Chasing Sunsets Part 16

My breath caught. "What did you call me?"

"Lo siento. I'm sorry. It was a slip of the tongue . . . something between my family and me . . . something we always do."

I shook my head as I took a few steps closer and finally reached the platform. "No, it's just that a friend of mine who lives here used to call me that when we were kids. Rosa Fuentes. Do you know her?"

A twinkle danced in his eyes. "Why do you ask that? Do you think every Latino knows every Latina?"

I blinked. "Goodness, no." I placed a hand on my chest. "That did sound a little racist, I guess."

He laughed then. "No worries. Actually, Rosa is my cousin. She told me about you needing some help. She said you gave her a piece of paper with your number on it but that she'd misplaced it. Then she remembered that you said you'd placed a notice at the market."

"Luis! I remember you! Well, I mean, we never met, but I remember Rosa talking about you . . . about visiting you at her grandmother's house on the mainland."

Luis's expression was that of old home week. "That's right. Small world, no?"

"I feel like I'm hiring a friend of the family. My father is going to be happy to hear this." I looked toward the house. "So, let's get started. I'll show you what needs to be done, and then you can give me a price. If it sounds good to Dad, then we're set to go."

And, I thought, I can get home where I'll be closer to my sons, sooner rather than later.

I ran up the outside z-shaped staircase to call Dad as soon as Luis's car was down the road and out of sight, heading toward Highway 24. "I think I've found someone," I told him. "He and his sister own a cleaning service; they can start on Monday. I'll stick around until Tuesday. I can be home by Tuesday afternoon, no later than evening-"

"Whoa there, Boo," Dad said. "What's got you so breathless?"

"The run up the stairs for one thing. And, Dad, I really think you'll be pleased with who I've got." I took in a few breaths, then exhaled. "I want to be at home, Dad. To be near the boys."

"You're as close to them there as you are here. Charlie isn't going to have you over for potluck, you know."

I was in the living room, leaning against the frame of the sliding gla.s.s doors, watching the sun dance on the water. I closed my eyes and sighed. "I know, Dad. But still . . ."

"Okay, Boo. Tell me about these people. How do you know you can trust them? Have you run a background check?"

I felt the air blowing out of my sails. "Well, no, but . . . it's Luis. Rosa's cousin."

"Rosa?"

"Yes. I remember her talking about him when we were kids."

"That means nothing to me, Kimberly. He could have been a straight-A student then and be a registered felon in the state of Florida now."

"Dad . . ."

"I'm serious, Kim. I want you to have a background check run on him."

I gritted my teeth and shook my head back and forth. When I was done with my version of a temper tantrum, I said, "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out."

"Isn't it enough that Rosa recommended him?"

"No, Boo, it's not. This is my home. I own it. It's full of precious memories and things I have no desire to lose."

"I understand, Dad. I do. But, if you met Luis-"

"I don't need to meet Luis. I need for you to do the job I sent you down there to do and run a background check on him. Do you still have my credit card information?"

Some time ago Dad gave each of us his numbers and other vital information "in case of an emergency." I supposed in his mind now was one of those times. And not that Dad couldn't have done all this himself, I figured. But then, just as quickly, I reasoned this was another one of his ways of keeping me occupied. "Yes," I said. "I have it."

"Good. Order a background check. If he is supposed to come on Monday, I suggest you do it soon."

I sighed again. "All right, Dad. But you'll see. I'm right about this guy." Then I chided myself silently. Well, you thought you were right about Steven Granger and Charlie Tucker too.

With all the activity of the day, I'd hardly paid attention to Max. After I hung up the phone with Dad, I fed him, adding extra to his bowl to make up for the misery I might have caused him, and then went outside with him for a game of fetch.

The only problem with playing fetch with Max was that he had the retrieval part of the game down but not the return. In the end, I did more running around than Max, which left me soaked with perspiration.

"Okay, boy," I said, panting harder than he. "One more throw and one more time of me getting the ball out of your mouth and we're going inside. You are rank, and I'm not that far behind you."

Max yelped in antic.i.p.ation, a bossy, Stop talking, Mom, and just get on with it.

I threw the ball, Max bounded for it, and then I took off after him. As I wrestled the slimy red orb from between his clenched teeth, tires crunched along the road from the highway. I looked up, horrified to see Steven's Jeep Wrangler Rubicon driving toward the house.

I looked at Max, who was looking at me with his long pink tongue hanging out and his eyes questioning. "Max," I implored. "Did you call him and tell him to come?"

