Falling Angel

by Tisdale, Clare

  “But you couldn’t have called on Thursday! I didn’t have any messages. I checked as soon as I got home.”

  “Look, this is getting us nowhere,” Ben sounded irritated. “Do you think I’m lying?”

  “No!” Cara cried. She took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. “No. I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t get your messages until the one you left tonight.”

  “That’s too bad. I had a fun day planned for us.” His voice was flat, neutral, as though all plans were now in the past.

  “Well, couldn’t we try again?” Cara asked.

  There was another pause, as if Ben were considering the question. “Sure,” he said at last. Cara let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “But let’s set the day and time now,” Ben continued. “Just in case we encounter more technical difficulties down the road. How about next Saturday?”

  “I can’t. I have a wedding to do that afternoon.”

  “Well then, what about tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to, but unfortunately I have to deal with some car troubles first thing in the morning.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  Cara thought quickly. She had no intention of telling Ben about her date with David. That would only complicate matters.

  “I went out with a friend tonight, and borrowed my roommate’s car,” she began.

  “What’s her name again?”

  Cara’s heart lurched. He’s on to me, she thought. He knows I was out with another guy.

  “My friend’s name?” she asked, stalling for time as a series of names went through her head. Tiffany sounded too ditsy, Britney too tarty. Amy would be good, or better yet, something staid and comforting, with an English flair, like Jane or Helen.

  “Your roommate’s name,” Ben said.

  “Oh.” Cara felt weak with relief. “That’s Ann. Anyway, I forgot to turn the lights off, and . . .” Cara heard a stifled snort on the other end of the line. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No, no. Please, go on.”

  Cara cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the lights were still on, and the battery died.”

  “Is it still there?”

  “Yes. I’m planning to take the bus down first thing tomorrow and get it jump-started. My only worry is that it may get impounded or vandalized before then. Not that it’s such a fancy car or anything, but Ann would be really pissed off.”

  “Forget waiting,” Ben said. “I’ve got cables in my truck. Give me your address and I’ll come over. We’ll go deal with it now.”

  “You don’t have to do that!”

  “I want to. It’ll take two minutes to get it up and running again. And I’d hate for you to suffer the wrath of your roommate.”

  “She can be pretty scary when she’s mad,” Cara admitted. “But I hate to put you out. It’s so late.”

  “So I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

  Cara was waiting in the vestibule when she saw the headlights outside and heard the purring of the engine. She ran out. Ben jumped out of a tan Ford pick-up with a covered cab and opened the passenger door.

  “Thanks so much for doing this,” Cara said as she climbed in. The outside of the truck was dinged and rusty, but the interior was clean. The front seats were covered in colorful kente cloth, and the back was full of canvases and tools.

  “It’s no problem.” Ben slammed her door closed and climbed into the driver’s seat. “When I’m working on a deadline I’m kind of a night owl anyway.” He pulled carefully out onto the deserted street.

  “Are you on deadline right now?”

  “Actually, yes. One of my former instructors at the Academy in Paris invited me to participate in a mixed media exhibit showcasing the work of 17 contemporary American artists. It opens in July at the Musee Maillol.”

  “How exciting! How did they know about you?”

  “I met the curator, Bernadette D’Autry, when I lived in Paris. She was interested in my work, and we’ve stayed in touch. They’re showing eight of my paintings and two sculptures from the past five years. Only problem is, I only have six paintings that are appropriate for this show. I’m in the middle of one, and have an idea for the next, but there’s only another month before I need to ship them off. Sometimes I work better under deadline, but this time it’s cutting it pretty close.” He sighed, and glanced over at her. “How’re you holding up there, kiddo? You look kinda wiped out.”

  “It’s been a long day,” Cara admitted.

  He touched her cheek gently. “Hang in there.”

  Once they entered the parking lot, Ben parked bumper to bumper with Ann’s car. He pulled a set of jumper cables from the back of his truck. Cara got into the bug as he popped the hood and connected the cables.

