The Burning Point

by Mary Jo Putney

  But the work had to be done. She'd spent much of her time sweating and making mental deals with God. After grueling sixteen-hour days, she was fit only to stumble back to the hotel, shower, and fall into bed.

  And yet, Kate wouldn't have missed that job for anything, for she'd mastered her fears, and the payoff had been sweet. Maybe the rush of exhilaration produced by surviving danger was the reason policemen and firemen and soldiers did what they did. By the end of the week, she'd felt an intense camaraderie with her co-workers that must be rather like the experience of sharing foxholes together.

  She'd also turned out to have her father's gift for predicting how damaged structures would come down. Donovan had been impressed. She'd also learned that there was a healing sense of catharsis in demolishing structures that had seen great sorrow.

  But now she was home on a sunny Saturday with a pile of laundry to do. Whistling softly, she swung from the bed and headed for the bathroom.

  After a long shower, she dressed and ambled into the kitchen. Wearing jeans and a blue shirt, Donovan was grinding beans to make coffee.

  She halted in the doorway, struck by the sight of his taut back and neck. Once she had known that splendid body intimately--the hard jut of shoulder blades, the taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, the salt taste of warm, smooth skin. She wondered what it would be like to cross the room and slide her arms around his waist the way she had done in the days of their marriage.

  Damn her father! He'd known that living together was very different from working together.

  Donovan glanced over his shoulder. "When I went out to get the paper, I found that spring arrived while we were in Mexico. Forsythia bushes are going crazy all over Ruxton, and daffodils will be opening any second now."

  "Maryland has such wonderful springs. I missed the dramatic seasonal changes in California." She headed toward the refrigerator. "The Mexican job was really interesting, but the more business travel I do, the more I appreciate being home."

  "Savor this weekend, then. On Tuesday, we go to Atlanta for three days or so."

  She groaned theatrically as she opened the refrigerator. "How about some eggs scrambled with sausage and one rather depressed looking green pepper that has survived from last week, but only just?"

  "Sounds good. Then, cara mia, we're going to play hooky."

  "Come again?"

  He held the coffee pot under the faucet and turned on the cold water. "It's going to be one of those gorgeous early spring days where the temperature will shoot up to eighty, everyone will throw their sweaters away, and the local journalists will swarm down to the Inner Harbor to get pictures of pretty young things in tank tops."

  "Does that still happen?"

  "It's a journalistic rite of spring. Then in a day or two the temperature will turn cold again, and people will dig out their sweaters, complaining bitterly that it isn't really summer yet."

  "It's reassuring to know that local rituals persevere. But spring will have to get along without me today. I've got a ton of things to do."

  "The laundry can wait. In the past week you've put in eighty to a hundred hours of work. For the sake of your mental health, you need some play time, and this is too lovely a day to waste."

  "Since you put it that way..." She began cracking eggs. "Did you have something in mind?"

  "I'll get out the bike, and we can go down to Annapolis."

  Kate knew darned well what that meant: roaring through the hills with bodies touching, the sexy vibration of the Harley pulsing through them. He'd always had a motorcycle, and in the good days of their marriage they'd loved riding on it together. Invariably a bike trip had led to lovemaking. She hesitated, doubt in her face.

  "The state legislature finally passed a mandatory helmet law. Remember how we used to think they never would?"

  "You sure know how to bait a hook, boss. Okay, we'll take advantage of premature spring by surrendering to an attack of adolescent fantasy." The Mexico City job had taught her that taking risks could be worthwhile. Maybe it was time to take a few in her personal life.

  Chapter 32

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  It was a day made in heaven. Kate threw her head back and laughed with pure delight as they roared along a back road in Anne Arundel County, a few miles outside of Annapolis. A week ago, nothing could have gotten her onto a motorcycle with Donovan, but now it seemed like exactly the right thing to do.

