Читать книгу Daddy's Home - Pamela Bauer, Pamela Bauer - Страница 8
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T THINK this is a good idea.”
“Just do it. Please.” Kristen sat in her usual position on the sofa with her leg propped up on the ottoman. Her best friend, Gayle Shaefer, knelt in front of the VCR, a couple of videocassettes beside her.
Before she inserted one, she asked Kristen, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to see someone who’s experienced in dealing with this kind of thing?”
“You think I need therapy?”
“I think talking to someone who understands what happens to a person who’s been in a plane crash is probably a better way to get on with your life rather than looking at a bunch of taped footage,” Gayle said candidly.
Kristen shook her head. “I’m not going to see any more doctors—and that includes psychiatrists, psychologists or whatever. I don’t want to talk about the crash, Gayle.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve done enough of that with my mother. It’s all she ever wants to talk about when she calls.”
“She’s probably trying to sort through her own feelings. After all, she nearly lost her daughter.”
Kristen knew Gayle was right. The problem was, while talking about it may have been therapy for her mother, Kristen didn’t need any reminders of how close she had come to losing her life in the plane crash.
“I didn’t die. I have a broken leg and—” she gestured to her left cheek “—and a face that’s messed up.”
“And both will heal,” Gayle reassured her in the voice Kristen had come to rely on over the years. “You’ll go back to work and your life will be normal again.”
“Yes, well, if I’m ever getting back to work, I need to look at those tapes. So let’s see what you’ve got.”
Gayle looked as if she wanted to protest, but didn’t. “Okay, if you’re sure you’re ready for this.”
Kristen wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she needed to do something to try to make her life normal again. Ever since the accident, she’d been mired in a quagmire of emotions that were unfamiliar to her. Guilt. Self-pity. Uncertainty.
None of them made any sense. She was alive. She’d survived an ordeal in which others had died. Yes, her face had required plastic surgery, but it would heal. She should’ve been grateful and happy. Yet she wasn’t. She was this pathetic bundle of nerves.
“Let’s do it,” she told Gayle, clenching her hands in her lap.
Gayle pushed the play button. Within seconds, Kristen was shivering as images she remembered all too vividly appeared before her eyes. Gayle didn’t move but stayed in front of the VCR, ready to stop the tape should the experience become too much for her friend.
As the images continued, Kristen wondered whether she should have listened to Gayle. She watched as the camera scanned the crash site, capturing all that could be seen of the broken plane left projecting out of the water.
Kristen lost control when she saw a man’s hat floating on the water. “Oh my G—” Her hand flew to her mouth as she choked back a lump of emotion in her throat. “No wonder everyone said it was a miracle we made it out.” Then she started to weep.
Gayle popped the tape out of the VCR. “That’s enough.” She went over to the sofa and put her hand on Kristen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
“I’m o-okay,” she choked out on a sob. “R-really. Show me the other one,” she said, sniffling as she reached for a tissue.
“I will not!”
Kristen blew her nose. “Gayle, please. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am and I have to see it. I won’t break down again. I promise. It was just the shock of seeing the plane.”
Gayle didn’t look convinced, but she finally slid the next cassette into the VCR. “Here’s the tape that came from our Hibbing affiliate.”
For Kristen, seeing the crash reported in a matter-of-fact tone by another reporter did not have the same emotional impact as the unedited footage. Although she shuddered once more at the scenes of the shattered airplane, she was able to separate her emotions from the images on the television so that she was no longer reliving the crash. Until her picture appeared on the screen.
It was one of the publicity photos the station used regularly. Next to it was a picture of Tyler Brant—the man who had saved her life. He wore a business suit and tie, his dark hair neatly trimmed, his eyes showing no emotion whatsoever. It was a typical business photo that could have been in the pages of any corporate report. There was no smile on his face.
Kristen watched the entire report, then rewound the tape with the remote until she came to the shot of Tyler Brant. She listened again as the reporter explained that Tyler had been on his way to Hibbing to check out the damage a fire had done to his electronics plant. She freeze-framed the tape.
“There he is. My hero.” She stared at him thoughtfully, trying to connect the austere-looking man in the photograph with the one who had carried her for miles in the cold, refusing to let her perish in the wilderness.
If she were to close her eyes, she thought she might be able to feel his warm breath on her cheek, hear his voice commanding her, “Stay with me, Kristen. Don’t you dare go to sleep. Do you hear me?”
