Eight
“Katie, will you kindly come down from that tree!”
Diana yelled as she jerked open the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. It seemed she was going to have to cut down the apple tree in order to keep her younger daughter from climbing between its gnarled limbs. The girl seemed to think she was half monkey. Two days into summer vacation, and already Diana was beginning to sound like a banshee.
“Mom . . .”
“Katie, just do it. I’m in no mood for an argument.”
She slammed the door, furious with herself for being so short-tempered and angry with Katie for disobeying her. A rush of air escaped her lungs as she slouched against the kitchen wall and hung her head in an effort to get a firm grip on her emotions.
“Mom?”
Diana lifted her eyes to find Joan standing on the other side of the room, studying her with an odd look. She frowned. “What?”
In answer to her mother’s question, Joan pulled out a chair and patted the seat. “I think it’s time for us to have another of our daughter-mother talks.”
If her preteen hadn’t looked so serious, Diana would have laughed. Not again! Diana had only just recovered from the first such conversation. Joan had spoken to her about the importance of not doing anything foolish—such as marrying Owen on the rebound from Cliff.
“Again, Joan?”
she asked, her eyes silently pleading for solitude.
“You heard me.”
Diana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and seated herself. While Diana waited, Joan walked around the counter and brewed a cup of coffee. Once she’d delivered it to her mother, she took the chair across from Diana and plopped her elbows onto the tabletop, her hands cupping her face as she stared at her mother.
“Well?”
“Don’t rush me. I’m trying to think of a diplomatic way of saying this.”
“I’ve been a grouch. I know, and I apologize.”
Diana could do nothing less. She’d been snapping at the girls all week. School was out, and it took time to adjust. At least, that was what she told herself.
“That’s not it.”
“Is it Owen? You needn’t worry. I won’t be seeing him again.”
In a spontaneous outburst of glee, Joan tossed her hands above her head. “There is a God!”
“Joan, honestly!”
“So you’re not going to date Owen anymore. What about . . .”
She paused abruptly. “You know . . . the one whose name I’ve been forbidden to mention.”
“Cliff.”
Joan pointed at her mother’s chest. “He’s the one.”
“What about him?”
Diana asked, ignoring her daughter’s attempt at humor.
The amusement drained from the eleven-year-old’s dark eyes. “You still miss him, don’t you?”
Diana lowered her gaze and shrugged. She preferred not to think about Cliff. Ever since the night she’d seen him with that bimbo clinging to him like a bloodsucker, Diana had done her best to avoid anything vaguely connected with Cliff Howard. It was little wonder they hadn’t been able to get along. Obviously, Cliff’s preference in women swayed toward the exotic. Their breakup had been inevitable. He might have been satisfied with apple pandowdy for a time, but his interest couldn’t have lasted. Not when he could sample cheesecake anytime he wished. Diana had been intelligent enough to recognize that from the first, but she’d been so flattered—all right, attracted to Cliff—that she’d chosen to ignore good old-fashioned common sense. Joan was right, though. She did miss him. But more important, she’d gotten out of the relationship with her heart intact. No one had been hurt; she’d been lucky.
“Anyway, Katie and I have been thinking,”
Joan continued.
“Now that’s dangerous.”
Diana took a sip of her coffee and nearly choked as the hot brew slid down the back of her throat. Joan had made it strong enough to cause a nuclear meltdown.
“Mom, Katie and I want you to know something.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever Cliff did, we forgive him. We think that you should be big enough to do the same.”
Marianne batted her thick, mascara-coated lashes in Cliff’s direction, issuing an invitation that was all too obvious. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. Harder than necessary, grinding his mouth over hers, angry with her for being so transparent and even angrier with himself for not wanting her.
The woman in his arms moaned, and Cliff obliged by kissing her again. He didn’t need to be an Einstein to realize he was seeking something. Every time he kissed Marianne, it was a futile effort to taste Diana.
The blond wound her arms around his neck and seductively rubbed her breasts over his torso. Cliff couldn’t force any desire for her, and the realization only served to infuriate him.
