Falling Angel (26 page)

“You look beautiful the way you are,” said Ben.

Trudy laughed. “You’re such a charmer, Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said, heading upstairs.

Ben was a frequent houseguest at Tom and Trudy’s house, and a sort of unofficial uncle to their children. As such, he was considered part of the family, and no special efforts were made to entertain him, an arrangement that suited him perfectly.

Alone on the deck behind the house, he looked out at the empty beachfront and allowed himself to think of Cara. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe he should have told Cara the truth about himself, about his success as an artist and his many financial assets. But he’d wanted her to take him as he was, regardless of any material trappings. Was it really too idealistic to expect a woman to fall in love with him, rather than his portfolio?

Besides, money hadn’t been her only concern. She’d expected him to commit himself to her wholeheartedly and unreservedly, practically from day one. He’d been close to doing so on the ferry ride home from their Bainbridge trip, and then again during their lunch at the park. What had prevented him but his own resolution to remain free and uncommitted at all costs?

He had to admit that Tom had a point. He had allowed his failed relationship with Alicia to convince him that a committed relationship was a trap to be avoided. Now, however, he recognized that this view was narrow-minded. With the right woman by his side, whole new vistas could open up for him.

When Cara realized he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, she had done what any sensible woman would, and moved on. Did she ever spare a thought for him amidst the excitement of her affair with – or was it engagement to - the banker?

He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over a vase of yellow and pink tulips. The vase shattered, and a shard of glass cut into the palm of his left hand. Ben swore and stood up, holding his injured hand. Blood dripped through his fingers and he cursed his own clumsiness. He couldn’t afford the indulgence of emotion. It was time to go home and get ready. In less than five days he’d be in Paris.

Chapter Twenty Five

Cara and Ann walked across the street from their apartment to the park, each bearing a steaming mug of coffee. They sat on a wooden bench, separated from Lake Washington by three steps leading down to a small beach.

Seagulls circled overhead in the dissipating fog, and thin rays of morning sunlight spread a weak warmth across the ground. A couple of ducks lurked nearby until they were certain there was no food forthcoming, then waddled down the beach to join their friends in the water.

Ann put her cup down on the bench and glanced sideways at Cara. “I never set out to hurt you,” she said. She grimaced, engaged in some internal debate, and then reached into her sweater pocket for cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting up, she exhaled a stream of smoke. “Ever since we met, I’ve wanted to be like you. It’s like you walk on a different planet. Everything works out for you. You’re pretty, you graduated from college and have a great job. It makes me feel like a total failure. And when we go out, guys trip over me to get to you. It’s like I’m invisible.”

Ann picked up her cup again, warming her hands on it. With her black bangs, oversized sweater and flannel plaid pajamas, she looked like a little girl. “It’s not fair,” she said, petulantly.

“So this is your way of evening things out, is it?” The black coffee churned in Cara’s empty stomach. “You think that my perceived advantages in life give you the right to steal and lie to me?”

Ann gestured at her with open palms. “Like I said, I thought I was doing you a favor. You told me after the first time you and Ben met that he was totally wrong for you. You even ran away from him! It was as if you didn’t want to like him, but couldn’t help yourself.”

“And then you told him I was out with David.”

“He dropped by the apartment when you were gone. What was I supposed to say?”

“Do you have any idea how much trouble your little games have caused me?”

 “I know. I’m an awful friend.” Ann dropped her cigarette onto the cement beneath the bench, stubbed it out with her boot, and kicked it onto the sand.

“You’re not a friend at all.”

Ann shrank back at Cara’s harsh words.

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” Cara continued, her face hot. “Well I don’t. Not at all. You’ve created your own unhappiness, Ann, through the choices you make.”

“I don’t need life lessons from you, Little Miss Perfect, thank you very much.”

“Fine. I just wish you were happier with your own life. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel this compulsion to screw up mine.” Cara stood up. “I’m leaving.” She started up the grassy slope to Madison Street and their apartment.

Ann caught up with her. “You’re moving out?”

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

“I guess I expected that,” Ann said glumly. “Did I totally ruin things between you and Ben?”

“You didn’t help, that’s for sure.” Cara relented slightly. “But what happened between us was mainly my fault. I wasn’t honest with myself or him, and I drove him away.”

“Can’t you get him back?”

“I don’t know.” The thought of actively trying to make things right with Ben hadn’t occurred to Cara. She had assumed that he would never contact her again and that she was powerless to do anything about it.

“I bet you could. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .” Cara stared at Ann, who had the decency to look ashamed.

