Seeing Stars (28 page)

There came a time when a man with any sense packed it in. So far, he hadn't exhibited much sense, because the lady had been clear about her priorities from the start. One week. An affair.

He was the one who'd gone out of bounds, and he'd been called on it.

Halfway up the stairs he heard her Honda start, but she didn't drive away until he'd reached the bedroom. Gone, he thought. Good. He hadn't seen a bed in thirty-six hours and he needed sleep the way a man in the desert needed water.

He wouldn't get it here, he thought sourly, staring at the tangle of sheets they'd left behind Monday morning. He was so tired it shouldn't have mattered who'd been in the damned bed, but it did.

Two doors down the hall, he yanked open the door to Bobby's old room. The bed was stripped, had been for months, ever since Bobby's last visit. What the hell was he doing, living in this rambling mausoleum of a house with the kids all gone? He should sell it, rent an apartment somewhere handy to the shipyard.

He prowled back to the linen closet, ignored the neatly folded sheets and blankets, and yanked out a sleeping bag. He'd get some sleep. That's all he wanted, all he'd been aching for since somewhere in the middle of the night.

Grace....

He'd cried, real tears flowing over as he gripped her hand there in the delivery room and stared at the brand-new baby, still covered with slick fluids. Life, and as he held his sister's hand, an inadequate substitute for her husband, he'd remembered being deep inside Claire, their eyes tangling, their souls together as deeply as their bodies, and he'd had one clear vision of how it would be when he held her hand and tried like hell to be what help he could as she fought to bring their child into the world.

Damn fool.

He punched the pillow and flopped over, staring at the wall, a pattern of jets and bombers that Bobby had insisted on in his junior year. Even if Claire had been willing to give up Chile, it wouldn't have been enough. Greedy, he thought, he wanted too damned much. He wanted it all, everything, and no commuting, one-weekend-a-month marriage would allow the kind of life he needed. He didn't want to father a kid, only to spend half his life either wondering what the kid was doing, or playing ball with the kid while his wife sat on a lonely mountain resenting the fact that she'd have to leave her stars for the monthly family visit.

And that was the end of it.

Mercifully, Blake was absent the next morning when Claire arrived at the boatyard to work with the boys. He must have been there earlier, to unlock the building and throw the breaker on, giving them electric power, but there was no sign of him or his truck when she parked in front of the shipyard.

Jake was there, and Tim, and together they dove into the business of measuring, sawing, screwing, and sanding, faces intent as they followed her instructions and asked questions.

"You'll be OK," she said. "The pieces are all cut out, and you've got the instructions. We've done the calculations, so you know exactly where to fix the mirrors when they come. It should be about a week. They'll be coming here, to the shipyard."

"We'll e-mail you," said Tim. "Tell you how it's going."

"Yeah," agreed Jake. "Or if we get in trouble."

"I check my E-mail twice a day, so if you do have any questions, you won't have to wait more than a few hours for the answer." 

When they'd finished everything they could do for the day, she helped them clear up, and she wanted to hug them, the way Jennifer had hugged her when she'd set out on this vacation. But she wasn't sure how they'd react, so she held her hand out instead, and shook hands with each boy.

"When we've got it ready," said Jake, "we'll e-mail you, and tell you the date we're going to go up to Mount Walker. Can you tell us exactly where your comet is then?"

"I'll send you a picture of it from the telescope," she promised.

"You'll have to mail it," said Tim.

"She'll send it as an attachment with an e-mail," said Jake. "Won't you?"

She did hug him then, because she couldn't stop herself, and although he looked embarrassed, she thought he also looked pleased.

Later, when she drove up the hill and past the turnoff to Blake's house, she wouldn't let herself turn her head to look. She didn't cry, either, because what was the sense of crying? She'd had five days, a whole five days of romance and loving. She had to remember it that way, not the end, not the lies she'd told, not the bitterness in his voice when he sent her away.

She drove to San Francisco on autopilot: across the Hood Canal bridge to Bainbridge Island, across the island to the ferry terminal. Then Seattle and I-5, southbound. She'd arrive midday Friday and have a whole day before her Saturday afternoon interview.

San Francisco. The hotel. The university. Then, in the library Saturday morning, she turned a corner and walked into Kevin Stanhope.

"Claire!" He was smiling, pleased to see her. "How are you?"

"Good," she said, realizing she was becoming practiced at lying.

"I hear you're interviewing for Chile this afternoon."

"Yes." She wondered what she'd actually felt for this man because now, standing in front of him, she felt only a vague pleasure at seeing an old friend.

"Are you alone, Claire? No man?"

"No man," she said, although her stomach lurched at the question. "You know my priorities, Kevin."

"Don't I." He grimaced, but the bitterness she remembered was gone.

"It wasn't you," she said gently. "I wouldn't have given up that observatory job for anyone. You deserved someone who wanted what you want, Kevin."

"I married her last year," he said, smiling now.

"I'm happy for you."

They parted with a light hug, the sort two old friends gave every day. They'd been lovers, but she couldn't bring it back, couldn't imagine wanting him. She supposed it had been loneliness, and he'd been convenient. A poor reason for taking a lover, and she'd hurt Kevin while keeping her own heart intact.

