One Perfect Spring

by Irene Hannon

  “It’s hard to believe the guys weren’t knocking your door down.”

  “Not if you’d seen me as a teen. I was gawky, with braces and acne and a skinny, boyish figure. Besides, after working on the boat with Dad all day, it was kind of hard to lose the fish smell. Trust me, eau de mackerel can’t compete with Chanel No. 5 for attracting male attention.”

  Amazing how she’d managed to keep her sense of humor through experiences that would have permanently soured a lot of people.

  “By the time Brett entered the picture, I wasn’t too hard on the eyes. I caught his attention in the cafeteria the first week of school. I was lonely and vulnerable—a fish out of water, to continue the nautical analogies. I guess he sensed I was easy pickings, and before long we were a couple. We ended up getting married a month after he graduated. I dropped out of school and got a job as an administrative assistant to support us while he went on to get his MBA and CPA.”

  “How did your parents feel about that?”

  “Not happy.” Claire leaned back and braced herself against the railing, fingers curled around the pitted wooden beam. She was facing him now, but with the moon still shrouded in clouds, her features were indistinct. “They begged me to wait, to finish school, to date a few more people before I committed to someone for life. But I was caught up in the euphoria of young love. I thought they were being old-fashioned and that everything would be rosy.”

  “Except it wasn’t.” Keith picked up his coffee, but the night air and cool concrete had chilled it. After one sip of the unappetizing brew, he set it back down.

  “No. I got pregnant right away, which wasn’t part of our plan. Brett was less than thrilled, but I promised him it wouldn’t be a problem. That I’d arrange everything so he could finish school without disruption.”

  “What about the disruptions in your life? You gave up college so he could go on for an advanced degree.”

  “Somehow that got lost in translation. Anyway, once he got a job, I was able to stay home with Haley, and that was a joy. But Brett, being an entry-level public accountant, was either working long hours or on the road. As a result, our marriage suffered. Plus, he started drinking—more than I thought was prudent. I raised the issue, but he didn’t agree.”

  Was this where it was going to get nasty? Alcohol abuse could turn some people very ugly.

  “How exactly did he express his disagreement?”

  Despite his measured, neutral tone, she got the gist of his question. “He never abused me—or Haley. We had a lot of fights, but there was no physical violence. He expressed his displeasure in a different way. Since life at home wasn’t fun and games, he found those elsewhere. In particular, with another CPA in the firm who was assigned to many of the same accounts and often traveled with him. Her name was Tiffany.”

  After psyching himself up for a battered wife story, it took Keith a moment to process this unexpected twist.

  Claire’s husband had cheated on her.

  That was a whole different kind of abuse. A battering of the heart rather than the body, but just as damaging.

  Jerk was too mild a word for the guy.

  Claire was obviously waiting for a response, but words failed him. “I don’t know what to say. I’m stunned.”

  “Yeah. I had the same reaction the day I came across an incriminating email from her on his cell. I didn’t want to believe it. I hoped Brett might have some logical explanation. But he didn’t even try to deny the affair. I think he was glad I’d found that message. For all I know, he set it up so I would.”

  The man hadn’t even had the guts—or basic humanity—to break things off in an honest way.

  Keith flexed his fingers. Too bad her ex wasn’t standing here now. Knuckles on jaw would feel eminently satisfying—a rather unnerving reaction, considering he’d never picked a fight in his entire life.

  Then again, he’d never felt this protective of a woman before.

  “To wrap up this unhappy tale, I thought my world was ending.” Claire’s voice wavered. Steadied. “Brett had no interest in trying to work things out, so we divorced. He took a position in a West Coast office of his firm, and I continued to work while I went back to school part time and finished my teaching degree. I graduated at twenty-nine, got my current job, and bought this house. Life is finally on the upswing.”

  Given the condition of her house, he wasn’t sure about that final comment. But he’d come back to that. “Haley said her father died.”

  “Yes. Last year, in a one-car drunk-driving accident. Haley was the beneficiary of his life-insurance policy, which went straight into her college fund. He didn’t leave much else. Brett wasn’t one to stockpile for a rainy day.”

  Too bad. Even a small infusion of cash would have gone a long way toward alleviating some of Claire’s rainy days.

  “Tell me about the house. How did you end up here?”

  “I hated paying rent on an apartment. It felt like throwing money into a black hole. So I saved every penny I could until I had enough for a decent down payment. Then I found this. An elderly man owned it, and he couldn’t keep up with the maintenance. After he died, his heirs just wanted the cash and they sold it as is.”

  No kidding.

  “Did you have it inspected before you bought it?”

  “Of course. I know the house has cosmetic issues, but it’s structurally sound and has lots of potential. Plus, the neighborhood is great, the school district is excellent, and the location is perfect. It was a real find.”

  Keith wasn’t certain about that. “It’s also a lot of work.”

  “That can be done over time.” She flipped a hand, dismissing that subject. “So have I scared you off yet?”

  Her inflection was teasing, but the subtle thread of tension woven through her words betrayed her anxiety.