His hands gripped Marianne’s shoulders as he extracted himself from her grasp.
She looked up at him, dazed and confused. “Cliff?”
“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
He offered the lame excuse, stood and reached for his jacket. “I’ll give you a call later.”
He hurried out the door, hardly able to escape fast enough. Once inside his car, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and clenched his jaw. What was happening to him? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Diana stood at the sliding glass door and checked the sleeping foursome on the patio. In an effort to make up for her cranky mood, and in a moment of weakness, she’d agreed to let the girls each invite a friend over for a slumber party. Now all four were sacked out in lawn chairs, with enough pillows, blankets, radios and stuffed animals to supply a small army. They’d talked, laughed, carted out half the contents of the kitchen and had finally worn themselves out. Peace and goodwill toward men reigned for the moment.
Diana had just poured herself a cup of decaffeinated coffee, when the doorbell chimed. Surprised, she checked her watch and noticed it was after ten. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone this late.
Setting aside her coffee, she moved into the entryway and pressed her eye to the peephole in the front door. Her gaze met the solid wall of a man’s chest—one she’d recognize anywhere. Cliff Howard’s.
There wasn’t time to react, or time to think. Her heart hammered wildly as she unbolted the lock and gradually opened the door.
“Hi,”
he said awkwardly. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in. I hope you don’t mind.”
He was dressed in a dinner jacket, his tie was loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened. Cliff didn’t need anyone to tell him he looked bad. That was what he felt like, too. So the dragon lady wasn’t going to come to him. Fine, he’d go to her, and they’d get this matter settled once and for all. Hard as it was to admit, he missed her. He even missed Joan and Katie. It hadn’t been easy swallowing his pride this way, and he sincerely hoped Diana recognized that and responded appropriately.
“No, I don’t mind.”
Actually, she was pleased to see him now that she’d gotten over the initial shock. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, and she wanted to clear the air and say goodbye without a lot of emotion dictating her words. “I’d just poured myself a cup of coffee. Would you care for some?”
“Please.”
He followed her into the kitchen, sat down, noticed the open drape and pointed toward the patio. “What’s going on out there?”
“School’s out, and the girls are celebrating with a slumber party.”
He grinned and nodded toward the large pile of blankets. Only one hand and the top of a head were visible. “I take it the one with the six-inch bright red fingernails is Joan.”
Grinning, Diana delivered his cup to the table and nodded. “And the one clenching sixteen Pooh bears is Katie.”
As she moved past Cliff, she caught a whiff of expensive perfume and the faint odor of whiskey.
“It’s good to see you, Diana.”
The fact was, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
“There wasn’t any need to tear yourself away from a hot date to visit, Cliff. I’m here most anytime.”
Her words were more teasing than angry, and she smiled at him.
He smiled back. “The least you could do is pretend you’re happy to see me.”
“But I am.”
She really did have the most beautiful eyes. Dark and deep, wide and round. They were capable of tearing apart a man’s heart and gentle enough to comfort an injured animal. He remembered how their color had clouded with passion when he’d kissed her, and wondered how long it would be before he could do it again. He longed for Diana’s kisses as much as he missed her quick wit.
Diana settled herself in the chair across from him, not wanting to get too close. Cliff had that look in his eyes, and she was beginning to recognize what it meant. If she gave him the least amount of encouragement, he would reach for her and cover her mouth with his own. Then everything she’d discovered about herself these past days without him would be lost in the passion of the moment.
“Why did you come? Did your dinner companion turn you down?”
She didn’t know the half of it, he thought to himself.
Diana grinned into her coffee cup. “Was she the same girl as the other night?”
“Yes,”
Cliff admitted sheepishly. “Unfortunately all her brains are situated below her neck.”
“Now, Cliff, that was unkind.”
So her own estimation of Miss World had been right on; the blonde was a bimbo. It was tacky to feel so good being right about the other woman. Tacky, but human.
“Well, your date certainly resembled William F. Buckley.”
Diana was unable to hold back her laugh. “He brought me references.”
“What?”