His arms had had a strength that she’d needed, and even if she hadn’t just seen his picture on the screen, she still could’ve recalled every detail of his face.
It was not as photogenic a face as her fiancé’s. It had no dimples. no flirtatious sparkle in the eyes, no dazzling smile that would cause a woman’s heart to miss a beat. His thick, dark beard had been matted with blood, she recalled, his dark eyes compassionate, despite the pain he must have felt.
“I think he looks like a mountain man in a business suit,” Gayle commented. “What’s he like as a person?”
If anyone else had asked that question, Kristen would have said she hadn’t had time to get to know Tyler Brant However, Gayle had always been the one person she could talk to without guarding her words.
She shrugged. “He didn’t say much. I did most of the talking. He wanted me to because he was worried I’d fall asleep, which is not a good thing to do when you’re suffering from hypothermia. You probably know as much about him as I do just from watching the news.”
“Does he have a sense of humor?”
Kristen shot her a look of exasperation. “How would I know? We were fighting for our lives. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “he did laugh when I told him I couldn’t leave the plane without finding my gold cross—you know, the one my grandmother gave me.”
“Let me get this straight. The plane was sinking, and you were worried about your necklace?”
“It was special to me...and people aren’t always rational in times of distress,” she said in her own defense.
“Since you’re not wearing it, I assume you never found it,” Gayle remarked.
She shook her head. “He did look for it, though.”
“He must be strong, considering how far he carried you.”
“Mmm-hmm. And it was so cold. Our clothes were wet, which made me even heavier, yet he never complained.”
“He risked his life to save you.”
She nodded. “That’s why I feel this... this debt. Like I need to do something for him. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does. Have you spoken to him since the crash?” Gayle asked.
She shook her head. “He’s never returned my phone calls.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble putting all this behind you. Maybe you need to see this guy so you can move on with your life.”
Gayle’s suggestion wasn’t new to Kristen. She’d had the same thought herself. Ever since the crash, Tyler Brant had been in her thoughts a lot. She longed to know how he was coping. Whether the crash had changed his life. Did he question why he was chosen to survive while the others had died? Did he ever think about that day? Did he ever think about her?
That last question was the one that nagged her the most. Did he feel a sense of responsibility for saving her life? While she was in the hospital, she’d expected him to visit or at least call.
He hadn’t.
On several occasions, she’d tried to reach him at his office only to be told he was unavailable. Then she’d been bold enough to call his home only to have some woman tell her he was out of town on business. Finally, she had put her thoughts in a letter and mailed it to him.
Still, she’d heard nothing from him. Obviously, he didn’t want to see her again. And yet he’d been so kind that day of the crash. He’d seemed so interested in her, asking about her family and giving her the impression that because they had survived a tragedy together, they would always share a special bond of friendship. Then he had left the Hibbing hospital without so much as a goodbye.
“I’m not going to force him to talk to me. If he doesn’t think we have anything to say to one another, I’m not going to push the issue,” she told Gayle.
“But it’s not over for you, is it?”
“Not yet,” she answered quietly. “But it will be when I’m not cooped up in this apartment. This cast on my leg is making me feel claustrophobic.”
“Maybe we can drive around in the car and listen to the police scanner,” Gayle suggested.
Kristen gave her a weak smile.
“We could take in a movie.”
“And drag this monstrosity of a cast down those narrow theater aisles? No thanks.”
“Then I’ll go get us a couple of videos.”
“You should go home. You have a daughter who needs you.”
“It’s Tom’s turn to take her to her swimming lesson. He can easily get her ready for bed.”
“He’s been doing that far too often because you’ve been over here fussing over me. Go home and be with your family. Please.”
Gayle glanced at her watch. “It is getting late. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
Kristen nodded. “Positive. I have everything I need. A good book, the remote control and a bottle of diet soda. What more could I want?” she quipped.
She didn’t fool her best friend. “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. You just have to be patient.”
Kristen nodded. “I know.”
Gayle ejected the rewound tape and slipped it back into its case. “You know any time you want to get back into the swing of things you can always tag along with me. You don’t have to go back to the news desk.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not ready to go back yet,” she said a bit more defensively than she intended.
Gayle placed an understanding hand on her arm. “Then don’t. Take whatever time you need to feel like your old self again.”
Long after Gayle had gone, Kristen thought about those words. Would she ever feel like her old self again? How could she when she was having difficulty remembering who that person was?
