by Susan Wiggs
The Chevy fishtailed out of the parking lot. One of the few good things about her rambling lifestyle was that she had probably driven more miles than a long-distance trucker, and she was good at it. Negotiating the icy patches on the highway, she raced home and picked up the phone.
Sam was on duty today, but his service took the message. “No emergency,” Tammi Lee said, “but it’s important.”
Next, she tried Blue Rock Ranch. The guy who answered the phone said Mr. Slade was “unavailable.” Tammi Lee had no choice but to try the hospital. Maybe the Enquirer was right about something for a change.
She reached the hospital in five minutes, and the first thing she saw was Cody Turner sitting hunched on a concrete bench outside the attached professional building where Sam’s office was. He wore a knitted black cap and little wiry headphones. His foot jiggled in time to the music only he could hear.
My grandson. That’s my goddamned grandson, she thought wonderingly.
He looked cold, sitting there, restless and sulky. And a bit like Sam.
She got out, boots crunching on the sand-and-salt surface of the parking lot. “Hey, Cody. Remember me? Tammi Lee Gilmer.”
He took off the headphones. “Hi.”
“So what’s up?” She kept her voice casual.
“My grandfather drove me over to get my stitches out. And he had some kind of checkup.”
“So how’s the cut?”
He took off his black knit cap. “Okay, I guess.”
She studied the curved wound. “Some week, huh?” she said. “All this hospital stuff.”
“Yeah, it sucks.”
She indicated his Discman. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Alternative, some heavy metal. And some older stuff,” he said vaguely.
“Ever heard of rockabilly?”
“Sure.” He put his hat back on.
“I know something about rockabilly. Used to sing in a band.”
“Nuh-uh,” he said, regarding her with dubious interest.
“I did. A group called Road Rage. Had a big hit single called ‘Dearly Departed.’ ” She hummed the melody line.
His eyes grew wide. “No way. I’ve heard that song.”
“A lot of folks have. It was on a Dodge truck commercial.” She steadied herself. “Listen, maybe you could come over for a while today.”
He was quiet, scuffing his toe against a lump of ice on the sidewalk.
“If you get bored, you can go right home, promise.”
He looked her straight in the eye, and she realized he had a great face, a beautiful face, the face of a boy who was turning downright handsome. But in addition to handsomeness, Tammi Lee could see insolence, difficulty. Michelle Turner must be having quite a time, raising this kid.
“I saw that thing in the paper,” he said.
She forced herself not to drop her gaze. “I was hoping you hadn’t.”
“Sam saw it, too. All the nurses were waiting to show it to him when he got to work this morning.”
“The paper’s a rag. They print lies and innuendo.” She took a deep breath, wishing for a cigarette. “That picture doesn’t mean a thing. Your mom probably slipped on the ice and Sam grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I hate those damned tabloids.”
“Me, too,” she lied.
“When I was little, my mom was always worried they’d come after us because of Gavin.”
“And did they?”
“No, but she’d always say, ‘Look at Lisa Marie Presley. You want to end up like that?’ ” His mouth hinted at a grin.
“So what do you say? Want to come see where your old grandma lives?”
He hesitated. “I guess.”
“Wait here, then. I need to make sure it’s okay.”
He replaced the headphones and Tammi Lee went to the clinic entrance of the brick building. She usually got a big kick out of seeing Sam in his long white coat, but today she was worried. “Got a minute, Sam?” she asked him quietly.
He held open the door to the staff lounge. It was empty, a clutter of coffee mugs and well-thumbed medical manuals and clipboards on the table.
“So how much truth was there in that tabloid story?” she asked. No point in beating around the bush. “Are you taking up with a girl you went nuts over seventeen years ago?”
It was hard to read her son’s mood. He had always been a stoic. In one of her many recovery sessions, she had admitted to taking shameless advantage of his calmness, his willingness to forgive her, no matter what. When she’d said so to his face, he had given her a sweet-sad smile and said, “You are who you are, Mama. You don’t forgive the clouds for raining.”
The memory touched her, and she took Sam’s hand. “So is this just a fling,” she asked, “or—”
“It’s not a fling,” he said.
She wished she could be the kind of mother you saw on TV, the one who could pat his arm, say a few wise words, and make everything work out fine before the next commercial. “Well, I’m no expert, but you’d better be sure you know what you want out of this. Because there are three of you involved, and one’s just a kid.”
“I realize that. Cody’s going to stay with me while Michelle and Gavin go in for surgery.”
“Yeah?” She rinsed a coffee mug at the sink and poured herself a cup, trying to picture her son being someone’s father. “So are you excited?”
“Sure. Nervous, too. He’s got to start school on Monday. I never heard of a sixteen-year-old starting mid-year in a new place and actually liking it.”
She sipped the slightly stale coffee. “Builds character.” She set down the mug and glanced at the door, making sure they were alone. “What are you going to do about the tabloid story?”
“Ignore it.”
