by Nora Roberts
She liked the predictability of her habitual route home, the things she saw season by season, year by year. Now, with fall in full swing, the streets were full of golden lights that streamed through the blaze of trees. And the surrounding mountains rose up like some fabulous tapestry woven by the gods.
She could hear kids, freed from school and not yet locked into the homework hour, shouting as they raced around the little park between the library and her apartment building. The air was just brisk enough to carry along that spicy scent from the bed of mums planted outside the town hall.
The big round clock on the square announced it was 4:05.
She struggled against a wave of resentment when she remembered that, pre-Joan, it would have read 6:35 on her way home.
Screw it. Just appreciate the extra time, the lovely walk on a sunny afternoon.
Pumpkins on the porches, goblins hanging from branches though it was weeks before Halloween. Small towns, she mused, prized their holidays. The days were getting shorter, cooler, but were still warm enough, still long enough to bask in.
The Valley was at its best in autumn, she decided. As close to picture-perfect as Anywhere,America , could get.
“Hey, Stretch. Carry those for you?”
Her pretty bubble of contentment burst. Before she could snarl,Jordan snatched the load of books away, tucked them under his own arm.
“Give me those.”
“Ive got them. Terrific afternoon, huh? Nothing like the Valley in October.” She hated that his words mirrored the ones that had played through her mind. “I thought the name of the tune was „Autumn inNew York .”
“And its a good one.” He tipped up the books to read the spines. She had one on Celtic lore, one on yoga, and the latest Stephen King novel.
“Yoga?”
It was like him, just exactly like him, to home in on the one thing that she found moderately embarrassing. “So?”
“Nothing. Just cant see you assuming the dragonfly position or whatever.” He narrowed his eyes, and something appealingly wicked moved into the blue. “On second thought…”
“Havent you got anything better to do than skulking around the library waiting to accost and annoy me?”
“I wasnt skulking, and hauling your books isnt accosting.” He matched his stride to hers with the ease of long familiarity. “Its not the first time Ive walked you home.”
“Somehow Ive managed to find my way without you the last several years.”
“Youve managed a lot of things. Hows your dad doing?” She bit back a vicious remark because she knew, for all his many flaws, thatJordan asked the question out of a sincere concern. Joe Steele and Jordan Hawke had gotten on like white on rice.
“Hes good. Hes doing good. The move toArizona was what he needed. He and Liz have a nice place, a nice life. Hes taken up baking.”
“Baking? Like cakes? Joe bakes cakes?”
“And scones and fancy bread.” She couldnt stop the smile. The thought of her father, big, macho Joe, in an apron whipping up cake batter got her every time. “I get a care package every couple of months. First few contributions made excellent doorstops, but in the last year or so hes found his rhythm. He makes good stuff.”
“Give him my best next time you talk to him.” She shrugged. She didnt intend to mention Jordan Hawkes name, unless it was in a curse. “End of the road,” she said when they reached the door of her apartment building.
“I want to come in.”
“Not in this or any other lifetime.” She reached for the books, he swung them out of reach. “Cut it out,Jordan . Were not ten.”
“We have things to talk about.”
“No, we dont.”
“Yes, we do. And stop making me feel like Im ten.” He hissed out a breath, prayed for patience. “Look, Dana, weve got a history. Lets deal with it like grown-ups.”
Damn if he would so much as hint that she was being immature. The pinhead. “Okay, heres how well deal with it. Give me my books and go away.”
“Did you listen to what Rowena said last night?” There was an edge in the tone now, one that warned her a good, sweaty argument was brewing. “Did you pay any attention? Your past, present, and future. Im part of your past. Im part of this.”
“In my past is just where youre going to stay. I wasted two years of my life on you. But thats done. Cant you stand it,Jordan ? Cant your enormous ego handle the fact that I got over you? Way over you.”
“This isnt about my ego, Dana.” He handed her back her books. “But it sure as hell seems to be about yours. You know where to find me when youre ready.”
