Things Remembered (20 page)

“I am. At least I was in the beginning.” When, how, had the transition taken place? “I guess I've been so preoccupied lately, I've put it to the back of my mind.”

Mark tipped his glass and absently noted the beautiful golden color of the chardonnay. It really was a fine wine and, as his client had said, one meant to be shared with someone special. “I'm not surprised. What you're doing for Anna must leave you drained at the end of the day.”

“Don't feel sorry for me, Mark. I don't deserve it.”

“Can I admire what you're doing?” She obviously didn't realize what a gift it was for Anna to be able to talk to someone about what she was going through. Dying was a lonely business.

For most people, their friends and relatives felt it their duty to offer hopeful platitudes rather than practical help. Karla saw what needed to be done and did it.

“Admire me for what? Altruism had nothing to do with my being here. I came here because I have this compulsive need for order. You can throw selfishness in there, too. I wanted to make sure Anna didn't leave a mess behind when she died because I knew I would be the one who'd have to clean it up.”

“Jesus, is that what you're hiding behind?” Did she really not see the bond she had with Anna, the one that was so clear to everyone else?

Karla reached forward to put her empty glass on the table. Disturbed by the movement, Francis left her lap to curl up by the fireplace next to Blue. “I don't run from the truth, Mark. I learned a long time ago that it only catches up with you sooner or later.”

“If you leave before you figure out the real reason you're here, one day that truth is going to knock you on your ass.” Now he'd done it. She was mad and had every right to be. He had stepped way over the boundaries of a casual friendship. “I'm sorry. I had no right to say that.”

She put her elbows on her knees and held her head between her hands. “Somehow you've gotten the idea that Anna and I are close. We're not. We never have been. Luckily, we've managed a truce that's made my time here a lot easier than I thought it was going to be, but that's all it is. Scratch the surface and we'd be at each other again the same way we always were.”

He reached over to pull her hair back so that he could see her face. With her profile backlit by the fire, she looked fragile and vulnerable and he was caught up in wanting to make her world good and whole again. “If you really believed what you just said, you wouldn't be crying.”

She sat up and ran her hands over her cheeks. “I'm not crying. What a stupid thing to say.”

He touched his fingertip to the tender skin below her lashes and showed her the moisture. “What's this?”

“I'm tired.”

“And you always cry when you're tired, I suppose.”

She turned on him. “What business is this of yours?”

“None. Which is why it's been so easy for me to get sucked in, I guess.” He sat back and opened his arms. He wanted her to come to him, sensing she would resist if he tried to comfort her openly.

She hesitated.

“I just want to hold you. This isn't the kind of conversation two people should have from opposite ends of the couch.” He moved to let her squeeze in beside him and put her head on his shoulder. “Now, isn't that better?”

“I suppose this is what you do with Cindy?”

“She sits on my lap.” He moved so that his chin rested on the top of her head. “Do you want to sit on my lap, too?”

She laughed, relaxing finally. “I'm just fine where I am, thank you.”

“Now tell me why you think you don't like Anna.” He liked the way she felt next to him, as if she belonged there.

“First tell me why you care.”

“Because I let my father die without telling him I loved him and I've never forgiven myself.” He'd never told anyone how he felt about his father, not even Linda. “You're luckier than I was; you have time to say good-bye. My dad went out for the morning paper and died before he could get back in the house, leaving a hundred things unsaid between us. He knew how much I appreciated the money he spent to get me through school, or at least I hope he did, because I never got around to saying it out loud. I was going to show him how much I learned about being a father by being the same kind of father to my children. He died before Cindy was born. My mother remarried, and I've grown to like her husband a lot. He's a terrific grandfather to Cindy. But I'll never think of him as anything but my mother's new husband.”

“It's not the same thing, Mark. You loved your father, and even if you didn't get a chance to tell him in some carefully composed speech, he knew how you felt. It's different with me and Anna. There's the love that comes because we're family, but we skipped the love that comes with actually knowing each other. I can't change that just because she's dying. It's too dishonest. And besides, she'd never believe me.”

“All right. I've said my piece. We can move on to something else.”

“Like?”

“Your choice.”

She suddenly realized she was hungry after all. But she didn't want to move. She hadn't been in a man's arms this way for so long she'd almost forgotten how wonderful it could feel to be comforted. She chose to ignore the voice that told her it was as much who the man was as the comfort he gave. “Seen any good movies lately?”

“Sure—now you're going to ask me to tell you what it was, aren't you?”

“Give me the plot, I'll do the rest.”

“There's these baby dinosaurs that have lost their parents and they have to find a place with big leaves.”

“
Land Before Time.”

“Hey, you're good.”

She put her hand on his chest and pushed herself up to look at him. “Damn right I'm good. Want to try another one?”

He stared into her eyes. “A guy brought a girl home to feed her, only it turned out she was afraid to try his cooking and said she wanted cheese and crackers instead.”

“I must have missed that one.”

He touched her face, running his fingertips along her jaw, his thumb across her lips. Slowly, deliberately, he came forward and kissed her. “It's still in production,” he murmured against her mouth.

“The kiss or the movie?”

“Both.” His mouth opened and covered hers.