“I know. You probably trust me about as far as you can throw me.”

They stopped at the crosswalk. Although nothing would ever be the same between them, the talk had cleared the air. Cara decided to change the subject. While the rift between her and Ann was irreparable, it would make everything a lot more pleasant if they could remain on cordial terms.

“So how’s work going?” she asked. They crossed to the apartment building and headed upstairs, chatting amiably enough about their plans for the coming week.

As they entered the apartment, Ann put her hand on Cara’s arm. “For what it’s worth, Ben really likes you. I could tell.”

“Not anymore. You didn’t see his face when I talked to him at the art reception.”

The phone rang, and both women moved to answer. Ann stopped and allowed Cara to pick up.

“Oh, hi mom.” Cara took the phone into her room and closed the door.

“Good news, dear. Jemma’s collar is off and her wound is almost completely healed.” Cara listened politely as her mother talked, waiting for a break in the conversation. Finally, Louise asked her daughter how she was doing.

“Fine. Though I wanted to talk to you about dad. I can’t help feeling like you’re hiding something from me. What really happened between you and him?”

Her mother sighed. “Why are you bringing this up again? Your father was incapable of providing for us. He lacked the maturity to go out there and take responsibility for his family.”

“So he left?”

“Yes.” Louise’s voice took on a histrionic tone. “I’ve already told you this.”

“Of course,” Cara said, soothingly. “But was there a reason he left, besides not being able to support us financially?”

“What is Ingrid telling you?”

“This has nothing to do with Ingrid!” Cara heard her own voice getting shrill and realized that the conversation was getting nowhere. She would not find her answers from this source. She steered the conversation back to more neutral ground and was eventually able to ring off. Frustrated, she stood a moment with the phone in her hand, and then dialed again.

“Directory assistance. For what city?” an automated voice intoned.

“Albuquerque, New Mexico. Mr. Daniel Walker.”

New Mexico
was her father’s last known place of residence. It was a shot in the dark, but she had to try. She tapped her nails in nervous staccato on the dresser. A moment later, an operator came onto the line. “There was a Daniel Walker at that address, but he’s moved.” In a bored monotone, she gave Cara the new number. The hairs on the back of Cara’s neck stood up and her eyes widened in shock.

Based on the area code, Cara’s father, Daniel Walker, was living somewhere in the city of Tacoma, only 30 miles south of Seattle.

Chapter Twenty Six

With shaking fingers, Cara punched in her father’s phone number. The call was answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

Even after seventeen years, she recognized his gravelly baritone at once.

“Hi dad.” The word sounded foreign on her tongue. “It’s me. Cara.”

There was a pause as her father sucked in his breath harshly. “Cara. Cara. I don’t believe it. Where are you calling from?”

“Seattle.”

“No!”

Cara bit her lip and bounced up and down on her toes. “I’ve been here seven months.”

“I’m in Tacoma. Just south of there.”

“I know.”

“I had no idea you were so close. Can I come see you?”

“When?”

“Now? Tomorrow? Whenever you want.”

“I’m free today.” Cara gave him the address and he wrote it down.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

.     .     .

The mascara wand shook in Cara’s hand as she blackened her upper eyelashes. She felt like a teenager going out on a date, and was angry with herself for caring so much. Purposely downplaying the momentousness of the reunion, she opted to dress casually in jeans and a peach-colored shirt, tying her hair back in a pony tail. What would he think of her now, all these years later? Would he still recognize his Angel Face? Would she still recognize him?

After Ann left for work, Cara paced back and forth through the apartment before forcing herself to sit on the couch and watch the nature channel.

When the downstairs doorbell buzzed she jumped as though stung by a wasp and ran to hit the access button. She stood by the door, peering through the tiny peephole.

A tall figure appeared in the hallway, scanning the numbers on the doors. Cara pulled the door open before he could knock.

Daniel Walker stood twisting his baseball cap in his hands, sucking in the sight of her with the intensity of an industrial-strength vacuum.

His once thick brown hair had thinned and was streaked with white. There were new lines around his mouth and eyes. He was still skinny, but seemed shorter than she remembered him. Obviously she had grown in the years since they’d last seen each other.

“Hi.” Her voice was unnaturally high. “Come in.”

“I think I’m illegally parked,” he said. “My truck’s out front. Maybe we could go someplace?”

“Sure. Let me get my bag.”

In the car, they were silent. She felt as though she were sitting next to a stranger. His hands on the wheel, with their thick, calloused fingers and fine sproutings of blonde hair on the knuckles, were familiar to her. Judging from the look of them, he had returned to manual labor.