Where Dreams Begin (9 page)

“An apology?” she repeated incredulously. “That looks like a milkshake to me.”

“Yes, it is. I brought it as a peace offering.”

His left eye was nearly swollen shut, but it scarcely diminished his appeal. “Is it strawberry?” she inquired.

“Sure is.”

“Then come on in,” she invited. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d tasted a milkshake, but it most certainly would have been chocolate rather than strawberry.

Luke handed her the milkshake as he stepped over the threshold. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. We bought it for the family we didn’t get around to having. I was just washing my dinner dishes. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you.” Luke followed her into the kitchen.

She’d been watching the network news on a small portable television set placed in a convenient alcove between the cupboards in the adjoining breakfast room. She shut it off and pulled out a chair for Luke at the breakfast table.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked. “Ice for your eye? It must hurt.”

“Yeah, it does, but I’ve suffered worse, and I didn’t come here hoping for refreshments or first aid. I’m just embarrassed to look as though I lost a fight.”

He scooted out the chair beside the one she’d indicated and waited for her to slide into it before he took his seat. “Now, why don’t you try the shake, and I’ll make a sincere effort to keep our conversation from deteriorating into an argument.”

She slipped the paper from the end of the straw and took a long sip. “Say, this is good.” She removed the plastic lid, got up to get a glass, and poured half for him. “Pam swears strawberry shakes have remarkable restorative powers. Drink up.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t distract me, or I’ll make a mess of what I’ve come to say.”

He was frowning as though maintaining his concentration truly were difficult, and her heart sank with the sudden realization that he must intend to ban her from Lost Angel, and not for a few days, but forever. At least he hadn’t given her such harsh news over the telephone, but the possibility still stung.

“I know I haven’t been the ideal volunteer, but—”

Luke cut her off. “You’re not the problem, Catherine. Now please just hush and listen.”

Even if his tone was curt, she was relieved, but as usual, she failed to heed his warning. “You sound so serious, but if you’re referring to your ex-wife, an apology isn’t necessary. Some relationships are difficult, but whatever problems there might be, they’re between the two of you.”

He forced a dry laugh. “If you really believe that, I shouldn’t have come here.”

That intriguing remark left Catherine more puzzled than ever, but she nodded to encourage him. “Tell me whatever you wish, then. It’ll go no further.”

“I’m counting on it.” He rested his arms on the table and centered his glass between his hands, but he left the milkshake itself untouched.

“Marsha and I were high school sweethearts. After we graduated, I went to UCLA, and she attended the Fashion Institute downtown. We got married the summer after she’d completed her two-year course, and I’d finished my sophomore year, thanks to our parents, who were horrified by the prospect of our simply living together.

“Marcy was born the next year. Childbirth was such a painful ordeal for Marsha that we didn’t try for more children. I know from what you saw of her today, you’ll probably find this impossible to believe, but we had a lot of happy years together.

“I received a full fellowship to earn my Ph.D., while Marsha worked part time for a local designer and learned the fashion business. Eventually, she and two partners opened a boutique in Santa Monica, and most years, it’s done really well. So we both had fulfilling careers, and Marcy was one of those sweet, sunny girls who are an absolute delight.”

Catherine wanted to slip her hand over his and beg him to stop, but he was looking out through the windows to the darkened patio, perhaps relating the story more for his own benefit than hers, and she dared not reach out to him. That he looked so badly abused added to the dark cloud of anguish hovering around him.

“A crisis will reveal a person’s true character. When we lost Marcy, Marsha just disintegrated. I was equally devastated, but I did my best to console her.” He leaned back and sighed softly. “It was like holding smoke. Sometimes a tragedy will strengthen a couple’s bond. Unfortunately, for others, like us, it’s the end.

“Marsha cried for weeks. Then she became furiously angry and blamed me for not preventing a senseless accident that no one could have foreseen. Believe me, she turned into a pit bull in a skirt. Still, I understood her despair. One day, we’d had rewarding careers and a bright, beautiful daughter, and the next, nothing mattered, not even each other.

