Ryan's Return (19 page)

"Ryan, are you there?" Wally demanded.

"When do you want me?" Ryan asked. Kara's hands stopped moving at his question. Did she care when he was leaving? Did it matter? His pulse raced at the thought. He tried to catch her eye, but she turned her back on him.

"I'm not sure," he said to Wally. "I'll get back to you. I know. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'll call you later."

"A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? That sounds too good to pass up," Kara said brightly as she put the dough into a bread pan and placed it in the oven to bake.

"It might be. The royal family of Japan has agreed to allow me an intimate look at their daily life."

"Wow. You must be thrilled."

"Who wouldn't be? Can I have more coffee?" He set his cup on the counter.

Kara wiped her hands off on a towel and poured him another cup of coffee. "Have you been to Japan before?"

"Lots of times. Which is probably why they requested me. I made friends the last time I was there."

She shook her head, a look of complete bewilderment on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me."

"But you could be anywhere. You could be dining with kings. My country inn must seem like a slum to you. My baskets of potpourri must make you laugh."

"Kara -- "

"My needlepoint pillows must make you cringe, and the gingham curtains in the bathroom must make you feel like you're in the most hokey inn in America," she added, her bottom lip trembling with sudden anger.

"Stop it, Kara."

"Stop what?" she asked. "You're just like Michael. I could never compete with his world. Whatever I had at home was never good enough." She put a hand to her mouth in sudden horror. "God, where did that come from?"

Ryan looked into her eyes and saw right through to the heart of her, to the insecurity, to the open wound of past rejection. She usually covered it so well, but for a second it was all there for him to see. But he couldn't acknowledge it. That would only make her feel worse. Instead he said lightly, "Guess I hit a button."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm sorry -- again. Maybe I should go back to bed and start over."

"It's okay."

"I just realized how different our worlds are, and it reminded me of Michael and how much he hated the home I made for him."

"Kara, I haven't felt more comfortable anywhere in this world than I have right here in your home. Because this is a home, not just an inn. It's filled with your warmth, your joy, your passion, everything that's you."

"But it's not exciting. It's not Japan. I'm not royalty."

"You're better."

"Oh, come on, don't patronize me. We don't live in the same world."

"The world isn't that big. I know; I've been around it a few times. Royal families are a lot like everyone else. I've done intimate portraits of world leaders dozens of times. And you know what -- they all sleep at night, they all go to the bathroom, they all love, they all hate, they all fight with their families, and they all wonder why they're not happy when it seems as if they have everything."

"Really?" The anger faded in her eyes.

"Really. Just like you and me."

"You're not happy, Ryan?" She answered the question before he could. "Of course, that's why you came back -- to find out what you were missing so you could decide what you want," she said, repeating his own words.

"But maybe I can't have what I want," he said, watching the emotions flow through her expressive blue eyes and across her beautiful face.

"That depends on what you want."

"What if I said I wanted you?"

"What if I asked you to stay?" she countered.

"What if I said no?"

"What if you said yes?"

God, he loved talking to her. She was so quick, so sharp. They communicated almost as if they were sharing one mind, one voice. Yet they were two very different people, and they wanted different things.

"Kara, I can't stay here." Ryan's gaze traveled to the calendar hanging on the wall. "I've already accepted assignments for March and April, even some in June and July. They're all over the world."

"Serenity Springs could be your home base. You could travel from here. And when your job is over, you would have a nice place to come back to. Your family is here, too."

"A family that doesn't want me in it."

"Maybe that would change with time."

Ryan rubbed his chin with a weary sigh. "People don't change. They are who they are."

Kara took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator and broke them into a bowl. "I don't believe that, Ryan. I changed. I used to be a wimp. I never fought back, never demanded what was mine, never tried to make things different, never yelled at Michael like I just yelled at you," she added with a rueful grin.

"Why not? It sounds like he deserved it."

