by Rachel Lee
The expression on her face when he had backed away had been so soft, so blissful. He wished she could look that way all the time. Then something had hit her, and she’d jumped like a rabbit with a hawk after it.
Well, he’d done it. He’d sent her into protective flight, even though he’d pulled back quickly and said only, “To be continued.” He hadn’t forced himself on her, and he’d made it clear nothing more would happen between them right then.
But her flight had given him a measure of the scars she bore. The fears she tried to conceal but that buried her in isolation. Could moving around that much as a child really make someone so afraid of getting close, of potential loss? Or had there been more?
He of course had no idea. How could he? Worse, he’d upset her, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Judging by the way she’d taken off, she’d probably start talking about moving to the motel.
He didn’t like that idea. For her sake, mostly, but also for his.
All he’d wanted to do was help this woman get through what was plainly a rough time for her. Earl had told him maybe more than he should have, being her lawyer, about her reluctance to even come back here, and her distaste for that house.
But instead of helping Vanessa, he might have just made everything more difficult for her. Didn’t that just take the cake?
* * *
In the bedroom, Vanessa sat in the padded Boston rocker that was tucked into a corner and calmed herself down. When the near panic ebbed enough that rational thought took control, she loathed herself.
How could she have reacted that way? It was over the top. So a man had kissed her then let her go. Just a freaking kiss. She hated to think how her reaction must have made him feel. She was afraid of rejection, but she’d just given Tim one of the worst types of rejections of all time.
She needed to apologize but didn’t know how. What was more, she didn’t think she should offer an apology before she got herself sorted out. She had to find a way to explain herself to him...and to herself.
The extremity of her reaction frightened her in and of itself. Was she truly that far gone? It was one thing to keep her emotions locked up and observe a safe but polite distance from others. Nobody seemed to have a problem with that. As she’d noticed before, nobody seemed to notice, either. While she knew people who’d pour their hearts out to her, she never reciprocated and they never seemed to detect the absence.
So her guardedness served her well enough most of the time. But not this time. This time Tim had expressed desire for her, and she’d fled as if he were a demon. That was awful.
In fact, she’d done the very thing to him that she was so afraid of. Despicable behavior. Shame filled her.
Of course, Tim might be able to handle it better than she could have, but that still didn’t relieve her of responsibility to apologize for her flight.
Closing her eyes, she thought of the many nice and helpful things he’d done for her in her short time here, and knew she owed him some truly straight answers. She’d already let him know that she didn’t get close to people. She’d talked with him about something she never mentioned: her lousy childhood. But it was wrong to expect him to put it together and manufacture her excuses for her.
At last, rising, she marched out to the living room, hoping he hadn’t gone upstairs. Whatever kind of mea culpa she could manage, he deserved it.
He was still sitting on the couch. He must have heard her coming, because he was looking toward the entryway.
“You okay?” he asked before she could speak a word.
“I’m fine.” As fine as she knew how to be, except for scalding shame. “I’m so sorry that—”
He cut her off. “No apology needed. If you aren’t scared to death of me now, come join me.”
“Scared to death of you?” That’s what she had made him think. Oh, God, she was an awful person. But she had run like a frightened deer. Not so much because she was scared of him, but because she was terrified of herself.
Somehow she needed to explain that. Sitting down gingerly on the couch, a foot away from him, she cleared her throat. Once again, before she could say anything, he spoke.
“I’m sorry I upset you, Vannie. That wasn’t my intent.”
No, she thought. That hadn’t been his intent at all. He’d given her a gentle kiss, almost a testing, questing kiss, giving her ample opportunity to respond or pull away. Instead, she had run.
“I’m the one who is sorry,” she said. “My reaction was out of all proportion.”
He studied her, turning sideways on the couch, pulling up one bent leg and resting his arm along the back. “Wanna talk?”
She, who never talked about her real feelings, understood she would have to do it now. At least a little, because he deserved it. But it wasn’t going to be easy, because it meant exposing parts of herself she didn’t even like to review in the privacy of her own mind.
“I told you I was crippled. That was just a part of it that you saw. You got close to me, emotionally, and I reacted badly without thinking. For that I owe you an apology. You didn’t demand anything of me. I could have just let the moment slip by. Instead, like a freak, I ran.”
“You’re no freak,” he said quietly. “Look, you gave me only a sketch of what your childhood was like, but I’m not surprised from even that little you shared that you’ve got some pretty sturdy walls around yourself. Losing everything at an early age, a dropout alcoholic father who kept you moving all the time you were growing up... Just that makes it unsurprising that you don’t want a close connection. I know what it feels like when somebody you really care about is ripped out of your life.”
Yes, he certainly understood that. “But all you did was kiss me.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “A kiss can be a gateway drug.”
After a moment, in spite of herself, she had to smile back.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes it’s enough to make folks take an instant cure. Either way, it’s a big deal, and it was pulling you places you clearly don’t want to go. I get it, and I don’t blame you.”
