Eva's Deadline

by Linda Hope Lee

  Mark inwardly rolled his eyes. Loyal. Yeah, right.

  Holding up both hands, he said, “Please, everyone, do what you need to do and don’t worry about me.”

  *

  EVA PEERED THROUGH the windshield at the road ahead, the road that would take her away from Willow Beach forever. The fog was so thick she could see no more than a couple feet. Just as well. The sooner she forgot about this town, the better.

  She wished forgetting Mark were as easy. Even though they’d carefully avoided each other during her last days at the newspaper, all too often they’d find themselves face-to-face—in the hallway, in the staff room, in a doorway. They’d both mumble an “excuse me” and go their separate ways.

  The fog finally lifted, and by the time she reached Olympia, the sun shone from a clear sky. The homestretch at last. Home. She hadn’t been able to use that word in its true sense for a long time. Now, though, her world was right again.

  Seattle traffic was the usual stop-and-go from the city limits to her condo. Her slow progress didn’t spoil her homecoming. Elation filled her as she pulled into her condo building’s underground parking garage. Then up the elevator to the fifth floor.

  Once inside her apartment, pulling her suitcase on wheels, she hurried along the hallway to the living room, then stopped and looked around. Her beige sofa and chairs, glasstopped tables and prints of city scenes on the walls were the best welcoming committee ever. She opened the sliding glass doors, stepped onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh air. Sounds from traffic below were like music to her ears. To the south lay the city, with the Space Needle landmark. To the west flowed Elliott Bay. A tug hauling a barge loaded with lumber plied its way to Canada, and a green-and-white ferry chugged to the peninsula. All so familiar, all so comforting.

  By the time she’d brought everything from her car up to the condo, she was too tired to retrieve the contents of her basement storage locker. Plenty of time for that. For now, just being home was enough.

  The following morning, amid all the work of settling in and unpacking, the one thing she’d left unfinished in Willow Beach nagged Eva. She hadn’t said a proper goodbye to Sasha. She’d come to dearly love the little girl and would miss her. She’d hoped to tell Sasha goodbye in person, but Mark had carefully kept his daughter away from the office—and anywhere else the two might accidentally meet. Eva didn’t blame him for wanting to protect Sasha.

  Still, leaving without so much as a word was not fair to Eva or to the child. She paced the living room, thinking what she should do. She could phone. But that would be awkward if Mark answered, which he probably would.

  She finally decided to write Sasha a letter. After lunch, she went to a nearby drugstore and picked out a note card she thought the little girl would like. Then she returned to her condo and sat down at her desk. When she finished writing, she sat back and read her words. Satisfied she’d done the best she could but still aching with regret, she put the card in the envelope, addressed it and stamped it.

  *

  THREE DAYS LATER, Mark collected the mail from the box in front of his house. Mixed in with the usual bills and junk mail was an envelope addressed to Sasha. When he recognized Eva’s handwriting, his stomach tensed. Why was she writing to his daughter? He’d finally told Sasha that Eva had left, reminding her that Eva never intended to live in Willow Beach forever. But Sasha didn’t understand. That night after he tucked her into bed, he heard her crying. He’d soothed away her tears, but the next day she was still sad.

  He stared at the envelope, debating what to do. He should tear it up. Giving the letter to Sasha would only renew her distress. He gripped the envelope with both hands, ready to rip it, but then he let his hold relax. Maybe a word from Eva would bring closure to Sasha’s grief.

  “A letter for me?” Sasha said when he handed it to her.

  “It’s from Eva.”

  Sasha jumped up and down. “Oh, goody.”

  She tore open the envelope and pulled out a card. Mark looked over her shoulder. The front had a picture of a little girl holding a pink umbrella. The caption said, “Thinking of you.”

  Sasha handed him the card. “Read it to me, Daddy.”

  He scanned the message. “It’s printing. Wouldn’t you like to try reading it yourself?”

  Sasha shook her head. “You do it.”

  Mark took a deep breath and read:

  Dear Sasha,

  You’re probably wondering why we haven’t seen each other lately. As you know, I planned to stay in Willow Beach for only one year. Now that time is up, and I have returned to my home in Seattle.

  I hope you have a good year in school. Second grade. What a big girl you are.

  I will always remember the fun times we had together, Sasha. Please say goodbye to Bella for me.

  Love, Eva

  Mark nearly choked on the ending words. Love, Eva? Yeah, right.

  He noticed Sasha’s wrinkled brow. “What is it, honey?”

  “She doesn’t say when she’s coming back.”

  He bent down beside her. “She’s not coming back. Like she said, she was here for just one year.”

  “But she said she loves me. Why would she leave me if she loves me?”

  Good question. “Seattle is her home,” he said again.

  “Why can’t she live here? With us?”

  “It’s complicated, baby. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to Eva being gone.”

  “No.” Sasha flung herself at him and beat her fists against his chest. “Bring her back, Daddy. Please.”

  He put his arms around her and gathered her close. His heart filled with love. He wanted to protect her, to make everything right. But how could he when everything was broken beyond repair?

