“I’m so sorry, darling.” It wasn’t much, but it was all she could think of to say. She longed to comfort him, but there were no words to ease the pain he was suffering. He had to bear it, come to terms with it, live with it. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t even feel the tears running down her own cheeks. She only knew that she hurt, ached as if she had been kicked in the stomach, that her throat throbbed with suppressed tears. She moved, inching upwards so that she could lay her cheek against the warmth of his. Their tears joined and ran together down onto the pillow.
That was the way they fell asleep. When she woke up, she was alone.
XXVII
“What happened to you?” Janice met her at the airport in Wichita, her blue eyes that were so like Lora’s widening as she took in her sister’s tanned face, sun-streaked hair and slimmer figure. “From what you said on the telephone, I expected you to be practically on your death bed. You look wonderful!”
“I don’t feel wonderful,” Lora assured her. Janice’s carefully maintained blond hair was perfect as usual, and her slightly plump body was set off to advantage by the pale yellow cotton blouse and skirt she wore. Janice looked a lot like Lora, only better. Or so Lora—and Janice—had always thought. Now, for the first time in her life, the older sister found herself envying the younger’s looks.
“Tell me everything,” Janice insisted, only to be interrupted by two squealing voices.
“Aunt Lora! Aunt Lora!” Heather and Becky threw themselves on their aunt, their thin little bodies hugging her tightly. Lora hugged both girls in turn. She was really very fond of them—and they served as a very effective barrier between her and her sister.
“Later,” Janice said resignedly, giving Lora a speaking look.
Lora smiled in reply, and hugged the girls again, saved for the moment. But she knew Janice well enough to know the reprieve was only temporary. When Janice wanted to know something, she pestered you until you told her. It never failed. No one Lora knew could hold out against her. Not Bob, Janice’s husband, not the girls, not Lora herself.
“Lora!” It was a masculine voice, and Lora looked up from hugging the little girls to see Brian advancing toward her. Funny, with all that had happened she had almost forgotten that she was engaged to Brian. Tall and thin and bespectacled, his fair hair receding slightly from a high forehead, and immaculately dressed in a sport coat and tie even in the summertime, he hadn’t changed a bit. Lora looked him up and down, frantically trying to revive some of the emotion she had surely felt for him at one time. But there was nothing there. He might as well have been a stranger. But she would work on it, she told herself. She was not going to let an unfortunate interlude with a man who had made it very clear that he didn’t want her tear apart the fabric of her life.
“Brian.” She rose to greet him, and the little girls hung around her legs.
Brain leaned close, catching her hands, and brushed his lips over hers. His mouth felt cool and dry. . . . And did absolutely nothing for her nervous system. Well, she would work on that, too.
“It’s good to see you, Lora,” he said quietly. “When Janice called to say you were safe it took a tremendous load off my mind. We’ve all been extremely worried about you ever since the fellow from the State Department called to tell us there was a possibility you’d been kidnapped in Mexico.”
“Is that how you found out?” Lora was momentarily intrigued. How had the state department gotten into the act? Well, it didn’t matter. What did matter was that she was home, among the people who loved her. Which was more than she could say for some ungrateful scoundrels whom she wasn’t missing at all.
“Of course, I was worried when you didn’t come back from that uncivilized country when you were supposed to, but I never really suspected anything like kidnapping. . . . But I told you all that on the phone.”
Yes, Janice had said all that and more, much more, when Lora had phoned her sister from the hotel the day before, after she finally accepted that Max had left without her. She had waited for hours for him to return, and then, when lunchtime finally came and went, she thought of checking with the desk clerk to see if he had at least left a message. Maybe something urgent had come up—maybe Tunafish had had a relapse. . . . There was no message, or at least not of the kind she wanted. Max had paid the bill and left his credit card with the desk clerk for her, along with instructions to use it to buy herself a ticket home and whatever else she needed. There was nothing else, no good-bye, nothing. Lora remembered the desolation she had felt, and hardened her heart. She would not hanker after a man who had proved so conclusively he did not want her. She would not!
