Where Dreams Begin

by Phoebe Conn

“I’m not shaken, just disgusted. Did you ever get into a fight over a boy when you were in high school?” he asked.

  She adjusted the makeshift ice pack and, thinking it a wonderful excuse to touch him, she smoothed his silvery hair off his forehead. Thick and soft, it slid through her fingers like silk. He didn’t seem to notice, but she was embarrassed to be fondling him and quickly dropped her free hand.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked absently. She could hear the water running in the shower in the restroom located behind the kitchen, but Mabel and the kitchen volunteers had left for the day, and they were quite alone.

  “Never mind. It always amazes me when girls fight over some guy who’s not worth a lengthy argument, let alone a fistfight.”

  “I imagine when you can carry all you own in a backpack, even a worthless boyfriend takes on immense value. Will you really ban them permanently if they start another fight?”

  “We have to have rules here, Catherine, or we’d have chaos. Too many of these kids reject any type of authority, but if they’re ever to fit in anywhere, they have to learn to abide by the rules. Even the fast-food places insist upon shoes and shirts.”

  She added another cube to the ice pack, but he was still going to have a colorful black eye. He had very nice eyes with long lashes any woman would envy. That he was so attractive had always been an unwanted distraction, however, and she focused on making her point.

  “I understand that, but these are kids who’ve run away, or been thrown away, and it seems cruel to ban them from one of the few places they’re welcome. Besides, it will be impossible for you to teach them any valuable lessons about getting along in the world if they aren’t allowed in the door.”

  Luke raised his hand to cover hers. “Look, I’m trying to keep these kids safe and well while they gain their independence, and then we build from there. I have to earn their trust, and being consistent is the only way to do it.”

  His hand provided a welcome heat against the icepack’s chill, but she was uncertain whether he was merely attempting to convince her he was right or to thoroughly distract her. She liked the touch of his hand against hers, but in this setting, it was completely inappropriate. Still she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

  Then she made the mistake of meeting his gaze, and what she saw was the clear reflection of the desire that deepened his voice whenever he spoke her name. He was no more able to concentrate on their current argument than she, and all she wanted to do was lean in and kiss him long and hard.

  “I hate to interrupt such a tender scene,” a striking young woman called from the doorway, “but I need to speak with Luke.”

  Although startled, Luke gave Catherine’s hand a light squeeze before he grabbed the now soggy towel and tossed it into the bowl of ice. He shoved himself to his feet and provided polite, if terse, introductions.

  “You know the routine, Marsha,” he scolded. “Call my attorney and schedule an appointment.”

  “That will cost us both money, and all I need is a minute. You owe me that much.” A petite blonde, Marsha was dressed to absolute perfection in a pale pink suit with a matching handbag and stiletto heels.

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Luke shot right back at her.

  All curiosity about Luke’s ex-wife satisfied, Catherine moved past her to dump the bowl of ice in the sink. She wrung out the towel and hung it over the side.

  “I’m sure you’ll excuse me. I have books to sort.”

  Marsha turned to watch Catherine leave. “Nice clothes. I see your type has changed.”

  “With good reason. I wish you hadn’t come here, but since you have, let’s go on over to my office.” He walked out and across the courtyard without bothering to look back to see if she was following until he reached the office building and yanked open the door. Unfortunately, she was right behind him.

  “Hold my calls, please, Pam.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pam responded without looking away from her computer screen.

  Once in his office, Luke leaned against the room’s single windowsill rather than take a seat behind his desk. “How much do you need this time?”

  “It isn’t always about money,” Marsha denied hotly. She sat on the side of one of the visitor chairs to face him, crossed her legs and adjusted the drape of her skirt. “It’s just that sales have been off at the boutique, and I need a few thousand to tide me over until business improves.”

  Luke surveyed the parking lot. That he could ever have been married to this soulless bitch filled him with shame, but that was all. “Your own attorney described your divorce settlement as more than generous. I’m no longer obligated to support you. Ask the bank for a business loan, or tap your partners.”

