A Distant Summer

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “New skirt, Ruth?” she observed dryly. “Nice color. You must have gone shopping while I was on vacation.”

  Ruth smiled and smoothed a crease into the khaki fabric. “You were with me when I bought this years ago. Come on, Kris, tell me the whole story.”

  “Don’t you need to check on business at the shop? How can you leave your employees alone for hours at a time?”

  “I hire dependable, competent people who manage to turn a profit without my continual presence. Now, what’s his name? And what did he do to send you home in an eighteen-hour gallop?”

  Reaching down, Kris pulled out the bottom drawer of her desk and propped her feet on the edge. Then she clasped her hands in her lap, keeping the pencil between them for support or defense, she wasn’t sure which. “His name is Tucker McCain. He lives in Denver, and he didn’t send me home. I left.”

  The green eyes widened; the bifocals paused in mid-swing. “Good Lord, Kris, do you mean he wanted you to stay? And you left?”

  “Thanks a lot, Ruth. Whatever happened to ‘Welcome home, Kris. Good to have you back’?” Kris shook her head. “Do you know not one person in this entire newspaper office has said that to me this morning? I walked in the door a little while ago — two days before I’m supposed to be back from vacation — and passed Gary on his way out. Do you know what he said, Ruth?”

  “I don’t care what he said, Kris. Let’s get back to the man in Denver.”

  Kris frowned her exasperation and ignored the interruption. “Gary took one look at me and said, ‘Where the hell have you been? The computer’s own, and the post office is on fire. Of all the Mondays for you to oversleep!’ Before I had a chance to defend myself, he was gone — to the fire, I assume — so I came in here and phoned the repair service. Back to work as usual. I should have stayed in bed.”

  “Well, don’t expect any argument from me. After driving all the way from Denver without a stop, I’m surprised you could even drag yourself out from under the sheets, much less think about coming to the office.” Ruth placed a hand flat on the desktop blotter and leaned down in a confiding manner. “Why didn’t you stay in bed, Kris?”

  “I wasn’t tired. I slept for hours after I got home yesterday. I couldn’t sleep anymore.” That was true, Kris assured her conscience. There was no point in telling Ruth or anyone else about the dreams that had awakened her at intervals during those hours or about the way her heart had pounded in protest when she’d reached sleepily for Tucker only to realize she was alone. “And I never said I drove for eighteen hours without a stop.”

  “That is completely beside the point. It isn’t like you to risk your health, not to mention your car, in a marathon race. And I’ve never known you willingly to come into work on a day you didn’t have to,” Ruth smiled in smug omniscience. “Now, what happened with the man in Denver?”

  Kris tossed the pencil to the desk in surrender. “I met him, and we went to dinner, did some sight-seeing. Nothing spectacular, but it was nice.”

  “Nice?”

  With a sigh she met Ruth’s persistence squarely. “It was wonderful, but it ended, as all vacations must. He lives there. I live here. Period.”

  “From where I sit, that sounds like a question mark. Don’t tell me you left without getting his phone number?”

  “I have his phone number, complete with area code and everything.” Kris restrained the impulse to check her slacks pocket and to hold the piece of paper in her hand again. She’d already worn her thumb-print onto the corner and memorized the thick black strokes of his pen. She had meant to call him the minute she’d arrived home. But for some reason she hadn’t.

  She had waited, told herself he wouldn’t be expecting a call quite so soon. Hadn’t she told him she planned to take her time, drive to Arkansas at a leisurely pace? But once on the road, she hadn’t wanted to stop, and she’d simply kept driving. Still, she should have phoned him. Maybe she had procrastinated because she wanted him to wonder, to know what it was like to wait for a call that never came.

  Kris sighed in soft resignation. She would call him this morning, but not until Ruth left the office. And that might take some fancy fabrication. “Ruth, I have the number, but I’m not going to call him.”

  “Well, write, then. Send a note thanking him for your wonderful vacation.”