"I was afraid of rocking the boat, afraid of following in my mother's footsteps. My father left me, so I felt I had to hang on to Michael, no matter what he did."

"What did he do, Kara?" Ryan asked.

Kara took in a deep breath, then let it out. "A lot of things. He was in sales, so we moved a lot. I pretty much followed meekly behind. It took me years to realize that some of those moves were mandated by the mistakes Michael made."

"What kind of mistakes?"

"Women. Michael loved women, especially those who were taken, those who belonged to someone important, like his boss."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "He liked to live dangerously."

"Yes. He cheated on me from the first month of our marriage. After awhile, it became a game. We'd go to a party together, and he'd disappear. One time I stood around so long, I got disgusted enough to leave. I found Michael zipping up his pants in the front seat of the car."

"Kara, you don't -- "

"But what really got to me was when he brought someone home to our house, to our bed...." Her voice caught as she struggled for control. "I couldn't risk Angel finding him there. I couldn't destroy her illusions about her father, so I asked for a divorce and I got out."

"Good for you."

Ryan's gaze held respect, admiration, all the qualities Kara had longed to see in a man's eyes. Michael had never looked at her that way, but then Michael had been too caught up in himself to even consider her feelings. And to be honest she hadn't done all that much to earn his respect or his admiration.

"I made a mess of things," Kara said. "I wanted to be married so bad that I overlooked everything -- lipstick marks, credit card receipts for flowers I had never received, hotel stubs -- you name it, it was all there. And besides the women, we had other problems. Michael didn't want to be married, and he didn't want to be a father, either. He neglected Angel long before the divorce. Now he doesn't even answer her letters." She sighed. "I made a lot of mistakes, Ryan, and I'm afraid Angel is still paying for some of them."

"The important thing is that in the long run you did what was best for Angel. You took her out of a bad situation and brought her into a good one."

"Too little, too late, maybe."

"I don't think so."

Kara smiled at him. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For making me feel better."

"I'd like to make you feel a lot better," Ryan replied, offering her a devilish grin.

"I'll bet." Kara turned her attention back to breakfast. "So, when are you leaving?" she asked. "Today?"

"No, not today. I still have some photographs to take, slices of small-town America that the world desperately needs to see."

"You'll do it?"

"For you, yes."

"You are good at what you do, Ryan. Your talent is amazing, the way you capture life in such a way that all the truths are revealed. Every image is truly a moment captured for all time."

"The camera does the work."

"Hardly. I take pictures. I don't see what you see, and neither does my camera."

He smiled with genuine pleasure. "Now it's my turn to thank you."

"For what?"

"For understanding that what I do is important to me."

"Of course it's important. Why else would you do it?"

"Money."-

"I don't think you're motivated by money. If you were, you'd have more to show for it than a rented Ferrari and an apartment in L.A. that apparently doesn't have any furniture."

"How did you know the car was rented?"

She grinned at him. "Lucky guess. You don't look all that comfortable getting in and out of it."

His expression turned serious. "You see too much, Kara. I'm not sure I like it."

"Why, because I see through you?"

"I haven't let anyone get close to me in a long time."

"I'm not close to you. And you're not close to me. For that we would need time, which is exactly what we don't have." She paused, making her expression cheerful and bright. "Now, would you like pancakes or eggs?"

"Pancakes, with butter and syrup. I think I'll need my strength. After breakfast I'm planning to visit Jonas."

"I'll make you a big stack." Kara paused. "You know, Ryan, you should take your father's picture."

"What on earth for?"

"So you could see him objectively. The way you would look at any other subject. Capture the man on film."

"So that all the truths are revealed," Ryan finished, repeating her earlier statement. He shook his head. "I don't think so. I used to want the truth. Now I think I'd settle for a good lie."

Jonas pulled a pair of faded blue jeans over his white cotton briefs. He cast a quick look at the hospital room door, but it remained closed. Thank God. He actually had a few minutes' peace from Helga the nurse from hell, or whatever her name was. He walked over to the closet and took out his shirt. His fingers fumbled with the buttons as he hurried to get dressed.

