by Joan Kilby
JACK SURVEYED THE BRIGHTLY lit gymnasium, looking for Sharon and Glenn. His injured arm throbbed with a dull ache, but hopefully the meds would kick in soon, he thought. At his side Sienna scanned the room for her friends. He sensed she was nervous, ready to bolt. He shouldn’t have kissed her. But with those full berry-red lips only a whisper away from his mouth, his brain had short-circuited. He couldn’t take back a kiss. That one impulsive act could lead to complications. With another woman he might have been able to brush it off as a bit of meaningless fun, but Sienna didn’t approve of him. She wouldn’t have kissed him back unless her emotions were involved.
He wasn’t ready for that.
Round tables seating eight crowded the polished floor. A stage had been set up at one end of the gym, where the master of ceremonies, a fortysomething man in a Hawaiian shirt, sat behind a table loaded with sound equipment. Balloons and streamers hung from the basketball hoops. Through the far door, Bob and Paul were bringing in toys to add to the pile on the tables in front of the stage.
Sienna stood on tiptoe and waved. “There’s Penelope. She’s a patient of mine and a teacher here.”
Penelope’s glossy brown hair swung as she wove through the tables to greet them. She was wearing a colorful blouse tucked into high black pants. “Finally! I was worried something had gone wrong—” She broke off, noticing Jack’s sling. “What have you done to your arm?”
“It’s nothing,” he said tersely. “Where do we go? I’m with Sharon and Glenn Robinson.”
“You and your friends are all on my table now,” Penelope said. “When we found out you and Sienna were coming together we did some rearranging. Is that okay?”
Jack glanced at Sienna. She shrugged and nodded. It was only a charity night. No big deal.
“Fine. I guess,” he said.
At their table sat Penelope and her husband, Barry, a rotund man with a robust laugh; Natalie from the clinic and her partner, Deepra, a pathologist with thick iron-gray hair. The fourth couple was, of course, Sharon and Glenn.
The taped music stopped and the MC continued his patter, interspersed with trivia questions in a variety of categories. An hour and a glass of red wine later, Jack was feeling no pain. Only he and Sienna were subdued. He because of his shoulder; she—well, who knew? She glanced his way now and then, a speculative expression on her face. His thoughts and feelings were all jumbled, desire and guilt swirling in an uneasy mix. The pain in his shoulder seemed like a pointed reminder of the crash and Leanne’s death, almost as if fate was telling him that what he was starting to feel for Sienna was wrong.
And yet he knew that if he got the chance, he would kiss her again.
“Now, before we have any more questions,” the MC said, “we’ll auction off a few of these fantastic toys made by the Summerside Men’s Shed.” The MC held up a dogbot and remote control. “What am I bid for this…I’m guessing it’s some sort of robot.”
“I’ll bid ten dollars,” Sienna called out.
Jack laughed in surprise. “Oliver can make one for himself. I already told him that.”
“I want to surprise him. He’ll be thrilled.”
Either she wasn’t an astute bidder or else her aim was to pay as much as possible, increasing her offer by twenty dollars at a time. When she finally got the dogbot for 250 dollars she was as pleased as if she’d won it for nothing.
After auctioning a few more items, the MC announced he was taking a short break and put on music. Sienna unwrapped her plate of cheese and crackers and set it in the middle of the table alongside the dips and vegetable sticks, tiny quiches and miniature samosas with chutney.
Jack poured Sienna more wine. “You’re nuts, you know that? The parts are worth about five dollars.”
“It’s for a good cause.” Her smile faded as she watched him adjust his sling. “Your shoulder hurts.”
He hadn’t been able to help that grimace, damn it. “It’s fine.”
“The first time you dislocated it, when you got all those scars. Was that in the plane crash?”
Music and laughter swirled around them. Glasses clinked, the aroma of savory foods filled the air. Next to him Glenn was regaling the others with an amusing anecdote about a playground incident. All of it faded away as Jack grew silent, remembering.
“Jack?” Sienna’s voice seemed to come from far away.