  “Not even close. And I appreciate your willingness to share all that with me.”

  “It only seems fair. I wouldn’t want you to get too . . . interested . . . and then have all this garbage dumped in your lap. You need to know I come with serious baggage.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “Some is worse than others. I have a feeling any baggage you carry is going to look like a Disney movie compared to mine.”

  This was his chance to give her a hint about his early history. Tell her she wasn’t the only one toting around a less-than-ideal past.

  But he was already on overload. He needed to think through everything she’d told him, figure out next steps before he started spilling his guts—because the two of them were in different places. Claire’s past might have had a huge impact on her life, but she’d faced it, dealt with it, and moved on.

  He hadn’t.

  And until he did, it was better to leave his skeletons in the closet.

  Bending down, he snagged his mug, then stood. “To be honest, your Disney comparison isn’t accurate. My pre-adoption years weren’t all that great. But why don’t we defer that discussion to another day? We both have to work tomorrow.”

  She twisted her wrist toward the streetlight and peered at the face of her watch. “I guess it is getting late.”

  “So what time does the painting party start on Saturday morning?”

  She blinked at him. “You’re coming back to help us finish?”

  “Genies always see a wish through to the end.”

  “Haley will be thrilled.”

  “How does her mother feel about it?” He joined her at the railing.

  “Also thrilled. But what happens after I’ve used up all my wishes?”

  “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  The cloud over the moon drifted away, and the shimmering orb once again bathed the rain-washed landscape in a silver light that gave the world—and the woman inches away from him—a magical, dreamlike quality.

  He could see her face clearly at this close range. In the ethereal light, she was beautiful . . . appealing . . . tempting.

  Too much of all of the abov
e for him to resist.

  He lifted his hand, his fingers tingling as they anticipated making contact with her smooth, silky-looking skin.

  But all at once she backed off, folding her arms over her chest and breaking the spell.

  He let his hand drop to his side. Waited a moment for his pulse to decelerate. “Should I apologize?”

  “No.” She swallowed. “It’s just . . . I’m not ready for that. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust me. That’s what I meant earlier when I talked about touching. I want you to touch me, and that’s scary. I don’t even know you very well yet.”

  That was true—and it wasn’t a problem he could remedy tonight.

  Summoning up a smile, he held out his mug to her. “I admire your self-control.”

  She took it, careful to avoid his fingers. “Does the offer still stand for Saturday?”

  “Of course.”

  Some of the tautness in her features eased. “Come whenever you get up. We’ll start early and finish about noon—I hope.”

  “Expect me about eight.”

  “If you want to sleep in, you can come later.”

  Trade an extra hour of sleep for an extra hour with Claire? Not a chance.

  “I like to get up early.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me grab my stuff.”

  He detoured into the house, snagged his gym bag, and rejoined her. She’d picked up her own mug, and she lifted it in salute. “See you Saturday. And thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He backed toward the steps. “Good night.”

  Not until he slid behind the wheel did he look back. She was still standing near the door, juggling the two mugs in her hands.

  He hated to leave.

  But it was time.

  As he shoved the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, and pulled away, a question she’d asked him earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.

  “Are you a praying man?”

  He’d never responded.

  Yet after his roller-coaster emotional ride tonight, he had a clear answer.

  More so now than ever.

  Because he needed all the guidance he could get.

  13

  “Come in, ladies. Welcome to the I’m-glad-it’s-Friday party.” Maureen pulled the door wide and ushered in Claire and Haley.

  “I’ve never been to a Friday party before.” Haley crossed the threshold, toting a plate of gooey butter cookies.

  “Me, neither. But I felt like celebrating. It’s spring and the sun is shining and we have the whole weekend ahead to enjoy.”

  “Mom and me made these.” She held out the plate.

  Maureen took it and gave Claire a hug. “These look wonderful, but you didn’t have to provide dessert.”

  “It was the least I could do after you went to the trouble of making the whole dinner.”

  “It was no trouble. I’m glad I have the energy—and appetite—to enjoy cooking again. Now let’s get this party started.”

  “This is so much fun. Two parties in one week!” Haley fell in beside her as she guided them back to the kitchen.

  “Two parties?”

  “Yeah. Keith came over on Wednesday night after he visited you, and we had a painting party.”

  The very subject she’d wanted to introduce—and one of the reasons she’d arranged this impromptu get-together.

  “I did notice his car parked in front after he left here. Did you have fun?”

  She directed the question to Claire, and while Haley provided the verbal answer, the subtle blush on Claire’s cheeks was just as telling.

  “It was awesome! We laughed a lot and sang songs. Well, I sang. I didn’t want to go to bed when we were done, but Mom made me, even though Keith stayed for a while.” Haley grabbed a carrot stick off the veggie tray on the island and turned to her mother. “What did you guys do, anyway?”

  “We sat on the porch and had a cup of coffee.”

  Haley rolled her eyes. “B-o-r-i-n-g.”