“I dont want to find you,” she murmured when he strode away.
Damn it, it wasnt like him to walk away from a fight. Shed seen the temper on his face, heard it in his voice. Since when had he yanked the snarling beast back and hauled it off?
She had been primed for the argument, and now she had nowhere to vent her spleen. That was very, very nasty.
Inside her apartment, she dumped her books on the table and headed straight for the Ben and Jerrys. Soon she was soothing her ruffled feathers with a pint of cookie dough straight out of the carton.
“Bastard. Sneaky bastard, getting me all riled up and skulking off. These calories are his fault.”
She licked the spoon, dug for more. “But, damn, theyre really good.”
Refreshed, she changed into sweats, brewed a pot of coffee, then settled into her favorite chair with the new book on Celtic lore.
She couldnt count the number of books on the subject shed read in the last month. But then again, to Dana, reading was every bit as pleasurable as Ben and Jerrys and as essential to life as the next breath of air.
She surrounded herself with books at work and at home. Her living space was a testament to her first and abiding love, with shelves jammed with books, tables crowded with them. She saw them not only as knowledge, entertainment, comfort, even sanity, but as a kind of artful decoration. To the casual eye, the books that streamed and flowed over shelves in nooks, on tabletops, might look like a haphazard, even disordered, jumble. But the Librarian in Dana insisted on a system.
She could, on her whim or on request, put her hand on any title in any room in the apartment.
She couldnt live without books, without the stories, the information, the worlds that lived inside them. Even now, with the task ahead of her and the clock already ticking, she fell into the words on the pages in her hands, and into the lives, the loves, the wars, the petty grievances of the gods.
Absorbed, she jumped at the knock on her door. Blinking, she came back to reality, noted that the sun had set while shed been visiting withDagda ,Epona , and Lug.
Book in hand, she went to answer, then lifted her eyebrows at Malory. “Whats up?”
“I thought Id swing by and see what you were up to before I headed home. Ive spent the day talking to some local artists and craftspeople. I think Ive got a good start on pieces for my gallery.”
“Cool. Got any food on you? Im starved.”
“A tin ofAltoids and half a roll of Life Savers.”
“Thats not going to work,” Dana decided. “Im going to forage. You hungry?”
“No, go ahead. Any brilliant ideas? Anything you wantZoe and me to do?” Malory asked as she followed Dana into the kitchen.
“I dont know how brilliant. Spaghetti! Hot damn.” Dana came out of the refrigerator with a bowl of leftover pasta. “You want?”
“Nope.”
“Got some Cabernet to go with it.”
“That Ill have. One glass.” At home in Danas kitchen, Malory got out wineglasses. “Whats the idea, brilliant or not?”
“Books. You know, the whole knowledge thing. And the past, present, future. If were talking about mine, its all about the books.”- She dug out a fork and began to eat the pasta straight out of the bowl. “The trick is which book, or what kind of book.”
“Dont you want to heat that up?”
“What?” Baffled, Dana looked d
own at the spaghetti in the bowl. “Why?” “No reason.” Malory handed Dana a glass of wine, then took her own and wandered out to sit at the table. “A book or books makes sense, at least in part. And it gives you a path to take. But…”
She scanned Danas apartment. “What you yourself personally own would take weeks to get through. Then theres what everyone else in the Valley owns, the library, the bookstore at the mall, and so on.”
“And the fact that even if Im right, it doesnt mean the keys literally in a book. Could be figuratively. Or it could mean something in a book points the way to the key.” Dana shrugged and shoveled in more cold spaghetti. “I said it fell short of brilliant.”
“Its a good starting point. Past, present, future.” Malory pursed her lips. “Covers a lot of ground.”
“Historical, contemporary, futuristic. And thats just novels.”
“What if its more personal?” Malory leaned forward, kept her attention on Danas face. “It was with me. My path to the key included Flynn, my feelings for him—and my feelings about myself, where I would end up, where I wanted to go. The experiences I had—we cant call them dreams—were very personal.”