“Yes, the plane crash.” He gulped his wine, his stomach tightening like a fist. “It killed my wife. Almost killed me.”
Bloody well served him right, too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SIENNA SQUEEZED HIS HAND, quick and comforting. She left her hand in his, fingertips curling into his palm. “This isn’t a good time. Forget I asked.”
The gentle warmth of Sienna’s fingers stirred emotions he thought he’d put away for good. He resisted them. What was the point of rehashing the past? He couldn’t bring Leanne back, or…
“Hey, you two,” Penelope said, interrupting the quiet moment. “I’m about to draw the raffle prizes. Get your tickets ready and listen up.” Then she hurried away, up the side of the gym to the stage.
Sienna released his hand to line up he tickets on the table in front of her.
The MC took the microphone. “The first set of prizes are from the Peninsula Airfield courtesy of Jack Thatcher.”
Sienna turned to him. “Oh? What are they?”
Before he could reply, the MC supplied part of the answer.
“Third prize is lunch for two at the Hangar Café,” the MC announced, holding the box of tickets high.
Penelope reached inside and pulled out the winning slip of paper. “Purple, B5.”
The MC repeated into the microphone. “Purple, B5.”
In the audience somebody shrieked and a young woman with short black hair leaped up, arms waving. “That’s me. I won!”
She went up to the stage and received her gift certificate. The MC drew for second prize, a free skydive.
“I want that,” Deepra said, perking up. “I went bungee jumping last year. Skydiving is this year’s challenge.”
But the winning ticket was held by an elderly man who told the MC he would give it to his grandson.
“That’s okay,” Natalie said, hugging her husband. “We’ll play miniature golf instead.”
Jack leaned across to talk to Deepra. “If you like, I’ll hook you up with my buddy Jim who runs a skydiving school.”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” Deepra beamed.
“And now for the grand prize…” The MC hit a button on his sound equipment, creating an electronic drum roll.
Penelope fished around in the box for several seconds, drawing out the suspense. “The winning ticket for a one-hour joyride in a 1939 Tiger Moth is…Blue, D18.”
A hush settled over the gymnasium as people checked their tickets. Jack alone seemed uninterested. He reached for a packet of chips, the rustle of plastic foil overloud in the quiet.
“Oh, hell,” Sienna said. “I won.” She tried to give it to Natalie. “Here, you take it. I don’t fly unless I’m in a jumbo jet.”
“I went on a joyride two years ago for my fortieth birthday. It was fantastic. Do it,” Natalie urged. “You won’t regret it.”
“Does anyone have Blue, D18?” the MC called again.
“Go on,” Sharon prodded. “Collect your prize before they draw another ticket.”
Sienna rose and turned to Jack. “Will you take me up?”
“I beg your pardon?” His hands tightened around the bag, crunching the chips.
“You were a pilot, right? Will you fly the plane?” Her smile was nervous but hopeful. “The guy who owns the Tiger Moth would let you, wouldn’t he? I’d feel so much better if someone I knew was at the controls.”
Carefully Jack loosened his grip and set the chips on the table. “I don’t fly anymore.”
“What?” Sienna frowned. “Never?”
Someone, Sharon probably, again pushed her to claim her prize. Slowly Sienna moved away, looking
back at him with a puzzled frown. Jack shook his head, motioned for her to go. Finally she turned and hurried to the stage.
His arm ached and inside he was ice-cold. He didn’t expect her to understand. How could she know what it felt like to be responsible for the death of your spouse? After losing Leanne it was only fitting that he should also lose the thing he loved to do most—flying.
Glenn reached across for the chips, saw that the bag had popped open and poured them into a bowl. “What’d you do to these?” he asked Jack. “They’re crushed to smithereens.”
IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Sienna pulled into Jack’s driveway. Pain was exhausting, she knew, and she could see by the glow of the security lights that his face was drawn and pale. “I’ll help you inside.”
“Are you going to get me into my pajamas, too?” He was tense and his attempt at humor was ironic, edgy.