It was true that she’d been through the kind of thing that caused people to reassess their priorities in life. To stop and smell the roses, so to speak. But it was more than that. It was...
It was what? she wondered. Why did she feel so restless? Why did she have periods of weakness even though the doctor had said there was nothing wrong with her physically? Why did she want to cry for no apparent reason? And why could she not stop thinking about Tyler Brant?
TYLER DID NOT HAVE a good day. It shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d had a restless night. When he hadn’t been tossing and turning, he’d slept fitfully, and most of his dreams—none of them pleasant—had involved Brittany.
In each of them, she was out of reach. At the top of an escalator, astride a painted horse on a revolving carousel, in a car speeding away from his home. She would call out to him for help, yet although he could see her, he couldn’t reach her.
They were the nightmares that had haunted him often during the past five years. He didn’t need a therapist to interpret their meaning. He had a fear of losing his daughter. What father didn’t?
That’s why he hadn’t been pleased when his mother had announced that Brittany was going on a field trip with her class. To the Science Museum, of all places. How was one teacher with the help of three parents going to keep track of twenty-two first-graders in a place that big?
He’d been tempted to keep Brittany home from school that morning. The last thing he needed was to spend his day worrying about her getting snatched by some pervert wandering the halls of the Science Museum. He knew his fear was irrational, yet he couldn’t stop himself from imagining all sorts of awful things that could happen to his daughter. It was only when his mother said that she would go along on the trip that he had signed his consent.
Then he’d had a flat tire on the way to work. Not only had he missed his meeting with the director of marketing, he’d had his lunch appointment canceled at the last minute. To top it off, the entire afternoon had been spent with engineers trying to figure out a solution to a mechanical problem that kept automatically shutting down one of the assembly lines.
By the time he arrived home that evening, he was tired and irritable. He wasn’t the only one. Brittany whined her way through dinner, which only confirmed one thing. The trip to the museum had been too much for her. As much as he wanted to tell his mother this, he wisely held his tongue and patiently put up with Brittany’s whining.
When the phone rang shortly after dinner, it was his mother who answered it “It’s Keith Jaxson from the Channel 12 news!” Excitement danced in her eyes. “He wants to speak to you.”
Tyler groaned. Had he known the media were still pursuing that story, he would have let the answering machine take the call. He’d managed to avoid all reporters up to now.
“Yes, this is Tyler Brant,” he said into the receiver.
“Mr. Brant, Keith Jaxson with Channel 12 news. How are you this evening?”
“I’ve been better, Mr. Jaxson.” Tyler could see no reason for social niceties.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t take up much of your time. The reason I’m calling has to do with Kristen Kellar.” He paused as if waiting for Tyler to ask what about her, but he didn’t. There was only dead air, which Keith quickly filled. “Here at Channel 12 news, we all miss her terribly and we’re doing everything we can to help her get back to work as quickly as possible.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with me, Mr. Jaxson,” Tyler said.
“I’m sure you’re aware that Kristen has a huge audience here in the Twin Cities—an audience that’s very concerned about how she’s doing. Because they’re so interested, we’d like to do a special report to show just how hard Kristen’s working to recover from the plane crash. What she’s been through is remarkable and the public ought to see just what a strong, determined lady she is.”
“That’s all fine, but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Why, you’re the reason she’s here to tell her story. It wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t include an interview with the man who saved her life.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Tyler stated in no uncertain terms.
“It wouldn’t have to be a long interview, just a brief visit to either your home or office—”
“No.” Tyler cut him off before he could finish.
“You’re a hero, Mr. Brant,” Jaxson reminded him.
“No, I’m a man who works long hours so I can come home to some peace and quiet and not have to worry about the media invading my privacy.”
That silenced Jaxson momentarily. “I apologize for disturbing you. I had hoped that you would want to say a few words about the remarkable courage Kristen has shown, but I see that I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were, Mr. Jaxson. And I would appreciate not being contacted again by your station. I have nothing to say on the subject of the plane crash,” he said with a note of finality that nobody could mistake.
As soon as he’d hung up, Tyler could see that his mother was upset. However, she didn’t say anything to him but went about the business of clearing away the dinner dishes, her mouth tightly set in a grim expression of disapproval. She disappeared into the kitchen only to return a few minutes later. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a fistful of papers.
“What’s this?” he asked as she dumped the pile in front of him.
“The messages that were on the answering machine when I got home today. Someone from Channel 12 was trying to get ahold of you. I didn’t realize it was Keith Jaxson.”