“And scary.” Briefly, Dana laid a hand over Malorys. “I know. But you got through it. So will I. Maybe it is personal. A book that has some specific and personal meaning for me.”
Thoughtfully she scanned the room as she picked up her fork again. “Thats something else that covers a lot of ground.”
“I was thinking of something else. I was thinking of Jordan.”
“I dont see how hes in the mix. Look,” she continued even as Malory opened her mouth, “he was part of the first round, sure. The paintings by Rowena that both he and Brad bought. He came back to town with that painting because Flynn asked him to. That played into it, although his part should have ended with your quest. And his connection to Flynn, which connected him to you.”
“And you, Dana.”
She twirled her fork in the pasta, but her enthusiasm for it was waning. “Not anymore.”
Recognizing the stubborn look, Malory nodded. “Okay. How about the first book you ever read? The first that grabbed you and made you a reader.”
“I dont think the magic key to the Box of Souls is going to be found in Green Eggs and Ham ” Smirking, Dana lifted her glass. “But Ill give it a look.”
“What about your first grown-up book?”
“Obviously the steely wit and keen satire of Sam I Am escaped you.” She grinned, but drummed her fingers, thinking. “Anyway, I dont remember a first. It was always books with me. I dont remember not reading.”
She studied her wine a moment, then took a quick gulp. “He dumped me. I moved on.”
Back to Jordan, Malory thought and nodded. “All right.”
“That doesnt mean I dont hate him with a rare and beautiful passion, but it doesnt drive my life. Ive only seen him a handful of times in the past seven years.” She shrugged, but it came across as a hesitant jerk. “Ive got my life, hes got his, and they no longer intersect. He just happens to be buds with Flynn.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yeah. Big time. Bastard.”
“Im sorry.”
“Hey, it happens.” She had to remind herself of that. It wasnt life or death, it didnt send her falling headlong into a vale of tears. If a heart couldnt be broken, it wasnt a heart to begin with.
“We were friends. When my dad married Flynns mom, Flynn and I hit it off. Good thing, I guess. Flynn had Jordan and Brad—they were like one body with three heads half the time. So I got them, too.”
Youve still got them, Malory nearly said, but managed to keep silent.
“Jordan and I were friends, and we both really dug reading, so that was another click. Then we got older, and things changed. You want another hit of this?” she asked, holding up her empty glass.
“No.”
“Well, Im having one.” Dana rose, got the bottle from the kitchen. “He went off to college. He got a partial scholarship to Penn State, and both he and his mom worked like dogs to put together the rest of the tuition and expense money. His mom, well, she was just terrific.Zoe sort of reminds me of her.”
“Really?”
“Not in the looks department, though Mrs. Hawke was really pretty, but she was taller, and willowy—made you think of a dancer.”
“She was young when she died.”
“Yeah, only in her forties.” It still brought a little pang to her heart. “It was horrible what she went through, what Jordan went through. At the end, we were all practically camped out at the hospital, and even then…”
She gave herself a hard shake, blew out a breath. “Thats not where I was going. I meantZoe reminds me of how Mrs. Hawke was. Its that good-mother vibeZoe has. The kind of woman who knows what to do and how to do it and doesnt whine about getting it done, and still manages to love it and the kid. She and Jordan were tight, the wayZoe and Simon are. It was just the two of them. His father wasnt in the picture, not as far back as I can remember, anyway.”
“That mustve been difficult for him.”
“It wouldve been, I think, if his mother hadnt been who she was. Shed grab a bat and join in a pickup Softball game as quickly as she would whip up some cookie batter. She filled the gaps.”
“You loved her too,” Malory realized. “I did. We all did.”
