Driven To Distraction

by Judith Duncan

  She was just going to stop thinking about him. And she was going to get everything back to normal. It was the only solution.

  It was an excellent plan. Except it didn’t work. Through bloody-minded determination and heartless lectures to herself, she managed to get her days back to the way they’d been before he’d turned up on her doorstep. Her nights, however, were a different ball of wax altogether. She bought herself some Spanish tapes and went to bed with Kelly’s Walkman on so she wouldn’t let herself slide into those dangerous nighttime fantasies. Which was fine. She could now count up to a hundred in Spanish and say “Hello, how are you?” and “What is your name?” three different ways. But it was after she fell asleep that her mind turned on her, and she started having these weird, disconnected dreams. She would have understood if they’d been hot and erotic, but they weren’t. They were about guilt.

  Every morning for two solid weeks she’d wake up unable to look herself in the eye because she felt so darned guilty. Finally she quit playing games with herself and confronted her feelings head-on. She felt like such a louse. Not only had she offended Tony by leaving his open house, she had been downright rude to him as well.

  But what she was feeling truly awful about was that he had left without her saying one word about how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. Which was pretty unforgivable. No wonder she was having weird dreams, and no wonder she got this awful feeling in her stomach every time she remembered how ungrateful she’d been.

  She felt just like she had when, at eight years old, she’d fallen off the garage roof and broken her sister’s nose. She wasn’t supposed to be up there in the first place, but she’d just gotten to the part in Anne of Green Gables where Anne walked the ridgepole, and Maggie just had to try it for herself. Kate had been watching from the ground, and when Maggie slipped and fell, she had tried to catch her. And Maggie had somehow managed to clip her older sister in the face with her knee. She had felt so terrible about smashing Kate’s nose that for months after, Kate only had to touch her nose and complain of a headache, and Maggie would be absolutely stricken with remorse. Kate had gotten a lot of miles out of that broken nose.

  Even now, her nose was still a tad off center, and Maggie still had the scar on her knee where she’d sliced herself open on Kate’s teeth. Her sister still tried to use the broken nose to her advantage, and Maggie would show her the scar and they’d laugh.

  But with Tony, she couldn’t even go over and say she was sorry. He was gone. And he’d been so ticked off when he’d left, he probably wouldn’t speak to her when he got back. Finally unable to stand it any longer and knowing she had to try to make amends, Maggie tried to write a thank-you note. But her half-dozen attempts all sounded stiff, formal and insincere.

  Then, just by accident, she stumbled across the perfect card in the drugstore. One of those with bizarre, misshapen animals on it, it featured two Holstein cows standing on their back legs leaning against a fence, one chewing on a stalk of hay. And it went on and on about the milk of human kindness. Maggie laughed out loud in the store when she read it, and the woman beside her had looked at her as if she was completely nuts.

  Feeling better than she had in days, she bought it, took it home and wrote a note in it, then slipped it through the mail slot at the shop. She knew he’d probably still avoid her like the plague when he got back, but after delivering the card, she at least started sleeping better. Dealing with guilt opened up a big hole in her defenses, however. Maggie tried to put Tony out of her mind, but there was no defense against loneliness. And at times it would sweep in—especially at night—and she’d feel absolutely bereft. She couldn’t count the number of occasions that she’d find herself standing in front of the window, staring out at the falling twilight, loneliness weighing her down.

  It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Kelly had been around more in the evenings, but she was training for a major swim meet and was hardly ever home. Maggie was sure all her daughter did was eat, sleep, go to school and swim.

  Weekends weren’t much different. Only this weekend it was Maggie’s turn to drive the kids to swimming. She had to have ‘ them there by six-thirty, but she didn’t really mind. She kind of liked early mornings. She hung around the pool for a while, watching them practice turns and starts, until the smell of chlorine stared to get to her. It was a little over three weeks since her bout with bronchitis, and although the cough was finally gone, there were some things that still set off a tickle in her chest. And the smell of chlorine was definitely one.

