This Wandering Heart

by Janine Rosche

  Even though she’d brushed her teeth a few minutes ago, a sour taste filled her mouth. She unlatched that door, cracking it to see John’s beaming face. Then she was being pushed back as the door swung wide open.

  He took in the humdrum decor that likely matched his room exactly. John plopped down on her bed, putting his shoes up on the quilt. “Come sit down.”

  She didn’t have to imagine what he might be thinking. He’d made his desire for her clearly evident last night after they’d arrived at the hotel. It hadn’t taken a genius to realize he never intended to use the separate room Dora had booked for him.

  “We should go. The predawn light can’t be wasted,” she said.

  Before the clock struck five thirty, the elevator doors opened to the historic hotel’s quaint lobby. Pine furnishings, ruby-red walls, and an oversize fireplace with its crackling fire were meant to welcome its guests with warmth. Of course, Keira hadn’t felt that when they’d checked in after their flight. She certainly didn’t feel it now. Rather, a chill settled in her bones, refusing to be dislodged by something so simple as a cozy tableau.

  At the front desk, a man in a heavy workman’s coat pleaded with the young female clerk on duty. From the way she smiled at him, she was about to give him whatever he wanted. When she saw Keira and John, her cheeks flushed, and she turned away.

  The man who had been leaning on the counter straightened and looked over his shoulder at them.

  “Robbie?” His name tumbled out of her mouth.

  He began to smile, but after his eyes flickered to John, he pressed his lips together into a tight line. His tentative steps in their direction unleashed either butterflies or hornets in Keira’s belly. Time would tell.

  Robbie’s eyes were bloodshot and weighted. They struggled to keep focus. His face was stubbled, despite almost always sporting a close shave.

  “What on earth are you doing here? Did you drive through the night? You look exhausted. Is Anabelle with you? How did you find me?” Keira’s words formed a tangled heap on the floor between them. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you . . . alone . . . please.”

  At her side, John straightened and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Matthews. We’re on our way out. Whatever it is will have to wait.”

  Keira’s focus shifted between the two of them. “Make it quick, Robbie. We need to leave. John, why don’t you grab us coffee?”

  Behind the check-in counter, the attendant watched the unfolding scene with such rapt attention that Keira expected her to pull out a tub of popcorn. Meanwhile, John shuffled his feet. Finally, he stepped away, but not before kissing Keira’s cheek.

  Keira fought to not shrink away from him. A touch on the other elbow made her jump.

  Robbie was leading her in the opposite direction from John. Swooping down to grab the strap of a backpack, he nodded to where Anabelle was sleeping on the couch near the fire. Against her cheek, she held the turtle.

  Keira resisted the urge to place a hand on her head. No need to wake her. “What’s this all about?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you. Two things, actually. The first thing is about John.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’d never want to cause you pain. Remember that.” He pulled the zipper on the hunter-green JanSport bag and retrieved her atlas.

  She snatched it from his hand and hugged it to her chest. “Where did you find it?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Robbie dropped the bag by his boot. “In the dumpster. At school. After you left.”

  Strange. The custodians hadn’t yet been by her classroom when she’d packed it into her box of belongings yesterday. How had it ended up—?

  “John threw it in there. I saw him do it.”

  In the back corner of the lobby, John was no doubt perfecting his coffee. Two creams, two sugars, with a splash of caramel syrup. Such a man wasn’t capable of doing what Robbie was accusing him of. Not a chance. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “John’s a great man. He wouldn’t sink so low. It’s not his character.”

  “I’m not saying it is. I’m not saying anything at all, other than the fact that when I was taking the last bag of trash out last night, I watched him toss something in. When I got there, I climbed up to see what it was. Not sure why. For all I knew, it could’ve been his lunch. But I had that weird feeling in my gut. Your atlas was there, lying on top of the bags of cafeteria trash. I thought that maybe it was like the bracelet. You were trying to get rid of me, once and for all. But your atlas clearly goes beyond us. I knew you’d never throw that away.”