“Is Michelle ignoring it?”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk.” His face looked taut with frustration. “She and Gavin just left for Missoula to prep for the surgery.”
“Maybe you’d better get on down to Missoula and talk things over with her.” Something—fate, destiny, pure chance—had brought Sam and Michelle together again. Lord knew, they’d never had much of a chance as kids. “Don’t second-guess her, Sam. You know, this morning I was having regrets, wishing I’d done things differently, made better choices. I don’t want you to do that. I don’t ever want you to have regrets.”
“I can’t get away until tomorrow morning.”
“Then go tomorrow morning,” she said. “I swear, for a doctor, you’re pretty dense sometimes.”
He sent her a fleeting grin. “Okay. I’ll offer to drive Cody down in the morning.”
* * *
Cody was quiet on the way to her house. As she let him in the front door, she wished she had put out some potpourri. The house smelled of stale cigarette smoke and yesterday’s coffee. She wouldn’t blame the kid if he turned and walked out.
He stepped inside hesitantly, looking around.
Tammi Lee couldn’t stand it anymore. She grabbed a cigarette from a pack on the counter and lit up. Belatedly she asked, “You don’t smoke, do you?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Well, I’m not offering you one. Your dad would kill me. How about a Coke?” She went to the fridge. “I understand Monday is the big day. For the transplant.”
He popped open the can. “Yep.” He drank his Coke while a long, awkward silence spun out. Tammi Lee finished her cigarette and lit another one. Cody’s gaze wandered around the room like that of a trapped animal looking for escape. And suddenly his expression changed from wary to wondering.
“Wow,” he said under his breath. “Is that a Stratocaster?”
“Yeah. Just like Dick Dale used to play.” She took the vintage electric guitar from its stand in the corner. The old instrument was a classic. She’d pawned and rescued the thing countless times, and in the end she still had it. She rarely played these days, but she knew she’d kept it for a reason.
&n
bsp; As she looked at Cody’s face, she finally figured out what that reason was.
“Do you play?”
“A little,” he said. “Do you?”
She took the guitar, adjusted the tuning, strummed a few riffs, her fingers surprisingly nimble. Glancing at Cody, she laughed at his expression. “What, you didn’t believe me?” She stuck a cassette tape into the console. “This is a demo tape called ‘Hand-Me-Down Dreams.’ ”
She hadn’t heard it in ages, and the sound of her own playing and singing startled her. She remembered laying down the tracks in a Reno studio they’d rented by the hour. She’d left Sam wailing in a playpen in the control room. After the final cut, they’d all gone out to get wasted, Sam sleeping in his carseat under a table in the dim, smoke-filled club.
“It’s a good song,” Cody said when it was over.
“You think so?”
“Sure.”
“Feel like making pizza?”
“I could eat, I guess.”
Amazing. A teenage grandson who actually wanted to spend time with her.
And she didn’t even have to wear a housedress and sensible shoes.
Sunday
Chapter 29
Sam had no privileges at St. Brendan Hospital in Missoula, but he used his credentials to inquire about Michelle’s procedure, and learned that everything was still on schedule. She was staying at an old Arts and Crafts–era hotel built for timber barons early in the century. Now, because of its proximity to the hospital, it was always occupied by families of patients and visiting doctors. Early in the morning, he stood outside her door, trying to collect his thoughts, but they refused to be collected so he knocked.
“Who is it?” Her voice was small, but not sleepy.
“It’s Sam.”
“Come on in,” she said, opening the door. Bathrobe. Bare feet. A look of apprehension on her face. On the bed lay a paperback novel and several newspapers spread across the rumpled covers.
“Hi.” He bent and kissed her, aiming badly, his lips grazing her temple. She smelled of toothpaste and pHisoderm disinfectant.
“Is Cody all right? Did he drive down with you?”
“He’s fine. I left him downstairs in the coffee shop with Gavin, eating pancakes.”
“So you think this arrangement—him staying with you—is going to be all right?”
“Sure, Michelle. We agreed.”
“If he gets to be too much for you, I want to know right away.”
“Your confidence in me is so gratifying.”
She sent him a fleeting smile. “I think you believe it’s easier than it is.”
So far, it had been easy, but he and Cody had only been together one night. Cody had been quiet, probably thinking about the surgery and school. Sam almost felt sorry for the kid. “How did your angiogram go?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject. The procedure was the last and most physically invasive of all the testing done on a living donor. He knew it to be a fairly scary and uncomfortable procedure. She had been treated to a mild sedative. Through a small incision, a tube was inserted into a vein and a dye injected so the transplant team could study her kidneys and all the related connections.
“It was great. A barrel of fun. Natalie and I laughed for hours.”
“Ah, a sense of humor. That’s always a good sign.”
“That’s what the nurse who shaved my groin said.”
“You feeling all right now?”
She sat down on the bed, leaning back against a bank of pillows. “I felt all right five minutes after the procedure, but they made me lie motionless for six full hours. They picked out a lovely kidney for my father, so I guess everything worked out. They’re going to take the one from my left side.”
