Disguised Blessing (12 page)

“Sounds ominous.”

“Yeah, I hate like hell to think I have to give up my little corner of paradise just so someone else can have theirs.”

She laughed. “Well put.”

Rick turned left on Sierra College Boulevard and then right on Douglas again. The rental agency was behind a video store. Catherine had her door open before Rick turned off the engine.

She turned to him. “Will I see you later?”

His immediate thought was to tell her yes. He had his mouth open to do so when it hit him that he had no reason to see her again that day—at least no reason that had anything to do with his work with Lynda. “Probably not. I have some things I’ve been putting off that I should get done.”

If she was disappointed, it didn’t show. She got out and lifted her purse strap over her shoulder. “Tomorrow then.”

Hot, dry air swept through the cab, a giant hand
stealing the air-conditioning, warning him it was not a day for a sane man to be pounding nails. “I’m working.”

“Oh…I must have misread that calendar you gave me. I thought you didn’t go back to work for four days.”

“Normally I wouldn’t. I’m paying back a guy who took a shift for me last year.”

She looked confused. “I just found out this morning that Lynda’s friends are planning a surprise party for her when she gets home on Friday. I know she’d like you to be there. Can you come?”

He wanted to say yes, told himself to say no, and answered, “Maybe. I’ll have to let you know.”

She nodded. “Well, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” He waited until she was inside, a stupid, expectant smile on his face in case she happened to turn around one last time. Once safe, he let out a string of profanity that would have made his crew blush.

After ten years and more bad dates than he wanted to remember, he’d finally happened across a woman who made him smile just thinking about her, one who made him think of possibilities instead of roadblocks.

Shit,
how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let this happen? Catherine Miller was less than twenty-four hours out of a relationship with a man she’d loved enough to agree to marry. There was no way she was ready to start dating again, even if it were possible for him to ask.

Which it wasn’t.

She needed time. Lots of it. And he would have to be completely detached from the Burn Association before he could let her know how he felt. To do that now would mean leaving her and Lynda without the help they needed, just when they needed it the most.

Hell.
Some choice. Walk out on Catherine now, on Tom’s heels, and come back later telling her it had been so they could be together in the end; or stick it out for a year and try to pull off a cool, strictly professional interest. To do that he would have to back off—way off—her personal life. He’d already spent too much time at the hospital. His role in this process was as conduit for the parent, not interactive participant. At least that was the way it was supposed to be. The way it had always been. Until now.

Damn.
A whole year? No way. He’d never pull it off. He was only a little better at hiding his emotions than Blue. Give him a tail and he’d be wagging it every time he saw Catherine.

L
YNDA STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND
adjusted the collar on her shirt for the tenth time that morning. When the collar stayed up, it hid the bandages at the back of her neck; when it fell down, it looked like she was wearing a really ugly turtleneck under her shirt. Only crazy people wore turtlenecks in the middle of summer in California. Or burned people. But who would know something like that?

She turned sideways to see how fat the tube bandages made her look. They went all the way around her, from her neck to her thighs, but the shirt and pants were so big she could have been a size twenty and no one would know the difference.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she pulled on one side of her bangs and fluffed the other. Then she adjusted her cap and her hair went back the way it had been. It was funny how fast she’d gotten used to her hair being short. Not the shaved part, but the bangs. The rest was past the spiky stubble stage and growing into a soft fuzz that her physical therapist
said should be long enough to curl by Christmas.

She didn’t care about the curling part. She just wanted her hair long enough to hide the scars on the back of her neck.

A now familiar double tap on the door let her know Brian was outside. He waited a few seconds, giving her time to cover up if she needed to, and then came in.

He had on a new shirt, at least one she’d never seen before, and was wearing chino slacks instead of his usual jeans. “You look nice,” she said.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Yeah, right.” She held out her arms to show him how big the shirt she’d borrowed from her father was on her. “Straight out of
Cosmo.”

He grinned. “Maybe more
GQ,
but still pretty cool. Who knows, you could be starting a new fashion trend.”

She smiled back, which ruined her attempt to look put out. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to stop by the house later.”

He sat on the metal frame chair next to her, hanging one leg over the side, the other straight out. “I had to drop some stuff off for my dad. His usual gopher moved to another hole—one with better benefits.”

“So you’re working for your dad now?” she asked carefully. She knew he’d have to find an excuse for not coming to see her when she left the hospital and was curious what it would be. At least being tied up with a job was reasonable, something she could talk herself into believing.

“I tried that last summer. Mom said there was no way she’d ever let one of us kids work for Dad again. I’m just helping out until he can find someone else.”

“When did you say football practice started?” If he couldn’t come up with a reason on his own, she would help. Anything was better than a lame excuse that she couldn’t pretend was true.