“I warned her about vacationing in Mexico. I don’t consider it safe. As this has certainly proved.”
Brian was speaking to Janice as if Lora were not present. He did that a lot. Janice was smiling at him. She did that a lot. He was a great favorite of hers, although Lora suspected that Janice would be inclined to smile at anyone who was willing to marry her little sister—with the possible exception of a kidnapper with criminal connections. Not that the question would ever arise, of course. Max didn’t want her. She would probably never see him again, much less get the chance to introduce him to Janice. And she was not going to break her heart over it. She was not!
“Listen, we can talk at home. For now, we’d better get going. We’re blocking the way and Lora must be tired to death. Let’s get her home.”
Lora smiled at her sister, feeling genuinely thankful to her for one of the few times in her life. She was tired to death, and all she wanted was to go home. She didn’t want to think about Max. . . .
The loudspeaker blared, people rushed by them, the girls demanded and got cotton candy, and Janice and Brian both talked at once, describing their reactions to Lora’s disappearance. Lora barely heard any of it. She was getting accustomed to the noise, the hustle and bustle that had been so markedly absent from her life for a period that seemed much longer than two weeks. Only two weeks . . .
They walked out onto the tarmac. The sun shone brightly down on the blacktop parking lot. Janice’s bright red Ford Escort was parked nearby. The same Escort that had taken Lora to the airport two weeks before. It seemed like a lifetime.
“You’re very quiet.” Brian’s voice penetrated the fog that seemed to envelop her.
“I’m tired,” Lora said truthfully as Janice started the car and pulled out into the traffic whizzing away from the airport. But it was more than just tiredness that afflicted her, and she knew it, though she refused to admit it even to herself.
“Aunt Lora, were you really kidnapped?” Becky asked, wide-eyed, from the front seat.
“Let Aunt Lora alone,” Janice ordered firmly. “She’ll tell us all about it later. She’s tired now.”
And to Lora’s great relief, they did leave her alone. For the time being.
Over the next few days, she told judiciously edited versions of her story to just about everyone she knew. Janice got the most accurate and detailed account; keeping secrets from Janice was practically impossible. Brian’s version left out much about Max, but enough slipped through to make him actively jealous. Finally, on the first Friday night she was home—they always went to dinner and a movie on Friday nights, and Lora was not surprised to learn that nothing had changed in Brian’s fondness for precise scheduling—Brian asked her outright if she had slept with Max. Lora hesitated a moment, then with a feeling of throwing her cap over the windmill admitted she had.
“Oh, my Lord! Lora, you can tell me—did he—use force?” Brian sounded both scandalized and faintly intrigued.
Lora looked at him, sitting on the pink, flowered couch that had sat in her parents’ living room for as long as she could remember, his face flushed as he waited for details. Something about his expression made her think of a Peeping Tom. Lora thought without volition of Max, pictured him as clearly as if he was standing before her at that moment. It struck her suddenly that his attitude was healthier by far than
Brian’s. Max enjoyed sex unashamedly. She could not imagine him drooling as he pressed for details that she suspected would titillate Brian while he affected great shock at her behavior. Brian was a hypocrite, she realized with a sigh, and also realized something that she had secretly known since she had first seen him again in the airport. She was kidding herself by trying to act as if nothing had changed. Everything had changed. And she had changed most of all.
“No, he didn’t force me, Brian. I made love with him because I wanted to.” Brian looked shocked, as she had expected, and opened his mouth to say something else. Lora forestalled him with an upraised hand—the hand that should have worn his ring. Damn it, she had wanted a ring! That was just one small symbol of all that was wrong between them. Brian was sensible and levelheaded and careful. Lora had thought she was all those things, too—but she wasn’t. There was a secret Lora inside that wanted romance and adventure and diamond rings and great sex. And with Brian, she wouldn’t have any of it.