  “After all the years we were together, I shouldn’t have to beg,” Marsha cried with a convincing catch in her voice.

  Luke straightened up as Catherine crossed the parking lot with a long, sure stride. She slid into her car, and he waited for her to look his way and wave, but she drove off as though she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He tried to believe it was just as well she was gone, but he was disappointed by the abrupt end to their latest exchange.

  His head was beginning to ache, and he was in no mood to deal with Marsha’s tantrums. “You asked for the divorce. Now you’ll have to deal with the consequences of being on your own.”

  “My field is fashion, not finance, and don’t you dare try that tough love stuff on me.”

  Luke still found it difficult to look at her. “I wasn’t. Take a class on money management, hire an accountant, just don’t depend on me any longer to bail you out.”

  Marsha stood and came toward him. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You took this job, which has to pay close to nothing, just to spite me. And look at you! Do you have to let these fugitives from juvenile hall beat you up?”

  Luke never explained why he’d taken his job, and he wasn’t even tempted now. He turned away from the window. “I’ll never do anything simply to spite you. Quite frankly, you’re no longer that important to me. Now your minute is up. Good-bye.”

  “I’m going to call my attorney, and we’ll just see who has the last word,” Marsha fumed, and she slammed the door on her way out.

  Luke had kept his temper, but it was scarcely a source of pride. It was just another day at Lost Angel, and a long afternoon, in which he would have to pull himself together to lead the discussion group, lay ahead.

  “I need a strawberry shake,” he told Pam as he passed her desk.

  “It’s a shame about your eye. Better make it two,” she advised.

  Luke laughed at her suggestion, but he thought if he ran a couple of extra miles that night, he just might slurp down three without swelling up like a balloon. But as he sipped the first a few minutes later, he began to wonder if Catherine Brooks might not also be partial to strawberry shakes. He would have to ask her, if she ever came back.

  Chapter Five

  Catherine’s doorbell rang at 7:00 p.m., and assuming it must be Joyce stopping by, she swung the door open without bothering to glance through the peephole. Then she had to hide her dismay when she found Luke Starns standing on the front porch holding a drink container.

  “Dr. Starns?” Catherine didn’t wish to appear inhospitable, but she was simply astonished to find him there.

  Luke dipped his head and appeared truly contrite. “I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to just show up without calling first, but I owe you an apology and thought it ought to be delivered in person.”

  He’d changed his clothes since she’d last seen him, but he was still casually dressed in a Madras sport shirt and jeans. If he’d gone to the trouble to look his best, even with a black eye, she strongly suspected there was more on his mind than a plea for forgiveness, but she was far too curious to send him away.

  “An apology?” she repeated incredulously. “That looks like a milkshake to me.”

  “Yes, it is. I brought it as a peace offering.”

&
nbsp; His left eye was nearly swollen shut, but it scarcely diminished his appeal. “Is it strawberry?” she inquired.

  “Sure is.”

  “Then come on in,” she invited. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d tasted a milkshake, but it most certainly would have been chocolate rather than strawberry.

  Luke handed her the milkshake as he stepped over the threshold. “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. We bought it for the family we didn’t get around to having. I was just washing my dinner dishes. Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Luke followed her into the kitchen.

  She’d been watching the network news on a small portable television set placed in a convenient alcove between the cupboards in the adjoining breakfast room. She shut it off and pulled out a chair for Luke at the breakfast table.

  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked. “Ice for your eye? It must hurt.”

  “Yeah, it does, but I’ve suffered worse, and I didn’t come here hoping for refreshments or first aid. I’m just embarrassed to look as though I lost a fight.”

  He scooted out the chair beside the one she’d indicated and waited for her to slide into it before he took his seat. “Now, why don’t you try the shake, and I’ll make a sincere effort to keep our conversation from deteriorating into an argument.”