  Whispers poured out of the book in her hands then. Memories of her solo adventures as Kat Wanderfull, but also tender moments shared between her and Robbie. Back when the world was theirs, and he was the only future she dared to envision. Had he read those? If he did, did he think she still felt that way toward him? The back of her eyes stung. She pressed the heel of her free hand to one eye, then the other. So much for perfect makeup. “He wouldn’t do this to me,” she repeated.

  “But he did. Maybe he was afraid you would choose that book over him. Maybe he loves you so much that the thought of losing you was enough to drive him mad . . . drive him to do something out of character.” He shrugged. “Trust me—you have that effect on men.”

  John, holding two sleeved coffee cups, crossed the lobby. He slowed when he noticed the book against her chest. “You found it!” He placed the cups on the end table and held out his hand to Robbie. “Honorable thing you did, bringing that all the way out here.”

  Robbie buried his hands in his coat pockets. “Fess up.”

  “Fess up? I’m sorry, I’m not sure of what you’re speaking, friend.”

  “I’m not your friend.” Robbie’s face reddened, except for the scar on his cheek. The one he’d gotten the last time he’d defended her honor, back in college. He’d fight for her. She knew that much. And John, whose only workout consisted of installing new reams of paper into the office copier, would get trounced.

  “Excuse us.” John pulled Keira by the hand over to the front desk. “What did he tell you?”

  “He said you threw this in the trash bin behind the school.”

  John’s pupils grew large. He let out a laugh that was too loud for this time of the morning. “That’s ridiculous. Is he saying that he jumped into the dumpster to retrieve it? Who would do that?”

  “Robbie would.”

  “Well, that goes along with everything I know about him, I guess. He’s lying. Desperate to get you back, probably, so he made up this ludicrous lie about me. I know how much that book means to you. I’d never do such a thing. I love you too much.” His stare settled into her. His fingers wrapped her upper arm.

  Back by Anabelle, Robbie sat with his back against the couch. In front of him, he rested his elbows on his knees and laid his forehead on his crossed arms. Would the same man who drove all night, in the opposite direction of California, make up this lie? Only to try to convince her that John had done it because he loved her? No. But then again, Robbie had a track record of stringing her along—keeping her close, but never close enough to commit.

  It unleashed a furious pounding in her temples. She rubbed small circles over them.

  “Keira? Look at me.” When she didn’t, his grip on her arm tightened. “I’ve been nothing but patient with you. Through all your lies and secrets, your teasing. I’ve let you break my heart over and over. All for it to come down to this?” He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “Your father’s right. Left on your own, you’ll always choose the wrong path. How dare you believe some dumb construction worker over me?”

  A furious heat, starting at the place he held her arm, spread to her throat and loosened her tongue. “You said you shu
t your hand in your car door. What really happened to it, John?”

  John’s brow furrowed. He spread out his fingers between them. A purplish-red streak spread across the tops of his fingers. The kind of bruise that may be caused by the heavy lid of the school dumpster coming down unexpectedly—something she’d narrowly escaped two weeks ago.

  “I believe Robbie. This relationship is over. You should go.”

  Feigning a look of innocence and hurt, he opened his mouth to speak.

  Keira twisted the ring off her finger. She placed it in his bruised hand. “And if you ever call Robbie Matthews dumb again, your heart won’t be the only thing I break. Got it, Principal Garfield?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The lack of sleep had Robbie feeling fluish. His neck ached. His blood hummed from the endless cups of joe he’d consumed to keep himself awake on the drive. What he wouldn’t give for a babysitter and a bed. Neither was in the cards. And the camping cots he’d brought to make this road trip to California affordable didn’t count as a bed.

  Keira stood a few feet away, hugging herself as she stared out the window at the sunrise. She hadn’t so much as shifted her weight.

