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After the movie, imitating Captain Kirk and Spock, he’d placed splayed fingers on Anne’s face and asked, “May I join your mind?” Good sport, as always, she had giggled but let him and he’d sworn she’d communicated one thing through those soft doe eyes—kiss me.
So he did. Jack pressed his mouth to Anne’s in a tender first-kiss fashion. Her lips were soft and moist, just as he’d expected. She didn’t pull back, but she went still. He shouldn’t push things, what about Bri? Ignoring that thought, he kept kissing Anne, eager to explore more, though taking things slow, he felt her shoulders relax.
Anne’s hands pressed against his chest, a signal to stop, but not before she kissed him back. Jack broke it off searching her eyes for a clue, and saw a mix of shock and held-back longing.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, with a breathy whisper, her nostrils flaring faintly.
“I’m sorry.” Was he really sorry he’d shared the sweetest kiss since junior high with Anne? He was positive there was something between them just waiting to be unlocked. He knew she felt it, too.
“She’s my best friend.” Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to erase the kiss.
He stared at the floor. “You probably don’t think much of me as a boyfriend.”
“Right now, I don’t know what to think.” “I better leave,” he said, refusing to regret what they’d done. He’d shaken her up, felt the pull between them. It wasn’t his imagination.
Their kiss had been loaded with potential—he couldn’t get it out of his mind all weekend and, on Monday he’d seized the moment.
Jack spotted Anne between classes, heading for the science building. He swept in before she noticed him, grabbed her wrist and tugged her behind the ancient oak tree in the center of the campus. He’d thought about doing this all weekend, no matter how rotten an idea it was. He needed to kiss her again.
Like a man possessed, he leaned her against the gnarly bark, hands on her shoulders, and kissed her full-out. Firm and deep, he explored the lips he’d thought about for two days. She dropped her books, and once again she matched him kiss for kiss.
Once he’d planted the kiss he’d dreamed about, and only because he heard some howls and comments from other students, he let up.
He would have been damned proud of that kiss, seeing her dazed and breathless, pupils dilated, eyes wide, but confusion distracted him. Shame edged its way in. How was he supposed to handle this? Damned if he’d apologize for doing what he’d wanted for months, he said something he shouldn’t have and walked away.
A week later Brianna’s mysterious illness got a diagnosis and it turned their world upside down. Nothing else seemed to matter. Anne had never mentioned their kisses again. Under the circumstances he sure as hell wasn’t about to bring them up, and their easygoing friendship had never been restored.
Honor mixed with guilt and disappointment could make a guy do crazy things, like after Bri died, he took off in the opposite direction for Europe instead of heading to Oregon to where Anne was. And life had a way of throwing those mistakes in your face. He’d lost his good buddy Anne, the girl with all the possibilities, and he hadn’t come close to falling in love with anyone since.
There were a million things he’d like to talk to Anne about, but he didn’t have a clue how or where to start. He knew he owed her an apology for the crazy mixed messages he’d given her, and for that bomb he’d dropped just before Bri had died. And if her reaction to seeing him was any indication, he wasn’t sure she was the least bit interested in seeing him again.
Jack grimaced and noticed a couple students with raised eyebrows watching him deep in his battling thoughts. He homed in on the ringleader—a girl whom he suspected had a crush on him.
“Amy, are you ready to read your essay?” He used his benevolent teacher voice, the kind that usually got good results. She shook her head with hummingbird speed.
All curious gazes went back to the desks.
After he visited Kieran Grady that afternoon in the hospital, maybe he’d pay a visit to Beverly … and Anne.
“Lucas, we understand. You’ll get home as soon as you can. What’s a few more days?” Anne said, sitting at her mother’s bedside mindlessly running her toes over the dog’s bristly brown coat. Lucas was undergoing some army discharge testing in Washington, D.C., and kept extending his ETA. “Dad’s doing as well as can be expected considering how banged up he is. I talked to him yesterday and I’ll go see him tomorrow. Mom’s doing fine, too. She’s resting right now. You want to talk to her?”
Beverly lay sprawled on her bed, pink-casted arm elevated above her heart on pillows, and with Bart, her rescued Rhodesian Ridgeback who was too big for the bed, laying dutifully on the rug. With the body of a boxer on steroids and a face more in line with a lab, he was one good-looking doggie, and the newest family addition since their official empty nest.
“I don’t want to wake her,” Lucas said.
He’d been evasive whenever the topic of conversation turned to how he was doing. The last few times they’d spoken, Anne had gotten the impression he wasn’t being completely honest about something. “She’s not really asleep. Here she is,” Anne said, gently pressing her mother’s shoulder.
“Anne!”
She smiled at the sound so clear in her mind. Lucas’s tone had transported her back in time.
