Love in Bloom (15 page)

"I might not be able to fly back with you.  If Doc's not fully recovered--"

"Is he there?  I'd like to talk with him."

"No, he's not.  He drove to a friend's in Baltimore."

"It sounds like he's getting around just fine."

Paige could see improvement in Doc day by day.  He was getting out more, visiting, walking.  Just yesterday he'd started back at the office on a part time basis.  But she didn't want to push him.  "He's recuperating nicely.  But I don't know if he's ready for a full-time practice yet."

"Of course, I understand that.  But you know, Paige, at his age and in his condition, with the blockage fixed, he's in better shape than he was before the open-heart surgery."

Her mother, like always, was pushing to get what she wanted--Doc back in practice, her daughter by her side.  Paige thought she'd at least have until the end of July to put her life in perspective.  But it didn't look that way now.

"Mother, we have to talk."

"Yes, I know we do.  We have plans to make.  I've outlined our options for the next year and sent them to you.  When I get to Langley, we can discuss them.  I miss you.  It's not the same without you here."

"Mom, the reason I left.  I'm not sure I've resolved--"

"We'll talk about it when I get there.  You just think of this time as a long vacation.  I really have to go.  You take care.  I'll be in touch."

Paige clicked off the phone, wondering if her mother was right.  Was this just a long vacation?  It didn't feel like a vacation when she was seeing patients.  She thought about canoeing on the lake, the day at the amusement park.  She supposed those activities would classify as vacation-like.  But Clay and Doc seemed to think those things should be part of everyday living.

Who was right?  Her mother, striving to heal anyone who didn't have adequate care?  Doc, healing patients in his own environment?  Clay, working and living and playing to get the most out of life?

Was one way better than another?  Couldn't they somehow be combined?

Her mother was counting on Paige to return to Africa with her.  Could Paige even contemplate disappointing her?

****

Trish's blond curls bounced around her face as she tried to pull the ball from Shep's mouth.

"Let it go and he'll drop it right in front of you," Clay suggested.

"You've got to be kidding."

Clay continued to thin out the rows of carrots in his garden.  "Nope.  It's his latest idea of a game.  Just stand up and act as if you could care less."

Trish wiped her hands on her jeans and stood as tall as her five-foot-four frame would let her.  "So...are you going to come to Reisterstown next Saturday and go with Michael and Dad to get measured for your tux?"

"Can't I just give you my measurements?"

"I want your opinion."

He took a long look at her hopeful face.  "Trish, you know you're asking for trouble if you expect me and Dad to agree."

Shep dropped the ball in front of her.  She picked it up and tossed it as far as she could across the yard.  "Maybe you'll both pick the same one."

"Maybe Michael should make the choice and we'll go along with whatever he wants."

"Clay, I know Dad can be difficult, but I think he's going to try to be agreeable."

"As long as you agree with him.  As long as I agree with him."

"It still hurts, doesn't it?"

Clay glanced down at the garden, stalling before responding.  The crop was going to be good this year.  With adequate rain, he'd have fresh vegetables all summer.  "I don't know what you're talking about,"  he finally answered.

"It still hurts that you can't get close to Dad."

Clay's chest tightened and he forgot the garden and felt the pain.  His father had been involved in his therapy until he realized Clay would not regain his memory.  Then he'd bowed out of the picture as if he was just waiting for the impossible to happen.  But that was the problem.  Regaining lost memories was impossible in Clay's case.  He had experienced joy each day in new accomplishments.  But only his mother and Trish had shared them.

It shouldn't matter, but it did.

Shep came running back to Trish and dropped the ball at her feet.  "Talk to me, Clay.  You've been quiet since I got here.  What's going on?"

It would be so easy to deny something was going on.  But this was Trish.  "I met a woman.  Or rather she met me.  And my life hasn't been the same since she drove down the lane."  He told Trish about Ben and about Paige's requests for his assistance.  He recapped the past few weeks events and ended by telling her about the nightmare.

"How do you feel about her?"

Paige had the ability to reach deep inside him, and he felt alive when she was near.  Her wonder on the amusement park rides, her childlike pleasure at things he took for granted, like cotton candy and chocolate kisses, made him feel he was recapturing the years he'd lost.  He believed his life would be so much fuller with her in it and the loneliness would fade away.  But then he faced reality.  "I don't want to feel anything."

"But you do."

"Too much," he muttered.  So much sometimes it tore him up inside.  Especially when he kissed her.

