Sterling's Reasons (15 page)
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drugged with sleep and wanted to stay that way. “What are you going to town for?” He murmured the question.
“To shop. What else?” She gave him a little shake. “Come on. The babies are crying.”
He pulled the pillow over his face. “I’m still tired. They can eat later.”
His eyes were dark and shadowed with things that bothered a man in the night. She had seen it, felt it. He needed to sleep now, while he was peaceful.
She shrugged. “I’ll feed them. Do you need anything from town?”
“I can’t think of anything.” His voice was slurred from the pillow.
“Okay.” She reached down and removed the pillow long enough to peck a light kiss on his stubbled chin. Replacing the pillow, she went to feed the kittens.
Before she left, she peeked back in the bedroom. He was sleeping soundly, one leg on top of the sheet.
He was beginning to think she’d left town when finally, hours later, he heard her car pull to a stop. It amazed him how welcome that sound was. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been waiting to hear it. Trying for nonchalance, he strolled out to help her unload her car.
Clouds covered the sky. A breeze had picked up and carried moisture across the landscape. Rain threatened, but the weatherman had promised it wouldn’t break until after midnight. That had delighted Sterling. She had big plans for tonight, and she didn’t want the rain to spoil them.
As he walked toward her, Joe recalled the casual kiss she had dropped on his chin before she left. It was the mere casualness of it that fractured his feelings, sending currents of warmth and trust across his heart. He knew he was beginning to feel better about himself and everything. Was it only a natural 116
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healing process that God installed in everyone, or was it her? A combination of both, he concluded.
“You must have spent a potload of money. I was getting worried.” Only when the words came out of his mouth did he realize it was the truth.
“I did, and I had a great time.” She tossed him the keys. “There’s more in the trunk.”
After carrying the bags to the counter, he began to rummage around in the groceries. “Who’s going to eat all this stuff?”
Playfully, she smacked his hand away. “
We
are. Tonight.
La grande terrace.
”
She pointed to the deck. “This evening shall become one of the best and surely the most elite restaurants in the area. You do like spaghetti, don’t you?” Her face was at once filled with excitement and doubt.
“Yes, yes I like it all right. Is there a special occasion I don’t know about?” He leaned, relaxed and amused, against the counter.
“Life, Joe. Just life. I love it here and I like you. We’re going to have fun.” Her voice was bright and animated, but she remembered the uneasy feeling she had had when she’d noticed a car following her again today. It had been in the parking lot when she had come out of the grocery store. Sterling had looked around but had seen no one lurking about. She had gotten the feeling it was the same car that tailed them to Delaware, but she was still at a loss to why anyone would be following her. Shrugging it off as silly, Sterling turned her attention back to Joe.
He held out his hand and she walked over and put hers in it. After a moment, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Then we have a date tonight. What time?”
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“Seven.” The lock of his eyes on hers sent a roll of anticipation through her.
“And don’t be late. Please.” She added the word quickly at his look. She knew he didn’t like being ordered around. That hadn’t taken long to recognize.
He pulled her to him. Just the feel of his body supporting hers made her sway closer. The roughness of his jeans against the soft cotton of her shorts. The hardness of his muscled chest against her breasts; the coarseness of his hands on the smoothness of his arms; the softness of the kiss he placed in her hair—the sensual combination had her reeling.
Control. She needed control. She was used to diving headlong into whatever she wanted, she now needed to concentrate, to take her time. Sterling eased away, striving for lightness. “Now, scoot, go do whatever it is you did before I came along. I’ll see you later.”
What he had done before she came along? He didn’t think so. Not ever again. If for nothing else, he owed her for that. He pushed away from the counter and left her busying herself with the bags of groceries. He felt a smile curve on his lips as he left. He tried to light a cigarette as he went down the steps of her deck. Stopping to shelter the lighter from the breeze, he looked up and across the ocean.
It was calmer today. It rolled instead of crashed. It caressed the shore instead of pounded. The clouds kept the sun from being overly warm, but he could still feel the effect of it on his face. Was this the same ocean, the same sunlight, the same air that had failed to ease him when he arrived? He shook his head and turned in the direction of his cottage. A good book, outside on the deck. That’s what he wanted to do.
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An hour later, he heard her moving the furniture from inside to outside but he pretended to be unaware and went into his cottage. He didn’t want to spoil the evening that she had evidently thought out so well.
As he fixed himself a vodka martini, he found himself looking around the room. At first he had resented her touch here and there. He resented her coming in here and rearranging things, straightening up. But somehow now it all just seemed so natural. He walked to his closet to check his clothes. He hadn’t packed with any sense of logic when he had left D.C. He pushed things aside and back again and decided on his brown cord sport jacket and his khaki pants. He was reminded of years and years ago when he was a kid, preparing for a date. He liked the feeling of freedom. He was grateful to Sterling for gradually lifting him up and out of his depression.
He returned to the living room and stretched out on the sofa. Though he opened the book, he could find no interest in it. Depression. It was such a personal thing. He wasn’t completely rid of it yet, but at least she had altered things enough so he felt competent to handle it, to work it through. And now he had a reason to do just that.
Before, it was just him. Before Sterling, he’d been satisfied to just dissolve.
And looking back, he didn’t like that part of him. Pain did much to the soul.
Maybe it was more of a healing process than he realized. Maybe he was too hard on himself. He had always expected more from himself than anyone else had.
Accepting that brought some peace.
As he dozed off, the book slid from his hand to the floor. The sound of the phone ringing crept into his consciousness. He’d been in the cottage for a couple of weeks, and the phone had never rung. No one knew where he was…it couldn’t really be ringing. He shook his head and sat up.