“If you need help I’ll contact the nursing service,” she replied in kind. “Bertha is available this weekend. Six foot, she can lift you into—”
“Never mind.” He backpedaled with a dry chuckle. After a moment’s hesitation he added, “Come in for coffee?”
“It’s much too late to be ingesting caffeine.”
“Herbal tea?”
She swiveled in her seat. “You have herbal tea?”
“I have everything.”
A woman could want. The thought popped into her head before she knew it was coming. “Um, okay, just a quick one.”
He ushered her inside and into the lounge room and switched on an etched-glass table lamp that gave off a soft glow. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a moment.”
Sienna sank onto the dark red couch, then immediately bounced up to fluff her hair in the mirror over the gas fireplace and wipe away a fleck of mascara. Satisfied, she glanced around at the comfortable collection of mismatched furniture that still somehow went together. The room was clean but just untidy enough to look lived in.
She touched a framed aerial photo of mountains and frowned. Jack had gone very quiet after she’d asked him about the accident that killed his wife. Bev had said he was still in love with Leanne, and his reluctance to talk about the crash seemed to confirm that.
“That was taken near Jindabyne in the Snowy Mountains.” Jack walked into the room slowly, concentrating on a pair of clinking steaming cups in his good hand.
“Here, let me get those.” She took the bone china mugs and set them on the coffee table, sliding coasters beneath them. “Are you the photographer?”
“No, Leanne. I was flying the plane.” He took a bottle of painkillers out of his pocket, swallowed two tablets dry and followed them with a slug of hot tea.
Sienna studied the photos. Leanne was good. Seeing the places she’d been, the images she’d taken, somehow made her feel more real. Was that why Jack kept so many on display?
“I enjoy photography myself,” Sienna said. “When I find the time.”
“How often is that?”
“Not very,” she confessed. “Except when I’m on holiday.”
“And your last holiday was…?”
“Zurich, five years ago.” She thought again. “Wait a minute—I lie. We spent a week in Sydney two years ago.”
“You and Oliver?”
“Anthony, Oliver and I.” The trip had been a disaster from the start. She’d been making a last desperate attempt to save her marriage, but it had been clear from the beginning that Anthony hadn’t wanted to be there.
Silence fell. Sienna scanned the walls for more pictures. “Do you have a photo of Leanne?”
“Why do you want to see it?”
“I just do.”
Jack rose and got an album out of the bookshelf flanking the fireplace, flipping through the pages as he walked back to the couch. “There she is.”
Leanne was standing beside a two-seater plane, her outstretched hand resting on the wing. Her blond hair was cut in a shiny cap and she was wearing cargo pants and a leather bomber jacket.
“She looks adventurous.”
“She was an outdoor education teacher. We met at a rock-climbing weekend she was running.” Jack’s voice was even, perhaps too even. He might have been talking about his next-door neighbor.
“I don’t rock-climb,” Sienna said, feeling inadequate.
Jack got to his feet. “More tea?”
Her cup was still nearly full, but she no longer felt like drinking it. Dead or not, Leanne was such a tangible presence she might have been sitting on the couch between Sienna and Jack. “I’d better go. It’s late and I’m tired.”
Without protest he walked her to the door and onto the porch. There was an awkward moment when she tried to think of something to say.
Then he spoke. “Who would have thought you were such a sports buff?”
“Or that you’re a history nut.” The moon had grown fatter since the last time they’d stood there together, and it rode higher in the sky, reminding her that time was always passing. “Are you still in love with her?”
Beside her, he gazed out at the sky, glowing with the moon and stars. After a long silence he said, “I’ll always love her but no, not in the sense you mean.”
Her heart stirred. The moment was both thrilling and scary. It opened the door a crack. But only a crack. Why did she feel as if the memory of Leanne was holding him back?
“That night you came here for dinner I told you life was short,” he said. “I live for pleasure.”