"Would the problem be solved by going to bed with her?"

Leave it to Trish to cut to the core.  With Paige, he could never use the term "going to bed," or "sleeping together," or any of the other euphemisms.  If he kissed her, if he touched her the way he wanted, if he buried himself inside her, they'd be making love.  And he suspected the experience would be earth-shattering.  But that he couldn't share with his sister.

Instead he said simply, "I think that would cause even greater problems."

"So this is more than attraction?"

"It's attraction on too many levels."

"It's easier for you since she's leaving, isn't it?"

"Easier?"

"Sure.  If you wait it out, she'll be gone and you won't have to tell her anything."

Clay scowled, but he couldn't intimidate Trish or divert her questions.

"Would the risk be so terrible?  From what you've just told me about her, she sounds understanding."

He straightened and rubbed his shoulder.   "I don't want her pity."

"Understanding and pity aren't the same, Clay."

"If I tell her about the amnesia, nothing will be the same."

"If you don't tell her, you'll never know what you could have had."

"You don't understand."

Trish walked over to the edge of the garden so she could look at her brother without squinting into the sun.  "Yes, I do.  You feel as if you have a friendship with her now and you're afraid you'll lose that."

He had a little bit of everything with Paige--friendship, respect, desire.  Yet he really had nothing at all.  "It's more complicated than that."

Trish stuffed her hands into her back pockets.  "Just remember--nothing ventured, nothing gained."

He'd ventured plenty of times and gotten hurt.  Until he'd wised up.  "I still remember Clare's reaction, her shock at the nightmares."

"They took her by surprise because you hadn't told her, either."

"But once I did...I can still remember her expression when I told her I had to memorize the photo album because the pictures really meant nothing."

"It's not fair to put all women in the same category.  You're playing it too safe.  Clare's the only person in Langley you ever told about the amnesia."

He hadn't even told Doc.  Doc knew about the accident, about the head injury, about Clay learning to read and write again, but Clay had never told the physician he'd lost the first twenty-five years of his life.  He thought about what Trish had said.  Playing it safe kept him from getting hurt.

He looked at his sister and tried to explain.  "I'm accepted here, Trish.  Luckily Clare left town soon after our break-up or more people would know.  It's hard to keep a confidence that is that...strange.  So why tell anyone?  Why would I want to put into jeopardy the camaraderie I've established and the friendships I've made?"

"To find something even better.  You know, Michael asked me to marry him three times over the past year.  The first two times I was afraid to say yes.  I was afraid our relationship would change if I did.  Well, it has changed.  It's changed for the better.  Fear could have robbed me of something very special."

She came over and knelt down beside him.  "Did you do this row yet?"

He observed her manicured fingernails, polished in pink.  "No.  But you don't have to help to get me to Reisterstown.  I'll be there if you want me there."

She smiled.  "I know you will."  She fished in his box of garden tools until she unearthed an old pair of gloves.  "I need to learn how to garden.  We're thinking about putting a contract on a house.  I'd like to have a garden.  You can teach me everything I need to know."

Yes, he could teach her about growing a garden, but she always taught him about life.  It didn't seem a fair trade.

****

Clay closed up Doc's storage shed Monday evening, all the while aware Paige was inside the house.  At least he presumed she was-her car was sitting in the driveway.  They hadn't spoken since the night he'd kissed her.

Doc's truck wasn't in the garage, so Clay assumed Paige was alone.  He could leave.

But he remembered the hurt in her eyes when he'd answered her question about the kiss.  It had lingered in their blue depths when he'd driven her home.

He went around to the front door and knocked.  No one answered.  Clay called softly through the screen door.  "Paige?"

He tried the latch and found it unlocked.  Going through the living room, he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.

Paige was seated at the table, reading an e-mail on her laptop.  She hadn't heard him come in and he didn't want to startle her.  So he said again softly, "Paige?"

She lifted her head, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

He didn't think about whether he should or shouldn't go to her.  He crossed the dining area and stood close to her chair.  "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and attempted to keep her lower lip from trembling by biting it.

He clasped her shoulder.  "Has something happened to your mother?"  He couldn't imagine what else would cause her this turmoil.

She made an effort at composure and managed to stop her lip from quivering.  "No.  It's me.  I don't know what I want to do, what I'm going to do, what I should do."

He pulled out a chair and swung it close to hers.  When he sat, his leg brushed hers, but he didn't move it away.  "What's in the e-mail?"