Things Remembered (14 page)

“Give it to her yourself. She's just downstairs—I'll put her on the phone.”

“Love you,” Heather said.

“Love you, too.” Karla opened the door to call to Anna, waited for her to pick up the phone, and said, “Bye . . . talk to you soon.”

She glanced out the window as she replaced the receiver and saw a dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee turn into the driveway. “Damn—wouldn't you know it, he's right on time.” She raced for the bed and her clothes. “I should have known, he's just the type.”

She wiggled out of her jeans, pulled her sweatshirt over her head, grabbed a pair of panty hose and her skirt and sweater, and managed to get everything on except her earrings before the doorbell rang. Stepping into her shoes, she ran a brush through her hair, added spray and a quick spritz of perfume, and was halfway down the stairs by the time Anna had Mark seated in the living room.

“Hi.” She actually managed to make it sound casual.

Mark smiled. “Ready?”

“Just have to get my purse and jacket. I'll be right back.” This time she took the stairs at a more reasonable pace, pleased that she'd been on time at least once that day and discovering that she was actually looking forward to her night out.

“You look great, by the way. I meant to tell you earlier. Whatever color that sweater is, it's become my new favorite.”

“Burnt orange. And thank you.” Not to be outdone, she gave him a quick once over. “You don't look so bad yourself.” He had on tan slacks, a striped shirt open at the collar and a navy blue jacket.

He grinned. “I'm pleased you noticed. It takes a lot of thought to put this stuff together—which is probably why I don't go out very often. Has to be someone or something special.”

She was tempted to ask which applied this evening, but thought better of it. He would undoubtedly come up with some outrageous compliment she'd know was a lie but would believe anyway, and where would that get her?

“You haven't asked what we're seeing,” Mark said. “Not even a little curious?”

He had the kind of voice that narrated nature shows, deep and empathic, every distinctly spoken word flowing easily into the next. “I'm past caring. After the day I've had, I'm up for anything.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both, in a way. Anna had an appointment with her lawyer to go over some papers this morning and to set up a living will. Then we went through her safe-deposit box this afternoon and found a bunch of things she thought she'd lost, including her wedding ring.”

“That must have been hard.”

“You'd think so, but she's remarkably accepting of what's happening to her.”

“I meant for you. Susan said she was more a mother to you and your sisters than grandmother. It has to be hard to see her purposely tidying her life in preparation for the end.”

“Actually, it was my idea.” She steeled herself for his disapproval. “I thought it would give her peace of mind to know everything was taken care of. I know it would me.”

“I never looked at it that way. I figure as long as I've made sure Cindy is taken care of, the rest can take care of itself.”

“Obviously, you've never had to settle anyone's estate. I worked for a CPA who specialized in estate planning, and even when everything is spelled out in a will, people can still go at each other. I saw two brothers almost come to blows over a set of cuff links they both privately admitted they didn't like.”

“I've never lost anyone who wanted me to have anything,” he admitted as he stopped at a red light and turned to look at her. “I guess that means I should keep my mouth shut until I know what I'm talking about.”

It was a good thing he'd given her a wink as he said it or she would have taken him seriously. “Enough about what I'm doing in Rocklin. Since you're plainly not going to volunteer the information, I guess I'm going to have to ask. Whose concert are we attending?”

“It's a sixties revival—one of those Dick Clark kind of things where they gather everyone who had a hit during the decade and is still capable of walking on a stage and send them out on tour.”

Somehow she'd missed seeing the notice in the paper. While she'd never purposely choose a revival of anything—short of Shakespeare—as a way to spend an evening, the more she thought about it, the better it sounded. “What fun.”

Mark laughed. “You did that really well.”

“I'm serious. It does sound like fun. I can see now why you suggested hamburgers. It's a theme thing you've got going. If I'd known, I would have worn a poodle skirt.”

“Wrong decade. Poodle skirts were in the fifties. My mom had an original that she wore when she chaperoned my sister's high school dances.”

“She saved you the embarrassment of wearing it to your dances, or was the skirt worn out by then?”

“Neither. I skipped my high school dances. I was king of the nerds back then and dead sure no one would go with me, so I wisely decided to save myself the rejection.”

Nerds didn't come in Mark Taylor packages. She had no doubt half the women who brought their pets to him did so as much for themselves as for their animals.

“You're kidding, right?” She'd reached the point where she couldn't tell.

“Nope. I was more interested in hanging out with the local vet than I was girls back then, and that kind of thing gets you a reputation.”

“I imagine it would. Especially if the vet were female and good-looking.”

“Oh, I like that. You catch on quick.”

“So do you still have a thing for older women?”

“Now it's the other way around. I like them young. As a matter of fact, I've got a real thing going now for a little charmer who's about to turn five.”

Karla smiled. “I can see why.”

“She likes you, too. And I've never known Cindy to be wrong about people.”

Mark pulled into the turn lane and waited for the traffic to clear. “You were serious about the hamburgers,” Karla said as soon as she saw where they were going. “I forgot In and Out had finally made it to Sacramento. I
love
this place.”

“It was as close to a sixties hamburger joint as I could come up with.”

“It's perfect.” She didn't know whether it was knowing she would be gone in less than three weeks and would likely never see Mark again or the need for a night that allowed her to escape witnessing Anna's battle with her disease, whatever the reason, she embraced the feeling of freedom and sat back to enjoy the evening.

On the way home they sang songs from the show. Mark led and Karla followed—it was that or sit and listen. Mark's enthusiasm made up for his lack of talent; she worked to keep them in tune.

They reached the house far too soon. Karla wasn't ready for the night to end but said nothing. Mark had told her earlier that he had surgery first thing in the morning and a full day of appointments.