“Not for a couple of weeks yet.” He stared at her, his eyes soft and warm, as if he could read her mind. “You wouldn’t be looking for a reason to get rid of me, would you?”

“Why would I do that?” she asked defensively.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Postponing her answer, she arched her back and shifted her shoulders, going through familiar motions he understood. For days now her back and arms and neck felt as if she’d become the permanent food source for a swarm of mosquitoes. Everyone she asked told her it was part of the healing process and would go on for eighteen months or more.

“The itching thing bothering you again?” Brian asked.

“Driving me crazy.”

“You want me to get the nurse?”

She shook her head. “They already gave me a Benadryl.”

He shifted forward, his hands on his knees. “I got you a coming-home present.”

“You did?” She was more pleased than she should have been. Brian was always doing things like that for her, the way she imagined a big brother
would do if she had one. Or a really good friend. Like Wendy. Only Wendy wasn’t just a good friend, she was Lynda’s best friend. Or at least she had been before Lynda had acted like such a shit and refused to see her or even talk to her on the phone. She missed Wendy. And she really, really needed to talk to her. There were just some things you didn’t tell a guy, even a guy like Brian. Like how sometimes, when she was alone at night and all she could hear were the machines that spied on her and the nurses gossiping about stuff that didn’t interest her, she let herself imagine what it would be like if Brian were more than a friend.

“It’s in the car,” Brian said. “I’m saving it for when you get home.”

“At least give me a hint.”

“It’s round. And that’s all I’m going to say, so don’t even try to get me to tell you anything else.”

Her heart in her throat, she let herself believe for one sweet second that he’d bought her a ring. Not an engagement ring, she wasn’t that desperate or dumb. But something simple, something that said they were more than friends. The impossibly crazy second over, she played along. “Should I guess?”

“Guess all you want.”

“Will you tell me if I get it?”

“Nope.”

“Not fair.”

He laughed and reached for her hand. “What wouldn’t be fair is if I let you ruin the surprise.”

He’d never taken her hand before. He’d touched her cheek when she was crying, and messed with her
hair when it was first cut, and he’d played around with her cap, helping her find where it looked best, but he’d never purposely done anything this intimate. Lynda didn’t know what to do. Should she just stand there with her hand in his or take it back and mess with her hair and pretend it never happened?

Brian caught her gaze. “I need to tell you something about today. I’m not sure—”

The door opened and her mother came in. Lynda let go of Brian’s hand as if they’d been caught doing something wrong. She didn’t know whether she was grateful or furious with her mother for the interruption.

“Ready to get out of this place?” Catherine asked cheerfully.

“I thought you wanted to say good-bye to everyone.” Her mother had spent half of last night telling her about the presents she’d bought for nurses, therapists, doctors, and social workers, describing them in detail and wondering aloud if she’d made the right choices. She’d asked a lot of questions like that since Tom had left, and Lynda didn’t know what to do about it. Her mother used to think she had all the answers. For everything.

With all those deliveries to make, Lynda had figured they wouldn’t get out of there before noon. It wasn’t even ten.

“I did, but I cut the speeches short because I knew you were waiting.”

“I haven’t told Ray good-bye yet.”

Catherine smiled at Brian. “Do you think we
could be making too big a deal out of this good-bye stuff when Lynda is coming back for physical therapy and a dressing change in two days?”

“My dad taught me not to answer questions like that.”

Catherine laughed. “Smart man.”

The door opened again. Jack offered a smile as big as the presentation bouquet of roses and orchids he carried in his arms. “How’s my girl today?” He swept into the room and gave Lynda a kiss. “Ready to blow this joint?”

Catherine stared at the ostentatious display of flowers dwarfing her daughter and at the tight lines around Jack’s mouth when he stopped smiling. They’d run into each other the night before when he dropped off one of his shirts for Lynda. Uncharacteristically, he’d been the one to suggest the shirt when Lynda told him she needed something light and loose to wear until her back was healed and the bandages gone. He’d started the strange turnaround the day after she and Tom broke up. She’d been suspicious at first, believing Tom and Jack had formed some unholy alliance. But Jack’s reaction to her announcement that the engagement was off was too genuine to be fake.

Jack swore, as she’d known he would, and then grew quiet, which she’d expected, too. It was funny how well she still knew him, even after the transformation he claimed to have gone through when he hit forty. What she hadn’t anticipated was the sincere expression of regret that things hadn’t worked out for her and Tom. For once his feelings didn’t
come across as completely self-serving, which seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.

“I didn’t know you were planning to be here this morning,” Catherine said.

“I didn’t either,” he admitted. “And then I realized there was nowhere else I would rather be.”

Catherine looked at her daughter. Lynda was fighting a smile, afraid to seem too pleased, too vulnerable to her father’s capricious affection. “Do you have to get back right away or can you stay for a few minutes? Lynda and Brian were about to say good-bye to a friend.”

