by Brenda Novak
“I told her I went to your place to ask you out, but you refused. At this point, I think the truth is our safest bet.”
“But not the whole truth, Dillon. Not about that night in the storm. I’m afraid…I’m afraid that would be the last straw.”
Dillon remembered the look on Stacy’s face and hoped they hadn’t reached that point already.
“I won’t say any more.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Chantel.”
“I know.”
She hung up and sat staring at the phone, and all the work piled up on her desk around it.
What was she going to do now?
THE INTERCOM buzzed, interrupting Dillon’s efforts to fit ten window offices and a reception area into two thousand square feet of garden-style office space on his computer-assisted design program. He generally liked doing tenant improvements. For the most part, they were quick and easy, the bread and butter of his business, but he was having a hard time concentrating on anything this afternoon. He kept seeing Wade, barely dressed, at Stacy’s, and wondering what it could mean, in the end, for all of them. And his secretary had interrupted him several times already.
“What is it, Kim?” he asked, buzzing her back.
“There’s a Stacy Miller here to see you.”
Stacy. She’d come on to him last night, then slept with her ex-fiancé, but knowing her the way he did, he doubted she was proud of it. “Send her in.”
Turning off his computer, Dillon pushed back his chair and stood as Stacy stepped into his office, wearing a pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt, and looking painfully self-conscious.
“Hi, Dillon,” she said.
“Hi, Stace. You want to sit down?” He propped himself on the corner of his desk and motioned to one of the chairs close by.
She moved forward and took a seat, but she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “I came to apologize for last night.”
Dillon studied her face, noting the fresh blush that tinged her cheeks. “You don’t owe me any apologies, Stacy. We’ve never had any commitments between us.”
“I know, but it couldn’t have looked very good, what you saw this morning.”
“Are you telling me Wade didn’t spend the night?” For her sake, Dillon hoped so.
She squirmed for a moment, but finally shook her head. “No.”
He wondered what he could say to make her feel better. She was obviously miserable. “Are you sure you want to start seeing Wade again?” he asked.
“I don’t want anything to do with him. Last night I’d had too much to drink, and he and I still had some unresolved issues, and…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know. I was stupid and I did something I sincerely regret.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“I guess. There’s a lot of history behind what happened with Wade last night, but that’s no excuse.”
Dillon smiled. “My advice is to forget it and move on, and to stay away from him in the future. I don’t like that guy.”
Stacy’s eyes searched his face. “That sounds like you care. But it doesn’t sound like you’re jealous.”
Dillon couldn’t miss the bitterness in her voice. “I don’t want to lose our friendship,” he said.
She blinked rapidly, and Dillon suspected she was on the verge of tears. “That’s a line I’ve heard before. ‘Hey, I just want to be friends.’”
“It’s not a line. You’re a great—”
“Stop.” She raised a hand. “I don’t want any consolation prizes.”
He continued, anyway. “I’m being sincere, Stacy. You’re a great person, with a lot to offer a man.”
She chuckled sarcastically. “Another man.”
He didn’t answer.
“Are you doing this because of what I did with Wade last night or because of Chantel?” she asked.
Dillon thought about putting an arm around her and trying to comfort her, but she was too close to tears. He wanted to help her salvage what pride she had left, not throw her over the edge. “What I said this morning is true. I’d like to date Chantel, but she won’t see me.”
“God!” Stacy squeezed her eyes shut as two tears streaked down her face.
“I’m sorry, Stacy,” he said softly.
She waved his words away. “Don’t be. I made it easy for you with my behavior last night.”
“How I feel has nothing to do with last night. I know you can’t be glad about any of it—”
She made a sound of utter disgust.
“—and I’m sure this seems trite, but you’ll find the right man someday.”
“And what do I do then?” she asked. “Just hope he never meets my sister?” She got quickly to her feet and left.
“YOU WEREN’T GOING to tell me?”
Stacy had let herself into the condo and was waiting for Chantel when she got home from work. Chantel had had five hours to prepare herself for a confrontation, had seen her sister’s car in the parking lot, but the knot in her stomach wouldn’t go away. Ever since she’d spoken with Dillon, she’d been trying to figure out what she could say. There was just one thing: She wouldn’t let a man come between her and her sister again. She wouldn’t repeat the mistakes that had cost them both so much.
If Stacy could only understand that, could only believe in her…
But Chantel hardly dared to believe in herself, so it was a thin thread to hang her hopes on. How could Stacy ever trust her after Wade? Especially when Dillon was twice the man and held twice the appeal?
“There wasn’t anything to tell you,” she said, trying to read the level of her sister’s emotion as she set her purse and keys on the counter. “Dillon asked me out. I said no. That’s all that happened.”
Stacy bowed her head. “Why? Why do they all want you?”
Chantel’s heart twisted. She hated to see her sister suffer, to know she was the cause. “Wade didn’t really want me. He wanted the dream of New York and becoming a supermodel. I was his security blanket, his second chance at success should he fail. Except, he didn’t anticipate hating me for the attention I received. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if neither of us had done well, or if he’d climbed to the top, instead of me. Probably the same thing. We would have split eventually.”
