by Geri Krotow
Anita nodded. “Yes.” She smiled as tears pooled in her eyes. “She was so alive, Cole. So happy and full of energy. Did you know she still lived alone and kept up a beautiful garden? If it wasn’t her grandkids and the great-grandkids she was talking about, it was how she met some cute guy at the coffee stand at the senior center.” Anita’s eyes shone with admiration and bemusement.
“Can you believe that, Cole? Thinking about hooking up with someone when you’re eighty?”
“Yes, I can.” He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so somber, but the truth found its way out of his mouth.
Anita didn’t miss his tone, and her smile faded as the air between them grew hot and still.
“Cole, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not interested in a hookup.”
“Neither am I, Anita. I’m a battered cop who’s seen the worst in human nature. Just look at these lines.” He pointed at his face. “So tell me why you make me feel like a rookie.”
Anita smiled. “The same reason you make me feel like I’m back in high school?”
Cole looked at her a moment longer before he leaned in and kissed the woman he’d been dreaming about for the past year.
* * *
“YOU STILL DON’T think you’re at all responsible for Dottie Forsyth’s death, do you?” Cole stroked Anita’s hair back from her face as they lay together on her leather sofa. He desperately wanted to make love with her, but she’d told him she needed to take it slow.
He loved the way her lips were swollen from his kisses, and how her cheeks were flushed with her desire for him....
“No. You talked me down off the ledge. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I only told you the truth.”
She frowned and he smoothed the lines on her forehead with his fingertips.
“Do you know for sure if it was an accident yet? Or can’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I was at the physical therapist’s clinic for most of the day. I had to tell him that the autopsy will have to prove his innocence. The evidence points to an accident but we can’t rule out homicide. It’ll be in the paper tomorrow, so I’m not giving away any secrets here.”
“Do you think he, or anyone else, did it?”
“No, I don’t. What’s tough is that Drew is my friend. Plus, my boss and the prosecuting attorney may not agree with me. Drew doesn’t have a motive. But something’s not adding up here and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Does she have any family members who are going to get rich because of her death?”
Cole kissed her. Her lips were so full, so lush. God, how had he managed to fight this as long as he had?
“I’m working all the angles. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” The seriousness of her gaze stopped him from going in for another smooch.
“What?”
“Maybe I misjudged the situation here.”
Damn it.
He sat up straight. He’d ruined it. He’d pushed for too much, too soon.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Forget what I said about taking it slow. I’m ready to make love to you, Cole. Now.”
* * *
IT TOOK GWEN’S mother two more weeks before she visited, but true to her nature she showed up dressed to the nines, accompanied by her husband. They drove up from Seattle after flying in from San Francisco. Both were corporate lawyers and their schedules rivaled those of attorneys several decades younger.
“You look good, Mom.”
“It’s not about me, honey.” Brenda McDill had been the consummate career woman Gwen’s entire life. Her husband of twelve years and Gwen’s stepfather, George, was in the kitchen cooking with Drew.
“I’m fine, Mom. I will be fine, even if I’m not all there yet.” Tears rushed to her eyes and she ignored the urge to cross the few steps to where her mother sat in the large, cushioned club chair. She stayed on the couch, her lap covered by a blanket she’d knit with Ro several years earlier, when they’d gone on a ski trip together. The memory of sitting with Ro in the hotel room at night, knitting away while they talked and drank wine, made her smile. Ro was always trying to get Gwen to take up knitting as avidly as she had.
“It’ll take you some time, yes. Are you all right with being back here?” Brenda smoothed her silver bob. She was always perfectly coiffed, a tendency Gwen hadn’t inherited. When she wasn’t in a flight suit or her uniform, Gwen preferred the casual style common in the Pacific Northwest. Her blond hair was usually down.
Gwen knew that by “back here”, her mother didn’t mean Whidbey Island. She meant back in the house she’d built with her ex-husband with hopes of a lifetime here.
Dreams that had included children... “It’s okay. Besides, I didn’t have anywhere else to go right away, other than a hotel, and this still does feel like home to me.” Excruciatingly so, but Mom didn’t need to know that. She also didn’t want Brenda to realize that the navy would have released Gwen to go home to her and George. That would’ve been less than desirable. Brenda couldn’t take care of a pet, much less an adult daughter who might fall into a PTSD anxiety attack with no warning.
“George and I aren’t going to stay any longer than tomorrow. I’ll come back whenever you want me to, but you need time to recover without people intruding on your quiet.”
“You’re not people, Mom. And it’s a hell of a trip if you’re only staying a night or two.”
“Like I said, you need rest. And Drew’s got enough to deal with, especially given that awful accident at his clinic.”
Gwen didn’t want to discuss it with her mother.
Brenda was as bad as Ro; she harbored hopes that Gwen and Drew would somehow miraculously work out their “issues” and reunite. At least Brenda had eased up on her hints about it.
