by Brenda Gayle
“Where’s Robert?” Nora asked.
“Oh, he had a meeting to go to. It’ll just be us.”
Nora raised her eyebrows. A meeting on Saturday morning? Maybe. But it was just as likely he had decided it was best to avoid her and the argument that would probably ensue from prolonged contact.
A matronly woman walked into the room carrying a tray of dishes. Karen ushered Nora over to the table near the French doors. “It’s too cold to eat out on the patio, but we can still enjoy the lovely view here,” she said, pouring a glass of lemonade for each of them.
Nora ate slowly, gazing at the manicured garden. Although it was winter, the recent warm spell had inspired some of the trees to bud, and she could detect tiny bumps of green poking through the brown soil.
Karen kept up a cheerful stream of small talk. While Nora dutifully answered her questions, she continued to think about how she and Karen were barely more than strangers. In the little time they had spent together, Nora knew she had nothing in common with her sister. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t see much point in pursuing a deeper relationship with her.
Still, she was here now. It would be polite to engage in some sort of conversation with Karen. Besides, she’d promised herself to try to be more sociable. This would be good practice for her.
“Do you like Santa Fe?” she asked, falling back on the mundane question.
“I miss Albuquerque,” Karen said. “I miss my home and my friends.”
“Then why stay? Albuquerque isn’t that far away. You could continue to live there while Robert’s here.” Damn—treading into personal territory. Hopefully, Karen won’t read too much into it.
“No. That wouldn’t work.” Karen shook her head. “There are too many social functions that I’m required to attend with him. Besides, I need to get used to it. He may take a run at the governorship in a few years, and it will be better if we’re already established here. And then, of course, there’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I was hoping that with us in the same city, we’d be able to reconnect. Get to know each other again.”
“Again?” The foreboding returned. Nora didn’t want to hurt Karen’s feelings, but she couldn’t pretend what she didn’t feel.
Karen had never been a part of her life and it was too late to change that. All her memories of family were painful. She’d put them behind her and she couldn’t go back.
“I’m sorry, Karen. It’s just we never really knew each other. You left when I was a baby and—not that I blame you—you never came home.”
“It was hard in the beginning. Robert was so busy building his career...”
“I said I’m not blaming you. Hell, I got out of there as fast as I could, too.”
Karen stared at her, seeming to struggle with what she wanted to say. “Was it awful?”
“Awful? I guess that depends on your definition.” Nora swallowed past the lump that had lodged in her throat. She didn’t want to open the old wounds.
But hadn’t she started them down this path? Maybe if she explained it to Karen, she’d understand why Nora couldn’t do the whole family reunion thing. “They didn’t beat me or starve me or anything like that. But it wasn’t a loving home.”
She paused to take a sip of her lemonade. “Mom and Dad were over-protective and suspicious of all my friends. I wasn’t allowed to do anything, go anywhere. I wasn’t allowed to try out for any sports teams or join any groups unless they were a part of it.” She didn’t want to sound whiney. What was done was done. She’d survived and moved on. But dammit, it had been awful.
“In my senior year of high school I went to a party in Shiprock,” Nora said. “They found out and grounded me until I graduated. I missed my prom—not that it mattered because even if a boy had asked me to go, I’m sure they wouldn’t have allowed it.”
Nora gulped a great breath of air and tried to hold off the tears. Dredging up those old memories was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. “I get that I was an accident—that they already had you, and my arrival was a burden to them. But come on. They were teachers. They, more than anyone else, should have understood that a child needs love and acceptance to grow and develop. Kids need to experience life so they’re prepared when they leave home.”
Nora paused at the stricken look on Karen’s face. “I’m sorry, Karen. I don’t know how you felt, but for me...I got out of there as fast as I could and I never looked back.”
“They loved you, you know,” Karen said, wiping away her own tears.
“Well, they had a pretty strange way of showing it. I always heard that parents are more lenient with their second and third kids. If that was lenient, I’d sure hate to know what you had to go through.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Karen said, sounding defensive. “They did the best they could. They gave up a lot for us.”
“Sure they did.”
Nora felt all the bitterness and hurt she thought she had buried years ago rising to the surface, and she feared she’d be unable to stop herself from exploding. She had expected Karen to be a little sympathetic—after all, they did have the same parents. It surprised her—angered her—that her sister would defend them. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Karen’s fault. Nora needed to lash out at someone.
“They refused to allow me to go to college in Albuquerque. The only way I could get away was to leave the state and intern with Senator Sparks in D.C,” Nora said. “Then after I left, they did a complete reversal. They never visited or even asked me to come home to see them. It was as if I was dead to them. When I moved to Santa Fe, I barely heard a word from them. I think the truth was that they were just as happy to be rid of me as I was to be rid of them.”
“Don’t say that.”
Nora stood and slammed her fist on the table, sending cutlery crashing to the floor and spilling her glass of lemonade. “Face facts, Karen. We may be related by blood, but we’ve never been family. I’ve done just fine on my own, and I don’t see any reason to change that now.”