  She slipped the paper from the end of the straw and took a long sip. “Say, this is good.” She removed the plastic lid, got up to get a glass, and poured half for him. “Pam swears strawberry shakes have remarkable restorative powers. Drink up.”

  He shook his head. “Please don’t distract me, or I’ll make a mess of what I’ve come to say.”

  He was frowning as though maintaining his concentration truly were difficult, and her heart sank with the sudden realization that he must intend to ban her from Lost Angel, and not for a few days, but forever. At least he hadn’t given her such harsh news over the telephone, but the possibility still stung.

  “I know I haven’t been the ideal volunteer, but—”

  Luke cut her off. “You’re not the problem, Catherine. Now please just hush and listen.”

  Even if his tone was curt, she was relieved, but as usual, she failed to heed his warning. “You sound so serious, but if you’re referring to your ex-wife, an apology isn’t necessary. Some relationships are difficult, but whatever problems there might be, they’re between the two of you.”

  He forced a dry laugh. “If you really believe that, I shouldn’t have come here.”

  That intriguing remark left Catherine more puzzled than ever, but she nodded to encourage him. “Tell me whatever you wish, then. It’ll go no further.”

  “I’m counting on it.” He rested his arms on the table and centered his glass between his hands, but he left the milkshake itself untouched.

  “Marsha and I were high school sweethearts. After we graduated, I went to UCLA, and she attended the Fashion Institute downtown. We got married the summer after she’d completed her two-year course, and I’d finished my sophomore year, thanks to our parents, who were horrified by the prospect of our simply living together.

  “Marcy was born the next year. Childbirth was such a painful ordeal for Marsha that we didn’t try for more children. I know from what you saw of her today, you’ll probably find this impossible to believe, but we had a lot of happy years together.

  “I received a full fellowship to earn my Ph.D., while Marsha worked part time for a local designer and learned the fashion business. Eventually, she and two partners opened a boutique in Santa Monica, and most years, it’s done really well. So we both had fulfilling careers, and Marcy was one of those sweet, sunny girls who are an absolute delight.”

  Catherine wanted to slip her hand over his and beg him to stop, but he was looking out through the windows to the darkened patio, perhaps relating the story more for his own benefit than hers, and she dared not reach out to him. That he looked so badly abused added to the dark cloud of anguish hovering around him.

  “A crisis will reveal a person’s true character. When we lost Marcy, Marsha just disintegrated. I was equally devastated, but I did my best to console her.” He leaned back and sighed softly. “It was like holding smoke. Sometimes a tragedy will strengthen a couple’s bond. Unfortunately, for others, like us, it’s the end.

  “Marsha cried for weeks. Then she became furiously angry and blamed me for not preventing a senseless accident that no one could have foreseen. Believe me, she turned into a pit bull in a skirt. Still, I understood her despair. One day, we’d had rewarding careers and a bright, beautiful daughter, and the next, nothing mattered, not even each other.

  “She demanded a divorce, and I didn’t argue. We sold our home in Brentwood. She used her half as a down payment on a condo with an ocean view. I bought a smaller place, and invested, fortunately not all in the stock market. She only turns up when she needs money, and even that hurts.”

  He picked up the glass and swallowed his half of the shake in two long gulps. “Yes, I’ve seen a therapist, but no one can raise the dead. Which, sadly, is something you already knew.”

  He rose and clasped the back of his chair with both hands. “I should have done the gracious thing and thanked you for bringing in the books and new shelves. Let’s talk about tutoring the next time you come to the center. Don’t bother to get up. I’ll show myself out.”

  Catherine doubted she could stand. She felt sick for the enormity of his loss, but it wasn’t pity that made her long to invite him into her bed and make love to him until the ice melted from around his heart. She heard the door close and then finished the last of the shake, but it failed to lift her spirits or erase Luke’s disquieting presence from her home.

