Falling Angel

  “Is there someone else?”

  She thought for a moment before answering “no.”

  Ben was out of the picture. It would take a miracle for him to even talk to her again, let alone for them to pick up where they had broken off.

  Stone-faced, David insisted on driving her home.

  He parked outside her apartment, leaving the car idling.

  “Well, I guess this is it.” He turned in his seat to face her. “I have to say, you surprise me, Cara. I really thought we were on the same wavelength.”

  “It’s my fault,” she said again. “I really wanted this to work out. But you can’t force these things.”

  From her vantage point in front of the Red Radish, Cara watched the tail lights of David’s BMW dip down the hill and pass out of sight. Sighing, she tossed the wilted daisies he had brought her into a garbage can nearby. She didn’t need any reminders of this dismal night.

  All the same, thought Cara as she changed into her pajamas, she was at peace with her decision. In fact, she was proud of herself for finally having the strength to follow her instincts.

  As though a switch had been flipped, it was suddenly beyond obvious that she and David were as incompatible as oil and water. And once she had acted on that realization, the rest was easy.

  She had let him down gently, placing all the blame on herself. No doubt David’s healthy ego would help him rebound quickly from this minor setback in his plans.

  In bed, Cara picked up her book but found herself reading the same paragraph over and over. As she stared sightlessly at the page, a sense of profound loneliness settled over her. Sure, she’d often felt lonely since moving to Seattle. But this was worse. You’ve blown it, Cara, she told herself. It’s time to move on.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Early morning fog hung thick across the waters of the Sound as Tom cast his first line of the day. In the back of the Boston Whaler, Ben drained his lukewarm cup of coffee and attempted to shake the cobwebs from his brain. After staying up past midnight to finish his final canvas for the upcoming exhibit, he had taken the 5:30 a.m. ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge to accompany Tom on his fishing trip.

  Tom glanced behind him and shook his head. “You’re a sorry sight, my friend.”

  “So would you be on three hours’ sleep,” retorted Ben. Rising with a groan, he joined Tom at the bow.

  “Used to be you could function on two and still look fresh as a daisy. Face it, dude, you’re getting old,” Tom teased. He let down his line. “I’m going down 100 feet. If you’re not scratching bottom, you’re not deep enough.”

  Ben pulled his fishing gear from its case. “If I’m old, you must be geriatric, buddy.” Tom was 18 months older than he was, a fact he had never failed to rub in during their college years.

  Baiting his lure with Pacific herring, Ben cast out on the other side of the prow.

  “It’s ok for me,” said Tom. “I’m married with children. I can afford to let it all go.”

  Ben yanked on his line with unnecessary force. “Women are a distraction. I don’t have time for them.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow. “What about the one you brought over? Carla?”

  “Cara.”

  She seemed nice. Real sweet. Trudy liked her.”

  Ben gave a dismissive snort.

  The sun shot through the mist. Squinting, Ben pulled a pair of polarized sunglasses from the pocket of his black fleece vest and put them on. “She had this crazy idea in her head of what the perfect guy is. A CEO with a fat pension plan and a lifetime membership to the country club.”

  “If she wants all that, why the hell was she hanging out with you to begin with?”

  “Beats me,” Ben said. “The whole thing was total a waste of time and energy. Not that I’m bitter or anything,” he added with a pained smile.

  “When you think about it, though, you guys really could be a perfect match. I mean, you are the CEO of Ben Kilpatrick Productions. With what? Six-figure commissions pouring in and a walk-up flat in Paris’ Latin Quarter. And you own your own condo and studio right here in Seattle. Granted, you’re not the most conventional guy out there. But what more could a girl want?”

  When Ben didn’t answer, Tom socked him lightly on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell her about any of your material assets, did you?”

  “It shouldn’t matter.”

  “So what did she think? That you’re struggling to pay your rent? Living hand to mouth?”

  Ben stared stolidly out over the water. “Something like that.”

  Tom whistled softly under his breath. “Man are you an idealist! You think Trudy would have married me if I hadn’t promised to provide for her and our future children? She would have run screaming for the nearest MBA in a suit.”

  “Look, even if I had told her about all that, it wouldn’t have worked out. She was confused. Didn’t know what she wanted.”

  Tom chuckled. “Sounds like you got a taste of your own medicine, my friend.”

  They fished in silence as the rising sun burned away the last of the fog and the water lightened, becoming almost transparent in places. Across the Sound, the green shores of Vashon Island emerged. The wake from a passing container ship thrust rolling waves against the side of their sturdy craft and they both moved to plant their feet more firmly.

  “You’ve always marched to your own drummer, and I respect that,” Tom said. “I wish I had your single-mindedness. But at some point you’ve gotta ask yourself if what’s worked before is still working now. Do you still need to prove yourself the way you did when you were 25? Do you still want the same things?”

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe not,” he conceded.

  “So, why not give it another try?”

  “With Cara?” Ben looked at Tom incredulously, shaking his head.

  “Why not?”

  “She hooked up with some other guy.”

  Tom’s face sobered immediately. “That sucks.”