  It was impossible not to hear the last few words of her argument with John. Robbie hadn’t noticed he was hurting her until right before he let her go. Darn that ability of hers to hide pain. But the way she’d stood her ground as John tried to control her? Robbie had been so proud. And when she’d defended him, Robbie had half a mind to kiss her.

  A new wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He rested his head against Anabelle’s pillow. There was no way he could head back out on the road without sleep of some sort. Mentally, he counted the cash in his wallet. He’d have to scrounge money from elsewhere in the vacation budget to get a hotel room. Not this hotel. This place was spendy. What was he thinking about again? Sleep. But not until after No-Principle-Garfield had gotten his stuff and hightailed it out of here. Sure, the nickname was lame, but Robbie was tired.

  The elevator door dinged. The stomps of an angry man-child urged Robbie’s eyes open. He didn’t look at John. Instead, he watched Keira. She remained facing the window as his footsteps slowed near the door, then stopped. They picked up again until the cool breeze from the automatic door rushed in, then faded as the barrier closed once again.

  Finally, John was gone. It was just him, Anabelle, Keira, and the desk clerk. Summoning the remaining strength in his legs, he pushed himself to standing. The few steps to Keira’s place at the window were full of terrible, sleep-deprived ideas. He chose the most mild of them all when he placed his hands on her shoulders. She leaned back against his chest.

  His eyelids surrendered. The warmth of her body against his was like a mug of . . . something delicious. The heat moved to his hand.

  “Come on, sleepyhead. You need a bed.”

  From what he could see through glazed vision, Anabelle rubbed her eyes with the turtle. When she saw Keira, she shrieked and bounced over to them.

  Keira lifted her up, holding Anabelle against her torso.

  “I told Daddy I want you to go to the beach with us. We can build sandcastles.”

  “Is that so? First things first. Your daddy’s tired. We’re going to let him sleep, and you and I will have a girls’ day out. What do you say to that?”

  Anabelle wriggled in reply.

  A few minutes later, after Keira forced him to eat a package of nasty mini commercial muffins, Keira pulled back the sheets of her bed. She and Anabelle worked together to push Robbie down.

  “I’ll take Anabelle for the day. You sleep.”

  “Hold up. There’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about you. Something I learned the other day.” Robbie’s head sunk deep into her pillow. It smelled like Keira—her perfume or lotion. Either way, it was heavenly.

  “We do have a good deal to talk about. There’s time for that later.” Keira heaved him more toward the center of the bed. “Goodness, you weigh a ton. Sleep tight, you big gorilla.”

  Anabelle covered him with sheets as soft as the clouds over the Gallatin mountains and kissed his cheek. “Sleep tight, big g’rilla.” Her giggle faded into the darkness.

  * * *

  * * *

  Like a baby bird, Anabelle’s mouth rooted around the straw poking out of her cup. When she’d found it, her pretty pink lips closed on the curly plastic tube. The way her whole face—cheeks, jaws, lips—worked to suck up the chocolate milk was fascinating and adorable rolled into a single surge in Keira’s heart. The little girl’s eyes crossed as she watched the liquid climb up, down, and all around before hitting her mouth. She pulled back and swallowed. When she went back to it, her cheeks puffed out. Bubbles erupted in the cup, making Anabelle dissolve into laughter that proved to be contagious.

  Keira rubbed her aching cheeks. She hadn’t smiled this much since, well, since Robbie had been a part of her everyday life. In their morning together, Keira had decided that Anabelle was 50 percent Robbie, 40 percent Princess Patty Cake, and 10 percent Tasmanian Devil. Were all kids as full of life as Anabelle? The girl was joy personified.

  The only child in a closed-off family, Keira hadn’t been around children much. In fact, she wasn’t sure that she was ever a child.

  “Are you ready to order?” The server, who was a young replica of the restaurant owner, couldn’t have been more than seventeen. He was a cutie, especially with those dimples that appeared every time he grinned at Anabelle.

  “Anabelle, would you like to tell him what you want?” Keira asked.

  The girl slid to the far side of the booth.

