by Marin Thomas
“My last set of foster parents convinced me that cutting hair was a decent, respectable occupation for a young woman of no means.”
Anna had grown up in the foster-care system? At least he’d had his brothers and his grandfather after his parents had passed away. “What happened to your family?”
“My mother died when I was four. I never knew my father. His name wasn’t on my birth certificate.”
He envisioned a four-year-old with humongous blue eyes, standing on a stranger’s doorstep. “I’m sorry.”
“I was lucky, I suppose, to survive foster care relatively unscathed.” She gazed unseeingly across the café, a pinched expression on her face, as if she was reliving an unpleasant memory.
The thought of Anna as a small child afraid or threatened shook Ryan in a way that not even he understood. “You’ve had a rough life.”
“Life is what you make of it.”
For a moment he considered her words, then shoved them aside. He wasn’t in the mood for the old if-life-hands-you-lemons-make-lemonade speech. Besides, they’d digressed from the purpose of their coffee outing. “Are you going to accept my apology?”
“Of course.”
That’s it? “You don’t want me to grovel?”
“No. I should apologize for bullying you in front of the men. I don’t usually lose my temper.”
His hand found hers across the tabletop and squeezed. “Don’t make excuses for me.” He had a hunch she justified everyone’s wrongdoing in order to keep the seas of her world calm and waveless. “I was an idiot. I’m sorry, and—” he persisted when she opened her mouth to protest “—you deserve an explanation.”
A tilt of her head sent her blond locks cascading over one shoulder. “I’m listening.”
“I haven’t celebrated my birthday in a long time. I don’t even open the cards my brothers and grandfather send.” He paused, expecting a reaction. Instead, she waited patiently for him to finish. “I stopped celebrating my birthday and other holidays after my ex-wife miscarried.”
Anna’s curious expression froze, the blood draining from her face, leaving her as pale as if she’d walked across a grave.
“I’m sorry, Ryan.” The words, barely audible, slipped out between unmoving lips.
“It was a long time ago,” he said, attempting to comfort her. Anna’s bleached-flour complexion remained. “Finish with your coffee.”
She did, but whatever had troubled her hovered in the air. He braced for other questions: How long were you married? Did you and your wife have other children?
Her attention remained riveted on life outside the window, and the questions remained unspoken. Seconds turned into minutes, then she stood. “Let’s go.”
Unconcerned he might appear eager to end their evening, Ryan sprang to his feet. On the way out, he deposited their empty cups in the trash receptacle by the door.
A gust of cool air greeted them outside. Anna drew her sweater on. Part of Ryan craved to snuggle her and promise to defend her against whatever had troubled her earlier. The other part begged to run the opposite way and pretend he hadn’t noticed her traumatic reaction.
Lest he make a monster-size mistake, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and strolled beside her. After a block, she glanced up and smiled. This was the Anna she intended people to see—confident, friendly, full of life. The pain in her eyes gone now, replaced by a glimmer of wary warmth.
Everyone had fears and needs. So what was it about Anna that made Ryan yearn to slay her dragons? Made him believe he was capable of helping her, when his own life was so screwed up? If 9/11 had taught him anything, it was that life went on—for everyone else but him.
An image of his empty, silent apartment flashed through his mind and his steps slowed. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you home.”
NOT TONIGHT, Anna thought. “My apartment is in Ridgewood.” She checked her watch, then picked up the pace. “If I hurry, I can catch the 6:35 bus.”
Maybe he’d take the hint and veer off at the corner. The news of Ryan’s ex-wife’s miscarriage had stunned her. Yes, she felt horrible that he’d suffered the loss of a child, but it was the look in his eyes that had cut her off at the knees. Pain. Sharp and deep. Without a word, he’d conveyed his agony at not being able to save his child. That the fate of his own flesh and blood had been taken from his hands.
She knew a little about fate and being its victim. She’d lost a child, too. Forced to give up her baby for adoption by social services, she’d experienced anger, resentment, hurt and loneliness. But she’d been spared the one misery Ryan hadn’t—her baby had lived.