“She demanded a divorce, and I didn’t argue. We sold our home in Brentwood. She used her half as a down payment on a condo with an ocean view. I bought a smaller place, and invested, fortunately not all in the stock market. She only turns up when she needs money, and even that hurts.”

He picked up the glass and swallowed his half of the shake in two long gulps. “Yes, I’ve seen a therapist, but no one can raise the dead. Which, sadly, is something you already knew.”

He rose and clasped the back of his chair with both hands. “I should have done the gracious thing and thanked you for bringing in the books and new shelves. Let’s talk about tutoring the next time you come to the center. Don’t bother to get up. I’ll show myself out.”

Catherine doubted she could stand. She felt sick for the enormity of his loss, but it wasn’t pity that made her long to invite him into her bed and make love to him until the ice melted from around his heart. She heard the door close and then finished the last of the shake, but it failed to lift her spirits or erase Luke’s disquieting presence from her home.

As she saw it, he’d come to confide something important, and it had had absolutely nothing to do with bookshelves. Instead, he’d wanted her to know that he and Marsha had been happy once, and that she’d been the one to end their marriage. Loyalty was a wonderful trait, but she was confused as to what he now expected from her.

She got up to open the patio door for Smoky. The cat was the one male she understood completely, but he provided surprisingly little comfort on a restless night.

Catherine filled Tuesday with errands to give herself some breathing room, but she returned to Lost Angel on Wednesday with a philodendron in a handsome clay pot for Luke’s office. She carried it in and, without asking permission, set it atop the file cabinet nearest the window.

“It was only a strawberry shake, Mrs. Brooks, you needn’t have brought me a gift in return.”

She adjusted the placement of the plant and brushed off her hands. “Yes, I did,” she insisted.

“I should have known we wouldn’t agree.” Luke left his chair to circle his desk and leaned back against it.

“I’m not thinking only of you, Dr. Starns, but of the numerous visitors who enter your office. It’s as inviting as a jail cell.”

Luke glanced around as though he’d never given the spartan decor a single thought. His black eye now spread from his brow to his cheekbone like a splash of purple dye, but it effectively enhanced his amused frown. “How could such an obvious point have escaped me?”

“You have other priorities,” she responded easily. “If someone were to donate a gallon of paint, I’ll bet painters could be found.”

He swept her with an appreciative glance. “You wouldn’t want to get paint on your pretty clothes.”

It had taken her an hour to choose rust-colored slacks that showed off her long legs and a peach blouse that flattered her coloring. Her flats and matching purse were a bronze basket weave leather. She’d wanted to look pretty, but professional too.

“I wasn’t referring to me.” She knew he was teasing and laughed with him. “You have an abundance of able-bodied men and women here. In fact, with a little experience, the kids might be hired by local painting contractors. I hear the work pays well.”

Luke winced in mock pain. “I swear I never know what to expect from you, but I’m tempted to give you the extra desk out front and have a nameplate made that reads Creative Director. That way you could spend your whole day dreaming up perfectly reasonable ideas that would require a genius to implement.”

She preferred his sarcasm to anger, but she still hastened to defend her suggestion. “A high school education doesn’t guarantee anyone a decent living anymore, and most of these kids probably don’t even have a GED.” Warming to her subject, she began to pace the small office. “I don’t mean to needle you—”

“Needle? Lady, you’re wielding a sharpened spear.”

“It was only a plant,” she pointed out, “but one idea just naturally leads to another.”

“In your head, maybe.” His voice deepened with sincere admiration. “You must have been one hell of a teacher.”

Growing self-conscious, she tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear. “It was a long time ago, and I was probably barely adequate.”

“I’ll never believe that.”

He was smiling now, lounging against his desk in a relaxed pose, but she was growing increasingly uncomfortable and wished she’d been smart enough to prepare an exit line before she’d breezed into his lair. Anxious to leave, she seized upon a plausible excuse.

“Perhaps I should check with Mabel to make certain she has enough help in the kitchen.” She turned toward the door she’d left standing ajar, but just then Dave Curtis rapped lightly and looked in.

