Читать книгу From This Day Forward - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 6

“Cara, if you’re there, please pick up. It’s important.”

Shocked, Cara stared at her answering machine. Although Sam hadn’t identified himself, nor had he called in quite a while, years could go by—decades, even—and she’d recognize his mellow, resonant voice. She’d always liked the way it sounded first thing in the morning, husky from sleep and oh-so-appealing.

And it was definitely first thing in the morning in Missouri, she confirmed, checking the clock on her kitchen counter. Six o’clock, in fact. He must have rung her as soon as he got up. Not that the early hour mattered. Sleeping at night was next to impossible. Every little sound seemed magnified—and threatening—in the dark.

“Cara, are you there?”

With a start, she realized that he was still on the line, waiting to see if she’d pick up. Well, he’d find out soon enough she wasn’t going to. Let him leave a message if it was that important.

“Okay, I’m hanging up. But I plan to keep calling until we connect.”

As the line went dead, his last word echoed in her mind. Connect. How ironic that he would use that term, Cara mused, her shoulders collapsing in a weary slump as she leaned back against the countertop. They hadn’t connected in years. Not since their careers had taken off and their lives had gone in different directions.

And she was as much to blame for their drifting apart as he was, she acknowledged. She’d been just as ambitious as Sam, just as driven to excel at her profession. She’d worked until late at night. He’d been gone when she got up in the morning. Weekends, when he had a few spare minutes, were her busiest days. So he filled them with more work. And little by little he’d become more distracted as the demands of his surgical career mushroomed and his prestige grew. Busy with her own career as a chef, Cara hadn’t noticed the widening gulf between them—until the year he’d forgotten their anniversary. Worse, he hadn’t seemed to care.

His indifference had hurt. And it had served as a wake-up call for her. After praying about it and considering a number of options, Cara had waited for a night when Sam came home early. Once she’d had his attention, she’d laid her proposal on the table: She would take a job with more reasonable hours in a lesser-known restaurant if he would reduce his patient caseload to allow them to spend more time together. While such a radical change would require sacrifices, she’d been convinced that it would be worth it to save their marriage.

Not only had he refused to consider her suggestion, he’d plunged more deeply into his work.

That was when she’d known they were in big trouble.

In time, perhaps she would have found another way to salvage their relationship, Cara reflected. But then tragedy had struck, leaving Sam crippled in both body and spirit. Told he would never operate again, he’d made her the target of his bitterness. Sustained by prayer, she could have endured even that, clinging to the hope that a brighter day would dawn. But when confronted by the evidence of his ultimate betrayal, that hope had died. Devastated, she’d tucked the fragments of love that remained for him deep in her heart and moved on with her life. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d coped.

Until a month ago.

Closing her eyes, Cara drew an unsteady breath. Thank God, she’d had Liz! Every time fear had started to choke her, Liz had helped her breathe. Every time the world began to crumble beneath her feet and she lost her balance, Liz had held out a steadying hand. Every time a panic attack gripped her, Liz had talked her through it. In the past month, her friend had changed her plans for Cara’s sake more often than prices fluctuated at the gas pump.

Yet despite Liz’s support, and much to Cara’s surprise, it was often Sam who crept uninvited—and unwanted—into her thoughts. For the past month, the memories of their early days together had been vivid in her mind, days when a mere touch of his hand or one of his warm smiles could chase away her problems. And despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to squelch a powerful yearning for the secure, sheltering haven of his arms.

How odd that he would call now, when she felt more fragile and vulnerable than ever before. It was also dangerous, she warned herself. Sam wasn’t the answer to her problems. He’d been the problem in the past. Rekindling the ashes of their long-dead relationship was not an option.

Pushing thoughts of the past aside, she reached for a mug from a hook above the counter. But as she grasped the cool ceramic handle, the sudden ringing of the phone startled her and her hand jerked. The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the unforgiving tile at her feet.