  It was a beautiful, crystal-clear morning, with everything brushed with gold from the rising sun, the angle of the early morning rays making the dew on the grass sparkle like jewels. For one brief, insane moment, Maggie toyed with the idea of driving out to Banff, but she had no idea what she would do when she got there. She supposed she could sit and watch tourists ignore the Do Not Feed the Bears warning signs.

  Instead, she went home and puttered in her garden under the watchful eye of Captain Hook, who was sunning himself on Stevie’s garden shed. She tried to coax him down with a can of tuna, but he gave her a disdainful look and closed his eyes, as if above that kind of bribery. Maggie knew better. Wedging the can into a space in the fence, she turned her back on him and went back to staking up delphiniums. When she glanced up a little while later, he was gone and so was the can. She grinned to herself. Old Hook was no dummy.

  Finishing with the delphiniums, Maggie decided to call it quits in the yard. She washed off her garden implements and put them away, then went into the house and made a fresh pot of coffee. She was going to have a long, hot shower, treat herself with some of her new gardenia-scented body lotion, then spend the rest of the morning lazing on the back deck with a good book. It was just too beautiful to stay indoors.

  She’d had her shower and was just pouring herself a cup of coffee when there was a knock on the back door. Replacing the glass carafe on the element, she glanced at the clock on the stove. It was just a little after ten. Back door; Sunday…it had to be Stevie. Which meant La Goddess had set a new record. Maggie’s across-the-alley neighbor had strong convictions that no living thing should be allowed outside on Sundays until afternoon, especially barking dogs, small children and people with loud lawnmowers. Smiling to herself, Maggie went to answer the door. Something earthshaking must have happened to get her out of bed this early.

  Maggie opened the back door, prepared to give her neighbor a hard time, but her stomach immediately shot to her shoes and her heart skipped several beats.

  It was a neighbor, all right. But the wrong one.

  Tony Parnelli was standing there, looking across at his backyard, tapping a blue envelope against his thigh. A black leather jacket was slung over one shoulder. He had on black biker boots, blue jeans, a gray sweat top that had the sleeves hacked off at the shoulders, and a pair of aviator sunglasses hanging from the frayed neck. He looked more like some motorcycle desperado than an ex-cop. Her brain processed the fact that he wasn’t due home for another week; her knees, on the other hand, wanted to cave in beneath her. With her heart racing a mile a minute, she pushed open the screen door.

  He turned his head and looked at her with a steady, unsmiling expression, the angle of sunlight revealing gold flecks in his unreadable, dark brown eyes.

  Resisting the urge to wipe her hands down her thighs, Maggie tried to get a breath past the crazy flutter in her throat. She gave him an uneven smile. “Well, hello. You’re back early, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just continued to watch her with that same unwavering gaze; then he raised his hand, showing her the envelope he had clamped between two fingers. She recognized her handwriting, and the nervous flutter slid to her chest. Running her palms down her slacks, she looked from him to the envelope, then back at him. He was still watching her, not a trace of expression on his face. A flush of discomfort crawled up her scalp, and she nervously cleared her throat, then forced herself to meet his gaze. It was
not going to be easy, but she made herself say the words. “Thank you,” she said, her voice catching on a lump of nerves, “for being there. I really did appreciate it.”

  He continued to watch her, as if processing information, then he narrowed his eyes just a little. “So it is from you.”

  Feeling as if her heart was warring with her lungs for space, she gave him a confused look, then nodded. “Yes. It’s from me.”

  He held her gaze for a second; then, tucking the jacket under one arm, he folded the envelope in half. He slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I wasn’t sure,” he said, his tone as unreadable as his face. “The handwriting was pretty similar to the note on the cake.”

  Experiencing a surge of remorse, Maggie cleared her throat again. “I was pretty rude, and it just seemed the right way to say I was sorry.”

  He held her gaze, a glint appearing in his eyes, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled just a little. “Yes, you were rude.”

  The knot of tension in her middle abruptly let go, and she gave him a rueful grin. “Well, at least we agree on something.”