With any luck the cab he had called would be waiting downstairs, ready to take him home. He would worry about paying the hospital bill later.

As Jonas headed for the door, it opened in front of him. He looked up, expecting to see one of the nurses or the doctor, but it was his son, his youngest son, the one who reminded him of all the mistakes he had made in his life.

"What the hell are you doing here? I don't see you for twelve years, and now I'm tripping over you every time I turn around."

Ryan's mouth curved into a reluctant smile. "It does seem like that, doesn't it? I came to keep you company, but it looks like you're on your way out."

"Damn right. And don't try to stop me."

"As if I could."

Jonas heard the bitterness in Ryan's voice. He pretended he didn't. "Get out of my way then."

Ryan didn't move. "How are you getting home?"

"I called a taxi."

"Ah, the getaway car. I don't suppose the doctor knows you're leaving."

"I don't need his permission. I feel fine, and I'm going home. I heard on the radio that the river is rising. I'm sure as hell not going to stay here when my house may be going underwater."

"It's not in any danger at the moment, and even if it was, what could you do? Hold the river back with your bare hands?"

"If I have to. At the very least I can put some sandbags out."

"No, you can't."

Jonas tried to walk past him, but Ryan grabbed him by the arm. There was as much determination in his eyes as Jonas had ever seen.

"You can't fill sandbags. You just had a heart attack," Ryan said.

"You going to do it for me?" Jonas challenged. Ryan didn't answer. "That's what I thought. You don't care about our home. You never did."

"Yes, I did. I cared about it when Mom was there. I cared about it when I was growing up. It was never the house that made me want to leave. It wasn't the town either, for that matter."

"Then what? Are you still afraid of the river?"

Ryan flinched but didn't say anything. Jonas was almost sorry to see the self-control. He had the upper hand when Ryan lost control. When he didn't -- well, he'd call it even.

"You would like it if I said yes, wouldn't you?" Ryan asked. "Because it would be easy to call me a coward. Well, I'm not a coward. I'll swim in the damn river if you want me to. If that's what it takes to get through to you."

Jonas cleared his throat, not sure where this conversation was heading, not sure he wanted to go with it. "You do what you want." He looked away from Ryan's sharp, penetrating green eyes. They reminded Jonas of Isabelle's eyes, and for a moment he thought he was looking at her. He blinked hard. "I'll be on my way then."

"Fine." Ryan opened the door. The sound of voices came clearly through to both of them.

"Goddammit," Jonas swore.

"You know you should stay and let them do their tests. Dr. Steiner said you may need surgery at some point."

"I don't need tests, and I sure as hell don't intend to let anyone cut me up. I just need to be home where I can see what's happening with the river."

"Yeah, I guess you do. The river and the house always meant more to you than anything. More than Mom. More than me. Now more than your own life."

"My life isn't worth anything without that house."

"To you, I guess not. All right. Let me see if the coast is clear." Ryan poked his head out to check the corridor. "You're in luck. Everyone is gone."

Ryan helped his father to the elevator, down to the lobby, and out the front door. They managed to avoid running into anyone they knew. However, when they reached the curb in front of the parking lot, there was no taxi waiting.

"I'll give you a ride," Ryan said.

Jonas held back, his dark eyes filled with suspicion. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you need help."

"I don't need your help," Jonas said, still unable to accept the fact that Ryan was trying to be nice. He was convinced that his youngest son had an ulterior motive; he just couldn't figure out what it was.

"Actually you do need my help if you want to get back to Serenity Springs any time soon."

"Fine. I'll take a ride."

"Gee, thanks," Ryan said dryly, leading him over to the red Ferrari.

Jonas looked at it with distaste. "You always did like expensive toys."

"Would you believe me if I said it wasn't mine?"

"No."

"That's what I figured."