“Cara, it’s Sam again. I’m going to keep calling until you answer. I need to talk with you. Please pick up.”

Glancing from the jagged shards strewn across the floor to the clock, Cara struggled to regulate her breathing. He’d only waited ten minutes before calling back. Did he plan to keep this up all day? Please, God, no! Her nerves couldn’t take it.

When the line went dead at last, Cara knelt and began to pick up the remnants of her favorite mug. As she collected the pieces, sudden tears stung her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. She wasn’t going to cry about a stupid mug. She wasn’t! She’d never been a weepy person. Even during the final difficult months with Sam, she’d never cried. Yet for the past four weeks, the smallest thing could trigger a flood of tears—further evidence of her unsettled emotional state. And she was tired of it! Tired of jumping at the slightest noise. Tired of feeling out of control.

But she didn’t know how to break the cycle of fear. Even prayer, once such a steadying influence, hadn’t been able to calm her. Still, she clung to the belief that things would return to normal. That, at some point, she’d be able to deal with the aftereffects of the trauma, go back to work, move on with her life. She had to believe that. Because she couldn’t continue like this.

As she deposited the broken mug in the trash, the phone rang again. Once more Sam’s voice echoed in the silent, empty room, leaving the same message.

Though her curiosity was piqued by his persistence, Cara steeled herself to his words. Eventually he’d tire of the game and leave a message. She could wait.

An hour later, after turning up the radio while she took a long, hot shower and blow-dried her hair, Cara returned to the kitchen to find the message light on her answering machine blinking, the number eight illuminated on the digital display. Meaning he’d called six times in the past sixty minutes. She replayed the messages, but they were all the same. None contained a clue about the purpose of his call.

After hitting the delete button, Cara was starting to turn away when the phone rang again. She was prepared to ignore it until Liz spoke.

“Hi, Cara. Sorry to call this early, but I figured you’d be up and—”

Lunging for the phone, Cara snatched it out of the cradle. “Liz? Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”

There was a momentary hesitation, and when Liz responded her tone was cautious. “Who?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Cara perched on a stool by the counter. “Sam’s been calling. Every ten minutes, starting about an hour and a half ago.” When silence greeted her news, a puzzled frown creased Cara’s brow. “Liz? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Have you talked to him?”

“Of course not!”

“Did he leave a message?”

“Just that he needs to talk to me. And that he’ll keep calling until I answer.”

Silence again.

A tingle of suspicion began to niggle at the edges of Cara’s consciousness, and her grip on the phone tightened. “Liz? Do you know something about this?”

The heavy sigh that came over the line gave Cara her answer even before Liz spoke. “Look, Cara, I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried about you…I didn’t know who else to call, since your family was off-limits.”

It took a few seconds for Liz’s meaning to register. But only a heartbeat more for Cara’s disbelief to morph into anger—and accusation. “You called Sam?”

“I thought he could help. You need to get away from here, Cara. Sam lives in a small town in the heartland. He has an extra room in his house. You’d be safe there.”

“I can’t believe this! What did you tell him?” Cara’s voice rose, shrill and bordering on hysteria, as she vaulted to her feet.

“Just the basics of what happened. Cara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

There was a trace of tears in Liz’s words, but Cara ignored her friend’s distress, clamping her lips shut.

“You can’t go back to work, you don’t sleep, you have nightmares, you won’t go out at night.” Liz laid out her case in the stony silence that hung on the line. “I have to drag you out of the apartment even in the daylight. That’s not normal.”

The truth of Liz’s words did nothing to ease Cara’s anger. How could Liz do this to her? Of all people, Liz knew how Cara felt about her husband. Her friend had witnessed the incident that had delivered the fatal blow to their marriage. As far as Cara was concerned, the only difference between the two betrayals was that Liz’s intentions had been good. But as conventional wisdom was fond of pointing out, the road to a certain undesirable location was paved with those.

“I saw a murder.” Cara choked on the word, and her fingers clenched around the phone. “It takes time to recover from trauma like that.”

