Finger Prints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “But your parents held up fine.”

  She shook off her thoughts. “They loved it. Not that there wasn’t a load of yelling and screaming. It seemed that my mother had no sooner washed the kitchen floor than one of us needed drinks for the bunch. Do you know what it’s like for a five-year-old to try to juggle four glasses of grape juice? Or what it’s like when even one of those glasses spills?”

  Ryan chuckled. “Grape juice? I can imagine. Your mother must have had her work cut out for her.”

  “She did,” Carly said more softly. “Poor woman. It wasn’t until after she died that we got a housekeeper.”

  His hand tightened. She had never spoken of her mother before. She had only mentioned her father when she’d talked of Thanksgiving. Though there had always been the possibility of divorce, Ryan had more or less assumed her mother had died. “How old were you when it happened?”

  “I was twelve.”

  He winced. “It must have been very hard.”

  “Yes. We’d all been pretty happy-go-lucky children. Our parents had provided a warm, loving home. Nothing could go wrong—until it did. It was a shock.”

  “Very sudden.”

  “Uh-huh.” She gave a sad laugh. “Quieted me down some, I can tell you that.”

  He ached for her as he had when she’d told him about her husband. “No more tomboy?”

  “No. I suppose it was about time anyway. I was—” she made a gesture with her free hand and blushed “—growing up.”

  He admired the blush, his suggestive gaze fueling it. “I bet you had a line of suitors to keep your brothers jealous.”

  “Not quite. I started to study and spent hours reading in my room. I suppose that was the beginning of my interest in literature. And writing. I kept a journal. It was an outlet.”

  Imagining the pain she must have felt with her mother gone and in a household of men at such a critical point in her development as a woman, Ryan wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. Something in her expression, though, defied pity. She was proud. And self-sufficient—from the start he’d been aware of her self-containment. Now he could begin to understand its roots.

  He was about to speak when a couple that had entered the room moments before detoured to their table. The man was tall, bespectacled and distinguished looking. The woman was striking. As a pair they had an intensity that struck an immediate chord in Carly.

  When Ryan stood to make the introductions, she felt an irrational discomfort. It was one thing to have him merely nod at acquaintances as they passed, another to hear her name on his lips, spoken softly but clearly, announcing to the world who she was. Swallowing her deepest of fears, she managed to smile and return the warm greeting she was offered. Even as the couple had moved off she was chiding herself for her sensitivity. There was no possible way that anyone could recognize her. Surely she had only imagined that the woman had eyed her particularly closely.

  Ryan’s soft elaboration on their identities did nothing to ease her mind. “Mark is the executive producer of the evening news on Channel 4. Jennifer is his star attraction.”

  “She’s a reporter,” Carly stated, her voice miraculously warm, given the ice suddenly flowing through her veins.

  “A good one. And a nice person at that. Some of them are impossible. Pushy and totally egocentric. Jennifer is different. I like her.”

  Quite unexpectedly, it was Ryan’s praise that gave Carly a viable reason for the woman’s interest in her. Jealousy, curiosity—either would do. “She likes you too,” she said, much relieved. “Have you ever dated her?”

  Ryan leaned closer, his voice low, if animated. “Dated Jennifer Blayne? Are you kidding?”

  “I thought you said you liked her.”

  “I do. But liking her is one thing, wanting a relationship with her another. She’s not my type at all.”

  “What is your type?” Carly asked on impulse.

  His gaze didn’t waver. “A woman who has time for me, for one thing. Jennifer has a career to attend to.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  He arched a dark brow. “There are careers…and there are careers. For women like Jennifer, a career is the be-all and end-all. Oh, they’re fun to be with, I suppose. But I, for one, could never compete with a career that demands that kind of commitment.”

  “Do I detect a trace of chauvinism?” she couldn’t help but tease.

  “You bet you do,” he countered, undaunted. “And I’m not ashamed of it. At least I recognize what I need. It may not be right, but it’s a fact. I respect women like Jennifer. But my type—the type that really turns me on—is softer, more private, more home-oriented. She’s interesting and may have a successful career of her own, but there’s room for more. She needs me.” He held her gaze with a force that nearly stole her breath. “She needs me more than she needs any other person on earth.”

  Once again Carly’s heart was drumming. This time it was the arrival of their meal that softened the edge, steering conversation to a lighter track. Startled by his own intensity, Ryan shook himself out of it by making small talk about the food and the restaurant, relating anecdotes of times he’d been there before. Then he asked Carly about her exams. In turn she pumped him for information on his libel case. With the earlier discussion temporarily shelved, each seemed to take as much interest in hearing the other speak as in speaking.

  Drawn into the web of Ryan’s congeniality, Carly enjoyed herself. The food was delicious, the wine superb, and Ryan was as attentive a companion as she might have dreamed.