  A smile lurked in his eyes. “So how have you been, Burrows?”

  Lonely. Shaken by that random thought, she folded her arms. “Fine.” She managed a small smile. “Although I smelled like a Polish sausage for a few days afterward.”

  The creases around his eyes deepened, but his gaze remained unwavering. “You don’t smell like a Polish sausage now,” he said, the glimmer in his eyes intensifying. “I’d say you smell just like gardenias.”

  Unnerved by his accuracy, Maggie resisted the urge to fidget under his unwavering scrutiny. “I doubt if you’d know the difference between gardenias and daisies, Parnelli.”

  “Ah,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “But I do. And you smell like gardenias.”

  Maggie couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She just stood there staring at him, her insides suddenly tying themselves in knots. He held her gaze a moment, then his expression altered, almost as if he were pulling back. Propelled by feelings she didn’t understand, she made a motion toward the kitchen. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said, averting her gaze, unable to hold his an instant longer. “Would you like a cup?”

  Catching her under the chin with one finger, he lifted her head, forcing her to look at him. Then he smiled a slow, breath-stopping smile. “Are you actually inviting me in?”

  Her heart suddenly pounding and her chest too tight, Maggie stared back at him, as if his question was of a magnitude she just couldn’t grasp. Fighting the urge to close her eyes and give herself over to his light, light touch, she wet her lips. “Yes,” she said, her voice unnaturally weak.

  His gaze still riveted on her, he rubbed his thumb slowly along her jaw; then he gave her another one of his heart-stopping smiles. “I would love a cup of your coffee, Maggie Burrows.”

  Feeling as if her legs wanted to cave in beneath her, she stepped back so he could enter. Instead of coming in, he caught her wrist, a twinkle in his eyes. “But I have a better idea. I was going to take my bike for a spin. How about you coming along for the ride?”

  Maggie stared at him, not quite sure she’d heard him correctly. “On your bike?” she asked, her voice rising a little.

  His eyes glinting with pure, undiluted mischief, he grinned again. “Have you ever been on a Harley, Ms. Burrows?”

  Not quite sure what to make of this, Maggie slowly shook her head.

  “Well,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “you’re in for the experience of your life.”

  The practical side of her brain knew she should say no. She’d been brought up when nice girls did not ride motorcycles. But there was another side, one that superseded her pragmatic nature, urging her to do something just a little bit reckless just this once.

  Rubbing his thumb up the inside of her wrist, Tony watched her, the gleam in his eyes turning to a serious entreaty. “Come with me, Maggie,” he said softly, his tone low and husky, his eyes urging her to say yes.

  Feeling as if she were standing at the very edge of a high cliff, she stared at him, wanting to go in the worst way. She knew if she stepped off that cliff, she’d experience a rush like she’d never experienced before. But her sensible side urged her to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.

  His gaze turning intent, Tony watched her, something dark and compelling in his eyes. He stroked her wrist again, then spoke, his tone urging her on. “Come.”

  Something made her throw caution to the wind. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she swallowed hard. “All right.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to rethink her impulsive decision. Did she have boots?

  Yes, she had boots.

  Did she have blue jeans?

  Yes, she had blue jeans.

  What about a leather jacket?

  It was so nice out she wouldn’t need a jacket.

  Tony was emphatic—yes, she needed a jacket. He explained that riding on a bike was not like riding in a car, and that a leather jacket was mostly for protection. When he started to graphically describe what the term road rash meant, she shuddered and hastily interrupted.

  No, she didn’t have a leather jacket of her own, but there was an old one of Haley’s around somewhere.

  By the time they got outside, Maggie felt as if she’d just been spit out by a tornado. Tony made sure she had her helmet fastened correctly, then he straddled the bike and flipped the switch to start it. He leaned forward so she could climb on behind him, then checked to make sure she had her feet where they were supposed to be.

