ROAR (45 page)

“If we spend the night here, maybe we can take a walk on the beach in the morning,” he suggested.

“I’d like that. Mornings and evenings are the best. On certain nights of the week, they allow beach fires. That would be nice, too.”

“You’re not as worried about staying?”

“I was more concerned about you than me. If you’re comfortable after you two meet, we’ll spend the night.”

“Deal.”

“Oh, slow down! Here comes Eleventh Avenue.”

“Where?” He scanned the area to his left, but didn’t see a street.

“There,” she pointed. “Right after that gnarly-looking cypress tree.”

She pointed at what could barely be called a footpath between two houses. “It’s not even wide enough for a bike, not that anyone would want to take a bike up or down that hill.”

She giggled. “I know. It’s really just a rocky path for those up the hill to gain access to the beach or to walk their dogs.”

He pulled into the tight drive beside a canary-yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible and pressed the button to put up the top on the Mustang. Before exiting the car, he cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. “What’s your safe gesture in case you need to leave early?”

She laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Sir.”

Too late, Sprite
. “Your gesture?”

Pamela sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll tug my ear like Carol Burnett used to do to signal her grandmother at the end of her show. Know the one?”

“Yes. I’m older than you are, but apparently, we both enjoyed vintage TV and movies.”

“But you may be ready to go sooner than I, Kristoffer. What will
your
signal be?”

He chuckled. “I’m in this for as long as you want to stay. As I told you, I’m looking forward to learning more about you via your mother.”

While he harbored some resentment toward the woman for deserting her daughter, leaving aftereffects that still haunted Pamela, he could see the advantages of the two meeting and talking, too. Maybe Pamela would find healing.

He exited the car, opened her door, and helped her out. Taking her hand in his, he led her up a few steps to a side door. “Let’s leave the luggage in the car in case we need to beat a hasty retreat.”

She laughed and shook her head. He looked up at the two-story blue-gray house. The paint was weathered from exposure to the salty air and sun, but had a warm, beach cottage feel to it.

Before she lifted the knocker, their presence set off a cacophony of dogs barking inside. “How many dogs did you say she has?”

“It varies, depending on how many have been adopted. Last time I visited, there were five.”

From deep timbres to high-pitched yaps, it sounded as though several distinct breeds were represented. Kristoffer had never had a pet until Tori adopted Noma as a kitten. In recent years, the picky feline had become his close companion.

The door swung inward to reveal a ginger-haired woman the spitting image of Pamela—except her hair had thick curls liberally sprinkled with silver strands. She smiled at them as she tried to restrain a Great Dane by one collar and a Doberman by another. Two smaller dogs of unknown lineage growled from their perches on the sofa behind her, but didn’t jump down to come any closer.

“You’re here!” She seemed genuinely happy to see her daughter, but cast him a wary glance. “Let me kennel these two. I’ll be right back.” She started toward the back of the house and soon was out of sight.

“Let me help, Mom.” Pamela called out before turning to him, winking, and whispering, “Save yourself!” More loudly, for the benefit of her mother, she said, “Why don’t you wait here, Kristoffer?” She grinned before slipping inside the house. A slate-gray pit bull came barreling down the hallway and jumped on her with its paws on her shoulders. Kristoffer moved toward her, in case he needed to rescue her, and the dog growled at him.

“Arlo,” Pamela admonished. “Where are your manners? This is my friend, Kristoffer Larson.” The dog lost interest in him immediately as it began to rain kisses over her face. Pamela’s joy was contagious, and he couldn’t help but relax, seeing she was in no danger. “Sorry, Kristoffer,” she said as she tried to curb the dog’s enthusiasm. “Believe me, this guy is all bark with a heavy dose of false bravado. I met him the last time I visited. Maybe she’s decided to hang on to him.”

Kristoffer entered the house and closed the door behind him. A rat terrier of some sort jumped in the air as if catching an imaginary Frisbee, but landed against Kristoffer’s chest instead. He wrapped it in his arms and soon was being showered with kisses as well. “They certainly are a friendly bunch.”