Brenda and Ro didn’t understand what Gwen had come to understand over the past several months. She and Drew had been kids when they’d married. Neither of them could have foreseen the harsh stresses of a dual-military marriage. Their divorce had forced them each to grow up and take responsibility for what they both wanted most—their careers.
She glanced past her mother to the kitchen, where Drew stood next to George at the counter, talking and preparing a meal. Drew looked the most relaxed he’d been since Dottie died nearly two weeks ago.
There was still no news about the autopsy report, no word from Dottie’s family about whether they were going to sue. Dottie had been buried last week. Drew hadn’t attended the funeral, which Gwen thought was smart under the circumstances. But she wished he could have said a proper goodbye to Dottie. She’d been one of his favorite clients. Gwen knew he hadn’t done anything to harm Dottie.
Drew was a kind, generous man. He poured all those good qualities into his vocation—as a healer. He was lucky. He’d found his calling.
She wasn’t as fortunate; being in the jungle for months, bonding with a baby when she didn’t think she’d ever want kids, had turned her understanding of herself on its head.
Reality was cruel.
Brenda’s eyes followed Gwen’s.
“Honey, I have to ask. Are you staying with your ex-husband for the wrong reasons?”
Brenda-speak for “Are you still in love with Drew?”
“Mom, Drew and I have always stayed friends.”
“So you are still carrying a torch for him. Finally you admit it.”
“No, not at all, Mom. Did you hear what I just said?”
“Now look, honey, I’ve been around the block. I know the deal.”
Of course she did. She’d lost her first husband to suicide, and it had taken years to get past her grief. Brenda thought there was nothing more important on earth than a good marriage. She’d given up on love until she met George fifteen years ago.
“Mom, I hear you. And if I was healing from a broken leg, I’d agree. I should get a new place today. But that’s not what this is. Drew knows me well enough to give me what I need without being obtrusive. The only other person I could go to would be Ro, but she recently got married.”
Besides, she’d never leave Drew when he was so vulnerable. Not until the case was resolved.
“I don’t want your heart broken again. You can come home with George and me. It sounds like Drew has enough to cope with, clearing his name and trying to keep the clinic viable.” Brenda lowered her voice. “I’m not a criminal defense lawyer, but if Drew needs a good one, I have contacts.”
“I appreciate that, Mom.”
“If you come back with me, you might heal more quickly. Then you could return here to help Drew through this mess without risking your feelings.”
“There’s nothing to risk, Mother. I know where I stand with Drew—we’re friends. He’s going to come through it, with or without me. He’s a victim of circumstance, and I have every confidence that any criminal impressions will be cleared up. Either way, Mom, I need to be on the island. I’m going back to work sooner rather than later, and everything I need is here. I have a set of doctors who are specifically trained to help me with my reentry issues. Between Drew, Ro and the squadron, there are enough people to provide the support I need. Besides, you’re in the middle of a big case.” Which Brenda had dropped to come and see Gwen, but Gwen knew her mother well. She was probably itching to check her phone for text updates. Brenda’s career was a large part of her drive and youthful vitality.
It hasn’t cost your mother her love life.
* * *
“I HAVE A challenging client at the moment, true. But I’m your mother, Gwen. I know you best. Like me, you’re tough on the outside. You want the world to see that nothing upsets you, nothing hurts. As if you don’t have any feelings.” Brenda played with the large glass beads that hung around her neck, setting off her casual-chic outfit. “It’s okay to be vulnerable, honey. It’s what makes us human.”
Where had this compassionate woman been when Gwen was growing up? All she remembered was her mother being engrossed in work, not to be bothered as she studied her files late into the night. It had given them a kind of shared community once Gwen was in high school and bringing home a backpack full of assignments each afternoon. But when she was a little girl, her mother was often a lawyer first.
“I didn’t learn it myself until after your dad died. George has taught me what’s important.”
“You two are lucky, Mom.”
“Lucky, sure. But we both work at it. And I’ve given up always having to be the best at what I do. Sometimes I hand a case over to one of the partners. Or I don’t take it on in the first place.”
“I don’t have the option to pass on a mission in the navy, Mom.”
“I realize that. But you have a choice about where you go next. What you want out of your life. There’s more than the navy, you know.”
“Thanks, Mom. You may be right.”
When Brenda stayed quiet, Gwen wanted to pump her fist in the air. She’d learned the line you may be right from the psychiatrist at Madigan, who said that if anyone started giving their opinions on how she could have handled her in-flight emergency, her ditch or her time in the PI differently, all she needed to do was smile and say “You may be right.” It shut up the offending speaker and helped her keep her sanity.
Maybe her mother had learned that a career wasn’t the be-all and end-all. Gwen didn’t even feel the usual resentment that her mother hadn’t always been there for her. Gwen had made her own choices with the navy long ago, and had a commitment to finish out at least the minimal retirement option, twenty years. That meant two more tours after the command tour.