  In some ways, so little had changed. The hard waist she clasped, for example. Or the sexy intimacy of the two of them alone in the wind. Definitely an adolescent fantasy, and a damned good one. She could almost imagine that they were newlyweds still, with not a cloud in their personal sky.

  They drove into the historic district, the three-century old heart of colonial Annapolis, and left the Harley in a parking garage. For Kate, the sight of the narrow streets and old buildings was another homecoming. The capital of Maryland, Annapolis was a funky mix of tourists and Navy personnel and politicians. She drew in a lungful of delectable spring air. "This was a great idea, Donovan. I love Annapolis."

  "What's not to love? It's pretty, educational, and full of great shops and restaurants. Something for everyone."

  "But small." They entered State Circle, a loop of street with the statehouse in the middle. It's a scale model state capital."

  "A triumph of quality over quantity. No one else has a statehouse where George Washington resigned as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army."

  "Spoken like a true Marylander," she said, smiling.

  The scary part was how much she felt like a Marylander herself. When she moved to California, she'd assumed it was a permanent transplant. Now, older and wiser, she recognized how deeply her roots were sunk in this small corner of the world. Her mother's family had been in Maryland for centuries; her father's parents had come impoverished from Italy, and embraced their new home and its opportunities with passionate gratitude. Both family histories were part of her.

  A pair of midshipmen from the academy, band-box neat in their crisp navy blue uniforms, passed them walking in the other direction. Under her breath, Kate said, "They look so young. A sure sign that I'm not."

  "Speaking of young, do you know the first time I ever visited Annapolis?"

  "I don't think you ever told me. I imagine that your parents brought you down when you were a tyke. Or was it a school trip?"

  "It was with you."

  She stopped and stared, causing a group of tourists behind her to swerve abruptly. She remembered that occasion very well. A couple of months before their marriage, they'd come down on the bike, wandered around, had lunch. Just like the plan for today. "You never visited the state capital, an hour from your home, until you were nineteen?"

  "Strange but true." Lightly he touched her elbow and got her moving down Main Street toward the waterfront. "Annapolis is a rich man's town. Look at what it's known for--politics, sailing, the Naval Academy, historic preservation. Upper class interests, except maybe for politics. It just wasn't on my parents' mental map. We'd drive right by on our way to Ocean City."

  "When we were married, I thought I knew you as well as myself. Now I'm continually learning how little I knew. On our first visit, it never occurred to me that you were a stranger to Annapolis. It certainly didn't show."

  "I spent the evening after you suggested a visit studying a map of the town and talking to a friend who'd lived a less insular life. I was afraid you'd decide you were marrying beneath yourself and change your mind. That was part of the reason I worked so hard to look and talk like someone with a more educated background."

  "Occasionally I was surprised by things you didn't know, but then, there was plenty that you knew and I didn't. I guess social barriers look a lot less important to someone like me who never had to worry about them," she said. "You seem to have gotten over that particular shoulder chip. How?"

  "It was gradual. I owe a lot to Sam, of course. With him I never felt as if I had to pretend to be more than I was.
At work, I became more confident as I gained experience. After five or six years, I got to the point where talking to Pentagon generals and company presidents didn't put me into a flat panic anymore."

  "Competence is a great creator of confidence. And you've picked up a lot of polish over the years. You don't sound like blue collar Baltimore now." Not that she'd ever minded when he did. In fact, she kind of missed the Hell's Angel, but she understood Donovan's need to fit into the world he married into. She'd been lucky; growing up as both Carroll and Corsi had made her feel at ease everywhere.

  "In the small world of explosive demolition, I'm an expert. Very good for my working class ego. In most ways I'm comfortable with myself. Except where you're concerned."

  "Is that because of class, or guilt?"

  "Guilt, definitely. Class isn't an issue anymore."

  "If there was a market for selling guilt, we'd all be rich. But everyone is a seller, no one wants to buy."

  "What do you feel guilty about, Kate?"

  "For being a coward. For running away from the hard things."