And with that, Max ran for the automobile gliding to a stop. An obvious yes.

When Steven exited the car, Max bounced in welcome as I ran my fingertips over my sweaty face and moaned. My old flame looked remarkable in dark blue shorts and a tan shirt with the boat tour's logo etched across it. His hair was combed and in place with the light breeze from the water feathering the front, which only added to the boyish charm he still possessed.

And he smelled good too.

I, on the other hand, looked a mess and I said so.

"You look . . . fine," he said with a smile as he reached me. "Max been running you too hard?"

I placed my hands on my hips. "Actually, yes. He has." I looked toward the house and then back. "What brings you here, Steven?"

His eyes had followed where mine had gone, then back to rest on what I knew to be the pitiful sight I was. "Well, I was hoping maybe we could talk."

My heart hammered. "About?"

He looked out over the water. "About fifteen minutes, I'd say." Then he smiled. "I've got a two o'clock tour scheduled." He looked down at his watch. "I'm barely going to make it as it is . . . but I really wanted to talk to you about a few things and I didn't want to wait."

"Okay." I licked my parched lips. "I'm listening."

He chuckled. "Kim. It's hot as blazes out here and you look like you could use a gla.s.s of something wet and cold, so why don't you ask me inside."

"All right then." I started toward the stairs, and he followed. When we were inside I asked if he wanted anything to drink. He asked if I had sweet tea. I did. I had an entire gallon of it chilling in the refrigerator.

I prepared a couple of gla.s.ses. After handing him his, we sat at the kitchen table. He took a sip; I nearly gulped mine.

Again he chuckled. "Thirsty?"

I looked over at Max, who was s...o...b..ring all over his water bowl. "I'm afraid I've learned table manners from my dog."

"Don't worry about it." He took another sip, then placed the gla.s.s down on the table. When he had crossed one leg over the other, he came to the point. "Kim, did I do something or say something last night that upset you?"

If my face were not already neon red from the heat, I was sure it was now. I'd tried to end our date kindly. Apparently, I had not succeeded. And, like he'd always been able to do, he'd read my thoughts . . . or at least my actions. And he'd read them well.

Still, it wasn't a conversation I felt ready to have. I'd thought he would fade from my life again-as he had before. That I would go on with my life and he with his. "Steven . . ."

Before I could say anything more, he continued. "Because if I did, Kim . . . if I did," he added, his voice lowering, "I'm sorry. It wasn't done on purpose. I've gone over it about a million times in my mind. Everything we said during dinner. Even everything our server said. I thought we were having fun. I thought . . ."

When he didn't finish I asked, "What, Steven? What did you think?"

He sighed as he ran his index fingertip down the side of his gla.s.s, taking the beaded sweat with it. "That maybe while you were here, we could . . . you know."

"No, I don't know."

"See each other a little. Kick back like old times." His eyes-pa.s.sionate and royal blue and framed by tiny laugh lines made white by his tan-danced in sincerity. "I know you said you don't date much . . ."

"Don't date at all, Steven. And no. You didn't say or do anything," I lied. "It's just that, like you said, we'd only be seeing each other while I'm here, and that's going to be such a short time. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea that we would start something we couldn't finish."

Perplexity shot across his face. Like the glimpse of a dolphin leaping over water, had I blinked, I would have missed it. "What does that mean? Start something we can't finish? I'm just talking about dinner, maybe going to some of the local touristy kind of places, taking a boat ride or two. I'm not talking about . . . you know . . ." He took a nervous sip of his tea. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with where the conversation was going or if he was just thirsty.

I stood to refill my gla.s.s, stepping over Max, who lay next to his bowl, snoring. As the topaz liquid fell over what was left of my ice, I heard Steven say, "This is about when we were kids, isn't it?"

I turned with my gla.s.s clenched between my fingers. "Look, Steven, I really don't want to get into this."

He stood. "I wish you would, Kim. I wish you'd just tell me like it is-tell me the truth-so I know."

"All right then." I took a breath, let it out slowly. "You hurt me, Steven. I know it sounds silly. I know it was a lot of years ago. But you hurt me."

"I know I-"

I held up my free hand to stop him. "Don't say anything. Just listen. It's silly that a woman my age can't just pick up and move forward, but the truth is-and you said you want the truth-the truth is that you hurt me. You were my first love. I'd had a crush on you since I was twelve, and then after five years of pining away for you and you just thinking I was some little kid-you finally noticed me. Really noticed me. And I thought you felt like I did . . . don't say anything, Charlie!"