  After charging the battery for a few minutes he signaled for her to turn on the ignition. She did, and the engine sputtered, then roared into life.

  “Thank goodness!” Cara exclaimed. Ben came to the window and crouched down to look in at her. It was cold in the garage, and their breath came out in puffs of steam.

  “I’ll follow you home. Make sure it doesn’t stall on the way.”

  Cara opened her mouth to protest, but he put a finger to her lips. “Yes, I want to,” he said. “Silly girl.” He leaned his head through the window and kissed her.

  All the way home, Cara felt his kiss warming her from the inside out. She was grateful for the steady beam of his headlights in her rearview mirror. She felt giddy, like a schoolgirl with a crush. The truth was, this dreary chore had actually been more fun than her entire evening with David.

  They parted at the door to her apartment, agreeing to meet the next day in the late morning.

  “What about your work and your deadlines?” Cara asked him. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

  Ben laughed. “Trust me, I’d much rather spend all day Sunday cooped up in my studio breathing paint fumes, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

  He got into his truck and waited until she had opened the door and let herself in. She turned and waved as he drove away.

  I can’t believe I kissed two men in one night! Cara thought giddily as she brushed her teeth. What a change after the past six months of utter celibacy. She smiled. Springtime in Seattle was turning out to be a lot livelier than she’d expected.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cara slept until 10 and woke up feeling refreshed. The day looked promising. Although the wind shook the birch tree branches outside her window, patches of blue showed through the white clouds, and the air, though cool, had lost its frigid tinge. The cloudy spring mornings often gave way to sunny afternoons, and the day didn’t hit its stride until 3 or 4. She hoped it was one of those days.

  Not knowing where Ben planned to take her, she showered, washed her hair, and applied minimal makeup, dressing casually in a pair of green Capri pants, low-heeled sandals, and a ruffled, short-sleeved white peasant blouse. She secured her hair in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck with a butterfly clip. She brought a fleece sweater along, and packed a tote with sunglasses, sunscreen, bottled water, and her camera.

  Ann was nowhere to be seen, and Cara assumed she was still in bed, sleeping off a hangover. She mulled over how to confront Ann about the unreported phone calls from Ben. Clearly, if Ben had left a message on Thursday, Ann must have listened to it and erased it before Cara got home. And he said that he had personally spoken to Ann earlier in the week. Normally, Cara would have given Ann the benefit of the doubt, and assumed she had forgotten to mention the calls. But Ann had been acting so strangely the past week. Had she really forgotten to tell Cara about the phone calls? Or had she purposely tried to hide them from her?

  Cara decided that for today she would put all her reservations about Ben aside. She was just going to have fun, and not worry about whether he was real boyfriend material or not. Even if he didn’t meet her criteria for the right man, she could still enjoy spending time with him.

  As she prepared to leave, the
front door opened and Ann walked in. She was clearly dressed in the clothes she had worn the night before, a tight red sweater with a plunging neckline, black velour mini-skirt and thigh-high vinyl boots.

  Cara noticed the amber drop earrings set in silver that Ann wore were yet another item ‘borrowed’ from her own jewelry box.

  When Ann saw the look on Cara’s face, she stepped back, as though resisting the impulse to bolt out the door.

  “I fell asleep on the couch at my friend’s house,” she said sulkily, as though Cara were an irate parent.

  “I don’t really care where you were, or what you’ve been doing,” Even as she spoke, Cara was surprised at the icy tone of her own voice. “The only thing I’m curious about is why you never told me that Ben called, and how his message on the machine could have mysteriously disappeared before I got to hear it.”

  “Well, good morning to you, too,” Ann responded. She crossed to the kitchen sink and poured herself a large glass of water, which she drank down in one go. Setting the glass on the counter, she turned to face Cara. “Way to bite my head off!”