  “I found out from her roommate.”

  “Wow. She didn’t even have the guts to tell you herself?”

  “No. Now would you let it go, already?”

  Tom put up a placating hand. “Subject closed.”

  Ben’s floater bobbed manically, and he let out a yell of excitement and started to reel in the line, taught and vibrating like the string of a high-pitched instrument. For five minutes, the two men worked together to secure the catch, Ben straining at the reel and Tom offering shouts of encouragement. All else was forgotten as a heavy Chinook salmon broke the surface and thrashed in impotent fury on the hook, water streaming from its sides like molten silver.

  Back at Tom’s house, Trudy and the kids greeted the catch with cheers. Tom had caught a couple of crabs, but no fish. With great ceremony, Tom’s son James brought out the kitchen scale. The salmon weighed a good ten pounds.

  Ben cut it into thick steaks on a table in the back yard.

  “We’ll grill it for lunch,” Tom said.

  “I’ll make a nice orzo salad to go with it,” Trudy added. She was still in her dressing gown with her blonde hair in a messy braid. “Though there’s no way we’ll be able to finish it all.”

  “Stick half of it in your freezer right now,” Ben told her. “I’m leaving next week for Paris, and much as I’d like to, I can’t take it with me.”

  Tom left soon afterwards with the kids to run some errands in town before lunch.

  “I’m going to make myself presentable,” said Trudy.

  “You look beautiful the way you are,” said Ben.

  Trudy laughed. “You’re such a charmer, Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said, heading upstairs.

  Ben was a frequent houseguest at Tom and Trudy’s house, and a sort of unofficial uncle to their children. As such, he was considered part of the family, and no special efforts were made to entertain him, an arrangement that suited him perfectly.

  Alone on the deck behind the house, he looked out at the empty beachfront and allowed himself to think of Cara.
Maybe Tom was right. Maybe he should have told Cara the truth about himself, about his success as an artist and his many financial assets. But he’d wanted her to take him as he was, regardless of any material trappings. Was it really too idealistic to expect a woman to fall in love with him, rather than his portfolio?

  Besides, money hadn’t been her only concern. She’d expected him to commit himself to her wholeheartedly and unreservedly, practically from day one. He’d been close to doing so on the ferry ride home from their Bainbridge trip, and then again during their lunch at the park. What had prevented him but his own resolution to remain free and uncommitted at all costs?

  He had to admit that Tom had a point. He had allowed his failed relationship with Alicia to convince him that a committed relationship was a trap to be avoided. Now, however, he recognized that this view was narrow-minded. With the right woman by his side, whole new vistas could open up for him.

  When Cara realized he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, she had done what any sensible woman would, and moved on. Did she ever spare a thought for him amidst the excitement of her affair with – or was it engagement to - the banker?

  He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over a vase of yellow and pink tulips. The vase shattered, and a shard of glass cut into the palm of his left hand. Ben swore and stood up, holding his injured hand. Blood dripped through his fingers and he cursed his own clumsiness. He couldn’t afford the indulgence of emotion. It was time to go home and get ready. In less than five days he’d be in Paris.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Cara and Ann walked across the street from their apartment to the park, each bearing a steaming mug of coffee. They sat on a wooden bench, separated from Lake Washington by three steps leading down to a small beach.

  Seagulls circled overhead in the dissipating fog, and thin rays of morning sunlight spread a weak warmth across the ground. A couple of ducks lurked nearby until they were certain there was no food forthcoming, then waddled down the beach to join their friends in the water.

  Ann put her cup down on the bench and glanced sideways at Cara. “I never set out to hurt you,” she said. She grimaced, engaged in some internal debate, and then reached into her sweater pocket for cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting up, she exhaled a stream of smoke. “Ever since we met, I’ve wanted to be like you. It’s like you walk on a different planet. Everything works out for you. You’re pretty, you graduated from college and have a great job. It makes me feel like a total failure. And when we go out, guys trip over me to get to you. It’s like I’m invisible.”

  Ann picked up her cup again, warming her hands on it. With her black bangs, oversized sweater and flannel plaid pajamas, she looked like a little girl. “It’s not fair,” she said, petulantly.

  “So this is your way of evening things out, is it?” The black coffee churned in Cara’s empty stomach. “You think that my perceived advantages in life give you the right to steal and lie to me?”

  Ann gestured at her with open palms. “Like I said, I thought I was doing you a favor. You told me after the first time you and Ben met that he was totally wrong for you. You even ran away from him! It was as if you didn’t want to like him, but couldn’t help yourself.”

  “And then you told him I was out with David.”

  “He dropped by the apartment when you were gone. What was I supposed to say?”

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble your little games have caused me?”

  “I know. I’m an awful friend.” Ann dropped her cigarette onto the cement beneath the bench, stubbed it out with her boot, and kicked it onto the sand.

  “You’re not a friend at all.”

  Ann shrank back at Cara’s harsh words.

  “Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” Cara continued, her face hot. “Well I don’t. Not at all. You’ve created your own unhappiness, Ann, through the choices you make.”

