“Do it anyway.”
I try to lift my head, but he won’t let me go. I can feel the curling of his smile against my cheek as he shifts, sitting back into the couch and settling my body under his arm.
Somehow in the warmth of his arms, with his sharp gaze not on mine, the words spill out, like water trickling from a swollen brook. I can see her face even now, my mother’s hand reaching out to me. “I’m standing on the pier down by the lake. And I can’t get to her. She’s in the water, waiting for me to help her.” I tell him the rest, not sparing him a single detail. And when I’m done, instead of feeling like an idiot, like I’ve vomited up the craziness of my life, all I feel is relief.
“I’ve never told a soul all that,” I whisper. Not sure why I did just now. But it doesn’t seem wrong.
The seconds tick by as I wait for Connor’s response. Finally he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll pray that you get the closure you need and can let this go.” And he does. Right there and then.
At his amen, the thoughts still bubble to the surface. “Sometimes I think my mom is trying to tell me something. Or maybe God’s wanting my attention.”
“Maybe.”
I duck out of his arms and scoot to the end of the couch, facing him. “I think I’m here for a reason—in Ivy.”
Connor tucks his leg under the other and angles his body my way. “Are you ready to face what happened that night?”
“I think making sure Riley’s provided for is that closure I need.”
“But what if it’s finding out the truth of your mom’s death?”
“No.” I shake my head, my throat thickening. “I don’t think so.”
His hand reaches out, slides across my calf, gives it a light squeeze. “You sure do have the world fooled. Isn’t it tiring to keep up this tough-girl routine?”
I pull away from his touch, my tone cracking with fire. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Connor throws an arm around the back of the couch, an A&M T-shirt stretching taut across the hard planes of his chest. “You’re so transparent, you’re see-through.”
Gone is my seductive, dark-haired angel. Now he’s a doctor, lecturing a client on not taking care of a pet. “Everything’s big about you—your job, your pastimes. And you use it, Maggie. You use it to send out a message to everyone who gets close to you that you’re not afraid of anything. You can scale a mountain. You can travel the globe. You’re always up for a good time, as long as it’s dangerous and gets your adrenaline pumping. And as long as you can fly away for a few weeks afterward.”
I unclench my jaw. “That’s not an act.”
“Isn’t it?” He stands up, disappears into the kitchen, then returns with two glasses of water. He hands one to me, but remains standing. “Everything you do is surface level. When you get right down to it, I don’t know if I’ve met anyone more afraid of life.”
With a gasp, I shoot to my feet. “I love my life. You’ve only been around me a few times and suddenly you’re an expert?”
His eyes pierce mine. “I know you, Maggie. And that terrifies you.”
“I need to go.” I bend down and reach for my purse.
“You don’t even have the guts to talk this out.”
“What’s there to discuss?” My volume climbs. “You seem to have this all figured out. Why don’t you just type up a summary and e-mail it to me. Save us both some time.”
“Your water phobia, your mother’s death, your sister, even your relationship with your father. You’re running from it all. You’d go hang gliding off a cliff at midnight if I asked you to, but your personal demons—those are the things that really bring you to your knees.”
I take a step toward the door. “Do I need to call Beth to pick me up? A taxi? Take off walking?” Should only take me all night.
“If you leave Ivy without resolving this, it’s never going to go away—the nightmares, your wanderlust—”
“I’m leaving now.”
“And what about all the people you left behind in this town? Friends?”
“What about them? Are you seriously going to blame me for losing touch with people from twelve years ago? Would you like to blame the economic downturn of the town on me as well?”
“You’re disconnected. Distant. You’re scared to death of investing in anyone. And that’s why you had no relationship with Riley. Not because your sister kept her from you.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“We fight for the things we care about. And you let Riley go. It was too easy to stay away.”
“I’ve already said how much I regret—”
“I know, Maggie.” Those compassionate eyes hold me in place. “But what else are you staying away from? You’ve come a long way with Riley, and you’re helping her face her ghosts. But now it’s time to deal with yourself.”