Once Jonas got in the car, Ryan realized his mistake. He had just agreed to drive his father home, a thirty-minute trip in the quiet intimacy of the car. He wasn't sure either one of them could stand being so close for so long. But he had no other choice.

Jonas didn't speak for a good ten minutes. Ryan didn't either. He stared straight ahead at the road, wondering what he was doing. He had gone to the hospital to visit his father, not spring him.

"Andrew won't like this," Ryan said more to himself than Jonas, but his father heard his muttered comment.

"So what?" Jonas asked.

"So maybe you should care about his feelings. He certainly seems to care a lot about you, sticking by your side all these years. Andrew would do anything for you, and I'm not sure you would give him the time of day if he asked."

Jonas drummed the fingers of his left hand against his thigh. "He's a good boy."

"Yeah, Andrew is the best. Not like me, right?"

"What do you want from me?" Jonas turned to look at him.

Ryan noticed again how his father had aged, the crow's feet around his eyes, more white whiskers than gray. Although Jonas's eyes were still sharp with intelligence, they also held weariness. The man was old and tired. He also looked confused, as if he truly didn't know what Ryan wanted from him.

Maybe that was understandable. Ryan wasn't sure what he wanted anymore either. At one time he had wanted an apology, an acknowledgement that Jonas had been wrong. But now he wondered what the hell an apology would do for any of them.

"Maybe I just want to know you again," Ryan said finally. "You're my father. I'm your son. It seems as if we should be closer than we are." God, it was so difficult to say the words. He had to force each one through tight lips, but he felt a driven need to get them out, to speak them before it was too late.

"How close?" Jonas ground out, turning his head away from Ryan. "Are you back to stay? Or just back to gloat?"

"I'm not staying. I have a career. It requires that I travel."

"Then nothing has changed."

Silence fell between them, and Ryan felt a helpless rage, an inability to get through to this man. He got along with all kinds of people the world over, but he couldn't get along with his own flesh and blood. Why? Why?

"You're impossible," Ryan said. "It has to be your way or no way. You can't compromise. You can't bend. You can't think about anybody but yourself. That's why Mom left. That's why I left."

Jonas didn't answer for a long moment. "That's not why you left."

Ryan remembered their last angry scene and knew that Jonas was partly right. But now that he had begun the conversation, he wasn't sure he wanted to finish it. Jonas's skin was pale, almost chalky, and there was a slight tremor in the hand that rested on the seat, reminding Ryan that his father was not supposed to be out of the hospital, much less in the middle of an argument. "Forget it," Ryan said. "I don't think we should be talking about this now. You should be resting."

"I'll rest when I want to."

Ryan sighed and switched on the radio. His father always had to get in the last word.

A short while later, Ryan pulled up in front of Jonas's house and shut off the engine. The big frame house stood straight and proud in the midst of tall, elegant redwood trees, years of Hunter traditions deep within its foundations. The last flood had soaked through the first floor, but Jonas had cleaned up, re-carpeted, and remodeled in exactly the same style, so that no one would ever notice anything had happened.

It was part of the denial. Isabelle had left during the flood, but Jonas had put her things back on the refurbished floors as if she were coming home. Again Ryan questioned why. If his father truly wanted her to leave, why had he kept the reminders?

Jonas opened the car door and stepped out. Ryan did the same. Apparently there would be no good-byes.

"Wait," Ryan said.

Jonas reluctantly glanced back. "What?"

"Why did you keep my things? I saw my room. It's exactly the same."

"I couldn't be bothered to go through your stuff."

"But you could be bothered to keep it clean?" Ryan held out his hands. "Maybe the question is -- what do you want from me?"

"What I've always wanted."

"Which is what?"

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

"Oh, Jesus, I hate when you do that."

"Some things can't be told." Jonas shuffled over to the stairs, then paused. "I'm sorry about the drink the other night. I shouldn't have done that." Shaking his head, he walked up the stairs and into the house.