Chapter 11
Nora slowed her pace and looked around to get her bearings. Beneath her breathing and the rapid beating of her heart she heard the gentle jingle of metal on metal. She turned her head to see a shaggy black dog and its jogging owner disappear around a curve in the path.
Jeez, she hadn’t even noticed them pass her.
She hadn’t noticed anything.
When she’d stormed out of Karen’s house she had automatically headed west along Alameda Street to the esplanade that meandered along the Santa Fe River. Usually the scenic paths allowed her to unwind and get some perspective on whatever was troubling her. Today, however, she couldn’t think at all. She was moving on pure adrenalin.
She forced herself to stop walking and regulate her breathing. She couldn’t believe how raw she felt. Damn Karen for dredging up all those memories. She thought she’d escaped them, buried them deep inside her. She was amazed by how quickly they’d bubbled back up to the surface.
She was older now and her parents were dead. She should be better able to deal with the emotions of her childhood. Wasn’t that why she had gotten into child advocacy to begin with? To find a way to turn her wretched past into something positive?
She wanted to scream, to release some of the tension that was pounding in her brain. She looked around and, relieved to see no one, she let loose. “Agh!”
The silence that followed screamed almost as loudly as she had. There was a stillness in the air, an eerie quiet that was unusual for the city. Where were the people?
The path along the river was popular with both locals and visitors, so even though it wasn’t tourist season she would have expected to see someone—anyone—out for a stroll on a clear Saturday afternoon.
A shiver ran down her spine that had more to do with the weirdness of the atmosphere than the mild chill in the air. There was a rustling in the bushes just off the path and she whirled around.
Was someone
there?
Okay, now you’re being stupid. There’s no one in the bushes.
Perhaps she was just hypersensitive after the break-ins, but the loneliness of the path was beginning to concern her. She turned east and headed back toward the downtown core.
Where was she going to go? Both her office and apartment were crime scenes, and she didn’t feel comfortable hanging around Hunter’s suite. Plus, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him anyway. He’d ask how things had gone with Karen and...
Karen. Dammit. What am I going to do about her? Nora knew she’d behaved badly by lashing out at her sister. She probably should go back and apologize to her.
No, she couldn’t quite face her sister right now. She needed to get her emotions under control and she needed to decide what she was going to tell her.
Did she want a family-type relationship with Karen? Probably not. As Nora had told her, she’d gotten along fine on her own. Karen complicated things, made her remember what was best forgotten.
But did she want to completely sever all ties with her sister? That’s what she didn’t know.
She turned north toward the Georgia O’Keefe Museum. Maybe a few hours among the bleached animal skulls and abstract desert landscapes would help her to make some sense of it all.
The museum was humming with weekend visitors, and Nora waited to pay her admission. Just as she reached the cashier she was startled to hear her name being called from across the room.
“Nora, thank you for coming.” Stacy Turnbull scurried toward her. “The kids will be thrilled.” She nodded to the cashier saying, “It’s okay, she’s with me.” Stacy took Nora’s hand, leading her to a small gallery just off the main reception area. “It was getting late and I thought you’d forgotten.”
Suddenly, Nora remembered the art show. Dammit. She’d been so absorbed with everything that had happened the past few days she had forgotten all about the exhibit Stacy’s outreach kids were staging.
She had met Stacy a few years ago when the museum’s event coordinator had asked Nora to help her expand the weekend drop-in art project to a more formal program aimed at underprivileged youth. Nora had liked the idea immediately, seeing art as an outlet for young people to express what they may not feel comfortable speaking about.
Together, Nora and Stacy had worked to gain the support of the museum’s board of governors and then funding from the city. When the program was launched a year ago, it was disparaged by many in the arts community who called it a waste of arts dollars. This was the first public showing of the kids’ work—and she’d almost missed it. “I’m sorry Stacy, I did forget. I’m glad I’m not too late.”
As she walked into the gallery Nora was greeted by welcoming smiles from most of the kids. There were fifteen in the program, eleven who participated regularly. She knew them all, having visited the classes often.
“Hello Brodie,” she said to a tall lanky boy with stringy black hair. He was leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed, and a bored expression that telegraphed he’d rather be anywhere else but in this gallery with this group of losers. On the easel beside him was a canvas covered in black paint. “What do you call your work?”
“Black.”
“No kidding.” She grinned at him and was rewarded by the barest hint of a smile. “What about this part here?” She pointed to the bottom right corner of the canvas, which remained white.
“I must have been in a rush and forgot that part.”
“I don’t think so.” She bent down to examine it more closely. “It’s too perfect. See here? The way the strokes are so uniform?” She straightened. “I think this piece is really about light pushing back against the darkness. It shows hope in the face of adversity.”
“Or it could be the last gasp of hope before it’s consumed by the blackness,” he said.
“Maybe,” Nora conceded, pleased he was engaging in a discussion about his work.
