Читать книгу What Should Have Been - Helen R. Myers - Страница 9

“G ood night, dear. Be sure to bring Blakeley to our house for Halloween.” Connie Anderson hugged Devan, planting an air kiss near her ear. “I’m making caramel apples.”

Devan hoped her chuckle sounded sincere. “It’s what she’s been talking about since she recognized the date on the calendar. You keep spoiling her and I’ll send you her dentist bills. Call you tomorrow. ’Night, Dad!”

With a wave to her pipe-smoking father-in-law standing in the background, Devan followed her daughter to the SUV and checked to make sure she got buckled in. Then she climbed behind the wheel, fastened her own belt and pulled away from her in-laws’ home.

Although they’d just seen Connie yesterday, Devan did her best to have dinner with her and Jerrold at least once a week to keep the relationship between them and Jay’s child alive and close. They were sweet—if rather staid—people and it had been reassuring to be surrounded by their kindness and concern in the first months after Jay’s death. She felt more blessed than she deserved to be. So why didn’t the pressure in her chest ease until she was a block away from their house?

“Mom?”

“Blakeley?” They enjoyed that little tease to get each other’s attention.

Grinning, Blakeley continued, “You think it would be okay to tell Nana that I like candied apples more than the caramel ones? D’you think she knows how to make them?”

“Ah, darlin’, your daddy loved everything caramel. That’s why she keeps up the tradition.”

“What’s tradition?”

For a moment Devan had the impulse to burst into song, namely the one from Fiddler on the Roof. She’d seen it at the Dallas Summer Musicals when she was a teenager. “Things people from one culture and era do that’s unique to them. Like having turkey at Thanksgiving. Like having roast beast in Dr. Seuss’s Whosville.”

“Ooooh.” After a considerable pause, Blakeley asked, “Then she must still love Daddy more than me.”

Checking for nonexistent traffic, Devan eased the white Navigator through an intersection and passed the cemetery where her husband was buried. Mount Vance had a population under six thousand, and yet the cemetery was getting crowded. The balance of populations would get narrower if they didn’t do more to keep people here and woo their young, educated people back to raise families. “Not getting your way isn’t a sign of rejection, Blakeley,” she said at last. “Daddy was her baby, the way you’re mine. Her only one.”

“Maybe I could remind her ’bout my favorite things?”

Devan ran her teeth over her lower lip, recognizing shadows of her own youthful self-focus in her child. “No, sweetie, that’s not a polite way to think. As we grow up, it’s important to consider the feelings of others.”

A sound of panic burst from Blakeley. “I could end up eating a lot of yucky stuff for a long time!”

The minx was going to make her burst out laughing yet. “Aw, c’mon. Doesn’t it make you feel good when you see Nana’s eyes sparkle down at you with pleasure when you say ‘thank you’ for something she worked on a long time? More than once I’ve surprised myself and tasted something I ended up really liking.”

“Like what?”

“Oh…blue cheese dressing.”

When all her daughter did was cover her face and moan, Devan did chuckle and added, “Okay. How about we share Nana’s treat and get a candy apple for you from the bakery? I happen to have told them to reserve you one.”

“Wow! Thanks, Mommy!”

Hoping that she wasn’t setting herself up for an unexpected dentist visit, Devan made another turn, bringing them to Redbud Lane. But she delighted in her daughter’s glee, for tonight had drained her more than family dinners generally did. Lately, as much as she respected her in-laws, they left her feeling increasingly stifled—as if she needed more of that in her life.

Since Jay’s death sixteen months ago, people seemed to have narrowed down her existence to being Blakeley’s mother and Jay’s widow, and not much else. Even devoted and respectful customers of Dreamscapes often overlooked what it took to be a reliable entrepreneur in a town where two-thirds of the businesses were proprietorships or partnerships fighting to stay afloat, let alone out of bankruptcy court. How had this happened? And what was it doing to her personality? She used to be so independent and fearless. When everyone was sporting the Valley Girl look complete with big hair, she was into Flashdance fashion and cut her waist-length locks pixie short. When the uppity clique in school shunned a pregnant senior, Devan didn’t just ruin her cheerleader chances by befriending her, she dumped her Jell-O into the squad captain’s chicken noodle soup. Insignificant fluff compared to what was going on in the world today, but patterns were patterns.

Mead… All of this analysis was about seeing him again. Granted, she was grateful that he was alive, but she hadn’t been happy to find herself face-to-face with her past. To realize that her child had been exposed to the unknown commodity he’d become had almost caused her an internal meltdown. Why hadn’t he remained where she’d hidden him—deeply suppressed in her memories?

Odds are he should be dead. Would that be better?