Tyler didn’t say anything but glanced through the crumpled papers. They were all from Channel 12. Most from a producer named LeeAnn. All said to please call regarding Kristen Kellar.
“They just won’t leave me alone,” he complained, shaking his head in disgust. “When are they going to get it through their thick skulls that I want nothing to do with them?”
Irritation simmered inside him. Maybe if he hadn’t had such a rotten day, he might’ve simply ignored the messages and gone to bed. But he had had a bad day. And he was furious that there were people out there determined to invade what little privacy he had. So he planted a kiss on Brittany’s cheek, reached for his coat and went out to his car. It was time he put an end to this once and for all.
He was no hero.
KRISTEN WATCHED JANEY and Keith on the six o’clock news. Saw the two of them bantering the way she and Keith had bantered in what seemed like an eternity ago. It had been only four weeks, but it was the longest four weeks of Kristen’s life. Janey was a natural. She had the look, and as Kristen was painfully aware, looks were everything in television.
Janey acted as if the anchor desk were hers. So confident, so at ease. With Kristen’s job. With Kristen’s fiance. Kristen knew she should be worried. She wasn’t.
She told herself that if Janey could maintain the ratings while she was on leave, that was all that really mattered. She didn’t want her job back. At least not yet. So why did she feel like she was on the outside looking in?
Maybe Keith was right. Maybe she had had too much time to think. Maybe the only way to get back on the inside was to go back to work.
Maybe not. She tossed a pillow at the television, frustrated with her indecision. She wasn’t happy staying at home recuperating, yet she really didn’t want to return to the newsroom.
When the intercom buzzed from the lobby, she was tempted to ignore the sound. It couldn’t be Keith since he was at the station, and Gayle had a class on Wednesdays. When the buzzing persisted, she hobbled over to the intercom.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice laced with an impatience she didn’t try to hide.
“Tyler Brant.”
Kristen gulped. Tyler Brant. The man of her dreams. The man she’d been trying to reach for weeks. The man she needed to thank.
“Come on up. I’m number 211.” She pressed the button to open the lobby door.
As she waited for him to arrive, anxiety sent a rush of adrenaline through her body. Why was he here? Did he want to talk about the crash and the impact it had had on his life? Maybe when he read her letter, he had sensed her need to thank him in person for saving her life. Could it be that he needed to talk to her as much as she needed to talk to him?
When he knocked on her door, her mouth went dry. For weeks, she had rehearsed what she would say to him. Now her mind was a blank. Maybe “thank you” was all that was really necessary.
She peered through the peephole and got a shock. The person standing outside her door looked nothing like the man who had rescued her from the icy waters of the river. Gone was the thick, dark beard that had covered his jaw. There was nothing, not even a mustache, to darken the lower portion of his face.
She unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door. Her eyes met his, and she felt an instant connection. They may have spent only a few hours together, but it seemed like so much longer. She’d been right to believe that for the rest of her life she would feel linked to this man in some intangible way.
Instead of saying, “Hello, how are you?” she blurted out, “You’re okay,” as a way of greeting him, then felt ridiculous. Of course he was okay. He was better than okay. He was healthy, virile and looking strong. She needed to explain her inane remark. “In the hospital they told me you had come through everything with only a few minor injuries, but I never got to see you, so I guess I never really believed you were all right.”
He only said, “May I come in?”
His voice was stiff and formal, not at all like the way he’d talked to her after the crash. His eyes were cold and distant.
“Please.” She motioned for him to step inside. “Would you like me to take your jacket?” she asked, leaning on one of the crutches for support.
“No, I’ll keep it, thank you. I won’t be staying long.”
She shivered, wondering what had happened to the man who had talked so tenderly to her after the crash. She hobbled over to the living room. He followed.
“Have a seat,” she said, noticing how disorderly her apartment looked with the pillow and blanket on the sofa, books and magazines scattered across the coffee table, the end tables littered with glasses and empty plates. She started to fold the blanket, then realized there was no point in trying to straighten up the place now. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked as he took a seat on one of the moss-green wing chairs.
“No, thank you.”
He looked around the apartment, his expression revealing nothing of what he was thinking. Kristen was grateful. She didn’t want to see disapproval in his eyes.
Instead of sitting on the sofa across from him, she took the chair next to his. It put him to her right, which meant she could keep her scarred cheek away from his view. As long as she didn’t look him straight in the eye, he wouldn’t notice it. Since leaving the hospital, she had become adept at looking at people from an angle.