She remembered. Now that she knew him better she realized he could have meant a lot of things by that seemingly flippant remark. He must have gone through many months of painful physiotherapy to recover from the accident. No wonder he put such emphasis on staying physically fit now. “Pleasure to you is about family and friends.”
“That’s right,” he said quietly.
She turned to him and his gaze tangled with hers. She lifted her face, he bent his head. His mouth touched hers, firm and warm and sensual. She felt his hands on her waist, drawing her close. “Your shoulder,” she protested.
“Stop being a doctor for a minute,” he murmured against her lips.
As he deepened the kiss, she rose on tiptoe and slid her arms around his neck. Heat spiraled through her. With her hands she measured the breadth of his shoulders and tested the hardness of his muscles.
His arm is in a sling. And she was crushing it.
She started to pull away.
He held her close, both hands on her waist. With a tremor in his voice, he said, “Stay.”
She was tempted. Oh, she was tempted. But she couldn’t forget that they were as different as the moon and the sun.
“You’re injured,” she said by way of an excuse. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I can’t feel a thing.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Or rather, I can. But my shoulder is fine.”
Sienna tried to pull away. They were torturing themselves. “If you have any trouble with that arm, make sure you call me.”
Sobering, he kept hold of her hands. “What I was actually starting to say about life being short was don’t be afraid—take that joyride in the Tiger Moth.”
She tilted her head at his note of urgency. “Maybe I will. If you’ll come out to the airfield with me.”
His fingers tightened on hers, stretching the moment until she could hear the tension humming. “Yes,” he said finally, releasing her. “All right.”
She walked back to her car, apprehension and anticipation warring inside her. She had the feeling they’d both just jumped in over their heads.
SIENNA WOKE THE NEXT morning feeling pleasantly, vaguely excited. Lazily she searched her sleepy mind for the reason. Oh, yes. Jack had kissed her. She snuggled deeper under the covers.
Then she recalled the joyride and it ruined all her lovely dreamy musings.
The front door opened.
Sienna started, coming fully awake. Someone was in the house. The sound of footsteps in the hall made her sit up in bed. Then she heard Oliver’s v
oice. But what was he doing here? She listened. Anthony was here, too. He and Oliver were arguing.
She jumped out of bed, dragged on her dressing gown and hurried out. “Olly, did you forget something?”
“The trip is off. Because of her.” Fighting back angry tears, he pushed past Sienna to go to his bedroom.
She turned to Anthony. “What’s going on?”
“Erica was admitted to the hospital early this morning.” Anthony had dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were creased, as if he’d spent the night in them. “Her blood pressure is 150 over 95 and there’s protein in her urine.”
“Preeclampsia.” Sienna pressed a hand over her mouth.
He nodded, distractedly running a hand through his thinning hair. “Last night at dinner she came down with epigastric pain. We went into the hospital right away. I can’t leave her.”
“Of course not. Is she going to be all right?” Anthony shrugged, his mouth tightly down-turned. It was a foolish question. As a doctor she knew Erica’s condition was critical. “What about the baby?”
Anthony swallowed. “They’re going to induce labor.”
“But Erica’s only…” Sienna tried to calculate.
“Twenty-eight weeks along.” Anthony’s already pale skin turned white around his pinched nostrils. “I need to get back to the hospital.” He glanced past her to Oliver’s bedroom and the haggard lines of his face hardened. “He hasn’t been very understanding. In fact, he’s been a selfish little—”
“He’s disappointed,” Sienna said, automatically rising to Olly’s defense. “It’s natural.”
“He’s acting as if Erica got sick on purpose to spoil his trip.”
“I’ll speak to him.” Sienna touched Anthony’s arm. “Give my best to Erica.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”
She saw him out and then knocked on Oliver’s door. “Olly, we need to talk.”
“What is it?”
She opened the door. Oliver was pulling on a fresh T-shirt. “How could you be mean about Erica when she’s so ill? How do you think that makes your father feel?”
“Pretty funny timing, don’t you think?” His head popped through the neck hole, his thick hair sticking out every which way. “She just happens to get sick the day Dad and I are supposed to go away.”