Read Between the Lines

by Erica Spindler

  Michael raised his eyebrows as he went on. Marilyn was good. He’d done his best to be evasive, but she’d still suspected something was going on between him and Katherine. Of course, maybe Katherine had said something...

  His lips curved wickedly. He shouldn’t. Katherine would be furious if she ever found out...Marilyn could walk back in at any moment... He saw Katherine’s name peeking out from beneath several other folders and shot a quick glance at the door. Well, he’d never claimed to be a Boy Scout.

  He pulled the file out of the pile, taking care not to disturb any others, and flipped it open. He frowned. It was practically empty. There was the original questionnaire and the responses from the interview they’d attended together and nothing else. Scrawled across the top of the questionnaire In red was disqualified. Disqualified? What in—

  “Whew! Am I glad that’s over with. How’s everything going in—what are you doing?”

  Michael looked up at Marilyn, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. “What is this?” He held up the piece of paper. “Why was Katherine disqualified from the experiment?”

  Marilyn snatched the questionnaire from his hands, her cheeks growing pink. “How dare you—”

  “I asked you a question.”

  Marilyn stuffed the paper back into the file. “Maybe you better ask Dr. Reed.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “It’s not my information to share,” she said uncomfortably, shifting her gaze.

  He stood and faced her. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes and there was a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “This has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

  She met his eyes then. “Michael, please... talk to Katherine.”

  “I will.” He grabbed his coat and strode from the office.

  Michael made the drive home in record time. His heart beating a staccato rhythm, he softly closed the front door behind him and went in search of Katherine.

  He found her in the kitchen. She was humming as she read the paper. He stared at her. Her head was tipped down and her inky hair spilled across her face, concealing her expression. He thought of how the strands felt against his fingers and lowered his eyes. She was still in her robe and the loose flaps revealed the beginning of one creamy breast. His stomach tightened. What would he do without her?

  “Katie?”

  She looked up in surprise, with a welcoming smile. “You’re home early. I’m not even...” Her smile faded. “Is something wrong?”

  “Why were you disqualified from the study?”

  Her fingers curled around the newspaper, crumpling it. “What do you mean?”

  He set his jaw. “Give it up, Katie. You haven’t participated since the second week. Why?”

  “How did you find out? “

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She carefully folded the newspaper, then dropped her hands to her lap. They were trembling, and she laced her fingers together. “I had to withdraw from the study because I was prejudiced from the first. If I had remained an active participant, my responses would have contaminated the final results.”

  “Why?” When she only stared at him, he tore off his gloves, tossed them on the counter, then ran a hand through his hair. “If I remember the prerequisites,” he said slowly, his eyes locked with hers, “to participate you couldn’t have previously cohabitated with a member of the opposite sex, either in or outside marriage, and you couldn’t have had a relationship, a sexual...relationship...with your--” He read it in her eyes and it was like a fist to his chest. “Tell me it’s not true, Katie.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, God.” He strode to the window and looked out at the empty bird feeder. When he felt he could speak again, he turned back to her. “The dream?” She nodded and he stared at her in shock, all the bits and snatches of memories coming together. The night Sheila had dumped him, he’d gone to Katherine. He’d been drunk and hurting. As he’d known she would, Katherine had held him and comforted him, then helped him to his room. She’d tried to guide him to his bed, but they’d lost their balance and had tumbled to the mattress... The image filled his head and Michael looked down at his hands, remembering what he’d said to her, how he’d coaxed and complimented.

  The memory, the truth, left a vile taste in his mouth. It hadn’t been a dream. Drunk, he had lured his best friend into bed, taken her virginity, then fallen asleep without even holding and comforting her. Without cherishing her. He was no better than his father. Worse.

  “That night... you didn’t get—” he had to force the words out “—pregnant did you?”

  “No.” She prayed she didn’t sound as shaken as she felt. She knew, somehow, that for her to be calm and together was important. It might be her only chance.

  He met her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? Then or since? I gave you the perfect opportunity the other night. Why didn’t you use it?”

  The blood pounded in her head. “I was young... uncertain of myself. Your memory lapse seemed a convenient way out of an embarrassing situation. After that, I just wanted to forget...” At his anguished expression, her heart stopped, for just a moment, before recovering its wild pace again. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, choosing her words carefully. “The other night, I suspected how you’d react, knew it would hurt you. I decided to leave the past where it belonged.”

  “Nice sentiment,” he said, his voice harsh. “But the past has a way of creeping up on you.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  He ignored the comment and emitted a bark of laughter. “What really kills me is, after how I hurt you, you’re worried about my feelings. I deserve your anger, your disdain.” He balled his hands into fists. “You were my best friend. You helped me, trusted me... believed I was better than my reputation. How did I repay you? I took you to bed, took your virginity, then fell asleep. God, I didn’t even remember it afterward! How you must have felt!”

  Katherine felt the stirrings of anger and stood and crossed to him. Facing him, she forced him to look at her. “What’s all this ‘took,’ Michael? I went willingly to bed with you, I gave you my virginity. I wanted it to happen.”