“It’s Lucas.” She handed the phone to her sleepy mother, whose face brightened at the sound of her son’s name.
Also leaving home right after high school, her brother had completed nine years in the army and, resisting the constant carrot they dangled to keep the medics re-upping, he would finally be discharged in a couple weeks. Thank heavens. Lucas had seen more desert and suffering than he’d ever dreamed, and now would come home to yet another mess—Mom and Dad fresh out of a motorcycle-versus-car accident and both in casts. Comparatively speaking, it should be a walk in the park.
A light tapping pulled Anne out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen door. And out of pure nosiness Bart’s paws clacked down the hall behind her. When she opened it, someone stood behind a huge, colorful bouquet.
“Mrs. G., how are you?” Anne recognized the squeaky voice and grinned. Jocelyn Howard peeked around the corner and beamed from the other side of the flowers. “Annie, when did you get home?”
“Monday.” They gave an ardent but awkward hug with the huge vase between them, as a warm homey feeling crept over Anne. When she’d left Whispering Oaks, she’d never wanted to come back, but she’d forgotten all the wonderful people who still lived here. How often did she get greeted in Portland with such genuine enthusiasm? “Come on, mom’s down in her room.”
Holding the vase and flowers didn’t prevent Jocelyn from greeting Bart, and he made a happy humming sound from the attention.
Jocelyn had lived next door to the Gradys her entire life and felt like an honorary member of the family. She’d been like a little sister to Anne before Lark had been born, had been Lucas’s first play pal until he’d started kindergarten and left her behind for boys.
They reached the bedroom just as Beverly hung up the phone.
Taller than average, Jocelyn, with her long legs and slim runner’s body, leaned over the bed and kissed Anne’s mother. Her straight, light brown hair veiled her pointy profile. “Oh, Mrs. Grady, I’m so sorry to hear about your accident. Anything you need, you just let me know.”
“You are such a dear.” Beverly kissed her and patted her arm. “Oh, look at those gorgeous flowers!”
“They’re from my mom’s rose garden.” Jocelyn set them on the bedside table next to the window. The waning March sun barely reached the peach and cranberry colored petals, but their potent scent invaded Anne’s nostrils in a burst. They reminded her of her new home, Portland, The City of Roses, and she wondered how the medical clinic was doing without her.
“I’m serious. I’m right next door. If you need an extra pair of hands or some caregiver time off—” She glanced over her shoulder toward Anne. “—I’m glad to help.” She poured some water for Beverly, then sat on the edge of her bed and chatted with her. Bart, though wary of the cast, sat at attention and looked on as if he understood every word.
“How’s Mr. Grady doing?”
“He’s grousing about this accident happening during track season.” Anne leaned forward, rubbing Bart’s long nose. “You miss your big guy, don’t you,” she cooed through puckered lips, gazing into earnest brown eyes. He offered his paw. She shook it.
“I don’t blame him. We’ve got a shot at league finals this year.” Jocelyn turned to Anne. “Did you know that I’m his assistant coach?”
“You’re kidding, since when?” Anne felt out of the loop, with a tinge of hurt. When had her parents quit trying to keep her up on the comings and goings of her hometown? Maybe around the same time she’d stopped showing the least bit of interest?
“Since I transferred from Imperial to Whispering Oaks last year.” So Jocelyn had moved back to her alma mater from their crosstown rival school.
“Well, Dad always expected great things from you on that track field. You made up for the poor excuse for athletes Lark and I were.”
Jocelyn tilted her head and toed the braided rug on the hardwood floor. “You guys weren’t as bad as you think, and Lucas was fast.”
“Oh, yeah, he was always good at running away from things.” Her sisterly dig fell flat. She’d forgotten how Jocelyn had always idolized Lucas, and suspected if he’d paid more attention to her, she would have fallen for him. Probably had anyway. And Anne knew there was nothing worse than unrequited love. Maybe she and Jocelyn had more in common than she realized.
“I was just talking to Lucas,” Beverly said.
Jocelyn’s lively hazel eyes brightened. “Oh, how’s he doing?”
As they chatted on, Anne tossed around a reason to leave the room. Didn’t she need to call and update Lark? And maybe she should call work to see how her replacement was doing. There were so many little things she’d forgotten to leave notes about. But the doorbell distracted her, and Bart went on immediate sentry duty. She glanced at her watch and took off down the hall, dog at her heels, prepared to tell whichever solicitor it was, she wasn’t interested!
She opened the door with the words “no thank you” on the tip of her tongue. Her mouth dropped along with her stomach at the sight of Jack standing on her doorstep.