Was Blake right? Had she wanted an affair with him simply because the emotional risks were low? If so, it had backfired, because the ache in her heart seemed to be growing, not fading, with each hour.

At the computer, instead of looking up the CTIO observatory to catch any last-minute news, she keyed in a search for her father's name. Twenty minutes later, her hands shaking, she reset the terminal.

She remembered Nevada, eleven-and twelve-year-old memories of a compound in the desert, of her mother, who'd worked as a nurse at the clinic.

In another year or two she might have begun to wonder what her father
did
at the research station, but given the secrecy that went with scientific research stations, she doubted she'd have ever known much about his job, even if they'd stayed.

Dad's work was all she'd known, and it kept him working late nights, often seven days a week. After her mother's death, Claire sat alone in the empty house evening after evening, until one day he announced that they were moving. First to Seattle, where he spent a year at the university acquiring the teaching certificate he said he'd always wanted. Then to Port Townsend, where he told her he'd found the perfect job.

He'd never told her that he'd published an impressive string of articles in scientific journals. When she was at the university studying, she'd never thought to look, but now she could guess at the nature of his top secret job, because the papers he'd published showed a string of discoveries around the edges of his real work.

Frederick Welland had been the director of a major research center, a coveted position that would have given him a great deal of freedom to pursue his own passion for research. Then, when his daughter was twelve years old, he'd left his job and moved to Washington state to prepare for a second career as a high school teacher in a town of eight thousand people.

She walked into the CTIO interview still trying to take in the fact that her father hadn't been who she'd thought he was. She remembered him as a high school teacher with a passion for knowledge, not a world-class physicist who'd voluntarily consigned himself to oblivion in the quiet backwater of a town whose main claim to fame lay in being one of only three registered historic U.S. seaports, and home to an annual Wooden Boat Festival.

For his twelve-year-old daughter, Frederick Welland had given up a career that put him on the front page of several scientific journals each year. He'd never told her what he left behind, never laid the responsibility on her door. Instead, he tried to get her to take part in social events with other kids, fostered her curiosity and gave her a scientist's love for knowledge.

She'd always known he loved her, but she'd never realized being a father had meant so much sacrifice for him. In some ways, Blake had known her father better than she did.

By rights, she should have made a hash of the interview. Her mind wasn't focused, and she didn't know, sitting in the uncomfortable chair across from four interviewers, whether she even wanted the job. She answered questions about her comet, her publications, her feelings about life in isolated places. Then she asked her own questions—about the equipment, the international research project, the facilities.

As a research astronomer, most of her time would be spent in the city of La Serena, with frequent visits to the telescopes, a drive of one to two hours. There would be hospitals, doctors, schools—everything a new baby would need.

Even if she carried Blake's child, she could accept this job in Chile.

"We'll contact you within two weeks," she was told.

She left the interview knowing she would very likely be offered one of the new research positions. She should have felt excitement.

In Pasadena, she spent Sunday morning listening to lectures without hearing a word. She ate lunch with a publisher who wanted to launch a series of science books for children. Then, in midafternoon, halfway through a lecture that should have fascinated her, Claire stood and quietly left the lecture hall, the symposium, and the city of Pasadena.

She had five days of vacation left before she was due back at work, but she was heading home. There, she would escape on a four-day hike, where nobody could ask her any questions, make any demands, or tell her she was running from life. After four days, she'd be sane again, and ready to get on with her life.

Chapter Thirteen

"You look like hell," said Jennifer, standing on the front porch of her home.

Claire slammed the Honda's door. "That's not a very flattering greeting. How's Tammy?"

"Come and see."

Ten minutes later, Claire was sitting on the sofa while the baby against her breast chewed on a tiny clenched fist.

Claire closed her eyes. She'd needed this, she thought. Jennifer's simplicity and the baby's breath sweet against her throat. "Maybe I will have a baby. Maybe I've already started one."

It wasn't often she saw Jenn silenced, and it didn't last long.

"A woman needs help to make a baby. The man in Port Townsend? Your high school sweetheart?"

"He was Lydia Dormer's sweetheart in high school, but last week he was mine for a few days." She wasn't going to cry. She absolutely was not going to let one more tear spill over. She'd been weepy all the way from Pasadena. Enough was enough.

"What does he think about this baby?"

"He doesn't know. I don't know for certain myself. I told him I was on the pill."

"Let me get this straight. You lied to the guy about being on the pill? You wanted to get pregnant? You had an attack of ticking clock syndrome and decided to turn your high school idol into an involuntary sperm bank?"

Claire didn't know if the sound breaking in her throat was laughter or tears. "It wasn't something I reasoned out in cold blood."

Jenn's lips twitched. "In hot blood?"

"It was wrong."

"Damn right, it was wrong. If there's a baby, you'll have to tell him."

She'd figured that out somewhere around Tucson, this morning.

"He wanted to marry me."

"And you?"

She held Tammy closer. "I thought I'd go over to the east ridge today. I'll probably stay in the old trapper's cabin tonight, then end up on the clearing at the far end of East Ridge tomorrow night. I've probably got the job in Chile."