“Good morning, Cathy. You look awfully pretty today. Luke, I’ve got all the sprinklers working as well as the old pipes will allow, but it wouldn’t hurt to toss around some grass seed and encourage new growth with more than water.”

“Take whatever you need from petty cash,” Luke responded. “By the way, do you think we could teach some of the kids to paint and hire them out to contractors?”

Dave was wearing a comfortably worn Phish T-shirt and khaki pants. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across the rock group’s rounded fish logo. “I wouldn’t trust any of them in an occupied dwelling because the temptation to steal whatever they could sell would be too great. With an unoccupied place, after leaving for the day, they’d probably sneak back in to crash, so that wouldn’t work, either. Outdoor murals to cover graffiti are a possibility, though. The kids can’t do a hell of a lot of damage to a wall.”

Luke sent Catherine a questioning glance, or at least she hoped that was curiosity lighting his lopsided gaze. “You’re right, I hadn’t stopped to consider the problems associated with putting a homeless teen to work in someone’s home, but still—”

Dave straightened up. “Don’t you worry, Cathy. I took several art classes in college and while I hadn’t thought about it before now, it would be fun to paint a mural. We might even be able to get city funds to buy the paint. Want me to look into it, boss?”

“Sure, thanks, Dave.”

“I like the new plant. It gives the place some much-needed class. See you both later.”

Catherine responded with a grateful smile, but she felt extremely foolish for being so presumptuous. She hurried to follow Dave out the door, but Luke reached out to catch her arm in a light grasp.

“I’ll buy the paint if you’ll come in on Saturday and help me redecorate.”

He was daring her to put her money where her mouth was, and after she’d been so critical, there was no way to refuse. “You don’t think I’ll show up, do you?” she shot back at him.

Luke dropped his hand and took a step back. “I know you’ll be here if you say you will, so why don’t we start at ten. Although I’m sure no matter what color I choose, you’ll hate it.”

“It’s your office,” she replied sweetly. “Paint it purple to match your eye if you like, and I won’t complain.” She left before he could get in the last word, but she doubted they could remain in the same small room long enough to paint it.

Mabel had plenty of volunteers that day, so Catherine decided to walk through the hall and straighten up the books. When she recognized Violet seated on the floor in front of the new shelves reading, she veered toward the wall filled with flyers.

She thumbed through a few that had been added since her last visit and was pleased the volunteer who’d placed them had followed her pattern. She was about to leave when Violet got up and came toward her.

“You brought the books,” Violet exclaimed. Her unabashed joy crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes. “I really didn’t think you would.”

“I hadn’t realized I had so many,” Catherine replied, “and I’m happy they’ll be read here. Did you find something you like?”

Violet ran her fingertips over the embossed title of a thick historical. “This one looks real good. Is there a limit to how many we can borrow?”

“I don’t see a sign with a limit. How many books can you read in a week?”

“A couple maybe, unless this one is as good as it looks and I read it twice.” She looked up hesitantly. “Do you ever do that?”

“Reread books? Yes, if I’ve loved them. It doesn’t matter that I know the ending. They’re like good friends I’m always glad to see.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. Ford doesn’t understand why I love to read. He says books are full of make-believe junk.”

Catherine wasn’t surprised, but she still chose her words with care. “People naturally have different tastes, but a man who claims to care about you shouldn’t put down what you love. That’s a very good book, by the way, with an exciting love story. While the hero and heroine’s opinions often clash, I hope you’ll notice how well he always treats her. It’s the way you deserve to be treated.”

Violet began to back away. “I guess most people wouldn’t call Ford much of a hero.” She paused briefly as though she wished to say more, then bolted out the door with the book she’d chosen still clutched tightly in her hand.

“Well, I suppose that’s a start.” Catherine sighed, but she was sorry she lacked sufficient expertise to inspire Violet to want more than the obviously ignorant Ford Dolan could provide.

As soon as she reentered the office, she had an urgent question for Pam. “I meant to ask earlier, but what happened to the girls who’d witnessed Felix Mendoza’s murder? Was Luke able to convince them to talk to the police?”