  Sitting straight, Kris shoved the bottom drawer closed with her foot. “I hardly think a thank-you note would be appropriate, Ruth.”

  There was a sudden stillness. Kris rubbed her temples and wished that she had stayed home. But she’d been restless, unsettled. There had been thoughts, memories, what ifs and if onlys following her through every room m the house. She’d thought it would be better here at the office. She’d thought she wouldn’t see Ruth until later. She’d thought she could put Tucker from her mind.

  “Is he married?” Ruth’s voice dropped to a hoarse growl. “My God, you didn’t get yourself involved with a married man, did you?”

  “I’m not totally insane, Ruth. Give me credit for having at least a little sense.”

  “If he’s not married, then I don’t see the problem.”

  “That’s because there isn’t one.”

  Ruth twisted her bantamweight body from the desk and stood, regarding Kris somberly and placing her bifocals on the top of her head in deliberate dispute. It was a gesture Kris knew well, and she firmed her chin in reply.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Kristina. If you don’t feel like talking about your wonderful vacation, that’s fine with me. But if you ask my opinion, I think it’s about time you stopped punishing yourself for a mistake you made a thousand years ago. Risk a little hurt for a little happiness.” Ruth pursed her lips and then softened them with a rueful smile. “Sorry for the lecture. Melinda called from college last night, and I guess I didn’t get all the mothering out of my system.”

  A change of subject. Kris breathed a silent thank-you. “How is she? Will she be home for summer break?”

  “Yes.” Ruth rubbed the back of her head and walked to the office door. “I don’t know why that makes me happy. In less than three weeks I’ll have more laundry, no food in the house, and limited use of the car. There’s something convoluted about our educational system. You should write an editorial about that, Kris.” She started through the doorway, then paused to take the glasses from her head and place them on the bridge of her gamin nose. “Why don’t you do that right after you make the call to Denver?”

  Kris smiled sweetly. “And why don’t you take a hike?”

  “My, my.” Reddish brows arched in amused surprise. “The high altitude in Colorado must have thinned your sense of humor. Would you like to come over for supper tonight?”

  “Not unless you’re offering to do my laundry.”

  “Let’s make it tomorrow night. That’ll give you time to get the film developed so you can show me a picture of Mr. Wonderful.”

  “His name is McCain. Dr. Tucker McCain.”

  Ruth took a step back into the room. “Dr.? As in Gray’s Anatomy?”

  Kris nodded, and Ruth shook her head slowly. “A doctor, Kris. The one thing Maple Ridge needs more than a good burger joint, and you left him in Denver. I honestly thought you had better sense.” She held up a hand and backed from the office. “All right, all right. Not another word. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The doorway stayed empty for all of ten seconds —Kris counted — before Ruth returned with bifocals in hand and a warming smile. “Welcome back, Kristina. I’m glad you’re home.”

  This time Ruth left, and the doorway remained empty, Kris propped her chin in her palm and tried not to feel tired.

  It was a losing battle, one she had fought ever since leaving Denver on Saturday afternoon. All her vitality and enthusiasm had stayed behind — with Tucker.

  But she would get it back. Maybe a little more slowly than she would like, but if nothing else, the years had taught her to accept the waiting. Ruth had never understood that. She was a move
r and a shaker, wanting to change what she didn’t wish to accept.

  Risk a little hurt for a little happiness. How like Ruth to issue such a challenge and how like her to dismiss one mistake as if it had happened a thousand years before.

  What would Ruth say if she knew how a few days in Denver had complicated that original mistake? No point in wondering, because she wasn’t going to know. Contrary to what Ruth might believe, any and all discussion about Tucker was closed.

  Almost.

  Now that she’d told Ruth, there was only one more thing she had to do.

  Kris slipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew the crumpled notepaper. She stared at it for several long minutes before she dialed the number. Her heart was a frantic flutter in her rib cage as the phone rang.

  What was she going to say?

  Think. Swallow. Hold the phone steady.