She paled a little as she spoke, and Sam’s heart constricted. Who did she tell her fears to? Her hopes and her dreams? Natalie? The elusive Brad? Was Cody old enough to understand?
“So do you want to talk about it?” Unable to ignore the issue any longer, he indicated the paper on the bed.
She picked it up by her thumb and forefinger. “I’ve seen worse. When I was twelve, they printed a photo of me dancing with one of the Kennedy cousins at a wedding, with a caption about a child bride.”
The paper was folded open to the story. The headline and text were filled with blatant suggestions and outright lies, but the camera had caught… something. The falling snow softened the focus, and there was a suggestion of movement in the way Sam’s arm went around her and her head was tucked against his chest. It was a picture of two alone, absorbed in each other. The invasion of privacy made him sick.
“When I saw this rag,” he said, “I wanted to hurt somebody.”
“Welcome to Gavin’s world.” She gave an unapologetic shrug. “You get used to it by learning to ignore it.”
He didn’t want to get used to this. Didn’t want to ignore it. But he felt himself being drawn to her, just as he’d drawn her into the hot springs. The first time he’d lost Michelle, he had built a hard wall around his heart, and that wall had protected him from the very things he was starting to feel now.
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “So did Cody see the story?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not much. Just that you made out better than Lisa Marie Presley.”
“So you don’t think… he’s reading anything into it?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say much about it to me or my mother.”
Her eyes widened. “He was with Tammi Lee? By choice?”
Sam felt a twinge of annoyance. “What, you don’t approve of my white-trash mother?”
“Oh, Sam. Damn it, you know that’s not what I meant. I have trouble picturing Cody hanging out with anyone over sixteen. I hope he was civil to your mother.”
“They seemed to get along okay. Talked about music, I think.”
She drew her knees to her chest. “I guess I don’t really know her myself.”
“She’s changed a lot,” Sam said.
“We’ve all changed a lot.”
“Some things don’t change at all.” He took a deep breath. “After all these years, I still want you.”
“Sam—”
He gestured at the papers. “There’s something going on between us.”
“Don’t believe everything you read,” she shot back, her pale cheeks turning red.
He stepped closer to the bed, touched her shoulder. “I didn’t have to read it in the paper. But you know, I’m kind of glad it’s out in the open.”
She shifted away from him. “Do you know how incredibly bad your timing is?”
“What, because I didn’t show up at a soccer game when you were feeling lonely?”
“Screw you.” She glared at him. “I never thought I’d see you again, Sam. Ever. And now I’m just supposed to make room in my life for you?”
“Why are you so testy?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them she appeared more composed. “It’s nerves,” she admitted. “I’ve never been much good at dealing with… unforeseen circumstances. I’m letting Cody stay with you this week. What more do you want? What?”
He paused. Put away his frustration. “It’s not just Cody. I want to know you again. I want… what we had Thursday night, and Friday at the hot springs.”
“We got carried away. It’s not like me to lose my… perspective like that.” Her hands twisted into a knot of nerves in her lap. “I have a good job, I’m up for partner, I have a perfectly fine life in Seattle. Shall I chuck all that because you’ve got those great eyes?”
“I never knew you thought I had great eyes.”
“There’s a lot you never knew about me. If you knew me, you’d understand that I can’t have a fling with you for old time’s sake.”
“What makes you think it’s a fling?” He watched the agitated pulse leaping in her neck, and he traced it with his finger. Soft. So soft, like dry
silk.
“We have no business getting involved no matter what our hormones are telling us.”
He threaded his fingers up into her satiny hair. The years swept away, and everything he had felt for her, everything he had kept inside him all his life, rose up, seeming to push the air from his lungs. “Michelle, I’m not listening to my hormones. I’m listening to my heart.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she caught it in her teeth, looking away. “What on earth,” she asked with tears in her voice, “makes you think this could work?”
He drew her around to face him. “What makes you think it can’t?”
A sharp knock on the door interrupted them.
“Michelle,” a voice called. “It’s me.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Brad.”
Chapter 30
Don’t get up.” Sam walked over to the door, cool and calm, as if he had not just turned Michelle’s world inside out. He opened the door, and in walked Brad.
He was good-looking in a clean-cut J. Crew way. He had a “yachty” air about him. One of the things that first attracted her to him was that settled refinement. There could be no chaos in the life of such a man.
“Brad.” She tried to compose herself. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She was dying to know why he was here. Earlier they had agreed he wouldn’t come unless she asked him to. But he was here. Was it because of the tabloid, or had he decided she needed him?
Her voice deserted her as he and Sam regarded each other like a pair of rival stags about to tangle their antlers. Then he brushed past Sam and came over to the bed, bending to kiss her forehead. Expensive aftershave and a shirt that crackled with starch. Altoid mints. Brad.
“Hi, babe.” He stood back, regarding her critically.
She shifted nervously on the bed. Was she blushing? Could he see where Sam had been touching her cheek, her hair—