Almost hiccuping as she pushed away those thoughts, Devan glanced into the rearview mirror. “Sweetie, are you sure there isn’t anything we need to do before tomorrow?”

“No…the permission slip for the trip to the Christmas tree farm is in my backpack.”

“Good. Then we can—” Blakeley’s gasp silenced her.

“Who’s that, Mommy?”

Beginning to turn into her driveway, Devan was slower than her daughter to see the person sitting on the front stoop; the porch light only gave her the benefit of identifying the person as male, an adult male, and yet fear never came into play. A sense of fatalism did. Somehow she knew from the first who it was. He had owned part of her mind since the instant she’d recognized him yesterday. That didn’t mean her heart didn’t start pounding harder as adrenaline surged through her veins.

Knowing it would be only moments before Blakeley recognized him as the man from the park, Devan said quickly, “He’s an old friend, sweetheart. The man in the woods? He’s a soldier come home.”

Blakeley said nothing.

A glance in the rearview mirror told Devan that her daughter was confused and apprehensive. Parking and shutting down the engine, she said gently, “Let’s get you inside and you can watch a little TV, while I talk to Mr. Regan, okay?”

“Should I call 911?”

Devan swept her shoulder-length hair back as she realized this was no lightweight decision. “No, ma’am. When you get inside, change into your pj’s, wash up and brush your teeth, and then you can see if there’s something on your TV channels in my room. Okay?”

“No. But I guess.”

Heaven help her, Devan didn’t know what else to say to reassure her. Exiting the truck and slipping her purse strap over her shoulder, she circled around to Blakeley’s door. Opening it, she stroked her daughter’s cheek. “It will be fine. Fine. This man has never, ever, been unkind to me or to children, sweetie. Ever.”

“Okay. Hurry, though.”

Mead stood as they approached. He waited down on the lawn as she ushered her daughter inside. Blakeley kept her head down all the while, then ran to the back of the house as Devan shut off the alarm system and set down her purse. Then Devan stepped outside again and closed the door behind her.

When she joined Mead on the lawn, her confidence wavered slightly. “Do you realize what it was like for her to see you sitting here?”

“I can’t say I did before,” he began, glancing at the door. “I do now. Sorry.”

He was wearing the denim jacket and jeans again, but tonight the weather was milder and the jacket was open. She could see he had on a white T-shirt and noted that while she was right about him being thinner than she remembered, his body appeared toned. The lack of a bandana was the only other difference. Instead a clear Band-Aid covered his scar. Devan wondered about it. Was covering it for her or Blakeley’s benefit? It had been a long time since he’d been hurt, so surely he didn’t need a bandage anymore.

“What are you doing here?” she asked more kindly. “I’m surprised my neighbors haven’t already notified the police that a stranger is lurking about.”

Exhaling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “At the risk of upsetting you more, they’re, um, not home.”

She could have seen that if she had been more alert. Everyone on their block had full lives with most families including several children who were heavily involved in extracurricular activities. She bit her lower lip.

“I only came to apologize,” Mead said wearily.

The simple, humble remark drew her focus back on him. But for Blakeley’s sake if not her own, she had to remain cautious. “At this hour?”

“It’s barely—” he glanced at his watch “—eight.”

His confusion reminded her that even without his injury, he probably would know little to nothing of the kind of concerns and routines of young families. “Mead. As unfair as this may sound, these are difficult times, crime happens everywhere, even in small towns, and people can’t be too careful. Especially not when children are involved.”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching the news a lot. I don’t know what it was like before, but it’s sure a mess now. I should have realized how this would look.” He grimaced and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I really am sorry, Devan. Everything is a learning experience for me these days.”

That remark slipped straight through her defenses and touched her heart.

She couldn’t begin to imagine what his ordeal was like. “How are you doing with that?” she asked slowly.

He uttered a brief, mirthless laugh. “I don’t know. Compared to what?”

Devan saw a flash of vulnerability in him, and barely restrained frustration. Unwise as it was, the urge to reassure was instinctive and strong. “At least you’re alive. Physically—” she gestured to encompass his tall form “—you’re all there.”

“Yeah, two hands, two feet, two eyes that work…if only we could locate my mind.”

He sounded so sad Devan ached to go to him, to slip her arms around his waist and rest her head against his chest. She didn’t dare, though, for so many reasons. Dear God, he could just have warned her that he wasn’t to be trusted. “Do the doctors say, um, that you’ll regain your memory someday? Any of it?” she added as his expression went from serious to grim.

“I’ve heard ‘the brain is the least understood part of the body’ so many times, I’ve stopped asking the doctors. Or keeping therapist appointments,” he replied. “They’re about as clueless as I am because I didn’t just experience psychological trauma, I survived a head injury. As one surgeon put it without mincing words, my brain is going to let me know what and who it wants me to be. I can either go along for the ride, or opt out.”