  As she saw it, he’d come to confide something important, and it had had absolutely nothing to do with bookshelves. Instead, he’d wanted her to know that he and Marsha had been happy once, and that she’d been the one to end their marriage. Loyalty was a wonderful trait, but she was confused as to what he now expected from her.

  She got up to open the patio door for Smoky. The cat was the one male she understood completely, but he provided surprisingly little comfort on a restless night.

  Catherine filled Tuesday with errands to give herself some breathing room, but she returned to Lost Angel on Wednesday with a philodendron in a handsome clay pot for Luke’s office. She carried it in and, without asking permission, set it atop the file cabinet nearest the window.

  “It was only a strawberry shake, Mrs. Brooks, you needn’t have brought me a gift in return.”

  She adjusted the placement of the plant and brushed off her hands. “Yes, I did,” she insisted.

  “I should have known we wouldn’t agree.” Luke left his chair to circle his desk and leaned back against it.

  “I’m not thinking only of you, Dr. Starns, but of the numerous visitors who enter your office. It’s as inviting as a jail cell.”

  Luke glanced around as though he’d never given the spartan decor a single thought. His black eye now spread from his brow to his cheekbone like a splash of purple dye, but it effectively enhanced his amused frown. “How could such an obvious point have escaped me?”

  “You have other priorities,” she responded easily. “If someone were to donate a gallon of paint, I’ll bet painters could be found.”

  He swept her with an appreciative glance. “You wouldn’t want to get paint on your pretty clothes.”

  It had taken her an hour to choose rust-colored slacks that showed off her long legs and a peach blouse that flattered her coloring. Her flats and matching purse were a bronze basket weave leather. She’d wanted to look pretty, but professional too.

  “I wasn’t referring to me.” She knew he was teasing and laughed with him. “You have an abundance of able-bodied men and women here. In fact, with a little experience, the kids might be hired by local painting contractors. I hear the work pays well.”

  Luke winced in mock pain. “I swear I never
know what to expect from you, but I’m tempted to give you the extra desk out front and have a nameplate made that reads Creative Director. That way you could spend your whole day dreaming up perfectly reasonable ideas that would require a genius to implement.”

  She preferred his sarcasm to anger, but she still hastened to defend her suggestion. “A high school education doesn’t guarantee anyone a decent living anymore, and most of these kids probably don’t even have a GED.” Warming to her subject, she began to pace the small office. “I don’t mean to needle you—”

  “Needle? Lady, you’re wielding a sharpened spear.”

  “It was only a plant,” she pointed out, “but one idea just naturally leads to another.”

  “In your head, maybe.” His voice deepened with sincere admiration. “You must have been one hell of a teacher.”

  Growing self-conscious, she tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear. “It was a long time ago, and I was probably barely adequate.”

  “I’ll never believe that.”

  He was smiling now, lounging against his desk in a relaxed pose, but she was growing increasingly uncomfortable and wished she’d been smart enough to prepare an exit line before she’d breezed into his lair. Anxious to leave, she seized upon a plausible excuse.

  “Perhaps I should check with Mabel to make certain she has enough help in the kitchen.” She turned toward the door she’d left standing ajar, but just then Dave Curtis rapped lightly and looked in.

  “Good morning, Cathy. You look awfully pretty today. Luke, I’ve got all the sprinklers working as well as the old pipes will allow, but it wouldn’t hurt to toss around some grass seed and encourage new growth with more than water.”

  “Take whatever you need from petty cash,” Luke responded. “By the way, do you think we could teach some of the kids to paint and hire them out to contractors?”

  Dave was wearing a comfortably worn Phish T-shirt and khaki pants. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across the rock group’s rounded fish logo. “I wouldn’t trust any of them in an occupied dwelling because the temptation to steal whatever they could sell would be too great. With an unoccupied place, after leaving for the day, they’d probably sneak back in to crash, so that wouldn’t work, either. Outdoor murals to cover graffiti are a possibility, though. The kids can’t do a hell of a lot of damage to a wall.”