  "I've never known you to take the easy way out. You're the one who walked over to say hello at Sam's funeral, not me. You insisted on going into buildings that could have collapsed at any time."

  "In both cases, I was scared out of mind."

  "Which made your actions brave. You're avoiding the question, I think. I wish I knew what really bothered you about yourself."

  She drew a deep breath. "You get points for being willing to reveal some of your darker layers, Donovan. I admire that. But I have neither the desire nor the intention of doing the same."

  "That's nothing if not honest," he said, his voice dry.

  Honesty was one of the few virtues she could claim. Conversation lapsed as they reached the market at the foot of Main Street. At Donovan's suggestion, they lunched at a second-story restaurant that overlooked the City Dock. Kate's good mood returned as they laughed and talked and watched the yachts and the throngs of people enjoying the day. Donovan really was first-rate company. Smart, funny, well-informed.

  Perhaps it was the glass of wine she had with her meal, but she began to wonder how she'd react to Donovan if they'd met for the first time when she started work at PDI. Take away their complicated, tortured past, think of him as a new acquaintance who was teaching her a demanding, exciting new job.

  God help her, she'd be halfway in love with him. The realization made her stomach knot. He was still--again--the most attractive man she'd ever known. There was nothing sexier than a man who laughed at her jokes, the way Donovan did.

  If they really had just met, she would be calling her friends, describing the mental, physical, and emotional chemistry, and speculating endlessly on whether she'd found the love of her life. How appalling to realize that she was still a raving romantic at heart.

  She flipped a coin with him for the privilege of paying the check. She won, and he didn't even try to change her mind. The caveman had become positively liberated.

  In the sunshine again, they walked the block to the visitors' gate that led onto the campus of the Naval Academy, the same route they'd always taken when rambling through Annapolis. The academy was surrounded by water on three sides, so the next step was to walk around the perimeter. Kate shaded her eyes to look at the distant sails of pleasure boats on the bay, glad that the city and the waterways that gave it life hadn't changed since her last visit.

  They reached the end of the bay side of the campus and turned left to follow the edge bounded by the Severn River. Despite the other strollers, Kate felt as if they were in a bubble of privacy, isolated with the cool wind and the poignant cries of the gulls. She could almost imagine that they were eighteen and nineteen again.

  Donovan interrupted her reverie. "Do you ever think about the future, Kate?"

  She looked up at a gull wheeling through the sky. "Not really."

  "What, no goals?"

  Odd to realize how few goals she'd had over the years. She'd wanted to qualify as an architect and eventually have her own practice, but those had seemed like normal milestones of life rather than true goals. Working at PDI had been a dream, not a goal, and she'd accomplished that by chance, not will. Feeling vaguely slothful, she said, "My chief goal at the moment is to survive this year."

  "That's the sum of your ambitions? Mere survival?"

  Images of the children she'd wanted to have with Donovan flitted across her mind. She could almost feel the soft weight of an infant in her arms, hear a wordless gurgle of delight. Ruthlessly she suppressed her imagination. The goal of building a life and a business with the man she loved had been left dead in the ruins of their marriage. "Don't underestimate survival. Sometimes it's the most one can manage."

  He took one of her hands between both of his, stroking with his palm. "I promised that I wouldn't touch you. I haven't entirely kept to that."

  She felt as if she were fourteen, and for the first time in her life a boy she liked had taken her hand. She was acutely aware of textures, the faint roughness of calluses, the hollow of his palm as it glided over her sensitive skin.

  Part of her wanted to jerk away. A larger, yearning part wanted to slide into his arms. "The first time you broke your word I was on the verge of falling down an elevator shaft, so I can forgive that pretty easily."

  "The other times haven't been life or death. Slowly, the walls between us have been coming down." He continued to caress her hand. It was a G-rated seduction in broad daylight. Her blood bubbled through her veins with excitement and alarm.