“You’re awfully understanding.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got my own hang-ups. I’m widowed. I’ve got a kid I’ve got to think about every time I make a decision. Losing Claire left a hole in me that will always be there, so I get that part. It took me a while to realize that I was just going to have to learn to live with it, because they don’t make a patch to cover grief. And for a while I was sparing of my emotions. That wasn’t good for Matthew. Even I could figure that one out. Thank God I did before I created permanent damage.”
“All I see when I look at the two of you is that you’re a good father.” Then a snort escaped her. “As if I’m any judge of that.”
He tilted his head a bit. “I think you’d be the best judge of a bad father.”
She closed her eyes a moment, allowing tension to begin to seep away. He was making this so easy for her. He made her feel as if she could safely tell him anything.
But that was the real danger, wasn’t it? Opening herself up, then getting kicked one way or another. There was certainly no point in opening up to Tim. She was leaving. She’d lose him, too.
But then an odd little notion prickled at her. It would be different, because she’d be leaving by choice. She wouldn’t be dragged away against her will. So maybe he was safe to open up to because she was in control of the limits.
Then she felt shame again. She couldn’t treat him that way. Invite him in, then toss him when she left. What if he developed feelings? Although why he should she couldn’t imagine.
“Look,” he said. “Let’s just let it lie. No apology necessary. Your reaction was honest, and I understand it. No need for any soul baring on your part. Life leaves its marks on us all. We deal with them as best we can.”
�
�But am I dealing?”
He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “As best you can.”
He rose. “Come on, help me make some coffee cake. Matthew loves it when we have it on Sunday morning. Let’s make him grin.”
Making Matthew grin was always a worthy enterprise. Summoning a smile, she followed him.
* * *
Tim had several different recipes he used for coffee cake, but he chose one he could have prepared blindfolded because his mind was busy buzzing around the things Vanessa had said.
It had taken guts for her to come apologize for her behavior and to try to explain. For a woman who claimed she wanted no close connections, she nonetheless acted like one who actually cared about how others felt.
He measured cinnamon and brown sugar into a bowl with butter and asked if she’d mind crumbling it with the pastry cutter. “Matthew loves crumb toppings.”
“Who wouldn’t?” she responded.
The cake he was making wouldn’t be very sweet, but it would be full of blueberries. His nod to being conscious of what his son ate. Ha.
With the oven preheating, he got to work making the cake.
“So this is a special occasion thing? The coffee cake?”
“Yeah. Easy enough to make, but they might take away my parenting license if I did it too often. And if I did it too often, it wouldn’t be special anymore.”
“Good point.”
“Have you decided if you want to talk to Ashley’s class?”
“I’m going to ask the museum to express materials to make it more interesting. Did I tell you that or just think it?”
“Darned if I know at this point.” He laughed. “Sometimes my head gets crowded and some stuff slips out the holes in it.”
She laughed. “Is that what you tell Matthew?”
“Often enough. Honestly, I get preoccupied and forget things. He’s used to it. Sometimes he even works at being my memory, especially when it’s about important matters. Important to him, anyway.”
“I haven’t noticed you having any memory problems.”
“You haven’t known me that long. I can get deeply absorbed in thinking about a project and I become absentminded. Trust me, Matthew never forgets a thing.”
“I can just imagine. I bet it could be dangerous to make him a promise.”
He winked at her over his shoulder, then went back to stirring the batter. “I never make promises. Too many things can happen. It frustrates him sometimes when I say only that I’ll try. I get plenty of reminders, though.”
After he oiled the square glass baking dish, he poured the batter into it. The crumb topping was ready, and he spread it over the top. “Everyone likes this,” he remarked. “I hope you will, too.”
“I’m sure I will. I’m with Matthew on crumb toppings.”
But then the cake was in the oven and there seemed to be no more casual conversation. Forty minutes before the cake would be done, and here he was feeling awkward. It was a rare feeling for him, probably arising from the way he’d upset her earlier, and then the conversation between them that had threatened to become intense.
It had certainly been revealing, but he wasn’t sure either of them wanted the intensity they’d been approaching. He doubted that, despite her self-questioning and self-criticism, Vanessa really wanted to let fly with her emotions. She was skimming her own problems in the way she seemed to want to skim most things. Touch on them, but don’t really mine them.
He had to admit that might be the best thing unless she was talking to a shrink. She could recognize her scars without tearing them open. Name them, so he’d understand, but not root around in them.
What was wrong with that? But it reminded him to tread carefully. And that made him uncertain about what direction to take. He generally wasn’t the type to resort to conversations about the weather unless some big event was on the way.
“The snowman is almost gone,” she remarked. “He’s looking sad. I guess the sun is doing that?”
“That would be my guess,” he answered, relieved. “It sure hasn’t gotten above freezing since the storm.”