He blinked. "I'm not Charlie."

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip, then said, "No, you aren't. But you may as well have been."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, Steven, after you there was no one else until Charlie, and I thought I had met the man I really would spend the rest of my life with. And I thought he felt the same way too. We were it for each other. There had never been anyone else before . . . in that way . . . and I thought . . ." I swallowed. "Things were good between Charlie and me. We were both close to our families and had jobs we both loved, and we had kids any parent would be proud to have. We built a beautiful home and talked about what we would do when it was just the two of us again. Where we'd go. What we'd do. Life was idyllic, and while I rarely thought about you, I can honestly say that when I did, I still felt the pain of your dumping me the way you did-"

He opened his mouth, but again my hand shot up.

"But if I'm going to be honest, as time went on, the wound wasn't nearly as tender. Though I admit that when I heard you had gotten a divorce there may have been a little 'serves him right' in my heart. And yes, I am ashamed to admit that."

"I deserve that."

My shoulders fell. I set my tea on the countertop behind me and said, "Yes, you do." My voice was barely audible, even to me.

"So then what happened? Between Charlie and you, I mean."

I looked him in the eye. "Like you, Charlie found someone he loved better than me."

"He's remarried?"

I snorted. "Goodness, no. Since her, there's been a whole lot of somebodies, if what my sons tell me is true." I looked at my feet. "So here I am again. I've loved only two men in my life, and those two men have found me . . . not good enough." The words forced their way around the knot in my throat. My eyes now burned from holding back the tears. I stomped my foot lightly. "I swore I wasn't going to do this. I'm not going to cry." I blinked until the threat of a waterfall pa.s.sed. "This is what I'm talking about, Steven. I can't . . . I can't do . . . this. You have your answer now. I'd rather live out my life single than hurt like that again."

Steven crossed the distance between us. His fingertips slipped to the back of my head, his thumbs forcing my face up to his. When his lips-tender and warm-came down on mine, my breath caught in my throat. The kiss was over the same moment it began. Had his hands not stayed where they were, I would have fallen in a heap at his feet. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for my part in your hurt. But we were kids, Kimberly."

I slipped from his grip, taking several steps away from him . . . from that part I'd always found irresistible. I knew if I stayed too close, I still would. I kept my voice as kind as I knew how, even as I kept my eyes on his. "Maybe so. But we were still old enough to make babies."

He winced, then looked down at his watch before shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts in a sign of resignation. "Look," he said. "I can't even finish talking about this. I have to get going. This has already taken longer than I should have allowed it to. But . . ." He sighed. "Look here. I know you said you weren't going to be here long. I'd at least like it that when you leave, we can call ourselves friends."

I nodded.

He took several steps toward the door, then turned. "One more thing. I don't have anything after this next tour. The kid we hired for the summer is taking the last one of the day so . . . there's something I'd like to show you, okay? Will you meet me at the dock? Around 6:00?" He waited. When I didn't answer, he added, "Just say yes, Kimberly."

I shook my head, but then I sighed and said, "Yes."

He gave a faint smile. "Will you do me one little favor though?"

"I don't know. Depends on what it is."

He winked. "Clean up a little, will you?"

17.

November 1988 Steven Granger stood at the window of the third floor waiting area, peering out as though he were looking for someone in particular. His eyes shifted like the slow pendulum of a clock as he watched people walk along the sidewalk running horizontally in front of the hospital. Several were dressed in white lab coats and uniforms, but most were patient visitors, both coming and going. He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, wondering if anyone from his family or Brigitte's would be among them anytime soon.

Or at all.

In the corner of the small box of a room sat a man using the telephone. Steven closed his eyes against the drone of information the guy pa.s.sed along to what felt like the thirty-secondth person. At this point, Steven was quite positive that if the man came down with a sudden case of laryngitis, he could take over. Yes, his wife just had their third child. A boy. Yes, a boy. Finally. Yeah, I know. Of course they were naming him after his daddy. And then the hearty laugh, followed by, "If we can just figure out who he is!"

More laughter.

Steven looked down at his watch, then back to the world outside and below.

It was then that the closed door to the waiting room opened. Steven whirled around as Proud Papa said a hasty good-bye and hung up the phone. A couple of prospective grandparents who sat on the faux-leather sofa across the room stopped in their idle time activities to greet the nurse who stood in the framed doorway.

"Mr. d.i.c.kerson?"