“Most are, except the ones needing kenneling, I suppose. They might be relatively new and not used to strangers.” She glanced toward the direction her mother had gone, but must have decided against joining her. Of course, she had the weight of a sixty-pound pit bull on her shoulders.

Her mother called out to Arlo and two other dogs to get their treats, and the terrier sailed from his arms and scrambled on the slick hardwood floor to gain traction before tearing up a couple of stairs and into a room off the dining room. Arlo and a black lab he hadn’t noticed before followed close behind. He’d never seen so many dogs in one home.

“Let me take these two back there.” She picked up the two dachshunds from the sofa. They appeared to be unable to use their hind legs. They, too, showed their love of Pamela by dispensing more licks. Their squirming made it hard for Pamela to hold them both.

“Here, let me carry one.” He reached out and took the long-haired, bluish one from her and followed Pamela.

“I don’t want them to miss out on their treats,” she explained to him.

“What happened to them?”

“Bad hips. Peril of the breed. Malcolm and Abbie haven’t been able to use their back legs for years. Mom has no plans of adopting them out.”

Sounded like at least three of the dogs were long-term pets.

He began noticing a trend in the naming of them—all icons of the Sixties radical hippie movement and civil-rights era.

Pamela led him to the right, and they entered what would otherwise have been a bedroom, now filled with kennels of all sizes. Her mom had caged the two biggest ones and they were contentedly chewing on their rawhide treats. Pamela indicated the cushion next to the one where she placed either Abbie or Malcolm, and he set the other down next to it.

“I’ll let them out later, once they settle down,” her mother said, indicating the two largest dogs. “They’re always excited when company comes, but I don’t know them well enough to trust them yet.”

After the dogs were content, the woman walked over to Pamela and wrapped her in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much, Sunshine.” Apparently, her mother saw her as a beam of light, too. “Glad you stopped by for a visit while you’re out here.”

“Missed you, too, Mom.” Pamela squeezed her mother tighter. They’d done the right thing by visiting.

Breaking apart, Pamela took her mom’s hand to bring her to him for introductions. He extended his hand to her, and she shook it as firmly as any business acquaintance, which surprised him. “I’m Maribeth Jeffrey.” A wariness in her eyes told him she wasn’t quite sure about him yet.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Jeffrey.”

“Oh, it’s Maribeth. Mrs. Jeffrey is my former mother-in-law.”

“Call me Kristoffer.”

She released his hand. “I had no idea Pamela was out here with someone.”

Pamela shot him an apologetic look. Maybe she’d considered not having him here. “When Kristoffer invited me to join him in Sonoma for the week, I couldn’t resist.”

Her mother cast a quick glance at his ring finger. “You’re married.”

That didn’t take long.

I
f the tables were turned, he’d be worried, too, if his daughter showed up with a married man.

“Yes, ma’am. For eighteen years.” Probably not what she expected to hear, but he hadn’t been prepared to get into this so soon.

Her mom’s eyes turned toward Pamela, and he reached for Pamela’s hand. “Let me explain, Maribeth.” He drew a deep breath. His mind flashed back to when he’d met his future in-laws. He’d offered them the reassurance he’d take care of their daughter, although he’d failed miserably.

He nodded as he decided how much to reveal. “Four years ago, my wife and I were involved in an accident. She suffered a traumatic brain injury.”

“Dear God! How awful!”

Most people who said things like that had no clue. Lucky them. He wasn’t usually this blunt, but wanted to put this behind them without having Maribeth thinking badly of her daughter for being with him.

Kristoffer let the rest come out. “She’s been in a persistent vegetative state since coming out of the coma. Doctors hold no hope for a reversal.”

“What a nightmare for you,” Maribeth said, and he believed her sincere.

“Your daughter has helped me a lot in the last two months. She’s amazingly supportive and understanding.” Her hand squeezed his this time.

“Mom, we were just going to be friends at first, but…well, things have changed.” Pamela smiled up at him. “We’re limited in what kind of relationship we can have, because Kristoffer’s first responsibility is to his wife.”

He didn’t hear regret in her voice, although that was one of the things weighing heaviest on him. Was he being fair to Pamela? Who would be content to be the other woman, even if it wasn’t a case of infidelity, but of modern medical breakthroughs allowing someone to linger in a state like Tori’s for years beyond their natural life?