“He’s Shirley’s third cousin, and apparently he thought I needed to know something more about him. Honestly, Cliff, I thought I’d die. He’d had someone from Highline Community College write up a letter telling me what a forthright man he is, and there was another letter from his dentist and a third from his apartment manager.”
They laughed together, and it felt incredibly good. Diana wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and sighed audibly. “Joan and Kate were scared to death I’d marry him.”
“How have the girls been?”
“They’re great.”
Actually, Diana was grateful both her daughters were asleep; otherwise they might have launched themselves into Cliff’s arms and told him how miserable their mother had been without him.
“And you?”
“Good. How about yourself?”
“Fair.”
Cliff didn’t know the words to describe all that had been happening to him. Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different. He’d dated one of the most sought-after women in Seattle, and she’d left him feeling cold. His little black book was filled with names and phone numbers, and he hadn’t the inclination to make one phone call.
“Actually, I’m glad you stopped by,”
Diana said, wading into the topic they’d both managed to avoid thus far. “I owe you an apology for running off on you that way.”
“Diana, honestly, I still don’t know what I did that was so terrible.”
“I realize that.”
“I thought we had something really good going. I didn’t mean to rush you—I assumed—falsely, it seems—that you were as ready for the physical part of our relationship as I was.”
Diana lowered her gaze, and her hands tightened around the mug. “I wish I could be different for you, but I can’t.”
“You wanted me. I knew that almost from the first.”
She still did, but that didn’t alter her feelings. “Unfortunately I need something more than magic.”
“What?”
If he could give it to her, he would.
Her eyes were infinitely sad, dark and soulful. “You know the answer to that without my having to spell it out for you.”
At least she had the common sense not to say it: love and commitment. He wasn’t pleased at the thought of either one.
“Listen,”
she said, slowly lifting her eyes to capture his. “I’m glad you’re here, because we do need to talk. A lot of things have been going through my mind the past couple of weeks.”
“Mine, too.”
“I like you, Cliff. I really do. It would be so easy to fall in love with you. But I’m afraid that if I did, we’d only end up hurting each other.”
Feeling confused, he frowned darkly at her. “How do you mean?”
“When we first started going out, you automatically included the girls—mainly because I had them gathered around me like a fortress, and you recognized that you had to deal with them in order to get to me.”
He grinned because she was right on target; that had been his plan exactly.
“Later, after the fishing fiasco, you realized that having the girls around wasn’t the best thing for a promising relationship. I can’t say that I blame you. There’s no reason for you to be interested in children—a ready-made family isn’t for you, and children do have a tendency to mess things up.”
Cliff opened his mouth to contradict her, then realized that basically she was right. After the sailing trip, he had more or less decided the time had come to wean Diana away from her girls. To be honest, he’d wanted her all to himself. Oh, he’d planned to include Joan and Katie occasionally, but he was mainly interested in Diana. Her daughters were cute kids, but he could easily have done without them, and as much as possible, he’d hoped to keep them in the background of anything that developed between him and Diana.
“You make me sound pretty mercenary.”
Actually, when he thought about what he’d been doing, he realized that his actions could be construed as selfish. All right, so he’d been selfish!
“I don’t mean to place you in a bad light.”
“But it’s true.”
It hadn’t been easy for him to admit that, and he felt ashamed.
“Herein we have the basic problem. I can’t be separated from the girls. You may be able to ignore them, but I can’t. We’re one, and placing me in the middle and asking me to choose between you and my daughters would only make everyone miserable.”
Cliff’s smile was wry. “You know, you would have made a great attorney.”
“Thanks.”
“The way I deal with Joan and Katie could change, Diana.”
His gaze continued to hold hers. She was right; he’d been thinking only of himself, and he’d been wrong. But now that the air had been cleared, he was more than willing to strike up a compromise.
“Perhaps it could change.”
She granted him an A for effort, and was pleased that he cared enough to want to try. “But there’s more.”
“There is?”
“Cliff, for some reason you have a difficult time making a commitment to one woman. I suspect it has a lot to do with the girl who lived with you. Shirley told me about her.”