“‘Opt out…’” Devan felt a cold finger race along her spine. No wonder there was such a haunted look in those dark eyes. He had to be constantly wondering—could he lose his mind rather than regain his memory or should he save himself prolonged torture by—she couldn’t think the word let alone accept he would consider it. The thought of a world without him did exactly what she’d hoped to avoid, and she pressed her left hand against her heart. “Oh, Mead.”

“Too much honesty, huh?” He shrugged. “Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.”

“You were always honest,” she said gently.

She saw him look at her hand, realized he was looking at her ring. Self-conscious again, she quickly stuck her hand into her suede jacket’s pocket.

“Was I? No one has told me that. Thank you.”

Melting under his steady inspection, she tried to lighten the moment. “I’m not saying you were a saint—”

“Oh, my mother has pointed that out to me,” he noted dryly.

“—But you never pretended to be anything you weren’t.”

“That’s good to know.”

His gaze roamed slowly over her face and his eyes warmed. He’d done that before, once relentlessly, and she couldn’t help remembering what had followed.

“Can I ask you another question?”

Suddenly she felt like a minnow on a hook. “I guess.”

“That baseball bat you had yesterday…do you play?”

She laughed, thinking self-deprecatingly, That’ll teach you.

“No, it was Jay’s. My husband’s. He coached Little League when he wasn’t busy taking over his parents’ three dry-cleaning stores.”

“He died.”

Devan wondered how he knew? Had he asked Pamela? Of course, he must have; hadn’t she told him to? “Yes. It was one of those freak things, an aneurysm.

“I’m sorry I can’t say more, but I don’t remember him.”

“You didn’t know him.”

“Would I have liked him? I mean, could we have been friends?”

Although the five o’clock shadow that had made him appear more threatening yesterday was gone, Devan couldn’t imagine two more different people. Jay had dressed in a tailored shirt and slacks no matter where he was except for the ballpark, and had shaved twice a day whether he needed to or not. He’d never missed church or Sunday dinner with his parents.

In contrast, Mead ignored social dictums and charmed his way out of faux pas. He had apologized to her once and smiled so beautifully, she suspected he wasn’t being quite truthful. By his own admission, it had been years since he’d been to church, and while he was cited as a good soldier, she knew he had never been a diplomat. Add to that knowledge of what he wanted from a woman—and it wasn’t compassion—she couldn’t see them as having more than three words to say to each other except by accident.

“No, I doubt you would have been,” she replied.

A flickering up the street caught her attention and she realized it was a flashlight. Of course, it was the usual time for Beverly Greenbrier to walk Jacque Blacque, her obnoxious standard poodle who had a rude fixation on the azalea bushes circling her mailbox and framing one side of the driveway. The second dose of emotional abuse was that Bev was a career gossip ranking right up there with Pamela Regan.

“Oh, God. Let’s go inside,” she said to Mead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing around.

“A neighbor down the street is heading this way. She’s too nosy not to stop and ply us both with questions, and she’ll spend half of tomorrow on the phone sharing every word she gets out of us.” Not waiting for him to reply, she led the way inside. Once in her living room, Devan gestured toward the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I can make you a cup of coffee.” Inwardly she groaned over her inane redundancy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mead replied, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll just let myself out the back.”

“You might want to wait a minute. She’ll go around the corner and up the alley. I’m not kidding—she’s as relentless as she is annoying.”

“Maybe we should get away from all windows?”

He was teasing her, but she didn’t mind that. She thought it was silly herself; however, he didn’t understand the South and Southern women anymore.

“Huh. This is more like it.”

She noticed he was looking around. “Pardon?”

“I like your house. I’m having trouble adjusting to my mother’s.”

“You said that before about the mansion…to her.”

“Did I?”

“She was devastated.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

Already cited as a monument to taste and quality, Pamela’s house was a testament to the fortune she had spent after Mead Sr.’s death, trying to make it Texas’s answer to the Biltmore Mansion. Glancing around, Devan was pleased that he approved of her far more modest home. No more than an eighth the size of the Regan mansion, the brick ranch was furnished with plush, inviting couches and chairs in sage and ivory. Across the room, a huge armoire encased the TV and stereo system. The cedar coffee table was large enough for someone to rest his feet on and still have room for assorted magazines, as well as Blakeley’s coloring books and crayons. In the center a crystal bowl held the potpourri that filled the air with a fine pumpkin-cinnamon spice. It was only as she turned back to him that she realized Mead was studying the family photo of her, Jay and Blakeley on a side table.

“Your daughter favors you.”

Devan thought so, too; they shared the same surprisingly abundant blond hair, same blue eyes and fair skin that somehow managed to tan easily in the summer. She was grateful, however, that her daughter had inherited her father’s voice. Jay had been a soloist in the church choir. “Her name is Blakeley.”