Ryan leaned his arms on the hood of the car, completely taken aback by his father's unexpected apology. He couldn't remember when Jonas had last said he was sorry. Maybe there was hope after all.

Before he could get in the car, Andrew pulled up in his truck, and if the spitting gravel was any indication of his mood, he was not a happy man.

"Where is he?" Andrew asked, slamming the door shut.

"Inside."

"I can't believe you took him out of the hospital."

"Take him? I stopped him from hitchhiking. He was dressed and heading for the door when I arrived. I thought it was better to go along with him than try to fight him."

"He should be in the hospital. He's sick."

"I agree. But Jonas has a mind of his own."

Andrew ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he looked up at the house. "Dammit all. What if he has another heart attack when he's alone? What if he can't reach the phone to call for help?"

"Why are you telling me? Why don't you tell him?"

"Because he won't listen. He never listens."

"Then maybe you should just let him be."

"I can't do that. I can't turn my back on him, no matter how difficult he is. He's my father. He's family."

A sharp pain cut through Ryan's gut. "You turned your back on me. What's the difference?"

"You're the one who left," Andrew replied. "If anyone turned his back, it was you."

Ryan put his hands on his hips. "Is that it, Andrew? Whoever leaves is the one at fault? Did you ever stop to think that someone's driving that person away?"

"No one drove you away."

"Not me, Mom."

"I don't want to talk about her."

Andrew tried to move past him. Ryan grabbed his arm. "That's too bad, because for once you're going to listen."

"Let him go." The voice came from the porch, and both Ryan and Andrew turned at the same time.

Ryan's grip tightened on Andrew's arm. He didn't want to let Andrew go. He wanted to tell him the truth, to set things straight.

"Don't upset him," Andrew said quietly.

"Why the hell are we always so worried about upsetting him? Maybe he's upsetting us." Ryan let go of his brother's arm, knowing it was futile to persist.

"How are you feeling?" Andrew asked his father.

"A hell of a lot worse now that I've seen this." Jonas held up the newspaper in his hand. "What did you do to my paper, Andrew? It looks like a piece of shit." Jonas tossed the newspaper off the porch toward the trash can below and stomped into the house.

"Why, that goddamn, arrogant son of a..." Andrew's voice broke off.

Ryan nodded. "Go on. You were saying..."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'm the only one who would understand." Their eyes met, and Andrew slowly nodded.

"Maybe you would."

"Jonas asked Mom to leave," Ryan said. "The day before I left town, before you married Becky Lee, I found a letter from Mom to Jonas. She begged him to change his mind. He told her to get out of the house, to never contact us again."

"You're a liar!" But Andrew's words lacked conviction. "Why would he do that? He loved her. He was devastated when she left. Don't you remember the nights he used to sit on the deck and stare at the river, holding that bud vase in his hands?"

Ryan didn't want to be reminded of that image of Jonas. He wanted to think only of the man who had sent his mother away, the man who had been too proud, too selfish to keep their family together.

"Jonas didn't love her, not as much as he loved the river or even the house, for that matter. Mom had a chance to sing with a blues ensemble touring through San Francisco, led by an old friend of her father's. She would have had to go to San Francisco for a week to rehearse. Don't you remember?"

"That was long before she left."

"A few months, yes, but it was the beginning of the end. It was when she finally realized she was trapped here. That she could never sing again."

"She could sing here."

"God, you sound just like him. It wasn't enough for her to sing in the choir or to walk the streets singing Christmas carols. She had a talent that begged to be used, but she couldn't use it, because he wouldn't let her."

Andrew gazed at the river. Like Jonas, he turned to the water for comfort. But Isabelle had found no comfort along the banks of the river, only unhappiness and despair. Her home had become a prison, her husband the jailer. Even Mother Nature had taunted her with weeks of unrelenting rainstorms, fog, and clouds that made her feel as if she were lost in a place that had no contact with the outside world.

"She was desperately unhappy, Andrew," Ryan said. "She started to take long walks. And on one of those walks she met someone. A man."