  “You wanted more than a one-night stand,” he said brutally. “More than a quickie with a drunk.”

  She couldn’t lie, although she knew it would be best to. “Yes, I wanted more. But that doesn’t release me from all responsibility. I should have told you that; I should have been honest. Instead I pretended and hid and played games. Not much has changed in eight years—an hour ago I was still evading and pretending.”

  “And now?” He reached up and touched her cheek. Her skin was like satin against his fingertips and he willed himself to remember the sensation long after he knew she would have forgotten his face.

  “Now I’m tired—of playing games, of pretending, of dodging my own feelings.” She took a deep breath. “I love you, Michael. I always have.”

  “But... when we started this... our fling, you told me it was just for laughs. You told me—”

  “I lied.”

  Panic threaded through him. Panic and something else. Something that made him breathless and aching. “We have no future.”

  She covered his hand with her own and held his gaze. “We could.” She saw the denial in his expression, felt it in the way he seemed to withdraw from her. Honesty hadn’t made a bit of difference. He’d already made his decision.

  She turned away from him. “What are you so afraid of? I asked you that the other night; you never answered.”

  “I care about you, but I know who I am, Katie. I’m not the marrying kind.”

  Angry color rose to her cheeks, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “So if I’d continued to pretend this was just for laughs, everything would be fine? Meaningless sex is okay, but love and commitment are dirty words?”

  Denial jumped to his lips; he swallowed it. What they’d shared had been far from meaningless... but he couldn’t tell h
er because he couldn’t allow her false hope. Instead, he shrugged and said, “We both knew what we were getting into. We talked about it, Katie. I can’t help it that you lied.” He started for the door, knowing he’d lied, too. “I’m going to pack.”

  She stared at the empty doorway, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. She was going to lose him. After all this time, after everything they’d been through. Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked. It was crazy. She knew in her heart that he felt something for her, something more than friendship, something strong enough to scare him into leaving.

  Taking a deep breath, she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. She wasn’t giving up! Not yet, not when there might be a chance. Squaring her shoulders, she flew down the hallway.

  He was emptying his bureau drawers into a suitcase. It took all her control not to cry out. “You still haven’t answered me, Michael. What are you afraid of? The future—or the past?” His hands stilled, just for a moment, and she knew the truth. Suddenly everything made sense—his refusal to face his feelings, to let her close, to commit. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re so afraid of the past, so terrified of finding out the truth about yourself once and for all that you’re willing to throw away the future.”

  “Save yourself the aggravation, Katie. The Tardo men aren’t known for their dependability.”

  She crossed the room and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not your father, Michael.” She could imagine a six-year-old boy, trying to deal with his own grief as well as his mother’s. She could see him as a young man dealing with the guilt and fear created by a remarkable resemblance to the man who had hurt them both. She thought of Sam’s words. “And I’m not your mother. We’re not them.”

  “No?” He turned her so they both faced into the mirror. “Don’t the similarities strike you? Don’t you wonder if, through us, history is being repeated? Don’t you think you should be running away from me as far and as fast as you can?”

  Uncomfortable, she tore her gaze from the image in the mirror. “I won’t deny the parallels. But they don’t mean a thing, Michael. Coincidence.” She cupped his face in her palms. “History doesn’t have to be repeated. It can be changed. I learned that... I changed it.”

  “There’s one more similarity, Katie,” he said, his tone deliberately harsh, knowing it was the only way. “My father didn’t love my mother... and I don’t love you.”

  Katherine jerked away from him as if he’d slapped her. Tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to overflow. She thought she’d known pain before—she’d been wrong. Gathering every scrap of control and pride she possessed, she looked him full in the face. “Well,” she said, her voice small and tight, “I wanted honesty and I got it.”

  The wounded look in her eyes ripped at him, and it took everything Michael had not to pull her into his arms. She was better off without him. Chest aching, he snapped his suitcase shut. He crossed to the door, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “This is for the best, Katie. Someday you’ll see that.”

  Chapter 10

  Michael stared at the clock above the bar. In one hour the group from the study would be meeting to present the tabulated responses and tie up any loose ends. He’d gotten the call from Marilyn a couple of days ago.

  Hearing the other woman’s voice had made him think of Katie. Michael groaned and plucked a cocktail straw from the box. Of course, everything made him think of Katherine. And every time he thought of her, he hurt.

  Michael squeezed his fingers around the straw, the edges biting into his hand. He loved her; he had for a long time. He’d realized the truth at the same moment he’d denied it to her. Flinging the mangled straw in the trash, he cursed under his breath. What ripped him apart was, it didn’t change a thing. She was still smart and sweet and perfect, and he was still the type of man who would walk out on a sleeping woman.

  He checked the clock again. Fifty-two minutes. He wanted to see her, wanted so badly the need gnawed at him. But he couldn’t bear to see her and not hold her. His lips curved in self-derision. Not that she would let him within three feet of her. The look in her eyes when he’d walked out had made that clear enough. It was over.