“How is she coping—and you, for that matter? I mean, without having her dad around.”

“It’s sad but no longer painful. And as strange as it might sound, I’m somewhat relieved for Blakeley because she was almost too young to remember him. We live close to Jay’s parents, though, and that gives her a grandfather and a connection to the paternal side of her family.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mother died the year I got engaged. My father hadn’t been in our lives for a long time.” He hadn’t been the stick-to-it kind and had walked away from them before Devan turned thirteen. She was forgetting what he looked like, too, but there were times she felt his itch for adventure, for passion.

That’s the last thing you need to think about.

She gestured to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I’d better not,” he replied. “I may get too comfortable and forget that my mother is due home soon.”

Devan couldn’t help touching her fingers to her lips. “You couldn’t sound less like yourself, Mead. It’s…strange.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I guess it’s ten times harder on you.”

“No, I mean tell me about me. Us. What were we, Devan, really? I sense something.”

What could she say? Confess that he’d been the man to jump-start her heart, that he had been the one—not her fiancé—to release that passion she’d been keeping locked tightly inside her? No, in this case, his lost memory was a blessing.

“It was a long time ago,” she replied.

“Not that long. You’re quite young and, at the risk of frightening you again, dare I say lovely. And despite what I see in the mirror, I’m not a total relic. How long could it have been?”

“I’d rather hear about you. What was recuperation like?”

“Six weeks in intensive care. Two—no, three operations. Another few months in the hospital. More in some clinic where people taught me what arms and legs were supposed to do, followed by even more time with a barrage of head doctors.” Mead took a step closer to her. “What do you see when you look at me? Frankenstein’s monster?”

Mesmerized by his voice as she was by his dark brown eyes, she admitted, “Hardly. But you look terribly sad…and you were never that. No Regrets Regan is how you referred to yourself.”

“We were lovers.”

His words held such conviction, Devan’s throat locked trapping her with her own mixed emotions. “No,” she rasped. She glanced down the hall, worried that Blakeley would hear some of this.

“The truth, Devan.”

“Mead…it was one night.”

“For some people that can be enough. If it’s all they’re given.” He shook his head, his gaze once again moving over every inch of her face. “I wish I could remember. I’ve been trying every minute since yesterday. How did we part?”

“You went away. Exactly as you said you would.”

“Did I say goodbye?”

Dear God, he was torturing her. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Did I break your heart?”

“You couldn’t, you never asked for it.”

Mead’s eyes narrowed. “I was going to come back to you.”

The air left her lungs in a brief, mirthless laugh. “Ah…no. Promises and commitment weren’t for you.”

“Then I was an ass.”

In her weakest moments, Devan had imagined having this conversation. But that was restricted to late at night, on the worst nights when she lay alone and lonely in her bed; when her memories refused to let her sleep and her body ached with the need for someone as hungry as she.

As she saw curiosity become desire in Mead’s eyes, she realized he had seen that…and was going to kiss her. Yes, her soul whispered.

Just as he started to reach for her, someone knocked at the storm door. Startled back to reality, Devan launched herself across the room. Her heart pounded anew as she recognized Officer Billy Denny on the front stoop.

“Mrs. Anderson,” he said as she opened the door. His gaze shifted to Mead. “Everything all right?”

“Why, yes, Officer Denny. Is there a problem?”

“Well, your neighbor saw a stranger outside of your house and when she saw him follow you inside, she was concerned you were in danger. She’d heard about the trouble in the park.”

Devan glanced around him and saw Bev Greenbriar stretching to see what was going on. The old busybody, she fumed to herself; she knew perfectly well who Mead was, and by morning this was going to be all over town.

“That’s very kind of her,” she said with a forced smile. “But as you can see, everything is fine. Mr. Regan was just apologizing again for yesterday and checking to see if Blakeley is okay.”

“Fine. Would you like a lift home, sir?” the young cop asked. “I’d feel better if you’d allow me. We had a rabies incident today, and you’d best not take any chances that some infected critter might cross your path or something in the park.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Mead replied. At the door, he met Devan’s apprehensive gaze. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

“It was good of you to stop by,” she said with equal formality.

As soon as he was outside and he and Officer Denny were heading to the car, Devan locked the storm door and shut and locked the inner one. She didn’t want to take any chance that Bev would have the nerve to charge up here to fish more information out of her, while rude Jacque defiled their pumpkin display.

But as she leaned back against hardwood, she knew that wasn’t why her heart was pounding, or why her face was feverishly hot.

Touching her fingertips to her lips she closed her eyes. What had she almost done?

Exactly what she’d promised herself she would never do again.