She didn't want to stop and yet still pulled away. “I'm not sure this is such a good idea.” She didn't sleep around, telling herself it was as much for conscience as health—a noble principle, easy to follow without temptation, a hell of a lot harder when she felt herself responding in places she'd purposely tried to forget responded to such things.

“You're probably right, but I'm not sure I care.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper this time.

She kissed him back, swept along on a wave of need and awakened longings. “It can't mean anything,” she said, her hand at his waist.

“What don't you want it to mean?” Mark asked, stopping to look at her.

“Promises, commitments, that kind of thing.”

“So what you're suggesting is casual sex?”

“Yes, basically. I'm not sure I would have said it exactly that way, but that's good enough.” She didn't like the way this was going.

He smiled sadly. “Sorry, that's not what I'm about.”

He might as well have hit her. “I don't understand.”

“I can make love to you without loving you, Karla, but it's not something I can toss off as meaningless. I wouldn't do that to myself or to a friend, and I consider you my friend.”

“And how would that change if we made love? What would you expect from me?”

“Nothing. It's what I would expect from myself.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead and sat up straight. “You were right, it would be stupid to do anything to complicate our lives any more than they already are.”

She adjusted her sweater. “Does that mean you're not going to feed me either?”

“I thought you weren't hungry.”

“Changed my mind.”

He stood and reached for her hand. “I have to warn you. Once you taste one of my omelets it will spoil you for any other.”

“So from now on I either give up omelets or drop by when I'm feeling the need for one, is that it?” She shouldn't feel this disappointed. He hadn't rejected her, he'd rejected using her. Wasn't that the kind of friend she needed?

“How else am I going to get you back here?”

Pillow talk without the pillow. He was flirting with her, making her feel good about herself, worthy. Was it something he did with women in general, or just her?

What an idiotic question. She really needed to get out more.

Chapter

15

K
arla set the iron on the end of the ironing board and moved the tablecloth to the next section. She couldn't remember the last time she'd ironed anything herself; she sent her clothes to a laundry, and the few tablecloths she owned were permanent press. The mindlessness of the work and the instant gratification brought a peculiar satisfaction, one she certainly hadn't expected.

She did housework because she didn't like the way her house looked when she didn't, not out of any sense of accomplishment or pleasure. Given the option, she would have put the tablecloth on the way it was, figuring the table settings and food dishes would cover most of the wrinkles. But Anna wouldn't hear of it. Everything had to be perfect for their Thanksgiving dinner, which was why she'd started preparing three days ago.

She'd had Karla pick the mums that were salvageable from the garden and they'd made arrangements for every room in the house, including the bathroom. Cindy made her a paper turkey at school that Anna put on the front-door window. Susan brought Indian corn and gourds and miniature pumpkins, extras from the decorations she'd bought for school. Anna gathered colored leaves to add to the flower arrangements and scatter amongst the gourds and pumpkins.

The orange candles that Anna had Karla dig out of a drawer were bent from the heat of a dozen Sacramento Valley summers. Karla bought new ones the next time she went to the store.

She hadn't wanted to stay for Thanksgiving, doing it as a favor for Anna, but now, seeing the house decorated and Anna excited and happy and full of anticipation, she was glad that she had.

“That was my mother's tablecloth,” Anna said as she came into the room with a handful of matching napkins, freshly laundered. “I don't think she ever used it, because it was in perfect condition when it came to me.”

“I noticed there's a stain on one of the corners now.” She gave a final swipe with the iron and gently folded the cloth in half before laying it on the back of a chair.

“Your grandfather had a little too much eggnog one Christmas and knocked over the gravy boat during one of his stories. I managed to get most of it out, but that one little spot never would come clean.”

“Grandpa was a drinker?”

“Lord, no—which is why it didn't take much to get him going when he did. He was a quiet man most of the time, but then he'd get a couple of beers in him and started telling stories and people would be rolling on the floor. I wonder sometimes if Grace didn't get her gift for acting from him.”

“She got her blond hair from him. I don't see why she couldn't have gotten that, too.” Karla had no idea whether that kind of thing was passed from one generation to another, but if Anna wanted to believe it was possible, what harm was there in agreeing?

Anna folded each napkin into a bishop's hat as Karla finished ironing it. “I can hardly wait for everyone to get here. Did I tell you I ordered a fresh turkey from Whole Foods? I told them we'd pick it up Wednesday—I guess that's tomorrow, isn't it? I can't believe how fast the days have disappeared.”

“I'll stop by the store on the way home from the airport. Is there anything else we need?”

“Did you get the cornmeal?”

Karla nodded.

“What about the mincemeat?”

“Yes, but I was hoping you'd forget about it.”

“I couldn't forget. Heather loves mincemeat pie.”

“I still think we should buy the pies. You're going to wear yourself out cooking and be too tired to visit. It's not the food that's important, Anna, it's the company. I'm sure everyone would be just as happy if we forgot all about cooking and ordered takeout.”

“You don't believe that any more than I do. Thanksgiving is a time for tradition. Or at least that's what it used to be. More and more it's becoming a placeholder to mark the official beginning of the Christmas shopping season. Think about it, Karla. There are no presents to exchange, no candy to hide or give away, nothing but sharing a traditional meal with the people you love.”

“Not much profit in being a placeholder for Christmas. I'm not surprised the holiday gets less and less attention every year.”