Pamela directed her next words to her mom. “I don’t have time for relationships and commitments, as you can imagine, but I love spending whatever time I have together with him.” Her eyes twinkled at him before returning to meet her mom’s gaze. “Kristoffer and I enjoy the same music, hiking, and working out. We met through a special project we’re collaborating on.” More or less truthful. “I’ve never cared for a man the way I do for Kristoffer.” He hoped there would be no regrets if they began dating each other, given their uncertain circumstances.

He wanted to kiss her right now, but held back. “Ma’am, you know this already, but your daughter’s compassion has led to some amazing healings.” He wasn’t talking about her patients, either. “She’s enriched my life in so many ways.”

Maribeth looked from one to the other. He hated to see the pity in her eyes for both of them. He didn’t want or need her pity, but Pamela might.

He turned his attention back to her mom. “I care deeply about Pamela. I’d never do anything to harm her.”

Pamela wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled herself into his embrace. “Kristoffer and I keep the lonelies away for each other.” Pamela smiled at him, and he realized how true those words were. “We both needed this getaway.” Her tone said this topic had reached an end.

Thank you, Sprite.

He kissed the top of her head.

Maribeth smiled. “I see. I’m glad you found him, Pamela. You seem to be good for one another.” All three of them relaxed somewhat. “Where are my manners? Let me fix you something to drink.”

Her mom led them into the kitchen around the corner where she poured a flavored tea for each of them—raspberry, he thought from the coloring, not the Long Island tea or other spirits he’d expected. After making sure no one wanted anything to eat, they carried their glasses into the living room. She motioned them toward the smaller overstuffed sofa. “Have a seat.”

As mother and daughter caught up on family news, Kristoffer took the opportunity to survey the room. Decorated in a mix of California mission style and early thrift shop, he found the decor cozy. Two large picture windows must provide incredible views of the ocean during the day. Three skylights would allow in even more sunlight, as well as moonlight on a nearly full-moon night like this. He wondered why she didn’t pull the blinds at night, though. Not knowing who stared in as they drove or walked by left him feeling as if he were in a fishbowl.

Ferns, spider plants, and some kind of flowering plants hung from poles and macramé hangers in three corners of the room. Potted impatiens and gardenias lined a shelf made of water-stained, weathered boards propped on three stacks of red bricks across the length of the windows. Among the bookshelves near the fireplace were a few knickknacks including two beaded purses similar to the one Pamela carried that night in the limo and one Gunnar had brought back from Afghanistan for Tori.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Maribeth offered, “Would anyone care for dessert?”

Kristoffer glanced at his watch and saw they’d been talking more than an hour. Pamela nodded and set down her glass as she stood. “Sounds good to me. Let me help.” Pamela followed her mother into the kitchen.

He decided to stay put and placed his glass on a coaster beside Pamela’s before picking up a women’s political magazine to flip through the pages. Unable to focus, he stood and crossed the room to the fireplace to inspect the framed photos. Most were of Maribeth and Pamela at various ages—up to about twelve, he supposed. Two were of Pamela as a graduate—alone in the high school one, and with Maribeth and a man who must be Pamela’s father at a college commencement. Fascinated to see Pamela age from a baby into a young woman, he remained captivated by this rare glimpse into her past. He’d seen no such photos prominently displayed at her place.

In one of her about middle-school age, she posed holding a soccer ball.

“Oh, my. What secrets are you learning over there?”

He turned as she returned to the living room. “That you played soccer.”

Pamela stared at the photos as if surprised to find them there before zooming in on the sports one. “Don’t be too impressed. I was only junior varsity and for one season. Never made varsity or scored any goals. I was as bad as you might expect.”

“I didn’t expect anything of the sort.”

“You’re sweet. Sports weren’t my thing, although I did enjoy swimming and wrestling during middle school much more than playing soccer.”

She’d been on the wrestling team? “Intriguing. That opens up training possibilities I hadn’t considered before.” Her pupils dilated, and he grinned, confident they were on the same page.