He looked at his watch. “I have some time.” To Lynda he said, “You two go ahead. I’ll be here when you get back—if you’re not too long.”

Lynda seemed unsure what to do with the flowers. Catherine took them from her and laid them on the bed. “They’ll keep a while longer.”

“We’ll be in Ray’s room if anyone is looking for us.” At the door she turned to her father. “Thank you for the flowers. And for remembering.”

When she was gone, Jack wiped his hands across his forehead. “Am I really that bad, or is that just the way she sees me? How could she think I would forget this is the day she goes home?”

“She doesn’t know what to think where you’re concerned, Jack. You’re an amazing, caring father one minute and then disappear from her life for weeks at a time. She’s afraid to trust you.”

“I get busy…”

“Please—let’s not get into this today. You’re who you are. Nothing is going to change that.”

“What’s this? No lecture on fatherhood? Not even going to tell me about all I’m missing by not being around more?” He put up his hand to stop her answer. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. And unfair. You’ve never accused me of anything that wasn’t true.”

Apologizing was not Jack’s style. He’d come close a couple of times, but not once in all the years she’d known him had he come right out and said he was sorry for anything. “What’s going on here?”

He looked at her and then away, staring at the wall as if an original Monet had suddenly appeared. “It seems I’m going to be a father again.”

She caught her breath. She hadn’t even known he was seeing anyone seriously. “When?”

“Six months, give or take.”

“How long have you known?” She didn’t know why it mattered, only that it did.

“A week or so. I went to Michelle’s house after I left here.” His mouth curved in a smile filled with irony. “I was looking for a quiet port in the storm after the bomb you dropped on me about you and Tom.”

“How do you feel about it?” she asked carefully.

“Trapped. At least that was the way I felt in the beginning. This morning…I don’t know. I’m forty-two years old. I keep thinking how old I’ll be when the kid graduates college. I’ll look like his grandfather. Hell, I’ll be old enough to
be
his grandfather.”

She didn’t have it in her to feel sorry for him. Her first thoughts were for Lynda, and what it would mean to have to share what little time Jack had to
devote to a child. “I take it Michelle wants to have the baby?”

“She’s ecstatic—said she’s always wanted a baby and is willing to raise it alone if I’m not interested.”

Jack had an amazing knack for finding willing, malleable women. “It’s not as easy as the sitcoms make it out to be. You should tell her to talk to a few single mothers before she makes any more statements like that.”

He studied her for a long time. “You and Lynda seem to get along okay.”

She snapped. “By whose yardstick are you measuring our lives? How do you know what your daughter feels when she’s cheerleading at a football game and looks up in the stands and I’m the only parent looking back? What about the school play you missed last year? The soccer games? And that’s the easy stuff, Jack. All the weekends you were supposed to take her but let ‘business’ get in the way, all the times you told her you would call when you were out of state and then forgot, all the generic presents you gave her because you had no idea what your daughter was really like—you can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve done to her self-confidence through your casual, insidious neglect.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m giving you the lecture I just said I wouldn’t give you. How do you do this to me?”

He ignored her question. “How am I supposed to know what she’s like or what she needs when I never see her?”

“Precisely,” Catherine said wearily.

“We’ve had this discussion before, haven’t we?”

“More times than I want to remember.”

“What do I say?”

It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t know. “You promise to try harder.”

“Obviously I don’t succeed.”

“Obviously.”

“There’s no reason to believe I would be any different the second time around?” he said.

“None that I can think of.”

“Still—it’s not like I have a choice whether I want to be a father again. Michelle told me she’s going to have the baby with or without me.”

“This is crazy, Jack. I’m the last person you should be talking to about your impending fatherhood. I can’t even find a generous spot in my heart to be happy for you.”

“No, but you will. You’re the most generous person I know. Right now you’re worried about Lynda and there’s nothing I can say that will convince you I intend to be a better father to her from now on. But I will. You’ll see.”

“Don’t do that. I don’t want to count on you. I’d rather go on thinking you’re a son of a bitch and letting you surprise me the rare times you do something nice.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another apology? Twice in one day? She waited for the bolt of lightning, the clap of thunder. “We’re having a surprise welcome home party for Lynda.” She looked at her watch. “It starts in an hour and a half.”

“I can’t. I have a meeting. I have—” He stopped and frowned. It was as if his words had been automatic and now, today, for the first time he actually heard how hollow they sounded. “I’ll be there.”

Catherine felt a flutter in her chest, a feeling she remembered but didn’t recognize right away. And then she knew what it was: hope. She didn’t welcome the feeling. All her adult life hope had led to disappointment. She’d learned to live without the first and she sure as hell didn’t need the latter.