“And what about you, Mr. I-Want-to-Marry-June-Cleaver?”
“She’s a little old—”
“You’ve got this checklist for your ideal woman. Well, you know what? As long as we’re offering unsolicited advice, I’ve got news for you—Miss Perfect is going to bore you. And who can measure up to your impossible standards anyway?”
His lips quirk. “Are you saying you’re trying?”
“In your nerdy little dreams.”
“Strange.” Connor steps closer until he’s a touch away. “You’re just passing through. So why does it sound like you care?”
“I don’t. But Danielle Chapel does.” My cheeks lift in a grin. “And by the way, she’s the definition of high maintenance.”
A frown mars Connor’s brow. “What does Danielle have to do with any of this?”
“I was in her office when she accepted your date for Friday evening.”
He rolls his eyes. “I had promised her months ago to attend a fund-raiser gala.”
“I don’t care.” I hold up a hand. “I seriously do not care. Maybe you can analyze Danielle the whole night and list her every shortcoming. It seems to be a big turn-on for you.”
“You are ridiculously complicated.”
“So obviously we’d never work.”
He grins. “Obviously.” And then I’m in his arms again, crushed against his chest. His mouth descends on mine, blocking out my angry protest. He kisses me until I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
And then he steps away, calm as you please, his face impassive. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out his keys. “Something else to keep you up tonight.”
He holds open the door, and I pass by him with a glare that could evaporate Ivy Lake. “That will be the last time that happens.”
Connor’s infuriating laugh follows me outside. “You keep telling yourself that, Maggie Montgomery. You keep telling yourself that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Saturday morning at the spa.” Beth admires her flamingo-pink nails as a woman wraps a chunk of hair in foil. “Just the thing to make my world a better place.” She beams at me. “Thanks so much, Maggie. After all the work I’ve put on you, this is the last thing I deserve.”
“Would that be the reunion work or the countless times you’ve deliberately put Connor Blake in my path?”
In front of us her oldest two daughters and Riley soak in a footbath up to their ankles, giggling and sharing little-girl secrets. My niece—finally acting her age.
Beth laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I saw Connor yesterday when I stopped in at the clinic, and he was in quite the bad mood.” Her eyes cut to me. “Would you know anything about that?”
“Maybe he missed Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.” Despite the stylist’s frown, I train my video camera on the girls.
“Uh-huh.”
“How’s the job search going for Mark?”
Beth lowers her voice so the girls can’t hear. “There’s just nothing in Ivy. And the plant’s already talking about cutting twenty percent of second shift, so the odds of Mark getting b
ack on there even temporarily are about as good as him winning Mr. America. Plus, who wants to be hired on at a sinking ship?”
The stylist clips at my hair, touching up the layers around my face. “I’m really sorry.”
“Hey, none of that. God’s in control. That is the only thing Mark and I are sure of.” Her dark eyes sparkle. “He blessed me with this unexpected gift today.”
“How can you not be scared, Beth? With the economy the way it is, four children, a house payment.” I know later I’ll regret reminding her of her bleak picture, but for now, I just let the words roll. “I have no idea how you stay so joyful and positive.”
“It’s like Pastor Thomas said at church Wednesday night: when Jesus called Peter out of the boat and onto the water, Peter was doing fine. Until he took his eyes off the Lord and focused on the wind. Then that boy went straight south. That’s like Mark and me. It’s too easy to take our eyes off God and start focusing on the bills, the shoes the girls need, the groceries. I don’t want to sink. I want the grand prize, you know? I want to know the thrill of stepping out onto the water or whatever it is God’s got planned for my family.”
Images, thoughts, memories scroll through my mind. “Do you ever just falter—get scared? Do you ever have those moments?”
She quirks a brow. “Are we still talking about Mark’s job?”
I nod, a little too eagerly.