  “Okay, then. I guess she’ll have the peanut butter and jelly. All kids like that, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Unless they have a peanut allergy.”

  Dread filled her like wet cement. “Anabelle, are you allergic to peanuts?”

  “What’s gallergic mean?”

  “Are there any foods you aren’t allowed to eat? Peanuts, um, soy, wheat? I should’ve asked your daddy.” Keira’s attention went to the half-empty chocolate milk cup. What if she had a dairy allergy and got sick while in her care? Sorry I sent your child to the emergency room, Robbie. I had good intentions. Wait . . . can someone die from a milk allergy?

  Anabelle slid beneath the table. Keira cringed. Who knows how long it had been since they cleaned under there? If the allergy didn’t get her, the hepatitis would. They’d have to wash their hands before the food arrived.

  “I want mac and cheese.”

  That’s right. At her birthday, they’d made her favorite food: mac and cheese. And she’d been drinking chocolate milk. Phew. Next time she watched Anabelle, she’d be more prepared. If there was a next time.

  “She’ll take the mac and cheese with a side of grapes. But can you slice the grapes in half, please? Maybe quarters instead. Just to be on the safe side. And I’ll have a salad with a half portion of grilled chicken.”

  “What kind of salad dressing? We have ranch, Italian—”

  “No dressing.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll bring a coloring page and some crayons.” The server peeked beneath the tabletop, gave a short wave to Anabelle, then walked to the kitchen.

  Scooting to the edge of her bench seat, Keira contorted her body to look under the table.

  Anabelle was perched on her knees on the dirty floor. Gross. “You can come back out now. I get shy, too, sometimes. I’m here with you, though, so why don’t you come back up?”

  Anabelle nodded. Instead of climbing onto her own seat, she scrambled toward Keira. Before she knew it, Keira’s arm was tucked around Robbie’s daughter. Anabelle curled against her side. On instinct, she held her tight and planted a kiss on top of the little girl’s head.

  Deep within her chest, a patter tickled her sternum, like the trembling of pebbles on the road during a small earthquake. It should have been unnervin
g. Instead, Keira took Anabelle’s hand in hers.

  The waiter approached with the paper and crayons. He pretended to trip, disappearing behind another booth. He popped up like a gymnast at the end of a floor routine.

  Anabelle’s little body shook in a fit of giggles. She accepted his offering with a polite but quiet “thank you,” then set to work, starting with the pink crayon. Left-handed. Like Robbie.

  Oh, Robbie. He hadn’t responded to her last text stating that she was taking Anabelle out to lunch. One thing about him? When he was awake, he never rested. He worked and played hard. He put his all into every task and every touch. But when he slept, he practically hibernated. Several times in college, his roommates had let her in to rouse him for the early class they shared. Nothing, no amount of prodding or shoving, could stir him. Only a kiss worked. Then, like magic, he’d awaken, and often pull her down beside him while she squealed. He was like Sleeping Beauty. Without the spindle.

  She was happy to let him sleep. It was the least she could do to thank him. For what? Saving her atlas? Opening her eyes to the jerk John truly was? Letting her get to know his sweetheart of a daughter? That was all true. But what was she supposed to say when she brought Anabelle back to him in a few hours?

  A thank-you didn’t convey the whole rainbow of emotion Robbie unleashed in her. Not the vibrant yellows or tranquil blues. And certainly not the reds that bled into the pools of her deepest, most hidden parts. When he’d held her shoulders back at the inn, she’d nearly melted. A vulnerable moment. So what? She wasn’t some lonely high school girl who turned to mush at the attention of the star quarterback. Not anymore. She could handle him. And if they did happen to touch in the future, she’d be fine. In fact, a little harmless affection might prove to him that she was a woman who could hold her own against his charm.

  “Look, Keira.” Anabelle lifted the paper so close to Keira’s face, her eyes needed to refocus to make out the two stick figures, one big, one little. All around them, crimson oval-like shapes danced. “I drawed me and you.”