“I really enjoyed doing that.” She smiled and finally looked at him with a relaxed smile, her eyes clear of shadows. “I’d given up hope.” A little laugh escaped her. “I never thought I’d be part of building one that looks so classic.”
“More hands to build it, maybe,” he suggested. “It looks like it should be easy, but it’s not, really.” A click from the coffeepot reminded him it was still on. “Do you want more coffee or should I turn the pot off?”
“I’m done, thanks. There’s a hope that I can sleep tonight.”
That caught his attention. “Do you have problems sleeping?”
“Occasionally. Doesn’t everyone?”
“I never do,” he confessed. “Probably because I don’t hold still very much. Always working or riding herd on a kid who operates at ninety miles an hour.”
That drew a comfortable laugh from her. “He never slows down,” she agreed. “He even plays video games at top speed. Boy, did he make me feel slow. He’s clicking those buttons as easily as moving his fingers, and I’m fumbling around. You’d never guess the delicacy of some of my work.” She shrugged. “Of course, I have no practice.”
“That might be key,” he remarked, at last pulling out a chair and sitting across the table from her. “He’s been playing that game for several years.”
“You don’t have a problem with it?”
He shook his head. “Why would I? He’s not living in the basement 24/7. He gets out to play, he’s doing well in school. Now if that was all he did...”
“Yeah. I don’t get why some people think it’s a bad influence. Kids can develop some real skills, and the latest studies show that even kids who play violent games become less violent than those who play none at all. Surprisingly enough. Of course, are these things really ever settled?”
“I wouldn’t know, it’s not my field.” Relieved that she was talking, he let her run. “I just know that I don’t let him play anything that isn’t PG. I’m glad the boxes have ratings, because his last two birthdays and Christmas he wanted new games and I was able to check out their suitability without having to play them myself.”
She nodded. “The one I played with him required a lot of problem solving. I was impressed.”
“There you go.”
“My dinosaurs are going to pale in comparison.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t.” Her smile widened. “Over the last few decades, we’ve had to put in a lot of interactive exhibits, moving exhibits. Kids aren’t content to just walk through a museum and look through glass.”
The last of the earlier tension was leaving him as well. He relaxed back into his chair, considering whether to get a beer, then deciding against it. She was so pretty when her face was unclouded, so happy-looking when she talked about her job. Just leave her be, he warned himself. No more kissing. No more giving in to the desire that kept riding him. He had no right to upset her balance, a balance he suspected had been hard to achieve.
“Do you think it’s bad that you’ve had to put in all those interactive exhibits?” he asked.
“Absolutely not. When I escape my lab, I love watching the schoolkids come through. They get so excited and intrigued. I hope they carry that away with them.”
“They’re the important ones,” he replied. “You know, when I was about twelve, my parents took me on a trip to DC. One of the most memorable stops for me was at the Smithsonian. But a funny story. My dad could get lost in artifacts for hours, but my mother was having none of it. She told him that while he might enjoy looking at brass buttons, I wouldn’t, so we needed to go look at more exciting things. We went off to the Air and Space Museum, which was a blast, but somehow she sq
ueezed in a look at the inaugural gowns of the first ladies.”
Vanessa laughed. “I guess she wasn’t interested in those buttons, either.”
“That was my read.” He grinned. “My dad was a contractor, too, but also a history buff. A man made for museums.”
“I love museums,” she said. “Everything about them. Some day I’d love to get to the antiquities museum in Cairo, and the Louvre in Paris. Just for starters. If I added any more to my list, I’d probably lose hope of doing any of it.”
“The Smithsonian’s easier to get to.”
“Cheaper, for sure,” she said. “I’ve been there a couple of times, and I’ll go back. But right now we’re working on making our museum one of the best places to go in Albuquerque. Of course, we’re competing with the Museum of Natural History and Science. I think we have enough bridge topics to help us grow, though. And our research departments cooperate as much as possible, and we exchange temporary exhibits. You can’t have too much science.”
He enjoyed watching her climb on her hobby horse. It was a different side of her, a lively, assured and confident side, so different from most of what he’d seen of her. “So you’re involved in building a new museum?”
“It’s not new. We’re just growing it. So far, so good.”
“But the research is your thing.”
“Very much so.” She closed her eyes, still smiling. “I can get lost in my lab, forget the time, the day. Mysteries, puzzles—always something new to think about.”
Well, she surely wouldn’t find that here, he thought, wondering why the idea saddened him. From the start he’d known she was going home, that she had a career there. Why should that bother him now?
Maybe he needed to take a page from her book and avoid getting involved. He glanced at the clock. Still twenty minutes on the cake.
“I must be boring you,” she said.
“Not at all.” He really wasn’t bored. Too many of his thoughts were selfish right now. Thoughts like he wished he had more time to get to know her, that she’d stay here longer than a week or two, that she wasn’t so skittish, because for the first time since Claire he was ready to dive into a relationship, with Vanessa. She’d awakened a part of him he had begun to think was dead forever.