Beth closes her eyes as the woman paints color onto her hair. “Sure, I have those moments where I get overwhelmed. But then I just remind myself that when Peter sank, the first thing God did was swoop out his big hand and pull him up.” She laughs. “Jesus has to pull me up just about every day.”
“I know it must be hard.” I think about my mother’s death, my gifted ability to not stay in a committed relationship, my desire to take that video footage on my computer and make something of it. And Riley. I still have no idea what to do with her. I feel like she needs me, but I can’t just stick around indefinitely. Yesterday I hired a tutor from the local college. She’ll start when I leave, taking my place beside Riley and the homework at the dining room table. Now to find a nanny.
“What’s hard is not having that hope,” Beth says. “I can’t imagine going through bad times without that peace. Without that surrender, life just eats you up. Spits you out. Wears you down to nothing. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I—”
“Josie, you hit your sister one more time, I’m gonna knock you upside the head with this lady’s blow-dryer. Yes, ma’am, I’m looking at you. Don’t you make me get up from this chair.” Beth reclines back in her seat and shuts her eyelids again. “What was I talking about? Oh yeah—keeping your peace. So important.”
Later Beth and I sit in the pedicure chairs as the three girls get their hair cut and styled.
Riley eyes me in the mirror as the stylist combs through her wet locks. “If I come out looking like a French poodle, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Like you could go two minutes without talking,” I say. “Besides, thanks to me you don’t have to ride the bus.”
“Thanks to you, I eat Twinkies and Cool Ranch Doritos every day in my sack lunch.”
Every mother in the joint stops and stares in astonishment. “What?” I throw up my hands. “So I’ve got a little bit of work to do in the nutrition department. It hasn’t hurt her yet.”
Riley leans over to Josie. “Actually, all the chemicals in the processed foods she gives me makes me violent.” Her stage whisper can probably be heard all the way to the massage rooms in back. “I get in trouble all the time at school, and it’s not even my fault.”
“Oh, somebody’s gonna get her peace. When she eats bean sprouts and tofu every day for the rest of her fourth-grade year.” Our eyes meet in the mirror, and Riley’s tough-girl pout pulls into a smile. Then a giggle. I laugh with my niece, wanting to hold on to this memory and etch it on my heart forever.
Riley’s eyes widen as something comes to mind. “Oh, Mrs. Ellis said she wanted to meet with you Tuesday. About the costumes for the play.”
“Costumes?”
“Yeah, remember the ones you said you’d take care of?”
Completely blocked that out of my mind. “Um . . . yeah. I’m totally on it.”
“You forgot about it, didn’t you?”
I flop my hand in dismissal. “I’m so sure. Like I’m dumb enough to do that.” I am so dumb enough to do that.
“I know that look.” Beth waits until Riley is enmeshed in conversation with the girls again. “That’s the look you got before you painted the water tower pink or freed the rival team’s mascot.”
“Yeah, and somebody should’ve told me it was a real skunk.”
“That wild-eyed look is what you get when you’re in a panic.”
I prop my elbow on the armrest. “I have to come up with twenty-five costumes. Mrs. Ellis wants Gucci outfits on a garage sale budget.”
“You can borrow my sewing machine. That’d probably be the easiest thing.”
“Me?” I bark with laughter. “Sew? I can’t even make boxed mac and cheese without something going horribly wrong. Maybe I can find something on eBay or in some thrift shops.”
“How much time do you have?”
“About two and a half weeks.”
“You’re dead.”
“See!” I drop my head into my hand. “It’s hopeless. And Riley’s counting on me.”
“You know, with Mark home more, I’ve got some extra time,” Beth says. “I could help.”
“Are you serious?” I grab her hand and hold it tight. “You would do that for me?”
Beth’s lips part in a giant smile. “Gotta take your eye off the wind, girl. Worry makes you sink. But hope?” She holds out her feet for the pedicurist. “Hope gets you twenty-five hand-sewn costumes.”