“I think we can both see that this isn’t going to work, Brian,” she added, standing up and moving a few steps away to look back at him. “We’re just not right for each other.”
“We were perfect for each other until you went to Mexico! You’re breaking our engagement over some criminal you’ve had a dirty affair with!” He jumped to his feet, sounding outraged, and his narrow face grew alarmingly red. “Lora, this isn’t like you. You’re still in shock from your ordeal.”
“Yes, it is like me.” Lora threw up her head and met his pale blue eyes squarely. He was glaring, and once she might have backed down. But not any more. The Lora Harding that she had discovered in Mexico could stand up for herself against men a lot more intimidating than Brian Curry! “The real me. If you think about it, Brian, you’ll realize you don’t want to marry me. Not now. I’m not the same person that I was.”
“You’re certainly not the girl I’ve been engaged to for four years,” he agreed with a huff. “She would never have willingly slept with a—with a criminal!”
“No, she wouldn’t, would she?” Lora agreed cordially, moving pointedly toward the door. “So you see, you’ve had a lucky escape. Good-bye, Brian.”
Brian moved to stand beside her, looking down at her with an angry frown. “Don’t think you can call me and make this up,” he warned.
“I won’t call you,” Lora promised. Brian stood glaring down at her for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and strode out of the house, banging the screened door behind him.
* * *
“I can’t believe it!” Janice almost wailed when Lora told her.
They were sitting at the kitchen table in their parents’ old home—Lora had trouble thinking of it as her house, now—and the girls were playing in the backyard. Janice had made the coffee, and both women had been sipping it when Lora made her announcement. Now Janice was choking on hers.
“How could you have broken up with that nice man? He’s perfect for you.”
“He’s not, Janice.”
“He is! You’re so much alike! Lora, he wouldn’t care that you can’t dance and you do your taxes two months early and you go to bed at ten o’clock every night! He does that kind of thing himself! It’s a match made in heaven! How could you have done it?”
Lora just shrugged and sipped her coffee. Janice stood up agitatedly.
“It’s that man, isn’t it? That Max. Lora, you told me yourself you’re never going to see him again! Honey, it was an affair! We all have them! But we don’t let them mess up our whole lives!”
Lora was suddenly intrigued. “Janice, have you ever . . .”
Janice looked down at her impatiently. “Of course I have. Lora, grow up, for goodness sake! You’re twenty-seven years old! Everybody has affairs these days, they’re lots of fun, but they don’t mean anything. Do you think I’d throw Bob over for a man I just wanted to sleep with? I’d never be so stupid!”
“Does Bob know?” Lora was fascinated by these intimate revelations. She had thought her sister had the perfect marriage, just as Janice always had the perfect everything. It was enlightening to know that she did not. Maybe in this area, too, she had been looking at life through a distorted lens.
“Of course not. Although he does the same thing. He thinks I don’t know, but I do. You can’t keep secrets long in a town like Augusta. But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Lora, I am your sister and I love you, but you were always as dumb as a bunny about some things. Especially men. Call Brian and tell him you’re sorry, that you don’t know what got into you, that you want to make up. He’ll do it, I know he will. He loves you.”
“But I don’t love him, Janice.” Lora took another small sip of her coffee while her sister paced agitatedly.
“What’s love got to do with it?” Janice demanded, rounding on her sister. “Marry Brian, Lora. Love—the way you mean love—isn’t real. It doesn’t last. But the kind of life you can have with Brian—that’s forever.”
Lora looked up, her eyes wide as she studied her sister. She had never realized how much was lacking in Janice’s life. She had thought her sister was perfectly happy—all because she had never opened her eyes and seen what was right before her nose. She started to reply, but before she could say anything, the doorbell rang.
“Must be the girls,” Janice said irritably, glancing out the kitchen window and presumably not seeing her daughters. “I told them to stay in the backyard, so it stands to reason they’re out front ringing the doorbell. Stay put, I’ll see what they want.”