“And Dillon?”
Chantel took a deep breath, hating the lies. But some things were too precious to risk. Her sister was one of them.
“With Dillon it’s just a passing whim. He doesn’t really know me,” she said.
“So it’s all about looks? Looks mean everything?”
“You know better than that.”
“Then why does this happen over and over, Chantel? Why can’t I feel good about me when I’m around you?”
“Maybe because you compare us too often, and most of the time you use the wrong measuring stick.”
Stacy stared at her. “What do you mean?”
Chantel softened her voice. “That you’re a wonderful woman and if whoever you’re dating can’t see that, then he’s not worthy of you.”
Stacy shook her head. “If I’m so wonderful, why do my boyfriends all go after my sister?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they just don’t take the time to get to know you well enough.”
“Because they only care about what they see.”
Chantel bit her lip. When she was young, she’d been teased because she was so tall and skinny and gawky. Now, she was treated as though she had nothing except her looks. Couldn’t her sister understand that her life wasn’t ideal, either? “We’re different, Stacy. We look different. We have different talents. That’s okay. But until we agree to accept our differences, we can never be friends.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the supermodel. You’re the one who has it all, including the only two men I’ve ever loved!”
Chantel rubbed her temples. Stacy was too upset to be rational. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see that their problems went far deeper than Dil
lon and Wade. “I’ve never purposely tried to hurt you, Stacy. I made a mistake with Wade. I know I can’t fix that, but I’ve tried to apologize—”
“I’m sorry? That should make it better?”
“Maybe not, but some things aren’t worth worrying about, not in the long run.”
“Like?”
“Like which one of us is prettier or garners more male attention.”
“I don’t believe this! You’re basically telling me to lump it and move on. And I don’t think you have the right!” Stacy grabbed her purse and headed to the door.
Chantel’s temper threatened to snap, but the memory of ten long years without her sister kept her cautious. “Stacy, forget what I said. If Dillon’s all you care about, I’ll make you a promise. I’ll stay away from him. I won’t return his calls if he contacts me, won’t open the door to him if he comes by. I’ll tell him I never want to see him again. Will that make you happy?”
Stacy didn’t answer, but the slamming of the door echoed in Chantel’s head for several long minutes after she’d left.
“Will that make him marry you?” she asked the now-silent house. And then the tears came.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“SO YOU’VE HIRED a private investigator?” Helen asked.
Dillon propped the portable phone on his shoulder and flipped the burgers he was barbecuing for dinner, talking over the loud sizzle of the meat. Chantel had called and canceled, so the night didn’t look as promising as it once had, but he was trying to make the most of it. “Signed the contract this morning.”
“Does he think he can find her?”
“He holds to the theory that people don’t simply disappear.”
“I guess he’s never watched America’s Most Wanted.” That was exactly what Dillon had thought as he’d sat in Mr. Curtis Trumbull’s office. At the same time, the man’s confidence had been reassuring. He’d matched the television stereotype: dogged manner, cheap suit, old desk, messy office. Although Dillon doubted he had a bottle of booze stashed away in his drawer. And there’d been no blond bombshell sitting out front to answer phones and greet visitors. Trumbull was a one-man show. “He thinks he can learn something before the weekend’s out.”
“It’s already Friday night.”
“His job isn’t nine-to-five, weekdays only.”
Helen breathed out, and he pictured her smoking another of her cigarettes. She had one in her hand most of the time. “What about the girls? Are they adjusting okay?”
“Can’t you hear them giggling?” Just beyond the back porch, where Dillon monitored the progress of their dinner, the girls were jumping on the trampoline he’d bought them this week, which sat right next to the swing set he’d designed and built for them a year ago. “They’re doing great. A van picks them up after school and takes them to Children’s World, where they do arts and crafts or play outside for a couple of hours. On Thursdays I take off early to get Sydney to her gymnastics class and Brittney to karate.”
“Oh, good.” A hacking cough interrupted her. “I think it’s important to keep their lives as normal as possible.”
“So far, my biggest problem has been getting them to eat healthy food, but a mother at the school gave me some kid-friendly recipes we’re going to try.”
“Amanda used to be so careful about what they ate.”
Certainly not recently, Dillon wanted to add, but he held his tongue. Her voice sounded more gravelly than normal, and he suspected she was crying again. “Trumbull will find her, Helen. Regardless of the outcome, at least we’ll be able to get some closure. I think that’s important for the girls, too.”
Helen cleared her throat but didn’t answer.
“Do you still want us to come over on Sunday?” he asked.
“I’d like to take them for the weekend, like I usually do.”
All those weekends I was supposed to have them, and you and Amanda forced me to fight for my legal rights. “No, I want to spend some time with them. It’s been a crazy, stressful week for all of us. We need a chance to relax and play and simply feel okay together.”