Chapter Two
The hair rose on Anne’s arms as she stared at Jack who was holding two plastic bags with take-out containers inside. He smiled that straight, white, signature smile. Bart barked once, and pranced excitedly around in a circle as if they were old friends. Traitor.
“I have it on good authority that your mother likes her buffalo wings hot.” He raised one of the bags.
“Just like her men,” Anne repeated her father’s favorite line and rolled her eyes. Obviously, Dad wanted to make sure his main squeeze got her favorite meal and Jack was merely a conduit.
Jack grinned and nodded as if he’d been schooled by the master. “Just like her men,” he repeated. “Oh, and coleslaw without mayo, which was a little harder to find.” He raised the other bag.
“Skinny slaw,” she said, at a loss for anything else to say. Her father’s sweet gesture made Anne smile even though it had put her in a most uncomfortable position. Should she take the food and close the door? Even by her dodge-the-past-at-all-costs standards, that would be cold.
“May I come in?”
How could she refuse? Anne hated to cook, knew that inevitably Beverly would get hungry, yet hadn’t planned or stocked up for a single meal, and something in one of those bags smelled fresh and heavenly.
“Of course,” she said, breaking the awkward pause. “Come in.” How was she supposed to play this? As if he hadn’t broken her heart or helped her betray her best friend? Or as if he was once a great friend whom she’d adored, and had laughed and cried with more than any other person on earth … but who’d drifted away? Still undecided, she scratched her forehead and put on her best hostess face.
She showed Jack to the kitchen where he unloaded the bags on the counter and immediately paid his respects to Bart, who sniffed his hands excited by the scent of chicken. Jack glanced around the room as if recalling being here a thousand times long ago. “Did they remodel?”
Anne nodded. Since she’d moved out, her mother had added French Country flair to their sturdy ranch-style home. They’d knocked down a wall and opened up the flow of the kitchen into the family room. Now they had a block wood island, and trendy glass-fronted white cupboards with granite countertops, and shelves with canisters and spices lining the walls. Plus a state-of-the-art gas stove with a gazillion burners for Beverly’s love of cooking, and a two-foot-long tilted rack for all of her international cookbooks. Trying her best to avoid facing Jack, she spotted the perfect place to put Jocelyn’s flowers on the antique wood sideboard, deciding to do it later.
“I’ll go get my mom,” she said, turning, but her mother and Jocelyn were coming to them.
“I could smell the food all the way down the hall. Jack, you shouldn’t have,” Beverly said, smoothing the pillow’s impact on her hair. “But I’m really glad you did.”
He wiped his hands on his khaki slacks and shook hers as if he hadn’t seen her in months. “I couldn’t let the big guy down.” He winked at her mother. “He was worried Anne wouldn’t fix you dinner or, worse, that she would.”
A mischievous glint graced his eyes, and if Anne weren’t so busy feeling conspired against, and a bit like an outsider, she might have laughed along with everyone else.
“Har har. Hey, I may be a lousy cook, but I’d never let my mommy go hungry. I remember how to dial for takeout. Was just thinking about doing it, too.”
She opened a cupboard and got down some dishes. Beverly insisted on setting the utensils on the table with her one good hand, making several extra trips in the process, Bart dogging her every step. Jocelyn took drink orders and Jack, well, he stood there looking gorgeous with his late afternoon stubble and super-starched pale blue pin-striped shirt that hadn’t a hint of a wrinkle.
He must have felt her studying gaze when he used his thumb to scratch his upper lip and glanced at the floor.
How was she going to share a meal with him and act casual? If he subscribed to the popular fallacy that time healed all wounds, she had some news for him. She sighed, then took her place at the table, deciding to beat everyone to the fresh-from-the-oven garlic rolls.
“Why do you volunteer with the fire department?” Anne had acted more like a journalist than an old friend throughout dinner. In between her barrage of questions, all neatly superficial, Jack had noticed she only picked at her food.
“California’s broke. Whispering Oaks depends on volunteers to make up for the shortage of firemen, and I guess it’s my way of giving back.”
Anne didn’t need clarification on what he was giving back for. How many times had Brianna been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance? The fire department had been first on scene the day she had collapsed at school, and at their prom …
“Sort of like the same reason you became a nurse,” her mother said.
“Brianna,” Anne said.
Okay, so she’d go first at naming the elephant in the room.
“Brianna,” he repeated just before taking a large swallow of his iced tea.
Her gaze met and held his for the briefest of moments, just long enough to confuse him and make him wish he could read her mind.
Seeing Anne’s eyes dance away each time he’d tried to engage them, gave him a clue that it wouldn’t be easy to convince her to spend some time with him. Just the two of them. He definitely needed to deliver that apology.