  Then his hands stilled. "I give you fair warning, Kate. The past has left us with a lot of heavy baggage, but maybe we can still build a future together. There's never been anyone for me but you. I can't let you go again without at least trying to change your mind."

  Kate was trapped by his gaze, his intensity. Pure panic boiled through her at the thought of allowing him into her life, her body, her soul, again. Yet she didn't run. For that, perhaps, she deserved some credit. "Warning noted. But Patrick--we've both changed. Are you really interested in me, or in memories of the golden past?"

  His clasp tightened. "In you, Kate. You've acquired a lot of edges, some of them darned uncomfortable. But at heart you're still the girl I fell crazy in love with when I was nineteen. I can survive without you--but I'd rather not."

  Earlier she'd speculated on how she might react to him if they had just met as strangers. But that could never happen--the past and its shadows would always be with them. Between them. "Don't...don't rush me," she said unsteadily. "I don't know if I can give back what you want."

  "But you're not saying absolutely never. God, Kate, if there's a chance...any chance at all...." He raised her hand and kissed her fingertips with a tenderness that made her want to weep.

  "I don't know if there is a chance, Patrick! Maybe it will never be possible to get rid of that baggage."

  He laced the fingers of one hand through hers, raising his other hand to skim her cheek. "Trees can grow from tiny cracks in stony cliffs, Kate. This may be a very small crack indeed--but it's a beginning."

  Chapter 33

  The doorbell fluted its two-note chime as Julia set the baking dish of lemon chicken into the oven. She closed the oven and headed to the front hall, wondering who might be calling late on a Saturday afternoon. Was it Girl Scout cookie season already?

  Not yet. Charles Hamilton was standing on her front steps with a bouquet of variegated carnations and two dogs. "You're an hour early, Charles. Dinner just went into the oven, and I haven't taken a shower yet."

  "I know this is a rotten trick. But I'd finished the Saturday yard work, so I decided to be selfish and disguise it under the pretense of promoting spontaneity."

  She buried her smile in the spicy carnations. "What excuse do the dogs have?"

  "They wanted to visit Oscar."

  "Naturally. All right, Tort and Retort, come on in."

  They trotted inside with impeccable manners. Oscar Wilde advanced,
and a round of ritual sniffing began. The dogs were long-time friends. Julia was always amused by the fact that little Oscar was leader of the pack.

  She led the dogs to the back door so they could chase each other around the fenced yard. When she returned to the kitchen, Charles raised her chin and gave her a thorough kiss. "I thought that after I've messed up your schedule, I can walk the dogs while you shower."

  "A good plan. Let me get these into water." She put the carnations in a vase, thinking how quickly she and Charles had drifted into a comfortable pattern. They had dinner together several nights a week, sometimes at her house, sometimes at his. While not eliminating the primal sorrow over Sam's death, the relationship did help her get through the days, and the nights. Especially the nights.

  After placing the flowers on the dinner table, she said, "Maybe I'll join you on that dog walk. There's plenty of time before dinner will be ready."

  He led her into the living room and drew her down to the sofa beside him. "I have a better plan. Let's neck."

  She emerged from his embrace laughing. "Charles, this is absurd at our age!"

  "Why should kids have all the fun?"

  "A good point, but I think necking was abolished sometime during the sexual revolution."

  "It's a fine old custom, worthy of being reinstated." He began to toy with the top button of her shirt. "So is petting. Remember the incredible excitement that a single button could inspire in the long-ago days of our youth?"

  Actually, she could remember. A little breathlessly, she said, "Were you always this playful and I just didn't notice?"

  "No, it was Barbara who washed the starch out of my stuffed shirt. It was impossible to live with her and be stuffy," he said. "Does it bother you when I mention her?"

  "I can accept our relationship as a kind of private retreat that exists apart from the normal world, but talking about Barbara, or Sam, or our children, pulls me back to reality. When Tom was staying here, and when Rachel and Kate dropped by unexpectedly, I felt as if I had a scarlet A on my forehead."