  At the tightening in his chest, Michael swore again. Wasn’t that what he’d tried to do? Hadn’t his intention been to make her forget him, to turn her against him so she could go on to someone who would give her a good, happy life? It was for the best. Really it was.

  He dragged both hands through his hair. If that was true, why hadn’t he been able to sleep, eat or work? And why did it feel as if his heart had been wrenched from his body?

  “Pour me a whiskey, boy! I’m parched.”

  Michael jerked his head up, smiling for the first time in days. Sam Steele was just inside the door, his arms loaded with bags from a burger joint known for their half-pound patties. “Sam, why do I have the feeling your wife thinks you’re at the office eating the healthy lunch she fixed you this morning?”

  “Sprouts,” Sam grumbled, crossing the room. “A man needs meat, something that’ll stick to his ribs.” He dumped the bags on the bar, then shrugged out of his coat and sat down. “What the wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Where’s that whiskey?”

  Michael drew him a light beer, then laughed at the look his friend sent him. “What can I say? Sarah’s got me on the payroll.”

  “It’s a conspiracy,” Sam mumbled, taking a long swallow. After another swallow and a discreet belch, he narrowed his eyes on Michael. “You look like hell, boy. What’s up?”

  Michael thought of Katie, and his smile faded. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

  “Humph. You told me the same thing at sixteen when I caught you siphoning gas from my truck.” Sam pushed his empty mug toward Michael. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that little gal you’re in love with?” When Michael shot him a sharp glance, he laughed. “I knew the way things were between you two the moment I saw you together at the party. You’ve got it about as bad as a man can.”

  The party. In agonizing detail Michael remembered the way Katie had melted in his arms, fitting to him as if her body had been fashioned for his, and he ached for her. “Stow it, Steele. Our burgers are getting cold.”

  As they ate they talked about sports, the bar business and Sam’s store. When the last of the burgers and fries had been consumed, Michael sent the other man an assessing glance. He’d never been able to hide the truth from Sam, but by the same token, he could read his old friend pretty well himself. Something was up. He decided to find out what it was.

  “This is more than a social call, Sam. Care to fill me in?”

  The older man pulled a cigar out of his vest pocket, nipped the end, then lit it. He leaned back, puffing on the stogie for several moments, watching Michael through the cloud of smoke. Finally he said, “I’ve been thinking about your father a lot lately.”

  Michael’s hands stilled on the take-out bags, then he crushed them and tossed them in the trash. “Funny, so have I. But I have to, what’s your excuse?”

  “Something your Katherine said.” Sam looked from the end of his cigar to Michael. “He was a real S.O.B.”

  “Just figure that out?”

  “Nope, knew it from the first. But I never told you how I felt.”

  “Some things aren’t necessary.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Sam contemplated the glowing tip again. “I always thought you knew how proud I was of you, how tickled I was with the way you’ve turned out. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Michael scowled, uncomfortable. “What’s this leading up to?”

  “I called the house looking for you. Katherine told me you’d moved out.”

  He’d talked to Katie. Longing, so poignant it took his breath away, rushed through him. A dozen questions jumped to his lips; Michael reminded himself she was out of his life and swallowed them. Lifting his soft drink to his lips, he shrugged. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, dammit!” Sam slammed his palm against
the bar. “And she sounded like you look—brokenhearted.” When Michael didn’t comment, his cheeks reddened. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You can’t throw a woman like that away! You can’t—”

  “Sam,” Michael warned, “you don’t know anything about me and Katie. Drop it.”

  “I know this—” he waved the cigar in Michael’s face “—only a fool would throw away love.”

  Michael clenched his fists. “Love doesn’t change anything,” he said, his voice hard. “It doesn’t change who I am or what I’m capable of. Let me tell you a little story. When Katherine and I were in school together, we were friends. The best of friends. One night I went to her room drunk, coaxed her into bed and took her virginity. I didn’t even remember what had happened the next day. Pretty picture, huh?” His jaw tightened. “And here’s the kicker, Sam. I loved her. I’m the kind of man who treats the woman he loves like—”

  “You were young.”

  “So was my father,” Michael shot back. “And like you said, he was a real S.O.B.—”

  “Your father never loved anyone but himself,” Sam interrupted, stamping out his cigar. “He was selfish, self-centered and immature. And whatever he told you, forget it. He was also a liar. That man would say anything to get what he wanted, or to get himself out of trouble.”

  Michael stared at him, stunned silent. He’d never seen his old friend this way. Sam was good-naturedly gruff, rough around the edges but easygoing. Even when he’d caught him siphoning gas out of his truck, he hadn’t lost his temper, not really. But now... now his face was flushed with anger and a vein throbbed in his neck.

  “And your mother’s a lot of things, Michael, but strong isn’t one of them. Instead of focusing on herself and how she’d been hurt, she should have spent a little more time worrying about her son. We all should have. Instead of making comparisons based on looks, we should have—”

  “I was fine.”

  “My butt. You were a little kid and you were scared.”

  There was a strange sensation in the pit of Michael’s stomach. Trying to ignore it, he looked Sam dead in the eye. “Why are you telling me this?”