He grinned. “Or it could be I was in a rush and forgot that part.”
She laughed. “Art interpretation is in the eye of the beholder, and I choose to behold a positive message in this work.”
“I thought it was beauty that was in the eye of the beholder.”
“Yup. That too.” She liked Brodie. He was a very smart kid who had been dealt a very bad hand in life. He lived with his alcoholic father, who was on permanent disability after a work injury. She had no idea what had happened to his mother.
“How are things at home?” She knew he wouldn’t tell her, but she always asked. Maybe someday he’d open up. For now, it was important that he knew someone was interested enough to push past his defensiveness and ask—a tiny patch of light in his dark world.
He didn’t know it, but that small spot of white on his canvas was a balm to Nora’s raw emotions. It told her that he still had hope.
And with hope anything was possible.
****
Nora closed her eyes and sunk lower in the marble bathtub. She’d never been in a tub this large. This could easily accommodate two people—and probably does on many occasions. She ignored the twinge in her chest.
She’d stayed at the gallery until the kids had packed up their canvases and left. Stacy had suggested they go out for dinner to celebrate the successful first showing, but Nora had wanted some time alone.
She knew Hunter would be at the restaurant, and she felt she was finally ready to examine objectively the situation with Karen.
The warmth of the water and the feeling of bubbles bursting on her skin pushed away any rational thought. She just wanted to savor the luxurious sensation, and was teetering on the verge of bliss when she heard a sound from the other room.
She sat up quickly, sending water sloshing over the top of the tub.
Who’s there?
It must be room service again, she told herself crossly. Boy, am I ever jumpy today? Better check, just to be sure or I’ll never relax.
Sighing, she rose out of the tub and pulled on the lush far-too-large-for-her midnight blue robe, which was hanging on the back of the door. It smelled of cocoa and sandalwood, and so she hugged it closer as she walked into the living area.
Hunter looked up from arranging the place settings on the dining table. She felt herself blush as his gaze traveled from the top of her damp head, down her body, to stop at her bare toes sticking out from the bottom of the robe.
“The color suits you,” he said.
“Thanks. What are you doing?”
“Setting the table for dinner. I’ve brought up tonight’s special—a roasted sea bass with sweet pepper and almond romesco salsa.”
“What? No steak and potatoes?”
“Variety, my dear Nora. What’s life without some variety?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to reference the variety in his love life, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about his other women. Women, she corrected herself, not other. She didn’t belong in that group at all.
He had been very kind to her, but aside from that one kiss—just the thought of it still made her body tingle—he’d shown no interest in her. Just as well, she sighed, he was way out of her league, and younger than her, to boot.
“I’ll go get dressed,” she said.
“Don’t change for me, Nora. You look great.”
She shivered with the thrill that shot sparks through her abdomen. Maybe she needed to reconsider her previous thought. He was definitely eyeing her with appreciation now.
Don’t be ridiculous. You need to get some clothes on. But another part of her was urging her to remain as she was. Live dangerously. Have fun.
She walked to the table and took a seat. She caught the small self-satisfied smile he allowed himself and wanted to smack him—or maybe herself for behaving exactly as he expected.
“So what’s with the food?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” he said, taking the seat opposite her.
“You’re always feeding me. You sent up a tray last night, you left ou
t breakfast this morning, and now this.”
“Ah,” he said, lifting the fish off of the platter and placing it on her plate. He scooped up some of the romesco salsa, artfully arranging it on top of the fish. “Self-preservation.”
“What?” She took the plate from him and inhaled deeply. There was a spicy edge to the roasted tomatoes and peppers, and she detected the subtlest aroma of garlic. She took a bite and closed her eyes. This was heaven.
“Good?” he asked.
She opened her eyes to stare at him. He seemed pleased by her reaction. “You sure can cook.”
He laughed and took a forkful from his own plate. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad you like it.”
She savored a few more mouthfuls before remembering he hadn’t explained his earlier comment. “What did you mean by ‘self-preservation?’”
He placed his cutlery down on his plate before reaching across the table to take her knife and fork from her. Then he grasped both her wrists. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Nora, but you’re not so good in the kitchen. And, well, I was afraid that left to your own devices, you might try to cook something. Frankly I feared for the safety of my home—the whole hotel, actually.”
She struggled against his grip, wanting to pick up the knife or fork to use them as weapons to punish him for his remark. “Of all the—” But he was laughing at her and, after a few seconds, she gave in to laughter, too. “Okay, so maybe I’m not as good as you are in the kitchen, but I’ll have you know I’ve been on my own for many years and have yet to burn down any buildings.”
“And do you cook often?”
“No,” she conceded. She wished he would release her wrists instead of rubbing his thumbs along the palms of her hands. He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it...
She glanced up at his face. His expression had become serious and he was staring at her intently. She held her breath, waiting. Then he suddenly released her and picked up his fork.
“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“No, nothing. I need to shop for a new laptop, but I can’t really afford to do that until I hear back from the insurance company. Why?”