  “Sorry,” Cara said without conviction. “But I don’t understand how you could just forget to mention that someone had been trying to get in touch with me all week. You could have left me a note, at least.”

  “You’re right; Ben did call the other day, when you were out. I guess I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were that into him, anyway.”

  Cara ignored this remark. “And what about the answering machine message?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Ann said, bristling. “I do know that you’ve accidentally erased messages on the machine before. Are you sure you’re not the one who screwed up?”

  Cara found her anger draining away as uncertainty set in. She had erased messages before, but knew for a fact that when she got home on Thursday, there had been no messages. But Ann seemed so certain of her own innocence. What point was there in accusing her further, and risking more unpleasantness?

  “Anyway,” Ann continued, pushing her advantage, “If you were so anxiously waiting for a call, why didn’t you give him your cell number?”

  “You know I mainly use it for work calls.”

  “Well then, why didn’t you call him yourself? Or is that another one of your rules? Thou shalt play hard to get?”

  Cara could think of no response to this that wouldn’t exacerbate the animosity between them. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We finally connected, and we’re going out today.”

  “Good for you,” Ann sneered. “I hope you have a fabulous time.”

  “Ann, what’s the matter with you!” Cara cried in exasperation. “Why do you have to be so, so . . .”

  “Bitchy, I believe is the word you’re looking for. Not everyone can be sweetness and light all the time, Cara dear.”

  The downstairs buzzer rang, and they looked at each other uncertainly.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Ann said. “First David last night, and now Ben. You’re a busy girl. Aren’t you going to buzz him up?”

  “No. I’ll run down.”

  “Don’t I ever get to meet this mystery man?” When Cara did not respond, Ann added, “No need to answer. I can tell you don’t want to share.”

  Cara hesitated. “Maybe some other time.”

  “I promise I won’t make a scene,” Ann said. “I’ll be good.”

  “Not today.” Cara’s heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. She couldn’t introduce Ben to Ann when she was in such a caustic mood.

  “Fine,” Ann snapped. “Go, already.”

  “What’s the matter?” Ben asked the moment he saw Cara’s pensive face at the downstairs door. Cara smiled and made an effort to put the unpleasant scene with Ann behind her.

  “Oh, nothing. A silly tiff with Ann.”

  Tactfully, Ben did not press her to say more.

  Cara paused in front of the truck. “So what do you have planned for us today?”

  “I thought we’d do some island hopping.” He hoisted her bag into the passenger seat and helped her into the truck.

  They drove down Madison Street all the way to the waterfront, and turned left toward Seattle Pier 52, from which the ferry to Bainbridge Island departed every hour. Cara was delighted. She had been worried that Ben had had some water sports adventure planned for which she wasn’t prepared.

  “You know, in the whole time I’ve been here I haven’t taken a ferry ride,” she confessed.

  Ben looked aghast. “That’s a criminal situation I plan to remedy in short order.” He paid for their passage at the toll booth and drove into a waiting area filled with other vehicles parked in neat rows.

  At the dock, pedestrians and vehicles disembarked from the Wenatchee, a large white ferry with green trim. A Washington State Patrol Trooper from the K-9 unit patrolled the rows of parked cars. His dog, a slim bloodhound with long silky ears on a short leash, sniffed suspiciously at the closed trunks.

  The announcement came to board, and the cars drove on to the parking decks. Ben set the parking brake, and led the way up two flights of metal stairs to an upstairs indoor seating area with rows of wide booths with blue vinyl seats and linoleum-covered tables. Ben and Cara chose an empty booth and sat side by side, facing backward to watch as the ferry left the bustling downtown waterfront.

  Slowly, the crest of Queen Anne hill and the familiar spire of the Space Needle slipped by as they headed into the Puget Sound. Gulls circled lazily in the overcast sky.

  “Do you take the ferry a lot?” Cara asked.