  As they ate and talked, though, she had the uncanny sensation of being watched. She ignored it at first. But when she dared cast a glance to the side of the room where Jennifer Blayne was seated, she imagined the woman looked quickly away. It was in a second such glance that Carly’s eye caught at another table, another woman. This one didn’t look away. Another admirer of Ryan’s, Carly wondered? But this one was different. Darker, more serious looking, attractive, but in an ultrapolished kind of way….

  “Is something wrong?” Ryan asked, turning his head to follow Carly’s gaze. When he turned back, his expression was placid.

  “She’s staring. Even now. Do you know her?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said calmly. “She’s my ex-wife.”

  Nine

  cARLY’S GAZE SWUNG TO RYAN. “YOUR EX-WIFE?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh.” She clamped her jaw shut.

  Ryan grinned mischievously. “Is that all you have to say?”

  She shrugged. “What else should I say?” Her gaze slid back to the woman. “She’s stunning.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So’s the man she’s with.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Then you don’t care?”

  Ryan’s good humor ran deep. With Carly by his side, he felt perfect. “We’re divorced. Alyssa can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants. If you’re looking for jealousy, you’re in for a disappointment.”

  “How about curiosity? Aren’t you that teeny bit curious about who she’s with?”

  “I’m sure I’ll find out. She’ll be over here in a minute.”

  “She will?”

  At Carly’s sudden look of dismay, Ryan grinned. “Alyssa is the one who’s curious. That’s why she’s been staring at you. Social climbing is her speciality, gossip an integral part of that. Right about now she’s wondering who you are, where you come from, whether you’ve got a pedigree and who she’ll call first when she gets home.”

  She sounded precisely like the kind of person Carly could do without. “Doesn’t that bother you?” she asked, put out that she seemed to be the only one to feel annoyed. “I’d think you’d resent it.”

  “I might have at one time.” Since he’d met Carly—was it only two weeks ago?—he realized all he’d been missing. With Carly he could talk about anything and everything, knowing she cared. He felt closer to her than he had to anyone in years. Remarkable, given the questions that
still lurked in his mind.

  “You’re right,” Carly muttered, straightening. “Here she comes.”

  Ryan squeezed her hand. “Relax. She won’t bite. She’s all talk.”

  That was what bothered Carly. Nonetheless, she gathered her composure and produced a smile when the other woman and her companion arrived at their table. Again Ryan stood to make the introductions. Again Carly felt a sense of unease when the couple left. It wasn’t that she was ashamed to be with Ryan. On the contrary. Even with Alyssa Cornell standing not three feet from her, Carly felt proud and confident. No, embarrassment was nowhere in the picture. What bothered her was her own visibility. It was good for her, she could hear Sam Loomis saying. There was nothing to fear, nothing to fear. Why, then, did she half expect the evening to be topped off with a photographer popping up to take pictures to splash all over the local rag?

  “There, that wasn’t so bad,” Ryan said when they were alone once again. His eyes toasted her, boosting her spirits some.

  “She seems nice enough.”

  “She is.”

  “Then what happened?” Instantly she blushed. “I’m sorry. That was inexcusable. It’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind,” he replied softly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t ask. Alyssa and I just went in different directions. That’s all.”

  “You must have loved her once.” She couldn’t imagine his having married without that—not Ryan, who seemed to have so much to give.

  “I did. When we were first married I thought she was the next best thing to a hard-fought first-degree murder conviction.”

  Something in the crooked tilt to his mouth spurred Carly on. “And?”

  “That was just it. She was the next best thing. Only the next best thing. My work came first. She couldn’t accept that. And I don’t blame her,” he added with a sigh. For the first time that evening he seemed troubled. He lifted his wineglass, drained its remaining drops, put the glass down and studied its slender stem. “I guess I’m no better than a Jennifer Blayne.”

  “In what sense?”

  “My work has always been my life. My career really is the be-all and end-all.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute, Ryan,” Carly chided with a conviction that astonished even her. “I’ve heard you talk of too many other things, and with feeling. If the law came between you and Alyssa, there had to be something amiss in your relationship from the start.”

  Ryan raised his eyes to hers. “I suppose there was. When I first met Alyssa, she was quiet and agreeable. Her father was a very wealthy man, as well as an autocrat. She’d been pretty much dominated through life, but she had definite ideas of what she wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  His words flowed. He hadn’t shared his feelings so honestly before, and there was a strange relief in it. “A husband who, with the help of her money, would sit back, work part-time, spend every free minute with her. She desperately wanted love.” He took a breath. “Unfortunately, when the honeymoon was over and she realized that I intended to work, she felt cheated.”

  “Didn’t she go off on her own—I mean, find things to keep herself busy?”

  “If only. No, her solution was to try harder. She was constantly in the office expecting a three-hour lunch. Or she was picking me up from work, taking me to one engagement or another. Or she made plans for the two of us to join a bunch of others for the weekend in New York or a week in the Bahamas.