  “I don’t need life lessons from you, Little Miss Perfect, thank you very much.”

  “Fine. I just wish you were happier with your own life. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel this compulsion to screw up mine.” Cara stood up. “I’m leaving.” She started up the grassy slope to Madison Street and their apartment.

  Ann caught up with her. “You’re moving out?”

  “Yes. As soon as possible.”

  “I guess I expected that,” Ann said glumly. “Did I totally ruin things between you and Ben?”

  “You didn’t help, that’s for sure.” Cara relented slightly. “But what happened between us was mainly my fault. I wasn’t honest with myself or him, and I drove him away.”

  “Can’t you get him back?”

  “I don’t know.” The thought of actively trying to make things right with Ben hadn’t occurred to Cara. She had assumed that he would never contact her again and that she was powerless to do anything about it.

  “I bet you could. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .” Cara stared at Ann, who had the decency to look ashamed.

  “I know. You probably trust me about as far as you can throw me.”

  They stopped at the crosswalk. Although nothing would ever be the same between them, the talk had cleared the air. Cara decided to change the subject. While the rift between her and Ann was irreparable, it would make everything a lot more pleasant if they could remain on cordial terms.

  “So how’s work going?” she asked. They crossed to the apartment building and headed upstairs, chatting amiably enough about their plans for the coming week.

  As they entered the apartment, Ann put her hand on Cara’s arm. “For what it’s worth, Ben really likes you. I could tell.”

  “Not anymore. You didn’t see his face when I talked to him at the art reception.”

  The phone rang, and both women moved to answer. Ann stopped and allowed Cara to pick up.

  “Oh, hi mom.” Cara took the phone into her room and closed the door.

  “Good news, dear. Jemma’s collar is off and her wound is almost completely healed.” Cara listened politely as her mother talked, waiting for a break in the conversation. Finally, Louise asked her daughter how she was doing.

  “Fine. Though I wanted to talk to you about dad. I can’t help feeling like you’re hiding something from me. What really happened between you and him?”

  Her mother sighed. “Why are you bringing this up again? Your father was incapable of providing for us. He lacked the maturity to go out there and take responsibility for his family.”

  “So he left?”

  “Yes.” Louise’s voice took on a histrionic tone. “I’ve already told you this.”

  “Of course,” Cara said, soothingly. “But was there a reason he left, besides not being able to support us financially?”

  “What is Ingrid telling you?”

  “This has nothing to do with Ingrid!” Cara heard her own voice getting shrill and realized that the conversation was getting nowhere. She would not find her answers from this source. She steered the conversation back to more neutral ground and was eventually able to ring off. Frustrated, she stood a moment with the phone in her hand, and then dialed again.

  “Directory assistance. For what city?” an automated voice intoned.

  “Albuquerque, New Mexico. Mr. Daniel Walker.”

  New Mexico was her father’s last known place of residence. It was a shot in the dark, but she had to try. She tapped her nails in nervous staccato on the dresser. A moment later, an operator came onto the line. “There was a Daniel Walker at that address, but he’s moved.” In a bored monotone, she gave Cara the new number. The hairs on the back of Cara’s neck stood up and her eyes widened in shock.

  Based on the area code, Cara’s father, Daniel Walker, was living somewhere in the city of Tacoma, only 30 miles south of Seattle.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  With shaking fingers, Cara punched in her father’s phone number. The call was answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  Even after seventeen years, she recognized his gr
avelly baritone at once.

  “Hi dad.” The word sounded foreign on her tongue. “It’s me. Cara.”

  There was a pause as her father sucked in his breath harshly. “Cara. Cara. I don’t believe it. Where are you calling from?”

  “Seattle.”

  “No!”

  Cara bit her lip and bounced up and down on her toes. “I’ve been here seven months.”

  “I’m in Tacoma. Just south of there.”

  “I know.”

  “I had no idea you were so close. Can I come see you?”

  “When?”

  “Now? Tomorrow? Whenever you want.”

  “I’m free today.” Cara gave him the address and he wrote it down.

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  . . .

  The mascara wand shook in Cara’s hand as she blackened her upper eyelashes. She felt like a teenager going out on a date, and was angry with herself for caring so much. Purposely downplaying the momentousness of the reunion, she opted to dress casually in jeans and a peach-colored shirt, tying her hair back in a pony tail. What would he think of her now, all these years later? Would he still recognize his Angel Face? Would she still recognize him?

  After Ann left for work, Cara paced back and forth through the apartment before forcing herself to sit on the couch and watch the nature channel.

  When the downstairs doorbell buzzed she jumped as though stung by a wasp and ran to hit the access button. She stood by the door, peering through the tiny peephole.

  A tall figure appeared in the hallway, scanning the numbers on the doors. Cara pulled the door open before he could knock.

  Daniel Walker stood twisting his baseball cap in his hands, sucking in the sight of her with the intensity of an industrial-strength vacuum.

  His once thick brown hair had thinned and was streaked with white. There were new lines around his mouth and eyes. He was still skinny, but seemed shorter than she remembered him. Obviously she had grown in the years since they’d last seen each other.