Lucas leaning against the door frame, his dark eyes curious and concerned.

“I’m just tired.” She pushed away from the table. “I think I’m going to head home.”
To my empty house.

She didn’t say the words aloud, but they echoed in her head. Normally, she didn’t mind being alone, but tonight it seemed like the worst fate in the world. Way too much time to think.

“I’m off in half an hour. Can I buy a drink?”