  She was trembling when she heard the click over and the voice mail recording.

  Disappointment welled inside her, and she covered it with the rational argument that leaving a message was better all around. No emotional inflections in his voice to interpret. No need to convey any feeling at all. Just leave a message. Tell him you arrived safely. Tell him everything is all right. Tell him ... good-bye.

  That wasn’t so difficult, Kris thought as she ended the call. Now the loose ends were gathered. Now her life could get back to normal. Now she had told him goodbye.

  The office phone rang, startling her with its busy urgency. Kris answered and searched the desk for a pad and pencil. Vacation or not, the Gazette office stayed the same. Today Kris appreciated that fact.

  Business as usual.

  Probably the only thing on earth that would help her forget Tucker McCain.

  * * * *

  Considering that she’d spent the entire afternoon in the hot July sun, it really wasn’t surprising. Hallucinations often accompanied heat stroke, she believed, and the shiny black Mercedes had to be a mirage, although it looked heart-stoppingly familiar, parked in front of Ruth’s gift shop.

  It had been six weeks, specifically six weeks, four days, and seven hours, since she’d last seen a car like it.

  Kris had a strong impulse to brake in the middle of Second Street and take a closer look. But with city hall and the Maple Ridge police station only half a block away, she thought it better to park her own car before she investigated another. Besides, there had to be hundreds of black Mercedes in the world. To assume that this particular one could belong only to Tucker was absurd and — Kris glanced over her shoulder as she drove past — all too reasonable.

  She turned the steering wheel sharply, and the tires bumped the curb as she pulled into a parking space in front of the Gazette office. Kris was out of her car almost before the engine had idled to a stop, her gaze crossing the street to search the Mercedes for some identifying mark.

  The license plate was angled out of her line of vision, and there was nothing unusual about the automobile itself, except that it was here. Few Mercedes of any color found their way to Maple Ridge, and fewer still parked downtown and across the street from her office.

  Tucker was here.

  The knowledge was closing around her like the humidity on a sultry summer day. Without going any closer, she knew the Mercedes belonged to Tucker, and an unbidden rebel welcome flowed through her veins. Her lips curved in momentary anticipation and just as quickly tightened with uncertainty.

  She should have been prepared for this. Kris knew she’d wrapped herself in the illusion that he wouldn’t come, that she wouldn’t be faced with the questions this day would bring. Because he hadn’t phoned or written or tried to contact her in any way, she’d decided he had realized that their brief affair had no future. And she had accepted the disappointment as well as the way she still reached for him in the night.

  Her gaze swung slowly to the double glass doors of the newspaper office. Was he inside, waiting for her? Or was she imagining the possibility that he cared enough to follow her, to give their relationship time and opportunity to develop into something more?

  And even if it was true, what then? Kristina straightened her shoulders and reached inside her car for her notebook and camera. She could cross only one bridge at a time.

  In the reception room of the Maple Ridge Gazette Kris noticed an unusual lack of activity. Of course, there were any number of reasons for Effie to be away from her desk, but the sound of voices and laughter from down the hallway suggested an impromptu party. Nor was that in itself uncommon; the town’s residents looked on the newspaper office as community property and the one place where if you stayed put long enough, you were bound to see practically everyone else.

  With a frown Kris started in the direction of the noise, but paused before a small, round mirror on the wall. She checked the condition of her chignon and the bright silk scarf looped around her neck. Both hairstyle and scarf were a trifle droopy, and Kris revived them as best she could before continuing down the hall to her office doorway.

  She stopped there, aware of the presence of her co-workers but conscious only of Tucker. He was leaning against the edge of her desk, arms crossed over the wine-colored shirt he wore, legs covered in denim and stretched in casual, effortless support. His hair was tousled and dark, his skin tanned and smooth, his smile friendly ... until he caught sight of her. Then, in a wondrous moment of greeting, his smile softened with sensual gladness and became a sweet reminder of his kiss.