As dinner wound down, Jack decided to go for it, to take the sneaky route and make his move in front of an audience. If he hadn’t already committed to meeting the latest in a long string of computer-arranged compatible-dates.com, and if he hadn’t cancelled on this particular lady before, he would ask Anne out for coffee tomorrow night. Now, he needed to come up with something else, and fast.
“Anne, you feel like going for a hike to Boulder Peak for old time’s sake this Saturday morning?” he said, knowing it had once been one of their favorite places to hang out.
She blinked a half dozen times and wiped her mouth before answering. “Oh, that sounds great, but I can’t. I’m taking Mom to get her hair and nails done. Right?” His spin ball got deflected with the precision of Venus Williams.
“We can do it another day,” Beverly said, a sheepish look in her eyes as she took a dainty bite of wing.
“But you want to look nice when Dad comes home. You told me yourself.”
“I can take her,” Jocelyn piped in.
The expression on Anne’s face could be described as mortified, but Jack decided not to focus on the negative. She could protest all she wanted, but apparently the team was on his side.
He smiled. “Then I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Friday evening, Anne propped up her mother’s arm, made sure everything she could want was within reach, and armed with her mother’s long grocery list, she set out to do some shopping. Bart sat in the family room attentively at Beverly’s side watching over her.
On the drive home odd tidbits from life elbowed their way into Anne’s mind. She drove down familiar streets, each with a memory attached, and having spent so much time with her mother and spoken to both her brother and sister yesterday, everything seemed to invite reflection.
She hadn’t minded getting knocked off the pedestal when Lucas had come along. She enjoyed having a brother … at first. Mom kept calling her the “big girl,” even though she wasn’t sure she liked the new title or what it meant. As Lucas got older, she discovered she could make him laugh, and Mom was happy about that, so she did it a lot. He was a good laugher back then. Now? Not so much.
Though they hadn’t seen each other in three years, they occasionally spoke on the phone and emailed back and forth on a regular basis. Lately, Lucas’s take on life seemed so cynical, and it worried her. She missed her brother and couldn’t wait to see him. Besides, the sooner he got home, the sooner she could go back to Portland and her new job.
She cruised past her old grammar school and its single-story 1950s blah architecture, the place where her mother still taught fourth grade. A thousand more memories crowded her head. How many times had she defended Lucas when he’d gotten into trouble there? Early on they’d teamed up and stayed united when it was apparent Lark could do no wrong. Maybe he could use someone in his corner these days too, and she shouldn’t rush off right after he got here.
Coming home put a bittersweet taste in her mouth with so many landmarks holding memories. She drove past the park where she used to play and thought how when Lark came along she’d been five and it felt as if Mom had sent her to school just so she could be alone with her little brother and baby sister.
When Lark was a baby, she had fluffy white hair, and she didn’t have to say one word to get Mom and Dad to smile, all she had to do was be there. Anne learned if she read her books out loud, Dad would clap his hands, so she read everything she could find aloud, and knew early on the importance of being a high achiever.
So why was Lark the one in med school?
She huffed a breath and glanced toward the sky. Let it go, Anne. You’re thirty and you’re an adult. If you want to go to medical school, you can apply. Truth was, she liked being a nurse, and back when she’d taken the MCATs and had scored well, her parents simply didn’t have the money or the desire to take out humongous loans. She couldn’t blame them. When Lark was ready to apply to college, they owned their home and Dad’s Great Aunt Tessa had left him a windfall in her will. If there was one thing Anne had learned, it was that life wasn’t fair and timing ruled the day and it was a futile task to try to figure out why anything worked the way it did.
What more proof did she need than her best friend dying shortly after her eighteenth birthday, just before graduating?
She drove past the Whispering Oaks Gymnastics Center, which used to be nothing more than a huge garage with mats, and remembered her mother waiting for her during class. It occurred to her that when her mother was her age, she had already had three kids. Not that Anne wanted three kids, but the possibility of a boyfriend at thirty would be nice. Her dating history had been anything but a success, with the last real relationship ending over a year ago. Somewhere along the line she’d figured her miserable excuse for a love life was likely because somewhere deep inside she still carried a torch for Jack.
Must all thoughts lead back to Jack?
The streets seemed more crowded than when she’d left, and there were strip malls on far too many corners. There seemed to be fewer trees, too. At least the surrounding hills hadn’t changed. She’d missed them. In the distance she could see Boulder Peak jutting its rocky nose above the hilltop, and immediately tried to divert her thoughts away from the invitation to hike there. With Jack. Jack. Again, thoughts about Jack.
What would it be like to spend time with him? She’d much prefer to dodge the whole thing, but everyone had plotted against her and she’d had no way out. Maybe she could sprain her ankle between now and tomorrow morning?