They went back to watching the movie they’d rented on the cable box. For once Gwen was happy to be the patient, begging off heavy conversation with her mother via the remote control.
She wondered if her mother was actually paying attention to the romantic comedy, because Gwen wasn’t. Her mind wandered to hell and back several times a day. What Dr. Luke had told her was proving true; she still felt the fear, the sense of constant alertness and often the despair that had threatened each step of her months evading her captors. But the dark feelings were lessening. She wasn’t going into the pit as often, and when she did, it wasn’t for as long.
She also wasn’t looking over her shoulder as much as she’d done when she’d first emerged from the wilderness. Civilization was starting to feel more normal.
What didn’t feel normal was the fact that she wasn’t clinging as tightly to her identity as a naval officer. She’d been stripped emotionally bare in the jungle, which made worry about her next promotion, the right career option or her rank among her peers, seem inconsequential now. She’d thought the apathy would pass the longer she was home on Whidbey, but instead it continued, a slow, steady beat of truth.
Because of Pax.
Was this what becoming a mother meant? Was it normal for her not to take her job as seriously? To want to drop everything for her son?
He’s not your son yet.
Drew understood how she felt and what she’d been through better than anyone else in this room, but he wasn’t a parent.
Brenda sat next to Gwen on the sofa, her familiar profile a comfort despite the strain that sometimes existed between them. Gwen’s mother had done the best she could when she was raising her. Gwen’s father had been a wonderful, fun-loving, affectionate man who filled in the gaps that Brenda’s career focus had left in their lives. Until his drinking got the better of him and he ended up killing himself after discovering he had liver failure.
Her mother was a formidable woman who could out-talk and out-do anyone half her age in a courtroom. George’s intelligence was tempered by his endless compassion; he saved everyone he could and never complained. They’d both be great people to lean on if her trauma had been caused by anything other than a combat experience.
But they’d never been in the military. They didn’t understand the breadth of her fight for survival.
Drew did.
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER THE MOVIE Gwen and Brenda moved outside to enjoy the meal Drew and George had prepared.
“Brenda and I were so worried, punkin.” George looked at her over the picnic table where they’d enjoyed baked beans and hot dogs on the deck. He’d married Brenda after they’d met at a legal convention in Dallas. George was pure Texan but had moved to Northern California to be with Brenda.
“I know, and I’m sorry for the hell you both must’ve gone through.”
Drew didn’t like the pallor of Gwen’s face. He was finally getting her to talk more, eat more and at least appear more relaxed. Admittedly, he hadn’t been as free to take care of her since Dottie’s death. But with her folks here, she’d tightened back up.
They showed no sign of calling it an early night, either. He understood why Brenda and George wanted to squeeze as much togetherness as possible into their short visit, but Gwen needed her rest.
Brenda was a beautiful woman and it was clear where Gwen got her stunning looks. Brenda and George were still vital in their careers and physically active to boot—everything Drew hoped he’d be as he approached seventy.
Except for their losses. Both had lost spouses before they’d found each other. Spouses they’d thought they’d spend their entire lives with.
He was going through a major loss at the moment. And Gwen might be facing her own huge loss if the adoption didn’t go through.
As much as Gwen had her mother’s strength, Drew understood that six months of living in a jungle had pushed her to her limits.
“You’re back, Gwen. That’s all that matters.” If they wouldn’t say anything, he’d do it for them.
One side of h
er mouth lifted as she looked down at her food, still untouched. He knew she thought about her father. She’d had a special bond with him that Brenda had never been able to replicate. “Drew’s right, sweetheart.” Brenda’s reply was whispered as she grabbed her daughter’s hand and squeezed.
Drew wanted to slam his fist into the table. Gwen’s family had been through so dammed much and they still couldn’t let the needed tears fall, couldn’t give each other a hug.
“I’m really tired. Do you all mind if I go up for a short nap?” Gwen pushed back from the table. He felt a surge of protective pride. Good for her.
“Hell, no, sweetie. Take all the time you need. Go to bed for the night if you feel like it.” George had that big-ass grin on his face as if Gwen were a child and he was simply appeasing her.
They didn’t get it.
He didn’t say a word as he cleared his and Gwen’s plates from the table and followed several steps behind her into the house.
As soon as he knew she was in her room—what used to be their room—he went upstairs and knocked on the door. She still left it ajar, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking that was an invitation. “Gwen, can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She lay on the bed, bundled to her chin, her eyes round like a doll’s and just as blank.
He sat on the bed and reached for one of her hands, which clutched the edge of the blanket.
“Do you want me to call the clinic for you? Do you need more meds?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. It’s just a little anxiety, left over from all the—” she waved her hand “—you know.”
“Yeah, I sure do.”
Her eyes focused on him instead of the ceiling and his chest relaxed.