  Bracing his own feet on either side of the bike, he turned and looked at her, a glint in his eyes. “Four things, Tinker. Number one, don’t let your legs touch those silver pipes. They’re the exhausts and they get damned hot. Two, lean when I lean. Three—” he pulled her arms around his waist “—hang on and don’t let go.” He grinned and slipped on his sunglasses. “And four, trust me.” He knocked away the kickstand and rolled open the throttle. “You’re gonna love this.”

  The trip through town was downright scary, and the first few miles on the highway were terrifying. But then the terror gave way, pure, unadulterated exhilaration set in and Maggie felt as if she were flying. She hung on to Tony, grinning like an idiot, wanting to throw her arms in the air and yell into the wind. It was the most unbelievable sensation. And God, she loved it.

  Tony took her to Banff, but he didn’t take the four-lane highway. Instead he took the old route, and it was wonderful. No traffic. Fabulous scenery. And an unbelievable sense of freedom. Her legs were decidedly shaky when they finally stopped and she got off the bike, but it was the most fantastic experience she’d ever had. They gassed up in the resort town, had lunch and a bathroom break, and it was early afternoon by the time they headed back. Feeling a bit more experienced, Maggie reveled in the return ride, the smell of hot leather and sunshine mixing with the heavenly scent of the blossoming silver willow.

  The road wind beat her to death, the warmth of the sun made her feel almost boneless and she felt as if she could sleep for a week. When they arrived at the city limits, Tony didn’t take the ramp for Sarcee Trail. Instead he kept going, heading into the northwest part of the city. Maggie knew the area. Locals referred to it as “Little Italy,” and it had some of the best restaurants in town. Feeling almost anesthetized from all the sunshine and fresh air, she didn’t pay much attention, assuming he was stopping for a coffee.

  But instead, he geared down and turned onto a shady street where huge elms nearly formed a canopy overhead. They were barely crawling along, and Maggie sat up and stretched her back, resting her hands on her thighs. The sounds of water sprinklers and children playing were distinguishable over the throaty rumble of the bike, and she inspected the yards as they passed by. The older homes were all set on big lots with beautiful big trees. This was clearly a comfortable kind of neighborhood where people put down roots.

  Gearing down again, Tony pulled alongside the cu
rb, then brought the bike to a halt. Bracing his legs on either side of the machine, he killed the ignition, then peeled off his helmet. Not sure why they were stopping, Maggie gratefully followed suit, glad to get the weight off her head. It felt like her hair was ground into her scalp.

  Tony scrubbed his fingers through his own hair, then looked over his shoulder at her. “End of the road, Burrows. Time for a break.”

  Feeling as if she didn’t have the strength to sit, let alone stand, Maggie braced her hands on his shoulders and stood up on the foot pegs, stiffly swinging off the bike. Her legs really feeling like jelly, she peeled off her jacket, dropped her helmet on the ground, then flopped down on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. Flat on her back and feeling pretty much like mush, she drew up her knees, groaning as she forced the small of her back against the ground. “Lord, I think you killed me, Parnelli.”

  His eyes hidden by sunglasses, Tony grinned as he rocked the bike back on the kickstand. Removing the keys from the ignition, he dismounted, then stood staring down at her. “A little wobbly, are we?”

  Feeling as she’d just delivered a full-sized elephant, she squinted up at him. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like overcooked spaghetti.”

  He picked up her helmet, then glanced at her, amusement lurking around his mouth. “Speaking of spaghetti, how about dinner?”

  Struggling to a sitting position, she looked up at him. “Right now I could eat dirt.”

  Grasping her jacket and the chin straps of both helmets in one hand, he reached down and caught her wrist, pulling her to her feet. He was grinning that devilish grin of his. “Then up and at ‘em, Tink. I’m going to treat you to the best spaghetti in town.”

  Dusting off her bottom, Maggie groaned. “Are you going to make me get back on that thing?”

  He chuckled and took her hand, pulling her onto the sidewalk. “Nah.” With a lift of his chin he indicated a big old house. “Fifty feet and we’re there.”