And the angle from which she viewed Tyler Brant told her his face was very different from the one she had etched in her memory. She found it fascinating that facial hair could change a man’s image so drastically. Without the beard, he looked much younger. He was also extremely good-looking, something she hadn’t really appreciated before. For four weeks she had thought of him as someone who’d rescued her, not as a man she might be physically attracted to.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he began.
“I assume it’s because of my letter,” she said almost shyly. Now that she was in the same room with him, she suddenly felt like a character from one of those old adventure movies. And she was afraid that that was exactly how she would sound if she tried to thank him for saving her life. Like some helpless, simpering female gushing over a big, strong, macho man.
She needn’t have worried. He was no superhero, she quickly discovered.
“I wish you hadn’t sent me that letter,” he said, still no emotion in his voice.
To her dismay, she blushed. “I simply wanted to thank you, Mr. Brant,” She shifted uncomfortably on the chair.
“It wasn’t necessary. I did what anyone would have done in my position.”
There was no hint of friendliness in his tone. No softening of the lines on his face, no understanding in those dark eyes. Nothing about him resembled the man who had worked frantically to free her from the plane and carry her to safety. The man sitting next to her could have been a complete stranger instead of the man who had tenderly administered first aid to her wounds.
“I don’t believe that’s true,” she told him.
“You’re entitled to believe what you want, Ms. Kellar.”
Kristen felt as if he had dealt her a blow. Why was he behaving this way? She had thought that when she saw him again it would be a warm, friendly meeting with hugs and smiles. Instead, she was sitting next to him feeling awkward and wishing that he’d leave.
“If you didn’t appreciate my letter, why are you here?” she asked, seeing no point in wasting any more time.
“I think we need to get something straight.”
Kristen’s heart pounded in her throat. “And that is?”
“I’m not going to do any interview regarding the plane crash—not for you and certainly not for your boyfriend. I don’t want him calling my house bothering my family and I won’t tolerate being stalked just so the two of you can improve your ratings.” The words were spoken so quietly Kristen might have thought he wasn’t overly upset. But one look in his eyes told her he was extremely upset.
She swallowed with difficulty, then said, “First of all, I didn’t arrange for anyone to call your house. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not working at Channel 12 at the moment and I have no intention of being a part of any story that has to do with the crash.” She leaned closer to the lamp that separated them. Then she turned her head and pulled the hair away from her cheek. “Do you honestly think I want the world to see this?”
Unlike Keith, Tyler Brant didn’t flinch at the sight of her scarred face. Nor did he look uncomfortable. For the first time since he’d entered her apartment, she saw something other than coldness in his eyes. For several moments, they simply stared at each other without speaking, as if they were once more two people struggling to survive. Kristen was the first to look away.
He was the first to speak. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice sounding more like the one she remembered. At first she thought the apology was meant for her scarred face. But then he added, “I thought you were involved in the TV report. Your name did come up several times,”
“It shouldn’t have,” she said quietly, pulling the hair back down across her cheek. She moved away from the lamp, sitting back in her chair. “Believe me, Mr. Brant, you don’t have to worry about my wanting to do a follow-up story on the plane crash. I have no desire to relive that awful day.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Can I count on you to use your influence with management to stop any plans to the contrary?”
She chuckled sarcastically. “I’m only an anchorwoman.”
“I’ve seen the ratings. You’re very popular in the Twin Cities.”
“That was before this happened.” She was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice and immediately regretted letting him see her self-pity. She reached for her crutches and rose to her feet. “Look, I don’t know if it’ll help, but I’ll talk to my boss at the station. Now if you don’t mind, I’m rather tired. I haven’t recovered my full strength since the crash.” She didn’t look at him but at her crutches as she maneuvered through the maze of furniture in the living room.
“You don’t need to see me to the door,” he told her. “I can find my way out.”
“All right.” She watched him walk away, unable to help noticing his broad shoulders. No wonder she had found such comfort in his arms. Tyler Brant was not a weak man, either mentally or physically.
They didn’t exchange another word. It wasn’t until after Kristen heard the door shut that she sank onto the sofa, laid her head on the pillow and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. Any hope she had been harboring that he felt a connection to her was gone. He was just a guy who had done what he had to do in an emergency situation. Now he wanted to forget it—and her. That much had been evident tonight.
“Some hero,” she muttered to herself, then swallowed back a tear that threatened but never did fall.