“Sometimes it also takes professional help. But you won’t consider that.”

That was true, Cara conceded. She’d always been a strong person, and she’d been convinced she could work through the aftermath of the attack on her own. But the depth and power of her trauma had overwhelmed her. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t making any progress.

“Since you won’t get professional help, a change of scene might be a good thing,” Liz pressed, when Cara didn’t reply. “What better place than small-town America, where people don’t even feel a need to lock their doors? Sam has a spare bedroom in his house that he’s willing to let you use. I think you should consider it.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Yes, I am.”

“You want me to live under the same roof with the man who…” Cara stopped, too shocked by the absurdity of the suggestion to complete the thought.

“I know it’s kind of awkward, but…”

“Awkward? That doesn’t even come close to describing the scenario you’re proposing!” Once more, a touch of hysteria sharpened Cara’s voice.

“Okay, maybe this is weird. No, scratch that. It is weird,” Liz admitted. “But as far as I’m concerned, the situation is desperate. The thing is, Cara, Sam can offer you a safe place to stay until you feel stronger. Think of it this way. He owes you after all he put you through. No matter how you feel about him, at least he’ll be a warm body in the house at night so you can feel safe enough to sleep. And during the day, when he’s at work, you’ll have the place to yourself. It’s a good plan. And Sam is willing.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is he willing?”

“Who knows? Guilt, maybe?” In truth, Liz thought it was more than that. But she wasn’t about to share that intuition with Cara. Her friend would turn tail and run in the opposite direction if she suspected Sam had other—more personal—reasons for extending the invitation. “What does it matter? Just consider it a safe place to stay for a few weeks.”

Safe, Cara reflected. That depended on your definition of the word. In a physical sense, Liz might be right. But given her precarious emotional state, and the too-prominent role Sam had played in her wayward musings this past month, Cara wasn’t at all sure about the security of her heart. She’d have to constantly remind herself that she and Sam could never recapture the closeness they’d once shared. That there had been too many hurts, too much betrayal. If she went, she couldn’t harbor any illusions. Sam’s home would be a place to recuperate. Nothing more.

If she went.

A shock wave rippled through Cara. When had she started to even consider the trip an option? She groped for the counter and eased back onto the stool, suddenly shaky.

“Cara?” An uncertain note crept into Liz’s voice. “Hey, I had your best interest at heart. I’m sorry if I made a mistake. You know how much our friendship means to me, and I was aware of the risk when I called Sam. But I couldn’t figure out any other way to help you. Please don’t hate me, okay?”

For fifteen years—since the day they’d met at a contemporary art exhibit both had been dragged to by their respective dates, only to find themselves laughing together in the ladies’ room at the abstract, over-the-top junk that was being passed off as fine art—Liz had been like a second sister to Cara. Their friendship had been cemented long before either had married. How could she hold Liz’s actions against her when she knew that her friend had been motivated by love?

“It’s okay, Liz.” Cara closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath as she struggled to sort through her emotions. “This whole thing is just bizarre. Kind of like my life of late. I have to admit that I’m starting to feel a little like Job. But I’ve lost so much…I don’t want to lose you, too. You saved my life this past month.”

“Then you’ll at least think about my idea?”

Propping her elbow on the counter, Cara pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her chin in her palm. She blinked, her eyes gritty with fatigue, as a shaft of bright morning light slanted through the window. Maybe a good night’s sleep was reason enough to visit Sam.

“I’ll pray about it, Liz.”

“Sounds like a plan. And the sooner the better. I’ll do the same.”

As they hung up, Cara hoped Liz would honor her parting promise. Because this decision wouldn’t be easy. And she was going to need all the guidance she could get.

Sam hit redial and checked his watch. He’d been at this phone game for three hours now, and Cara still wasn’t answering. According to Liz, she rarely left her apartment, so he figured she was there—unless she’d gone to church. A good possibility, he realized, since regular worship was part of her routine. He could count on one hand the number of Sunday services she’d missed during their marriage.