Although she harbored tremendous guilt and sorrow. Deep in her heart she believed she would have been a good mother. If someone had been around to help her raise her child…But there had been no one. She remembered thinking that her baby had been lucky. A family had welcomed her, unlike the baby’s mother, whom no one had wanted.
At fourteen, scared and alone, she’d done what she’d thought best.
Now she understood why she’d been attracted to Ryan from the very beginning. Aside from his good looks and brooding personality, they’d connected with each other on an unconscious level, each having experienced the loss of a child. Sadness swelled inside Anna, until she thought she’d choke on the emotion. Ryan had been the first man in forever to intrigue her, challenge her and attract her. And now no chance of anything but a strained friendship could develop between them, because Ryan would never understand why she’d given her baby up for adoption.
How funny that she’d been the one to pester and cajole him into opening up and socializing with her and the other men at the station. And just when he’d shown signs of emerging from his shell, she was scurrying back into hers.
“I’ll see you to the bus stop.” Ryan grasped her elbow.
The simple courtesy stung Anna’s eyes and she muttered, “When you apologize, you go all the way.”
He chuckled—a full, throaty sound that sent shivers scurrying across her skin. The man’s charm was lethal. “I take the train most days. Do you ride the bus to work every day?”
Good. A nice, safe, nonemotional dialogue about mass transit. “Yep. I don’t own a car so I get around by bus or train.”
“No car?”
She didn’t understand why he sounded surprised. Thousands of people in NYC didn’t own automobiles.
“I have an underground parking space at my apartment,” he added.
Lucky him. Her brownstone didn’t have a garage. But she had a basement, which she used for storage, and a washer and dryer.
Two blocks down, three to go. “What do you think of the job so far?”
He rolled his shoulders.
“Does that mean better than you’d expected or worse?” She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she suspected he preferred more intellectually stimulating work. “Are you becoming more comfortable around the guys?”
“Joe mentioned his brother, Willie.”
Surprised Joe had brought up Willie, she murmured, “The teen’s criminal activity has been tough on his family.”
“Joe explained that even if his brother decided to leave the gang, he can’t.”
“I’m certain Willie wishes he’d never begun hanging around those losers in the first place.”
“What do the authorities suggest in cases such as this?”
“If Willie agrees to be a snitch, the police will offer protection, or so they claim. We’ve all heard stories of snitches being assassinated under the watchful eyes of the cops. Joe worries about the rest of the family. Gangs target family members when they discover they’ve been betrayed.”
“Why doesn’t Joe move his family out of the area?”
Ryan’s interest in his coworker’s dilemma was at odds with his usual gruff, distant demeanor. She might have found that unusual if not for catching a glimpse of the man beneath the mask a short time ago. That he was affected by the loss of an unborn child convince
d Anna that Ryan suffered deeply.
“Leaving isn’t that simple. Joe’s father has been on disability for a while now and his doctors are here. His mother has taught Sunday school for fifteen years at their church and every Christmas she sews the costumes for the holiday play. And all their relatives live in the area. Pulling up roots and moving somewhere new isn’t an option.”
They walked the last block to the bus stop in silence. Anna expected Ryan to wave and go on. Instead, he waited by her side. The heat in his eyes made her self-conscious. She rubbed her nose.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
“What’s perfect?”
“Your nose. It’s just right for your face.”
Oh. My. God. Had she spoken her thoughts? Her neck heated, but she resisted the urge to turn away. “Yeah, well, how would you enjoy walking around with a sniffer the size of a Polish pickle?”
“Speaking of pickles, are you Polish?”
“Does Nowakowski sound English to you?”
He grinned. She could get used to his sexy smile. “I’m mostly Irish. Black Irish,” he added.
She’d never heard of Jones being an Irish name. “When I think of Irish, I picture red hair, freckles, leprechauns and pots of gold.”