Janice vanished into the hall leading to the front door, and moments later returned, carrying a brown paper wrapped parcel.
“It was a man from UPS,” she said with some awe, holding the package out to Lora. “It’s for you. Who would be sending you a package?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, open it!” Janice handed the parcel to her and hovered over her impatiently as Lora complied.
Inside the brown paper wrapping was a sturdy cardboard box. Lora lifted the lid from the box—and sat staring blankly at its contents. It was filled to the brim with stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills!
“My God,” Janice breathed, reaching out a hand to touch the cash as if to make sure it was real. “There must be thousands here! Lora, this can’t be for you! The parcel service must have made a mistake.”
“They must have,” Lora agreed as soon as she regained her voice, picking up the paper that the box had been wrapped in to doublecheck the address. Before she could locate the address, a small, rectangular piece of white paper fluttered out from the torn wrappings she held in her hand. Lora bent to pick it up, her heart suddenly pounding. It was a business card. On the front, in bright blue lettering with a drawing of a keeling yacht attached by a fishing line to an enormous, rampaging swordfish for illustration, were the words: “Tunafish’s Fishing Fleet. Boats and crews available for rental by the day or week; we know where they are—you catch ’em!” along with an address in Puerto Santos, Guatemala. On the back, scrawled in bold black ink, was written: “Your share of the finder’s fee. Max.”
Lora sat staring at his sloping signature while her blood drummed in her ears and a sizzling anger began to build inside her. How dare he send her this dirty money? How dare he! Was his conscience bothering him for deserting her the way he had, without a word, after all they had shared? It should bother him—but he was not going to buy it off with cash!
“What does it say?” Janice practically danced around the chair as Lora, her face slowly turning crimson with suppressed rage, stared at the note. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Janice finally grabbed the card from her sister and read both sides of it. When she finished, she handed it back, her eyes wide.
“How much is there?” She sounded awed. Lora shook her head, glaring at the business card.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t want his dirty money!”
“But Lora—you have as much right to it as he does! More, a
fter all he put you through! I must say, there must be more to him than I’d thought for him to send you this! It’s almost like an apology!”
“He can take his apology and—stick it where the sun don’t shine!” Lora spat, borrowing one of her students’ favorite expressions as she jumped up from the chair and started bundling the parcel back together.
“Lora!” Janice was almost wailing. “What are you doing?” You don’t mean to send all that money back to that—that criminal!”
“You’re right, ” Lora said with savage satisfaction. “I’m not going to send it back to him. I’m going to take it back to him! And throw it in his face!”
And despite all Janice’s arguments and horrified protestations, the next morning Lora boarded a plane bound for Guatemala City carrying a flight bag holding a few clothes—and another one crammed with money.
XXVIII
From Guatemala City she caught a commuter plane to Puerto Barrios, which was as close to Puerto Santos, a small fishing village on the eastern coast, as she could get by air. En route, it had occurred to her that the address on the card was for Tunafish’s Fishing Fleet, which presumably belonged to Tunafish and where she might find him but not Max. But it was the only address she had, and she was certain that, if Max was not there, Tunafish knew where to find him. And she was not going home until she had thrown Max’s conscience money in his face and told him what she thought of him. Lora dwelled on the names she would call him with pleasurable anticipation; she would start with coward and end up with selfish beast!
By the time the plane landed in Puerto Barrios, it was midafternoon. Her stomach still shaky from the turbulent ride, Lora tottered out of the airport on unsteady legs, bright red flight bag clutched in hand, to rent a car for the short drive to Puerto Santos. Lora had vowed that she would never again drive anything but an automatic, but there were no automatics available. In fact, there was only one car: a dilapidated, rusted Volvo with a stick shift. Lora accepted it with resignation forged by experience. Besides, she had less than twenty miles to go. How many times could she have to shift in twenty miles?
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