  “It became impossible. I was trying to build my practice, needing to work every free minute, and she fought me every step of the way.” His lips thinned. “I tried to give her everything she wanted. Bought her a huge house in Milton. A Mercedes. A fur coat. And since I refused to take the money her father offered, I had an excuse to work all the harder. Then she wanted to have children.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Very much.” His eyes lit at that particular dream, then dimmed. “But for different reasons than Alyssa’s.” At Carly’s questioning gaze, he explained. “I’ve always loved kids. Often when we went to friends’ houses, I found the kids more interesting than their parents. Alyssa wasn’t dumb. She sensed it. She hoped a child would keep me home more. So we tried. And things went from bad to worse. When she didn’t become pregnant, she compensated by clinging all the more. Finally she conceived. In her fourth month she miscarried.” He stopped talking then and stared darkly at the table.

  Carly put her hand on his. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

  He turned his palm up to twine her fingers in his, studied them, then shrugged. “Maybe it was for the best. We had so many differences. Her possessiveness was doing to me what my work was doing to her. It was mutual overkill. Things went downhill from there. I started working all the harder. Gradually she withdrew. From me, at least. Alyssa is, above all else, a very social being.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Not in the same sense. Alyssa’s life is a show. It’s her place in society that gives her pleasure. I don’t care about that. I like being with people purely for the enjoyment of it. If the company I keep is boring, I want out.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “If you’re married to Alyssa, there is. Toward the end it was a constant struggle. Our final parting was remarkably amicable, a relief on both sides. I think she’s much happier now.”

  “And you?”

  He looked her in the eye. “Right now? Without a doubt.”

  “In general,” she prompted.

  His gaze grew melancholy. “Yes, I’m happier. Which isn’t to say that I don’t want a wife and family. I want those more than anything. It’s just that now I’ve got my eyes wide open. There’s more to happiness than the mere fact of family life. It’s the quality of that family life that’s important. Come to think of it, marriage is almost inconsequential. It’s who you’re with that counts.” He quirked a sudden smile. “Wanna come live with me and have my kids?”

  “Ryan,” she chided, “you’re awful. If you go around asking women questions like that, you’re apt to find yourself in a worse mess than you were in before.”

  “But I’m serious.”

  “You’re not. You barely know me.”

  “I like what I see.”

  “You don’t know the half.”

  “Which is why we should live together for a while. Hey—” his eyes sparkled “—I’ve got a great idea. We could cut through my apartment’s ceiling, put in a spiral staircase and have a big place for ourselves.”

  Carly smiled. “You don’t even own your place yet.”

  “But I will. The Amidons are sure to find something in Florida. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Then why don’t we wait,” she teased with a good-natured crinkle of her nose. “There’s no rush.”

  “No rush? Hell, I’m pushing forty. You may have time. I don’t.” As though to make his point, he signaled for the waiter. Within seconds he’d ordered dessert to go. Then he turned back to Carly. “Let’s get out of here. I think I’ve about had it with the public eye for one night. Besides, I have to show you what a mean cup of coffee I make. Maybe that’ll convince you.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she scoffed. But it was her breath being held when they entered his apartment half an hour later. Ryan disappeared into the kitchen to dispense their dessert while she looked around his home. “This is nice,” she commented when he returned to place two plates on the coffee table.

  “It’s okay,” he shrugged. “A little staid.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  He stood straight and looked around. “Maybe it’s that it’s not mine. I don’t feel at home.”

  She knew what he meant. The furnishings were pleasant and in good condition, but more befitting the Amidons than Ryan.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “it serves my purpose. Everything’s here, if a little bland.”

  Carly was intrigued. “What would you do if it were yours?”

  “Get rid
of pea green, for one thing,” he stated with his hands on his hips. “It needs character. I’d start with something vivid on the walls. Maybe burgundy…or navy.”

  “Paint the walls navy?” she asked.

  “No, no. Art. Something bold and contemporary. I’d throw a rya rug on the floor, chuck those curtains for Levolors to pick up one of the other colors, replace the sofa and chairs with endless sectionals, put a tree over here—”

  “A tree?”

  “Sure. It’d add life, no?”

  She couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “That it would.”

  “Well?” He turned to her expectantly. “What do you think? How would it all look?”

  “Interesting.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “I do. I do.”

  “Say that again,” he said more quietly, thoughts of decorating fast fleeing from his mind. He came to stand before her.

  “I do,” she murmured, the softest expression on her face as she was caught up in his web of enchantment.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her into his kiss. His lips were warm and inviting, pleading for an acceptance she didn’t have the strength to deny. It seemed the entire evening had led to this moment; she’d been lost from the instant he’d shown up at her door. Aloof and reserved? Poised and in control? No longer. Carly felt that she was a tree in springtime, coming alive, blossoming in his arms.

  When he suddenly bent over and swept her off her feet, she felt a vague inkling of fear. “Ryan,” she whispered, clinging helplessly to his neck, “what are you doing?”