The call went through, and Sam counted the rings. One. If she had gone to church, she should be home by now. Two. That meant she was ignoring him. Three. It looked like he might have to implement Plan B—get on a plane to Philadelphia and show up on her doorstep. Four.

Expecting the answering machine to kick in, he started to take a breath to leave a message when a live greeting came over the line. “Hello?”

The air whooshed out of his lungs.

“Hello?” Cara repeated when the silence lengthened.

He gulped in some oxygen. “Cara? It’s Sam.”

“I figured it might be.” Her voice was as taut as a rubber band about to snap.

“Sorry about all the messages. It finally dawned on me that you must be at church.”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose. “You never miss.”

“I’ve skipped the past few Sundays.”

He didn’t have to ask why. But if Cara was too nervous to go out even for services, Liz hadn’t exaggerated his wife’s trauma—or her need for help. Convincing her to let him provide it, however, was going to be a formidable challenge. He tried to think of some way to lead up to the purpose of his call, but in the end decided to plunge in. Why pretend that this was a normal conversation when they both knew it wasn’t?

“I talked to Liz,” he said without preamble.

“I know. She called me this morning.”

Unsure whether that was good or bad, Sam tested the waters. “She told you about our conversation?”

“Yes.”

When silence followed her single-word response, Sam realized that she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Cara.”

Soft and caring, his comment took her off guard. It reminded her of the way he’d talked to her early in their marriage. Perhaps he’d learned a thing or two about empathy since their parting, Cara mused. She hoped so. For his sake.

“I survived.” Her response came out a bit more curt than she intended, but maybe that was good. She didn’t want Sam to think her feelings toward him had softened one iota during the months they’d been apart. Nor did she want to prolong this painful conversation.

He got the message. And got to the point. “Based on what Liz told me about your experience, I think her plan has merit. A change of scene, and a move to a safe environment, could speed the emotional healing process. I have a three-bedroom house, and one of the bedrooms is empty. You’re welcome to use it for as long as you like.”

Since her conversation with Liz, Cara had forced herself to consider the situation from a practical standpoint. And she’d done some intense praying. When she’d answered the phone, she’d been prepared to accept his offer.

But now that the moment had arrived, she hesitated. It had been one thing to decide on a course of action in the abstract, and another altogether to follow through when his warm, caring voice was already wreaking havoc with her unsettled emotions. If she reacted this way talking to him by phone, how in the world would she manage when she was living in his house?

Still, he’d be gone a great deal—working all day and well into the evening, if old patterns held. Their paths didn’t have to cross that much. She had plenty of books she’d been wanting to read, and that could occupy her at night until he returned and she could go to sleep. It should be fine. Just because their marriage had fallen apart didn’t mean they couldn’t be adult enough to treat each other with civility for a few weeks.

“Okay.”

Prepared to argue his case, Sam was taken aback by her easy acquiescence. “You’re coming?” he clarified.

“Yes.”

A surge of elation washed over him, but he did his best to maintain a steady tone as he responded. “Good. When?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know.”

“Will you be okay making the trip alone?”

“I’ll manage.”

Her reassurance didn’t assuage his worry. He knew how debilitating panic attacks could be—as could the other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. But he also knew that if he got too protective, she might back off. Even cancel her trip. And he couldn’t risk that.

“Okay. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Cara.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep a touch of warmth from creeping into his voice. And her warning note when she responded told him she hadn’t missed it.

“I’m only looking for a place to stay, Sam. Nothing more.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Without waiting for him to reply, Cara hung up.

As she picked up a now-tepid cup of tea, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t thanked him for his invitation. Perhaps because she wasn’t sure he was doing her any favors, she speculated. While her visit might be precisely what she needed to start her on the road to recovery, it could also turn out to be a disaster. Time would tell, she supposed. Until then, she’d just have to put the outcome in God’s hands.

And pray she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life.