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“It fits, doesn’t it? I fall for you. I give you what you want—your niece.”
“When did you come up with this theory? Before or after you shared your bath with me?”
“After.”
Her doubts were understandable. He blamed her for them, anyway.
“How about, I meet my niece’s foster mother. She’s different from any woman I’ve ever met. I want to get to know her. And the more I do, the more she’s in my thoughts all day long—”
“Can you honestly tell me those thoughts don’t include the fact that I can help you get Carrie?”
“My interest in you doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
“But you still hope I’ll help.”
“Of course I do.”
“Like I said, last night was a mistake.” She started to close the door.
“Wait.” Rick shoved his foot between the door and the jamb. “I hope you’ll help,” he said, “but last night…my interest in you…that has nothing to do with Carrie.”
“Uh-huh. And will it still be there if I recommend that your niece be placed with your mother?”
He didn’t like the question. “I think so.” His answer was instant, and honest.
“But you aren’t sure.”
“Last night did not happen with any thought in mind of you helping me with Carrie. I was thinking of you. Period.”
She glanced down—so did he—and saw her toes curling around the edge of the door frame.
“I don’t want a serious relationship,” she said when she glanced back up.
She’d said that before. “How about friendship?”
“I’m not going to help you with Carrie. If I think she’d be better off with your mother, I’m going to say so.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that.”
“Not really. But I’ve been forewarned.”
“And you still want to be my friend?”
“I still want to explore last night further.”
When Sue grimaced, the tension between them escalated. “You’re not easy to peg, Rick Kraynick. Or to ignore.”
“Neither are you, Ms. Bookman. So at least we have that going for us, huh?”
She leaned back against the doorjamb, her arms crossed over her chest. “What makes you so…difficult?”
“Me? I’m as simple as they come. Boring, even.”
Her burst of laughter made him smile. “How does it work when you need time to yourself?” he asked. “With the kids, I mean?”
“Same as any other parent with kids. I call a sitter. One of the other foster mothers and I trade off whenever we can.”
“You think she’d be available one afternoon this week?”
“Which one?”
“Any one you’ll agree to spend with me.”
“Tuesday?”
“Tuesday. You think you can arrange it?”
Sue said she would. And before Rick made it back to his place, she’d already called him on his cell and told him that Tuesday was a go. She was going to meet him in the parking lot at school with her bike.
She talked to him for another hour while he sat in his underground parking lot, and had him laughing as she told him about embarrassing moments growing up with her dedicated parents. How they’d wear matching shirts with slogans, traipse through the grocery store as a threesome and flip coins in the middle of the aisle over ice cream flavors. And they showed up at lunch on the first day of school—every year until she started high school.
She had him laughing. Out loud.
Damn, that felt good.
His BUTT LOOKED EVEN better on a bike seat than it did in tight jeans. The deep tenor of his voice, familiar to her, from their phone conversations, distracted her from the vision. He told her about his climb from teacher to principal to administration in the Livingston school district—the system she’d attended—as they rode up and down streets she’d once walked on a regular basis. Some had changed. Some were exactly the same.
They were on their way to a new bike path he’d told her about. Along the route of an old railroad track, a paved path that stretched for more than twenty miles.
“This feels fabulous.” Dressed in black leggings and a matching long-sleeved formfitting tunic, she smiled over at him. “I used to ride all the time, but with the babies, I hardly ever have a chance anymore.”
“What do you do for exercise?”
“I used to hike Twin Peaks while Grandma played with the babies. But now that Grandma’s gone…”
There it was again. That reminder. Every single reminder was like finding out again, for the first time, that Grandma had died.
And that she’d lied.
“Sounds like the two of you were close.” Rick’s green eyes made Sue feel things she’d never felt before…as though he knew her better than anyone else ever had.
Which was ridiculous. Everybody knew how close she was to her grandmother. She was just vulnerable because she was missing Grandma.
“Very,” she said, turning her gaze back to the path in front of them, the trees sprouting new spring leaves. And she wanted the ride to last forever.
“They say it gets easier,” he said softly.
“That’s what I hear.”
“I’m not sure they know what they’re talking about.”
“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience, aside from your sister, that is.”
“I guess I am.”
“Recent experience?” Had he been in love? And she’d died?
Rick’s shrug gave Sue the idea she was on the right path. Did he find the subject difficult to talk about?
“How come you never married?” she asked, hoping to draw him out if he wanted to share with her.
Hoping he wanted to share with her.
He pedaled along easily. “She said no.”
Sue almost skidded off the path. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Seven years.”
“Is she still alive?” Sue asked gently.
“As far as I know.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Briefly, six months ago.”
So much for the lost love theory.
“And you haven’t met anyone since?”
“I wasn’t looking.”
“Married to the job, huh?” she guessed. He’d climbed the career ladder quickly.
“Maybe. I’m told I work too much.”
She was told the same thing. By her parents. Every time she talked to them.
They covered another mile, passing a couple of other bikers and a pair on in-line skates, and Twin Peaks came into view. Sue asked him if he’d ever been up there.
“Of course,” he said. “Hasn’t everyone who’s lived in San Francisco for more than a week?”
She chuckled.
“What’s going to happen to your grandma’s house?” Rick asked.
Sue stared at him before answering. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And why was he in her life right now? When she was most susceptible?
“Uncle Sam’s got it listed already. He and Mom already divvied up most of Grandma’s stuff, and movers are putting the things in storage bins.”
She’d heard the words. She’d processed facts. Period. Her life had revolved around that house in Twin Peaks. Around her grandparents.
Her life had been a lie.
“That’s quick.”
“Do you have any idea how much it would have meant to know that we were blood relatives while I was growing up?” she blurted. “Do you have any idea how many times I wished I was as much a grandchild to Grandma and Grandpa as Belle was?” Sue couldn’t believe she was saying this.
“You were! Come on, you more than anyone know that adopted kids are as loved, as valued, as important as biological children.”
“To the parents, that’s true. But just because adults have it all worked out doesn’t mean children do. We can explain, and love, but we can’t tell a child how to feel. Or an adult, either.”
“But you felt loved.”
“Yes, and now I feel incredibly betrayed. How could Grandpa never once look his daughter in the eye and tell her he’d fathered her? I just don’t get it.”
“At least he had her there to love.”
Sue pedaled harder as the questions pushed her on. She didn’t want to think about these things. Didn’t want to talk about them.
But they wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Still, it would have helped so much if we’d all known who we were. If Mom was truly adopted, unrelated by blood, then fine. That’s who she was. Instead, that’s only who she thought she was. And she has another full brother and a half brother…To know that your parents deliberately kept the knowledge from you…”
“I’m sure they had reasons.”
“That doesn’t mean they were right. Or that they made the best choices.” Sue’s thoughts raged on. “That’s one of the reasons I think Carrie being placed with your mother might be the best choice,” she said before she could think better of it. “As long as your mother adores her, and stays clean—and with her history, the state won’t give her two chances with this one—with her Carrie has a chance of growing up with a strong sense of self. And sometimes it’s only your sense of self that keeps you holding on…”
Her parents had given her that. And it had kept her alive at a time when she’d rather have been dead. When she’d prayed for death.
“Your mother knew Christy better than anyone,” she said, grasping the handlebars tighter. “She knew her likes and dislikes, her mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, how old she was when she took her first steps and what kinds of things made her laugh. She probably knows who Carrie’s father is, and she was around for Carrie’s birth. She’s the only one who can—”
“I disagree.”
His voice had changed.
“I know.”
And that was why she couldn’t start to count on this man’s friendship, no matter how much he engaged her. A baby’s life wasn’t something you could get around.
Or compromise on.