  The following morning at the newspaper office, Mark sat at his desk staring at the computer screen, where a lonely sentence sat at the top. His editor’s column for the upcoming edition needed to be written, but writer’s block had reared its ugly head, and he’d been staring at the screen for the past half hour. He couldn’t get Eva out of his mind. She haunted him at every turn. He kept seeing her words on Sasha’s card, Love, Eva.

  He rose from his chair and stretched and then rubbed the kinks out of his shoulders. He strolled to the window and gazed out. The maple tree was thick with leaves. The sun shone down on the windshield of his SUV parked nearby.

  He thought more about Eva. He had no doubt she loved Sasha. The problem was Eva didn’t love him. And why was that? Because she thought he didn’t love her? Because she thought he wanted her to stay only because of the Herald?

  Maybe what she’d said about him was true, that he was afraid to move on with his life. Okay, he’d admit it. Scared. Scared to trust again. Scared to…love.

  Love. The key to everything.

  Did he love Eva?

  Images flooded his mind: the two of them locked in an embrace, working on the newspaper, sharing dinners, jogging on the beach. Yeah, he loved her. Big-time.

  Was there a way to prove it to her?

  The answer came almost before he finished asking the question. He could only hope and pray that it would work.

  He returned to his desk, picked up the phone and called Lawrence Prentiss. When the lawyer came on the line, Mark told him his plan. Lawrence was shocked but agreed to follow Mark’s wishes.

  That night after he’d put Sasha to bed, he went into the living room and took a good look around at the furniture Diane had chosen, the cushions, the drapes and, yes, those doilies and fake flowers that Eva had pointed out. He’d tried to keep Diane alive by surrounding him and Sasha with things that would remind them of her
. But she wasn’t here. She was gone, had been for three years.

  If he truly loved Eva, he would have to let go of Diane. He would have to trust again. And, yeah, that was scary. But he was ready.

  He went to the mantel and picked up the photo of Diane. He gazed into her blue eyes, eyes that so reminded him of Sasha. “Goodbye, Diane,” he whispered. “We loved you, Sasha and I, and we’ll always remember you. But now the time has come for us to love again.”

  He scooped up the other photos and found a cardboard box to put them all in. When Sasha wanted to remember her mommy, they would be available, but for now he needed them to be out of sight.

  The next morning at the office, Mark looked up the phone number for Morgan’s Realty. When Jeb Morgan answered, Mark said, “Hey, Jeb, how’d you like another house to sell? I’ve got one for you.”

  *

  STANDING AT HER kitchen counter, Eva filled two mugs of coffee from the coffeemaker and handed one to Susan. “Let’s sit in the living room where we can enjoy the view while we chat.”

  Susan nodded as she reached for the coffee. “Good idea. I like having my own place, but I sure miss your fabulous view.”

  Eva picked up the plate of pastries she’d arranged and led the way. She placed the tray on the coffee table and waved Susan into one of the beige side chairs.

  “You really didn’t have to feed me.” Susan placed her lime-green tote at her feet and eyed the tray. “I’ve had breakfast.”

  “I bet I don’t need to twist your arm, though.” Eva grinned and handed Susan a napkin.

  Susan’s laughter rang out. “You know me too well.”

  “I remember that when it was your turn to bring treats to work, we always had something really yummy.”

  Susan spread the napkin on her lap and then reached for a piece of the pastry. “Speaking of work, how’d your first week go?”

  Eva made a face. “If you asked my feet, the answer would be ‘Grueling.’” She kicked off one of her flats and flexed her stockinged foot. “Why did I ever think high-heeled shoes were comfortable?”

  Susan touched her mouth with her napkin. “Comfort doesn’t matter when you’re a fashion slave. You’ve gone so long without wearing heels that your feet are out of condition.”

  Eva rubbed her arch. “I know.”

  “Feet aside, how do you like being on the staff again?”

  Eva shrugged. “I was hoping to still get the fashion assignments, but Molly Hartman seems to have taken over those. The food columns are open, but you know how good I am at cooking.”

  “You don’t have to cook. Just write about what other people cook.”

  “I know, and I shouldn’t complain.”

  Susan selected another pastry and took a bite. “Last weekend, Greg and I and his parents stayed at the cutest bed-and-breakfast in Morganville. Isn’t that about twenty or so miles from Willow Beach?”

  Eva sipped her coffee. “Yes, it is. And I think I know the place you’re talking about. Old Victorian, painted bright pink, pots of geraniums on the walkway?”

  “Right. Lovely place, and the cook made the best cinnamon rolls for our breakfast. Anyway, when we went out for dinner, I found this.” She reached into her tote, pulled out a folded tabloid-size newspaper and handed it to Eva. “Check out the publisher. Isn’t he the one who’s buying your half of the Herald?”

  Eva unfolded the paper and read the banner across the top. “The Morganville Messenger. Yes, he’s the one.”

  “Doesn’t look like much of a newspaper,” Susan said. “It’s mostly ads. Oh, and check out the big Personals column. Is he providing news or running a matchmaking service?”