“Becky.”
He didn’t even like to think about her or the whole unfortunate experience. It had happened a long time ago, and as far as he was concerned, the whole affair was best forgotten.
“You might not be thrilled with this, but I think you cared a great deal for Becky. I honestly believe you loved her.”
Unable to remain seated, Cliff stood and refilled his coffee cup, even though he’d taken only a few sips. “She was a selfish bitch,”
he said bitterly, his jaw tight.
“That makes admitting you loved her all the more difficult, doesn’t it?”
“Who do you think you are? Sigmund Freud?”
“No,”
she admitted softly. “Believe me, I know what you went through when she moved out. Although the circumstances were different, I was unbelievably angry with Stan after he died. I’d take out the garbage and curse him for not being there to do it for me. I’d never been madder at anyone in my life. As crazy as it sounds, it took me months to forgive him for dying.”
“Stan’s death was absolutely nothing in common with what happened between me and some airhead. Becky wandered in and out of my life several years ago and has nothing to do with the here and now.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“I know I am,”
he reiterated forcefully.
“But ever since then, you’ve flitted in and out of relationships, gained yourself a playboy reputation and you positively freeze at the mention of the word love. I’d hate to think what would happen if marriage turned up in casual conversation.”
“That’s not true.”
He felt like shouting now.
Diana hadn’t even known Becky.
He was lucky to have gotten away from the two-timing schemer.
Diana had it all wrong—he was planning on falling in love and getting married someday. It wasn’t as if he’d been soured on the entire experience.
“I understand how you feel, believe me.
Loving someone makes us vulnerable.
If we care about anyone or anything, we leave ourselves wide open to pain.
Over the years, the two of us have both shielded our hearts, learned to keep them intact.
I’m as guilty as you are.
I’ve wrapped my heart around hobbies.
You use luxuries.
The only difference between the two of us is that I have Joan and Katie.
If it hadn’t been for the girls, they might as well have buried me in the casket with Stan.
It would have been safe there—airless and dark.
Certainly there wouldn’t have been any danger of my heart getting broken a second time.
You see, after a while the heart becomes impenetrable and all our fears are gone.”
Standing across from her, Cliff braced his hands on the back of the chair. He said nothing.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I finally understand the reason I couldn’t sleep with you. Yes, you were right on target when you said I was physically ready, but emotionally and spiritually I’m miles away. You were right, too, when you claimed there was magic between us. After dating Owen, I recognized that isn’t anything to sneeze at, either.”
She paused, and they shared a gentle smile. “But more than that, I realized that without love, without risking our hearts, the magic would fade. A close physical relationship would leave me vulnerable again and open to pain.”
She dropped her gaze to the tabletop. “It hurts too much, Cliff. I don’t want to risk battering my heart just because something feels good.”
When she’d finished, the silence wrapped itself around them.
Diana was the first one to speak. “But more than anything, I want you to know how grateful I am to you.”
“Me? Why?”
“You woke me up. You made me feel again.”
“Glad to oblige, Sleeping Beauty.”
Cliff hadn’t liked what she’d said—maybe because it hit too close to the truth.
She was right; he had changed after Becky, more than he’d ever realized.
He wasn’t particularly impressed with the picture Diana had painted of him, but the colors showed through all too clearly.
She was right, too, about surrounding himself with luxuries.
The sailboat, the fancy sports car, even the ski condo—they were extravagances. They made him feel good, made him look good.
After a long moment, Cliff moved away and emptied his coffee cup into the sink. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,”
he said with his back to her.
She’d given them both a lot to think about. Diana walked him to the front door and opened it for him. “Goodbye, Cliff.”
He paused for a moment, then reached for her, folding her in his arms, pressing his jaw against the side of her head. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t dare, because he wasn’t sure he would still be able to walk away from her if he did.
Diana slowly closed her eyes to the secure warmth she experienced in his arms. She wanted to savor these last moments together. After a while, she gently eased herself free.
“Goodbye, Diana,”
he whispered, and turned and walked away without looking back.