We topped the day off with lunch at local pizza place, where the girls showed off their nails to everyone who walked by. And though Riley pretended to be completely unimpressed with her haircut, I caught her reaching her hand up to feel her short new bob more than once.
On the ride home, I’m totally jamming out to some Carrie Underwood, taking the solo as loud as I can.
Riley holds her polished fingers over her ears. “You’re killing my brain cells!”
“Dare you to sing along.” I crank up the volume.
“No. That’s stupid.”
“Bet you can’t do it.”
“What do I get if I do?”
I take a moment to play drums on the steering wheel. “After dinner, we’ll do whatever you want. Movies, games, go for ice cream.”
“Deal.”
And I watch in amazement as my niece not only sings along but adds hand motions and wonderfully awful facial expressions. She continues her Vegas lounge act through the next two songs. I provide backup as she belts out the lead.
Bored by the time we hit the Ivy city limits, Riley comes up with another plan. “Hey, let’s go see the puppy. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“You were just there yesterday.”
“But Matilda misses me.” Riley messes with her seat belt. “She gets scared there all by herself. She needs to be reminded that someone cares about her.”
“She has Dr. Blake.”
“It’s not the same. I like her the best.”
Riley turns her big, Precious Moments eyes on me, and I’m lost. “We’ll try. But it’s two o’clock. The clinic closes at noon on Saturday, so I doubt anyone will even be around.” At least I hope not. Maybe one of the kennel cleaners will be, and we can get in.
“Let me call him.”
“Let’s not.”
“He said I could call and talk to him anytime. He’s so nice.”
I grip the steering wheel. “Isn’t he though.”
We arrive at the Ivy Lake Animal Clinic and find Connor walking out to the lone truck in the parking lot. Squinting his eyes against the sun, he throws up a hand in greeting.
Riley wav
es back like he’s the adult equivalent of a Jonas Brother. She shoots out of the car before I can even get the key out.
“Hey, Connor!” she yells.
At what point did he stop being Dr. Blake? Does everyone just instantly fall for this guy? That would explain the confidence he wears like cologne.
He pulls her into a quick side hug, and she doesn’t even squirm. That rat fink, double-crossing vet. Does he think he can lure her over to his side with his friendly demeanor and little needy dog? Yeah, well, I have a purse full of gum and other teeth-rotting delights, and I’m not afraid to use them.
“Hello, Maggie.” Connor’s smoldering eyes fall on me, and I have to look away.
“Riley just wanted to check on Matilda. But obviously you’re busy, so we’ll come back another time.”
“Busy? Never too busy for Riley. Come on in. Matilda’s been asking for you.”
Riley spins to face me. “See. She’s probably been crying. I was needed.”
I have to smile at that. “You’re needed all right.”
I look up to find Connor watching me. My skin warms, as I remember those full lips on mine. His strong arms around me. No! Stop thinking about it. What is wrong with me?
He sends me a knowing wink, breaking the moment, causing a blush to spread across my cheeks. That boy knew exactly where my mind was. Shouldn’t he be winking at some prim, sweet thing who loves nothing more than using her Crock Pot and avoiding drama in her well-ordered life?
“This way, ladies.” He leads us through the clinic doors, weaving Riley a tale about the many friends Matilda has made.
“She’s grown so much in the last few days!” Riley squeals as she gets her hands on the puppy. “Hey, Matilda. How you doing?”
“You can put her on the floor,” Connor says. “Let her show you her new moves.”
As if the tiny cocker spaniel is made of the finest glass, my niece carefully lowers Matilda to the tile. The puppy promptly falls on her butt, and Riley goes for it with a gasp.
“Leave her alone for a second,” Connor says. “Have a little faith in the girl.”
The puppy takes her time, sniffing the floor, scratching her ear. Then finally, on three wobbly legs, she takes three awkward steps toward Riley. Then three more.
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