  “Not much news, that’s for sure.” Eva perused the paper’s contents.

  Susan leaned forward. “Hey, why the frown? You are glad you came back, aren’t you?”

  Eva put down the newspaper and twisted her fingers together. “To be honest, Susan, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  A perceptive look crossed Susan’s face.

  “It’s Mark, isn’t it? You’re in love with him.”

  “No!” Then in a softer voice, “I—I can’t be in love with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He just wanted me to stay there so that he wouldn’t lose the Herald. Besides, he never said anything about love. And he had the nerve to accuse me of hanging on to my pain over the past so that I wouldn’t have to admit I really liked my job at the Herald and really wanted to stay in Willow Beach. Have you ever heard anything so crazy?”

  Susan shrugged. “Well, actually, the idea sounds like something I heard in one of my psychology classes. It probably has a big long name, but I don’t remember what it is.”

  Eva snorted and folded her arms. “I should know my own mind, my own self, better than he does, shouldn’t I?”

  Susan’s eyes reflected doubt. “What he said might be worth thinking about. Do some soul-searching. Do you really want the Herald to become a newspaper like the Morganville Messenger? Do you really want to be back here in Seattle? Or do you want to live in Willow Beach?”

  After Susan left, Eva paced the living room. Her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. How had life become so complicated? A week ago, she was elated to be moving back to Seattle and the career she’d always wanted. Now her world had turned upside down again.

  Was Susan right? Would soul-searching, as she’d called it, help her to know what to do? Something had better happen fast because at 2:00 p.m. the following day, she had an appointment with her lawyer, Nolan Cramer, to sign the papers for the sale of her half of the Herald to Boyd Carlstrom.

  *

  AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT, Eva awoke still unsettled, and all morning at work she struggled with her problem. She was almost late to her appointment. Just as she was about to leave the office, an interior designer she was to interview called to reschedule. By the time they went back and forth with one date and then another, she had only a few minutes to reach Nolan’s office.

  Fortunately, he was only a few blocks away, and at last she was seated across the table from him. He went over the papers with her and laid out the page for her signature. He handed her a pen.

  The moment of truth had finally arrived. Gripping the pen, she stared at the signature line. All she had to do was write her name, and the matter would be settled.

  Eva swallowed, her throat dry. Her hand shook as she guided the pen toward the line.

  Nolan peered at her. “You okay, Eva?”

  “No, I’m not,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  He leaned forward. “What?”

  She cleared her throat. “I can’t sign this,” she said louder. She looked up and met his puzzled stare. “I’m not obligated to sell to Boyd, am I?”

  Nolan frowned. “No, not until you sign. But—”

  She pushed the pen and the paper back toward his side of the table. “Then the deal’s off.”

  “O-kay…” He arched an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re keeping your half of the newspaper?”

  “Not necessarily. As soon as you’ve straightened things out with Boyd, contact Mark Townson and tell him I’ll sell him my half. He can pay me off however he likes and take as long as needed. Whatever works for him will be fine.”

  Nolan raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Later, when she was back in her condo, had eaten dinner and was settled on the sofa with a cup of coffee, Eva did some more soul-searching. She thought about the past year in Willow Beach and how she’d gone there with the idea that she could never live there again, that what had happened
to Brett and the split with her father would haunt her forever.

  Then she thought of the year she’d just spent there. Okay, she and Mark had clashed over their opinions of what was important news and what wasn’t. But they’d often compromised. And helping the high-school students with their show had been every bit as much fun as attending a fashion show here in Seattle. Maybe even more because she’d been so much a part of the planning.

  And the times she’d spent with Sasha and Mark, especially Mark, had been wonderful.

  Had Mark spoken the truth? Was she holding on to her pain and her guilt to prevent moving on in the present—and the future?

  She sat there and thought about that while the twilight sky faded into darkness and the stars popped out one by one. Then she reached up, unclasped the necklace and pulled it from underneath her blouse. Laying the medal in her palm, she ran her fingers over the embossed letters as she had so many times during the past eleven years. First Place. “Yes, Brett, you were a winner,” she whispered and smiled a sad smile.

  She curled her fingers around the medal and then carried it into the bedroom, where she tucked it away in a dresser drawer.

  *

  MARK STARED AT the sheaf of papers on his desk, papers Lawrence Prentiss had drawn up for the sale of his half of the Herald to Boyd Carlstrom. He’d read them through and had seen nothing amiss. Now all he had to do was sign his name. “I hope you know why I’m doing this, Seb,” he muttered under his breath. “I love the Herald, but I love your daughter more. And I’m hoping this will prove it to her.”

  Taking a deep breath, Mark grabbed the pen from its holder and scrawled his name on the line. He sat back and stared at his signature. Done.

  Folding up the papers, he put them in the return envelope Lawrence had provided. He could hand deliver the document to the lawyer’s office. But if he did, he might have to answer more of the man’s questions.

  He could send one of the staff over with the envelope. But that, too, would invite questions and speculation. He’d face them later.