  Maureen set the cookies on the counter and pulled two oven mitts out of a drawer. Based on Claire’s lingering blush, her little tête-à-tête on the porch with Keith had been anything but boring.

  “Haley, if you want to fix a plate with some veggies and dip and go out on the patio, you might see the fawn and doe I told you about. They often show up about now to munch in my garden. At this rate, I doubt any of my hostas are going to manage to poke their heads more than three inches out of the ground this season.”

  “Cool.”

  While Haley loaded up her plate, Maureen checked on the chicken and rice casserole. It was doing fine all by itself, just as she’d planned, leaving her free to chat—and ask a few exploratory questions.

  “So how was your week?” She took off the mitts and gestured to the stools at the counter, then helped herself to a stalk of celery.

  “Busy.” Claire slid onto the adjacent stool. “Sorry the parent-teacher meetings ran long and you had to delay dinner.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll be very cosmopolitan and eat on European time.” She twirled her celery in the dip. “How’s Haley’s room coming?”

  “We made a lot of progress this week. I think we’ll finish it tomorrow.”

  “It was nice of Keith to pitch in.”

  “Yes.” Claire made a project out of selecting a grape tomato.

  “He seems to be a very conscientious and responsible man.”

  “Seems to be.”

  “Of course, after all the time he spent at your house on Wednesday, I’m sure you’ve gotten to know him far better than I have.”

  Claire picked up a tomato. Examined it. Put it back. “Actually, I did most of the talking.”

  That was news, considering she’d known Keith less than a month. Despite the rapport she and Claire had developed over the past year and her neighbor’s many kindnesses during her treatment, it had taken months before Claire had offered more than a peek into her background. Nor had she been all that talkative in the early days of their friendship.

  Very interesting.

  “What did you talk about?” She did her best to keep her tone casual as she munched on her celery stick.

  Claire continued to scan the tray for the perfect tomato. “I told him about Brett.”

  Maureen masked her surprise—and delight—as best she could. It was about time Claire gave the opposite sex another chance, and from everything she’d seen so far, Keith was a worthy candidate for her trust. “He must be a very good listener.”

  “Too good. I told him more than I intended.”

  “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.” She swirled another stalk of celery in the dip. “He strikes me as the honorable sort, and David speaks very highly of him.”

  Claire tipped her head. “David? As in David McMillan?”

  “The very same.” She bit into her celery.

  “When did you two transition to first names?”

  Maureen chewed the veggie stick. Better to be up-front about their developing relationship. Perhaps it would encourage Claire to take the leap too. “A while ago. We’ve been chatting on and off since this whole thing began. We had lunch too.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Claire gave up all pretense of selecting a tomato.

  “You didn’t tell me about your painting party with Keith.”

  “That just happened two days ago. I haven’t seen you until now.”

  “True. So in the interest of full disclosure, I’m also attending a birthday party for his grandson on Sunday.”

  Claire’s mouth dropped open. “You mean you two are dating?”

  “It’s only been one lunch that was partly business and a child’s birthday party.”

  “But it could lead to real one-on-one dating, right? You do like him?”

  Like was too mild a word . . . but she wasn’t ready to admit to anything more—even to herself.

  “He’s very nice, and I enjoy his company.”

  Claire touched her hand
. “I’m happy for you, Maureen.” Then she tipped her head, her expression pensive. “Who would have guessed Haley’s letter would lead to all this?”

  “It’s strange how God works, isn’t it? Sometimes he offers us opportunities and second chances when we least expect them. Keith may be another example of that, you know. If a man gives up his free time to paint a little girl’s room, I think it’s safe to assume he’s got more on his mind than redecorating.”

  Her neighbor’s jaw firmed. “I know. But I’m not going to let myself get carried away. He hinted he’d tell me about his background at some point—especially the adoption—but we’ll see.”

  Maureen stared at her. “Keith is adopted?”

  Claire’s hand froze as she reached for a tomato, dismay flattening her features. “I shouldn’t have said anything. He told me that in confidence.”

  “But . . . why on earth wouldn’t he share that with me, given my own background?”

  “I asked him that. He said the circumstances were completely different. I got the impression his adoption story isn’t a happy one. Listen . . .” She leaned closer, features taut. “You won’t say anything, will you? I don’t want him to think I was gossiping behind his back.”

  “No worries. This will stay between us.” She patted Claire’s hand and rose. “Now why don’t you call your daughter in and we’ll divvy up my casserole.”

  Still mulling over Claire’s surprising piece of news, Maureen went to retrieve the main dish. What an odd coincidence.

  Yet in some ways, it explained a lot. If Keith’s history was as unhappy as Claire had suggested, his initial aloofness—and her impression that he didn’t want to work on her project—made sense. He would probably prefer to have nothing to do with an adoption-related assignment.

  She slid her hands back into the oven mitts and took a firm hold of the glass baking dish. Warmth seeped into her thumb through a worn area, and she transferred the dish to the table as fast as she could, touching it as briefly as possible.