“Hey, Cliff, how about a cold beer?”
“Great.”
He stretched out his hand without disturbing his fishing pole and grabbed for the Bud Light. Holding the chilled aluminum can between his thighs, he dexterously opened it with one hand and guzzled down a long, cold drink.
“This is the life,”
Charlie, Cliff’s longtime fishing buddy, called out. His cap was lowered over his eyes to block out the sun as he leaned back and stretched out his legs in front of him. The boat rocked lazily upon the still, green waters of Puget Sound.
“It doesn’t get much better than this,”
Cliff said, reaching for a sandwich. The sun was out, the beer was cold and the fish were sure to start biting any minute.
The weather forecast had been for a hot afternoon sun. It was only noon, and already it was beginning to heat up. Charlie and Cliff had left the marina before dawn, determined to do some serious fishing. Thus far neither man had had so much as a nibble.
“I’m going to change my bait,”
Charlie said after a while. “I don’t know what’s the matter with these fish today. Too lazy, I guess. It looks like I’m going to have to give them reason to come my way.”
“I think I’ll change tactics, too.”
Already Cliff was reeling in his line.
It was on days like this, when the fish weren’t eager and the sun was hot, that he understood what it meant to be a fisherman.
Once he had his pole inside the boat, he reached for his tackle box and sorted through the large assortment of hand-tied flies and fancy lures.
A flash of silver stopped his search.
His replacement lucky lure.
His fingers closed around the cold piece of silver as his thoughts drifted to Katie.
She was rambunctious and clever, and whenever she walked, the eight-year-old’s pigtails would bounce.
Grinning, he remembered how she’d leaned over the side of his sailboat and called out to the fish, trying to lure them to her hook before her sister’s.
His grin eased into a full smile as he recalled the girls’ antics that Saturday afternoon.
“You know what I’ve been thinking?”
Charlie mumbled as he tossed his line over the side of the boat.
Cliff was too caught up in his thoughts to care.
He’d done a lot of thinking about what Diana had said the other night.
In fact, he hadn’t stopped thinking about their conversation.
He hadn’t liked it, but more and more he was beginning to recognize the truth in what she’d had to say.
“Cliff?”
Sure, he’d missed Diana, regretted his assumptions about their casually drifting into a physical relationship.
But he missed Joan and Katie, too, more than he’d ever thought he would.
The instant flare of regret that constricted his heart at the sight of the lure shocked him.
He was beginning to care for those two little girls as much as he did for their mother.
“Cliff, good buddy? Are you going to fish, or are you going to kneel and stare into that tackle box all day?”
There was a reason Diana hated Monday mornings, she decided as she lifted the corner of Joan’s double bed and tucked the clean sheet between the mattress and the box spring.
She hated changing sheets, and once a week she was reminded of the summer job in her junior year of high school.
She’d been a hotel maid and had come to hate anything vaguely connected with housekeeping.
When she finished with the girls’ sheets, she was going to wash her hair, pack a picnic lunch and treat Joan and Katie to an afternoon at Seahurst beach in Burien, another South Seattle community.
She might even put on a swimsuit and sunbathe.
Of course, there was always the risk that someone from Greenpeace might mistake her for a beached whale and try to get her into the water, but she was willing to chance it.
Chuckling at her own wit, Diana straightened and reached for a fresh pillowcase.
It was then that she heard a faint but sharp cry coming from outside, and recognized it immediately as something serious.
It sounded like Katie.
She tossed the pillow aside and started out of Joan’s bedroom.
The last time she’d looked, both girls were in the backyard playing. Mikey Holiday had been over, as well as a couple of other neighborhood kids.
“Mom!”
Joan shrieked, panic in the lone word. “Mom! Mom!”
It was the type of desperate cry that chills a mother’s blood. Diana raced down the stairs and nearly collided with her elder daughter. Joan groped for her mother’s arms, her young face as pale as the sheet Diana had just changed.
“It’s Katie . . . she fell out of the apple tree. Mom, she’s hurt . . . real bad.”