The telephone beeped, letting him know another call was coming in. “I’ve got to go, Helen. We’ll see you on Sunday.”
She said goodbye, and he switched to the other line.
“Dillon? It’s Mom. What’s happened? When Lyle and I got home from our honeymoon, we had three messages from you.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be gone so long.”
“I told you we wouldn’t be back until the seventh of April. We’re actually a few days early.”
She probably had told him, but he hadn’t paid any attention. That was his way of blocking out her irresponsible behavior. She was on her fifth marriage, her fourth honeymoon—she claimed his father had never taken her on one—and he didn’t like this latest husband. Lyle had no profession or money to speak of, and Dillon suspected he’d married Karen for the free ride. But his mother seemed crazy about him. At least for the time being.
He removed the burgers from the grill, wishing again that Chantel hadn’t canceled, and told her about Amanda.
“That girl is no good. I don’t know why you married her.”
“Because she wasn’t always like this. She said she wanted the same things I did, but she grew dissatisfied fast. She didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. But she didn’t want to work, either.”
“I’ll bet she’s run off with this guy,” Karen said. “How could a woman do that to her own children?”
In a way Karen had done the same thing to Dillon. She’d stuck around, but she’d been gone in spirit ever since her divorce from his father, getting involved with one man after the other. Dillon wasn’t sure anymore why he’d wanted to talk to her, except that she lived only a few miles away and it seemed natural to turn to his family during a crisis that concerned his children. At least his mother was more receptive than his father.
“Did you see Dave while you were in New England?” he asked.
Dillon listened to his mother marvel at the beauty of Dave’s farm and how little Reva had changed. Then he heard about the rest of her trip across America in the new motor home she’d bought, including her visit to his other uncle, who lived in Indiana.
“I wish they’d both move back to California,” she finished, “so we could live closer as a family.”
Dillon was glad that Dave, at least, had lived close by most of the years he was growing up. Otherwise he might never have righted his rebellious ways. “You’ve got Janet and Monica,” he reminded her. His sisters.
“When they have the time.”
His mother was retired. He and his sisters had families and careers; none of them had that much time. “Our dinner’s getting cold, Mom. I’d better go,” he said at last. “I’m glad the two of you had fun.”
“Do you need me to take the girls so you can go out tonight?” she asked out of the blue. She’d never been much of a baby-sitter. He wondered what prompted the offer now.
“Go out with whom?”
“What about that nice young woman Stacy?”
“We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“You’ve broken up already?”
“We were just friends.”
“Well, now that you’ve got your daughters back, you should start thinking about settling down again.”
Dillon squirted ketchup on the buns he had waiting on the picnic table. “I am settled. I like my home. I’m busy with my job. That’ll have to be good enough for now.”
“But those girls are going to need a mother.”
“They’ve lived without one for the past few weeks and probably much longer,” he muttered. “Listen, I’ve got to go, Mom, or I’m going to have to reheat these burgers.”
“Are they done, Daddy?” Brittney yelled, and he waved her over.
“Just tell me you’ll start looking for the right woman,” his mother said, persistent as ever.
Dillon thought of Chantel and winced. He’d found someone he w
anted to be with, but pursuing her would only cause her pain. “I suppose it’ll happen when the time’s right.”
“I hope so. Marriage is so wonderful.”
Some smooching sounds came over the phone, and Dillon realized Lyle and his mother were kissing like a couple of teenagers. The mental picture nauseated him a little. He wanted his mother to be happy. He didn’t necessarily want her to return to her youth.
“You can still say that after five?” he asked.
“Sometimes it takes a few tries to get it right.”
Tries? Dillon shook his head. Getting married wasn’t like trying on a pair of shoes. A divorce hurt like hell. When he got married again, he promised himself it would be forever.
CHANTEL SAT in the back row of the movie theater, holding a soda and a large bucket of popcorn. She knew she probably wouldn’t eat more than a few kernels. But the smell was nice.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
A young woman stood in the aisle, holding the hand of a dark-haired young man. They both looked about eighteen. “No, I’m alone.”
The couple smiled and sat down, then opened a box of mints and talked and laughed and ate. Their companionship contrasted so sharply with Chantel’s solitude she felt it like a physical pain in her chest. Stacy hadn’t called her all week. Chantel had considered contacting her and apologizing again, but she doubted Stacy was ready to let go of the past, no matter how many times she said she was sorry.
Words could only do so much.
The lights went down and the movie screen flickered to life. The trailers started, but Chantel wasn’t really interested. She’d come hoping to distract herself from the knowledge that Dillon had invited her to a barbecue tonight, that she could be with him right now, having as much fun as the teenagers to her right. But nothing could distract her, not even the action-and-suspense movie she’d purposely chosen.
For a brief moment she considered leaving the theater and driving over to his house. Why deny herself? Stacy had shut her out again and might never come around. Tonight’s sacrifice hardly seemed worth it. But there was that little matter of the kind of person she wanted to be. And she didn’t want to be the kind of person that turning to Dillon would make her.