  Kristina braced a hand against the doorframe in sheer self-defense. Her breath was a shallow pressure in her lungs, her pulse was a wild flutter in her throat, and she couldn’t stop the pleasure that rippled through her time and again. Tucker was here, near, touchably close. But she mustn’t touch him. She simply couldn’t walk into his arms as if nothing beyond a yard of floor space separated them. And she wouldn’t satisfy the curiosity of her friends by displaying her most private feelings.

  But oh, she wanted to touch him. So much so that she forced her gaze away from him to the other occupants of the room. Ruth, glasses anchored in the clustering red curls atop her head, perched on the corner of the desk closest to Tucker. Gary, owner and publisher of the Gazette, sat in one chair. Effie, the dark-haired secretary-receptionist, sat in the other. Matt Saradon, mayor and the town’s only practicing attorney, stood in the middle of the room with his back to Kris.

  She cleared her throat, and Matt turned. “Kris. Hi. You’ve got company.”

  Her brows lifted, but she didn’t reply.

  Ruth filled in the gap. “Don’t worry about making introductions. We’ve already introduced ourselves.”

  “And given Tucker a rundown on local news,” Matt added

  “And gossip.” Effie stood and adjusted the belt of her calico print shirtwaist. “We didn’t tell him much about you, though. We figured you’d need something to talk about when you got here.”

  Effie’s chuckle was accompanied by a round of smiles and amused nods. Kris met Tucker’s eyes across the room, and her discomfort at being the object of collective teasing faded. Somehow she felt that he understood and enjoyed the affectionate camaraderie of this group of friends.

  “Did you get the feature story?” Gary asked, a grin hiding in his dark, bushy beard. “What was it this time? A giant radish?”

  Kris again tugged her gaze from Tucker and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. “Nothing so exciting. A bumper crop of watermelons. But I think there’s a good human-interest story — ”

  Gary interrupted with a groan and levered himself lazily to his feet. “Let me be surprised, Kris.” He held out a hand to Tucker. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll stay around long enough for us to take that fishing trip I mentioned.”

  “Thanks,” Tucker said with a smile and a handshake. “I’d like that.”

  Matt stepped forward to extend his hand. “You’ll have to come over for supper one evening. Jena and I live just a hop, skip and a jump from Kris.” Matt turned to include Kristina in the invitation. “Maybe ne
xt Saturday would be a good time.”

  “Saturday?” she repeated ambiguously as she wondered how to postpone an outright refusal without sounding completely tactless.

  Matt took her acceptance for granted, though, and proceeded to enlarge the original invitation to include everyone present and several people who were not.

  Kris moved away from the doorway, intending to circle the discussion group and put the space of a cluttered walnut desk between Tucker and herself, but she found herself caught in the shuffling goodbyes of well-meaning friends.

  Before she could take steps to prevent it, she was beside him, looking up at his half-amused, half-frustrated expression, matching the quiet yearning in his eyes with a soft ache of her own.

  She was vaguely aware that the room was clearing and that the hum of conversation was moving into the hallway, and she knew that in another minute she would be in his arms. Pivoting abruptly from the temptation, she laid her camera, purse, and notebook on the desk. “Hello, Tucker,” she said with false nonchalance. “What brings you to Maple Ridge?”

  “Do you know you’re the first person to ask that?” He leaned against the desk again and regarded her thoughtfully. “Everyone else immediately assumed I came to see you.”

  “And did you?”

  His hand reached for hers, and though she didn’t encourage it, her fingers nestled against his as if they belonged there. “Of course.”

  She sighed. “I really didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “That isn’t what Ruth led me to believe.” Tucker smiled and pulled Kris closer to his side. “She was talking to Effie when I walked in this afternoon, but the minute I introduced myself and said I was looking for you, Ruth practically sang the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ ”

  “But instead she said, ‘By God! You’re the doctor from Denver. Where in the hell have you been?’ ”

  “Something along that line,” Tucker said. “It went more like ‘Kris and I thought you’d never get here.’ ”