  “It’s a great day trip for whenever I want to get away from the city.” Ben stretched back in the seat with his hands behind his head. “A friend of mine named Tom Sanders has a house on Bainbridge, and I sometimes go over there to swim, kayak, or paint. In fact, that’s where I’m planning on taking you.”

  Noticing the look of alarm on Cara’s face, he laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Cara said quickly. She didn’t voice her disappointment that they would not be spending the day alone together. Ben seemed relaxed and nonchalant as he gazed out the window. He seemed unaware that his presence was enough to fill her with nervous excitement. Was it possible he didn’t feel as strongly about her as she did about him? Perhaps he really considered this a friendly day out. Which is all you wanted it to be, anyway, she reminded herself.

  Ben suggested they step outside to the bow. A blast of cold air hit them as they opened the heavy glass doors to the outdoor deck. The wind roared as it whipped Cara’s hair around her face. It was exhilarating to stand at the prow as the ferry steamed onwards, the wind so strong it felt to Cara as though her whole face were being pulled backward. She breathed deeply in the cold salty air.

  Before them, the green swath of the island came into focus, dotted with small inlets and surrounded by the cloudy, mystical blue shapes of other low-lying islands. They passed a small sailboat and another ferry heading in the opposite direction. Small whitecaps formed and dissipated in the murky waters. In the distance, Seattle appeared like a toy city, veiled in a grey mist.

  Cara glanced at Ben, who appeared equally enthralled by the scene. After a few minutes, the waterfront estates of Bainbridge Island came into view as they entered an inlet. Before them lay rocky, wind-tossed beaches, behind them a swath of towering evergreens.

  They returned to the truck as the ferry docked at the town of Winslow in Eagle Harbor. Ben gunned the engine and followed the row of cars out over the pier and down the two-lane road. He headed west to loop around the harbor, giving Cara a drive-by tour of Winslow’s quaint downtown.

  “It’s a tourist trap, but a very picturesque one,” he said.

  They passed a bakery, and Cara’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten that morning, and it was almost noon.

  “I promised Tom we’d be there in time for lunch,” Ben said. “Otherwise we could stop and walk aro
und a bit.”

  After a fifteen-minute drive, they turned east again, along a road flanked by evergreens.

  “That’s Blakely Harbor, a little south of where we came in,” Ben said, pointing.

  Cara looked out but couldn’t see the water through the trees. Ben turned left on a private road which angled downward for about half a mile. The water came into view ahead of them as they parked in the driveway of a rambling brown wood house. Cara flipped down the sunshade and tried to tidy her windblown hair in the small mirror. She fumbled in her bag for her lipstick.

  “You look great.” Ben gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  As he spoke, the front door opened, and a boy of about five, with a sunburned face and a shock of wild brown hair, ran out. He was barefoot, dressed in shorts and a tie-dyed shirt. He stared at the truck and then ran back inside, yelling, “Ben’s here with his friend!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben and Cara walked through the open door of the Sanders’ home into a high-ceilinged post and beam room, an open-space combination of living, dining and kitchen area. A small, curly haired girl dressed in nothing but a diaper ran in a circle around the slate-flagged floor, waving her hands in the air and singing to herself. She glanced at them through long bangs.

  “Hi Alice.” Ben bent down to her level. “Remember uncle Ben?”

  “I’m not Alice, I’m Sleeping Beauty,” the little girl announced, and went back to her singing and dancing.

  A moment later, a short, thickset man strode into the room and wrapped Ben in a bear hug. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said.

  “Tom, I’d like you to meet Cara. Cara, this is Tom Sanders.”

  Tom turned an interested gaze on Cara as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Trudy’s out back, puttering with the plants. We’ll eat al fresco today, if it’s not too cold for you.”

  Like Ben, Tom was in his mid-thirties, but unlike Ben he had started to develop a small paunch. He had unruly brown hair and a frank, freckled face with wide-set brown eyes. He was deeply tanned and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.