He opened her door, a politeness she liked and was pleased to see making a return, and walked her to the door.

“I had a lot more fun than I expected,” she said, teasing him. “Please thank that ‘grateful' client for me.”

He laughed. “When did you figure it out?”

“I had a hunch as soon as you told me where we were going. It's hard to imagine anyone giving someone tickets for a sixties revival as a way to show their appreciation.”

“I'm wounded. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get those tickets?”

She decided to play along. “I can't imagine.”

“Damn hard.”

“That's it?”

“All right, if you must know, I had to promise to play golf with one of my partners next week.”

“You really did that for me? I'm so impressed.”

Grinning, he said, “And I'd do it again.”

“Golf or date?”

“Both.”

Without giving herself time to think or change her mind, she said, “When?”

“Saturday,” he shot back. “Are you up for a day with me and Cindy at the park—weather permitting?”

“Uh . . . I don't—”

“Come on, don't start getting indecisive on me.”

“I told Anna I'd take her to get her hair done. and the only appointment her hairdresser had open this week was on Saturday.”

He thought a minute. “What time?”

“Eleven-thirty. And afterwards we were going to lunch.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

She wasn't sure she understood. “You want to go to lunch with us? You and Cindy?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No. Anna would love it. So would I.” They set the time and place. “I'll see you then.” Karla extended her hand.

Mark looked at her hand and then at her. “Sorry, I'm not that kind of guy. I never shake hands on a first date.” He put his foot on the step where she was standing and came forward. “Now a nice, friendly kiss is another matter altogether.”

His lips were on her cheek before she could react. She was both surprised that he'd kissed her and disappointed that his aim hadn't been more accurate.

As if he could read her mind, he said, “Next time.” He turned to leave, caught his foot on the bottom step, and had to wave his arms wildly to keep from falling. When he'd regained his balance, he grinned sheepishly, stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at her. “Damn—” he said, plainly embarrassed. “All I had to do was make it to the truck and I would have pulled it off.”

She laughed. “Don't let it bother you. I like you even better now that I know you're not perfect.”

Mark glanced at the dashboard clock as he turned onto Taylor Road and headed for the clinic. He'd promised the sitter he'd be home by midnight which gave him forty-five minutes to check on the Irish setter he'd operated on that afternoon and finish the supply order he'd started two days ago.

The setter was a stray that had been hit and left by the side of the road. A teenage boy had picked it up and delivered it to the clinic. The kid offered to work at the clinic until the bill was paid, but Mark told him they'd get it from the owner, knowing full well it wouldn't happen.

Since Mark was the only one with an opening in his schedule, he took the surgery, doing what he could to repair a severe diaphragmatic hernia. The dog was barely breathing. An X-ray showed the intestines, the liver, and the stomach had protruded through a rupture in the diaphragm and depressed the lungs. He went in, repaired the rupture, and shoved everything back into place. After he closed, he sutured several lacerations over the shoulder and hips.

It was the kind of case Mark loved—the lost cause, the one where the spirit of the animal was as important as the skill of the veterinarian. He was attracted to that spirit in animals and humans alike.

Which was undoubtedly the reason he'd been attracted to Karla. She might be the walking billboard of emotional scars Susan had hinted at, but she was also a survivor. He'd sensed in the conversations he and Karla had had about Anna that there was more to Karla's coming home than she realized herself. Karla seemed confused about her and Anna's relationship, talking about her in an almost businesslike manner one minute and then the next with the warmth and caring of a doting child.

He'd asked her out because Cindy liked her so much and Cindy was never wrong about people. Of course it hadn't hurt that Karla had cheekbones you could ski off, possessed a smile to make a dentist proud, and was built the way he liked a woman built, with some flesh on her bones. The really thin ones scared him. There was no way he wanted Cindy around a woman who hyperventilated at the sight of a piece of candy. She would get enough of that kind of thinking at school—she sure as hell didn't need it at home.

But Cindy had nothing to do with the reason he'd asked Karla out the second time. He wanted to see her again for purely selfish reasons. He liked the way she made him feel when she laughed at his jokes and the way she looked at him when they were talking. She was quick and bright and, best of all, not put off by his admittedly dumb idea of a first date. Halfway through ordering their hamburgers it had occurred to Mark that what he'd thought of as clever could just as easily be thought of as cheap. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he'd run the idea past Susan first.

But plainly Karla hadn't been as put off as he'd feared. At least she'd agreed to see him again.

Mark parked at the front of the clinic and rang the bell to get in. Ray, the on-duty emergency vet for the night, opened the door. “How's the setter doing?”

“Hanging on. Her vitals are stable, but her breathing is still labored. I rechecked chest X-rays and they looked okay.”

“What about her membrane color?”

“It's good—pink—and capillary refill is normal.”

“Maybe she's still in pain. Let's give her a hydromorphine injection and see how she does.”

“I'll start her on it right away. Unless you want to do it.”

“No, go ahead.” Mark glanced at the emergency log. So far it had been a quiet night.

“By the way, Linda called right after you left tonight. She said she was coming in sometime after ten and that if she got to the house before you did, she would take care of the sitter.”

“They were supposed to be playing Las Vegas this weekend. Did she say what happened?”

“Seems the drummer and bass guitarist got into a fight with a couple of undercover policemen and got the crap beat out of them. They couldn't get two other guys up from L.A. in time to take their place so the manager had to cancel the gig.”

Ray had worked his way through school as backup guitarist for a rock band that went on to have several platinum albums and then all died in a private plane crash on the way to the Grammy awards. Mark had always suspected that the stories Ray told Linda about his band's glory days on the road were tantamount to dangling a carrot in front of her. But Mark never tried to stop Ray or to keep Linda from purposely seeking him out for yet more stories.