Dana sat down, sipped at her second glass of wine. “So anyway, the Hawke goes off to college, gets two part-time jobs up there to help pay his expenses. We didnt see much of him the first year. He came back for summers, worked at Tonys Garage. Hes a pretty decent mechanic. Palled around with Flynn and Brad when he had the chance. Four years later, hes got his degree. He did a year and a halfpostgrad and was already getting some short stories published. Then he came home.”
She let out a long breath. “Holy Jesus, we took one look at each other, and it was like bombs exploding. I thought, What the hell is this? This my buddy Jordan. Im not supposed to want to sink my teeth into my good buddy Jordan.”
She laughed, drank. “Later on, he told me hed had the same sort of reaction. Whoa, hold on, this is Flynns little sister. Hands off. So we danced around those bombs and each other for a couple of months. We were either bitchy with each other or very, very polite.”
“And then?” Malory prompted when Dana fell silent.
“Then one night he dropped by to see Flynn, but Flynn was out on a date. And my parents werent home. I picked a fight with him. I had to do something with all that heat. The next thing you know the two of us are rolling around on the living room rug. We couldnt get enough of each other. Ive never had that before or since, that… desperation. It was incredible.
“Imagine our chagrin when the smoke cleared and the two of us were naked on Liz and Joes pretty Oriental carpet.”
“How did you handle it?” “Well, as I recall we lay there like the dead for a minute, then just stared at each other. A couple of survivors of a very intense war. Then we laughed our butts off and went at each other again.”
She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “So. We started dating, belatedly. Jordan and Dana, Dana and Jordan. It got to be like one word, whichever way you said it.”
Oh, God, she missed that, she realized. Missed that very ultimate link. “Nobody ever made me laugh the way he could make me laugh. And hes the only man in my life whos ever made me cry. So, yeah, Christ, yes, I loved that son of a bitch.”
“What happened?”
“Little things, huge things. His mother died. God, nothings ever been as, well, monstrous as that. Even when my dad got sick, it wasnt as bad. Ovarian cancer, and they found it too late. The operations, the treatments, the prayers, nothing worked. She just kept slipping away. Having someone die is hard,” she said softly. “Watching them die by inches is impossible.”
“I cant imagine it.” Malorys eyes filled with tears. “Ive never lost anyone.”
“I dont remember losing my mother; I was too young. But I remember every
day of losing Mrs. Hawke. Maybe it broke something in Jordan. I dont know—he wouldnt let me know. After she died, he sold their little house, all the furniture, just about every damn thing. And he cut me loose and moved to New York to get rich and famous.”
“It wasnt as cut and dried as that,” Malory commented.
“Maybe not. But it felt like it. He said he had to go. That he needed something, and it wasnt here. If he was going to write—and he had to write—he had to do it his way. He had to get out of the Valley. So thats what he did, like the two years we were together was just a little interlude in his life.”
She downed the rest of the wine in her glass. “So fuck him, and the bestsellers he rode in on.”
“You may not want to hear this, at least not now. But part of the solution might be to resolve this with him.”
“Resolve what?”
“Dana.” Malory laid both of her hands on Danas. “Youre still in love with him.”
Her hands jerked. “I am not. I made a life for myself. Ive had lovers. I have a career—which, okay, is in the toilet right now, but Ive got a phoenix about to rise from the ashes in the bookstore.”
She stopped, hearing the way her words tumbled out. “No more wine for me if I mix metaphors that pitifully. Jordan Hawkes old news,” she said more calmly. “Just because he was the first man I loved doesnt mean he has to be the last. Id rather poke my eye with a burning stick than give him the satisfaction.”
“I know.” Malory laughed a little, gave Danas hands a squeeze before she released them. “Thats how I know youre still in love with him. That, and what I just saw on your face, heard in your voice when you took me through what you had together.”
It was appalling. How had she looked? How had she sounded? “So the wine made me sentimental. It doesnt mean—”
“It means whatever it means,” Malory said briskly. “Its something youre going to have to think about, Dana, something youre going to have to weigh carefully if you really mean to do this thing. Because one way or the other, hes part of your life, and hes part of this.”