Talk ceased as the bus crept along the curb and belched black exhaust from its tailpipe like a big nasty fart. “Thanks for the coffee and the conversation.” When she moved to join the throng of people boarding, Ryan snagged an arm.
“Anna.” His eyes flashed, but silence followed her name. Finally he released her. She boarded the bus, scanned her Metro Card, then located a seat in the rear. As the bus pulled away, she waved and offered a brave smile. He returned the wave—a halfhearted flip of the hand—but not the smile.
The ride to her neighborhood took twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two minutes to wonder how much Ryan had loved his wife. Why they’d gotten divorced and if the miscarriage had anything to do with their going their separate ways.
Ah, well. Some things were never meant to be—her and Ryan. Better she found out now than to lose her heart to a man who’d never have her. How soon she’d forgotten the valuable lesson of moving from foster home to foster home: nothing lasted forever. Not even love.
“GRANDPA, it’s me, Ryan.” He shouldn’t have phoned. But the train ride on the M subway line lasted forever and he needed a distraction. Conversation would keep his mind off a particular blonde who’d gotten under his skin.
“Good to hear from you, grandson. Happy birthday, by the way.”
Now his grandfather would assume he’d called seeking a birthday greeting. He mumbled a heartfelt, “Thanks.”
After years of rebuffing his family’s efforts to reach out to him, he deserved to be snubbed. That his grandfather appreciated hearing from Ryan encouraged him to believe that when he got his head screwed on straight he’d be welcomed into the fold again.
“Spoke with your brother Nelson.”
Ryan envied his elder brother. After meeting Nelson’s fiancée, Ellen, he’d recognized immediately that the petite dairy farmer was a perfect partner for his headstrong, domineering brother. As the lone unattached brother, Ryan deemed himself an outsider. You had your chance, but blew it. “Have Nelson and Ellen set a wedding date?”
“They’re getting married in Vegas sometime in January.”
“Vegas?” Vegas wasn’t Nelson’s idea of fun.
“Ellen and Seth haven’t traveled much and Nelson believes they’ll enjoy the gaudiness of the Strip. I plan to bring my companion, Rosalie.”
Companion? “You mean, Mrs. Padrõn?” Things must be getting serious between his grandfather and the woman Aaron had introduced him to this past spring.
“Enough about me and my girlfriend,” his grandfather chortled. “What’s going on?”
Leave it to the old man to sense that Ryan had another subject other than hello on his mind. “I could use some advice.”
“You’re speaking to the right man. I’ve got ninety-one years’ worth of free counsel stored inside me.”
Ryan chuckled. “A man I work with has a younger brother who’s involved in a local gang. The kid’s fifteen.”
“Why is he hanging out with hoodlums?”
“Who understands why kids do anything. The teen wants out, but if he quits, the other gang members will hunt down him and his family.”
“Sounds ominous for the boy, but I’m relieved to hear you’re becoming involved with your coworkers.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m involved….” Ryan hedged. Then why do you care about Willie and what happens to the boy? Because Anna cared about the kid. And anything that hurt Joe’s family would hurt Anna.
“Do you want me to intervene? I have a marker or two I can call in.”
Markers? He didn’t care to hear how his grandfather had acquired those. “It’s none of my business, really.” Besides, since 9/11 the old man and his brothers had been trying to rescue Ryan. Then why did you call him if you didn’t want his help?
Because Anna’s talk about the Smith family and roots had made Ryan recognize his loneliness. Made him long to travel back in time to before 9/11, when his relationship with his family hadn’t been strained.
“Well, then, my boy, how are you?”
Ryan understood what his grandfather was really asking—was he surviving mingling with people on a daily basis. “I’m doing okay.”
“Made any buddies on the job?”
Anna’s face popped into Ryan’s mind and he half smiled at his reflection in the window. “One.” He considered Anna a friend. Telling her about Sandra’s miscarriage had been difficult—although he hadn’t confessed the entire truth.