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It
was
ringing. He vaguely remembered shoving the phone behind the sofa when he’d arrived. He got up, stubbing his toe on the end table, and looked behind the sofa. Cursing, he found it and stretched to reach it. Pulling the receiver up to his ear, he growled a “yeah.”
There was silence from the open line. Silence, but he sensed it was deliberate stillness. Kids playing? A startled wrong number? He shrugged and returned the receiver to the cradle. Then he noticed the newspaper that the phone had been sitting on.
It was dated August 1, 1990. He felt his heartbeat accelerate and blood pound through his head. If someone was trying to be funny, he sincerely hoped they had a death wish. The headline read LT. ACCIDENTALLY KILLS HIS
PARTNER. He blinked and opened his eyes again, hoping it wouldn’t be there.
He had brought no such paper with him.
He took the paper back to the couch and sat down and stared at it. How did it get here? Who put it here, and why? No matter what shape he’d been in, he was positive he hadn’t brought it with him. Why would he?
Could a former tenant of the cottage have left it here and this was simply the first time he had seen it? It was, after all, behind the sofa. And he had, after all, simply shoved the phone back there when he arrived. And his first days here were but a blur to him now. Yes, that had to be it. There was no other answer.
There had better not be another answer.
He stared a long time at the picture of himself on the front page. He didn’t dare read the words. He just looked at himself; the cop. It was almost like gazing at a stranger. A sure, secure foreigner. The man in the picture was whole, was confident, and a little cocky. The eyes were clear. The jaw was set. And there was an eagerness about him. He remembered that man, and missed him.
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Going to the trash, he folded the paper and dumped it in the can. Tipping back the martini glass, he drained his drink and set the glass in the sink.
He looked at the phone. What had that been all about? It could have been an innocent wrong number. It could have been almost anything. But somehow he felt it wasn’t so simple.
He found his shoes and pulled them on. A good run on the beach. That was what he needed. He couldn’t let this set him back. He wouldn’t let it spoil Sterling’s evening. He couldn’t let it spoil
his
evening. Damn. Damn.
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Chapter Nine
She watched Joe go down the steps and jog off down the beach. That was sweet of him, she thought. She’d been wondering how she could arrange to set everything up on the deck without him seeing. Now she was free to set the table with the lacy tablecloth. Delighted with her choice, she placed the daisy-and-carnation bouquet beside the candle centerpiece in the middle of the table.
She looked up to see his retreating back far up the beach. She would show him. Tonight she would show him that there were too many good things in life, too many ways to be happy to want to let it all go. For every bad side there was a good. For every loss there was a gain. For every reason he could think of to cease to exist, she would show him ten to stick around. A good meal, a few frills, watch the sunset, listen to good music and spend time with someone who cared…a small offering, but a sincere one.
She busied herself in the kitchen, stirring and tasting her special spaghetti sauce. The phone rang, startling her into dropping the spoon and splattering sauce all over the stove. It had been so long since she’d heard a phone ring, she’d all but forgotten the sound. Pushing a small pad and a pencil over to the telephone, she picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” she said expectantly, grimacing as she surveyed the mess around her.
“Sterling, my dear.” The familiar voice jolted her back. “You haven’t called me with a progress report, so I thought I’d call and get the scoop.”
Sterling’s Reasons
Automatically, she jotted “progress report” on the pad. “I haven’t called, Mr.
Ramsburg, because I haven’t figured out just what this man needs yet.” She was smiling to herself. Oh yes she had. What he needed was Sterling Powell.
“I see.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I guess it might take quite a few weeks with this one, being so close to the ocean and all. Might take a good long while, am I right?”
“Never can tell.” She ran the pencil absently through her hair.
“There have been some more stories on this whole business in the newspapers. Have you seen any of them?”
She jotted down “newspapers.” “No. Haven’t been interested in what’s going on in the outside world. You were right. I’ve needed this rest for a long time. I’ve made friends with him. He’s a nice man, Mr. Ramsburg. You’d like him.”
“Would I?”
She changed the subject. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, fine. You might want to take a look at the newspapers. Just a good idea to keep up on the case. It’s raining here. How’s the weather there?”
“Cloudy and threatening, but it’s supposed to hold off till sometime after midnight.” It was easier to talk of inconsequential things. “Been warm and nice, though. I have a tan and I learned how to boogie board.” She held the receiver in the crook of her neck and picked up a wet cloth to wipe some of the sauce from the floor and counter.
“My word. Boogie board? I won’t ask. Well, call when you have something to report.” She wrote the words “report next week” on the pad. “If it takes a long time, it’s okay, you know. You earned a vacation.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ramsburg. I’ll call next week.” She hung up the receiver, laid the pencil by the pad, and hurried to clean up the mess so she could stir the
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bubbling concoction in the large pan on the stove. Where was that darn cornbread recipe? Phone call forgotten, Sterling went in search of the recipe that she had found at the market. It was just where she’d left it, pinned to the bulletin board.
At six, Sterling stood on the deck and looked around at her handiwork. She had put the stereo just outside the door and fiddled with the tuning button for half an hour until she’d found a station that played easy listening and lots of it.
The table looked lovely with the flowery centerpiece and the candle enclosed in glass that she would light after the sun went down. The wineglasses stood ready, next to the silverware and the china. Expense account. She thought Mr. R.
would approve. Two large urns of flowers sat on either side of the door. She could always use them in her apartment later. She looked up at the sky. The clouds were rolling quickly. She hoped the weatherman would be right or the atmosphere she’d worked so hard to create would be spoiled.
Back inside, she studied her dress again. After a critical debate she decided it was perfect. The food was ready, waiting to be heated up, and everything had turned out beautifully. She checked the lemon meringue pie that was in the refrigerator. Yes, it was thawing right on time. So, she’d cheated with a store-bought one, she couldn’t do pies. He would never know.