“That’s my boy. I’ve got to go now. I’m catching a late-night flight to L.A. Rosalie promised me breakfast in the morning.”
“Are you serious about this Rosalie?”
“I might have to beg her to marry me. Wait until you try her chorizo sausage. The woman’s an amazing cook.” He chuckled. “She’s a spring chicken at eighty-one, but she claims she’s too old for me.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun together.” Ryan meant it. His grandfather had been alone for over three decades. “You deserve to be happy.”
“Take heart, grandson. You’ll find happiness again.”
“Take care, Grandpa.”
Ryan snapped his cell phone shut and imagined the birthday cards waiting in the mailbox. The ones that each year landed in the trash unopened. He couldn’t bear to read the heartfelt sentiments, the offers to listen if he needed to talk, offers to visit him. He closed his eyes and envisioned Anna’s ready smile.
Tonight he’d find the courage to open the cards—because that was what Anna, his new friend, would instruct him to do.
Chapter Five
Ryan dribbled the basketball twice, faked a pass, then let it fly toward the hoop. Swish!
“We got ourselves a Kobe Bryant, guys,” Antonio bellowed. He dribbled a ball to the three-point line and fired. The shot rocketed off the backboard, almost decapitating Joe.
“You can’t shoot worth—” Joe glanced at the women and children in the bleachers “—spit.”
“Give me a chance to warm up, will ya?” his teammate complained, then banged another ball off the rim.
Passing up an opportunity to shoot, Ryan handed the ball to Joe. At five feet eight inches the guy didn’t have a prayer of snagging a rebound.
“Thanks, man,” Joe mumbled.
Ryan wondered if he’d made a mistake in allowing Anna to talk him into playing in the YMCA Friday-night basketball game. She was nowhere in the stands and he feared she’d stay away because of him.
Earlier in the week a lunchtime argument over bad refereeing had evolved into “You ever shoot hoops, Jones?” Ryan hadn’t talked basketball in ages and the topic had released a flood of memories—good memories. Memories of playing varsity ball all four years of high school. Of winning the district championship his senior year.
When Leon had
announced yesterday that he couldn’t make tonight’s game, Anna had urged Ryan to fill in for the man. She’d argued that if he refused, the team would have to forfeit because the boss, Bobby, had gone to Atlantic City, leaving the team short one player. Ryan believed she wished for him to become more involved with the men, but the spirit of her encouragement had changed since their coffee date at the Muddy River.
Subtle changes. Changes he suspected only he’d noticed. Her smile had dimmed a few watts. She continued to pass out free hugs and pats on the back—save for Ryan. Anna didn’t touch him. And when she glanced his way, her eyes skirted his face. He didn’t want to believe that Anna was distancing herself from him when their friendship had barely gotten off the ground.
He never thought he’d admit it, but he’d gotten used to her crowding, prodding, pushy tendencies and found her aloofness unnerving. When she’d asked him to play with the team, he’d jumped at the chance to please her, hoping the basketball game would fix the problem that stood between them.
Another shot ricocheted off the backboard, snapping Ryan out of his reverie. He caught the ball and dribbled around Antonio, then launched a jumper from twenty feet. Swoosh.
“Show-off,” Antonio grumbled, lifting his hand above his head for a high five.
Years had passed since Ryan had played any recreational basketball. He’d had reservations about his ability to shoot and was relieved he could launch the ball toward the basket after suffering extensive muscle damage to his left shoulder as a result of 9/11. He’d take the extra aches and pains tonight if the team walked away with a victory.
“We should demote Leon to water boy and make Ryan the starting guard for the rest of the season,” Eryk suggested.
Before Ryan had the chance to tell the team he’d love to play in another game, the referee blew his whistle and called the team captains to the middle of the court.
“C’mon. Pam brought a cooler of drinks.” Eryk trotted to the bench and Ryan followed.
“Aw, Pam. No sports drinks?” Eryk waved a juice bag with a cartoon character on the front.