For a guilty moment, Maggie wished the same thing. Not that she didn’t love her kids; they were just driving her stark, raving mad. She had them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without relief.
Of course, that’s the way she’d wanted it. After her husband, Keith, had died last year, Maggie had proudly told her loving family she could handle things on her own. She could be a single mother. She could manage her house and her children.
For ten months, she’d held it together. She’d smiled and laughed through her heartache. She’d learned how to fix the toilet, change an electrical fuse, and mow the lawn. She’d even bought a jockstrap for her son. Through it all, she’d pretended that Keith was coming home any minute, that he’d be proud of her accomplishments, and she’d finally have some help. But Keith wasn’t coming home.
Maggie’s stomach churned at the reminder. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt claustrophobic, scared, anxious. The attacks of panic had begun two weeks earlier when a card had arrived in the mail addressed to Keith. The letter was signed Serena Hollingsworth. Maggie had never heard Keith mention a woman by that name, but the letter had suggested a personal relationship.
Serena had asked why Keith hadn’t contacted her as promised. She said she’d been travelling but had checked her messages faithfully, hoping to hear from him.
The first thought that came into Maggie’s mind was that her husband had had an affair. Then it occurred to her that Keith had been dead for almost a year and this woman knew nothing about it. How close could they have been? Maggie had thrown the card away, then dug it out of the wastebasket and stuck it in her “to do” pile, which never seemed to get done. She’d decided to simply notify the woman of Keith’s death, only she hadn’t gotten around to it. She hadn’t wanted to confront the fact that Keith had had a friendship with a woman she knew nothing about. For the first time, she wondered what else she’d known nothing about. The memory of her loving husband, the foundation of her solid marriage, seemed suddenly unstable.
The thought once again sent adrenaline pulsing through her veins. In the past two weeks, she’d suffered several anxious moments when she felt her heart racing over something illogical, silly almost. She’d become afraid of so many things. She’d drive down the street and imagine how easily a car could swerve and hit her head-on. She’d get on an elevator and picture herself plunging to the basement in the express ride from hell.
Yesterday she had let Dylan take a bus trip to the zoo and had worried all day that the bus would get in an accident, that Dylan would get lost, or the zoo would suddenly become the target of a terrorist attack.
Maggie was losing control. She felt as if her fingers were clinging to the edge of a cliff that was crumbling beneath her hand. The kids were suffering, too, and she couldn’t help them. She yelled at them unnecessarily, making her fears their fears. By bedtime, all four of them were usually in tears. She wasn’t being fair to them, and she had to do something soon before she destroyed what was left of her family.
“Mom, can we have a snack?” Roxy yelled up the stairs.
“I’m on the phone,” Maggie replied, walking around in circles, searching for a quiet place to sit. Her room was a mess, with a pile of laundry on the bed, waiting to be sorted. The desk in the hall alcove was covered with bills she had yet to pay. Just looking at all those envelopes made her anxiety level rise yet again.
Maggie jumped to one side of the hall as Dylan and their golden retriever, Sally, ran up the stairs.
“Sally found a dead bird in the backyard,” Dylan said with excitement. The dog barked in delight. “Do you want to see it? It’s in the kitchen.”
“No. I’m on the phone.” Maggie sighed as Mary Bea marched out of her room with her backpack in one hand and her cherished blanket in the other. Her face was streaked with tears, her blond curls a mass of tangles. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
“I’m running away unless you say you’re sorry for yelling at me.”
“I’m on the phone,” Maggie replied for the third time. “And if anyone is going to run away from home, it will be me.”
“Mom, we’re starving,” Roxy complained from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m on the phone,” Maggie yelled back. “Can’t anyone see I’m on the phone? Do you think this receiver is an earring?”
Dylan and Mary Bea looked at her in bewilderment, then Mary Bea started to cry. “You’re yelling again,” she accused.
Maggie opened the door to the hall closet and walked inside, shutting herself in among the coats, the umbrellas and the tennis rackets that hadn’t been used in years. She sat down on the upturned end of a suitcase she’d meant to store in the basement, but like so many things in her life, it had gone undone.
“Mom, why are you in the closet?” Dylan asked.
“Are you playing hide-and-seek?” Mary Bea asked hopefully. “Can I play, too?”
“She doesn’t want to play with you,” Dylan said.
“Yes, she does.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Go away,” Maggie yelled. “I’m on the phone.”
“Maggie?” Lisa’s voice came over the receiver like an answer to a prayer.
“Lisa. Thank God, you’re there.” Maggie took a deep breath. Eight years ago what she needed to say would have come easily. Now there were barriers between them, years when they hadn’t seen much of each other, layers of grief and disillusionment that weighed heavily on their friendship, but Maggie had nowhere else to turn. “I need you.”
She closed her eyes, waiting for Lisa’s response.
Lisa stared blindly at her desktop, not seeing the work, spread out before her, hearing only the anguish in Maggie’s voice. I need you. Three short words that demanded so much, coming from a woman who had always asked for so little. They had been best friends forever. Maggie Maddux Scott with her golden hair, her big booming laugh and wide generous smile had befriended Lisa on her first day at a new middle school. She didn’t care that Lisa was different, that she was too shy, too skinny, too nervous, too everything. Maggie’s friendship had come like the sun after a long winter’s storm. She’d introduced Lisa to the joy of laughter, to the secrets of best friends. With two older brothers, Maggie was dying for a sister, and Lisa fit the bill. They’d been inseparable for years, until… Lisa’s gaze drifted to the opened box on the desk, to the bracelet that gleamed against the tissue paper.
“Did you hear me?” Maggie asked.
Lisa started. “Yes, of course. What’s wrong? Is one of the kids—”
“No. It’s me.” Maggie’s voice sounded edgy. “I’m losing it, Lisa.
The walls are closing in on me. I can’t breathe.”
“Are you in the closet again?” Lisa demanded.
“Yes, I’m in the closet. It’s the only place where I won’t be interrupted, where I can have two minutes to myself. It’s not the closet that’s making me crazy. It’s everything else. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t fight with Roxy every morning about her clothes. I can’t drive Dylan all over town so he can play these damn sports, and I can’t take Mary Bea into Wal-Mart ever again, because my five-year-old stole two peanut butter cups and a giant-sized Hershey bar and I didn’t even notice until I got home and found chocolate smeared across her chin.”
“Slow down,” Lisa said. “I don’t think Wal-Mart will toss you into jail over a couple of candy bars.”
“I’m supposed to be okay, you know. It’s been almost a year. I should be getting over this by now.”
“Honey, he was your husband. And you’ve been in love with him forever.
You married him right out of high school. You might never get over him.”
“I know, but I’m so angry, Lisa. He had to die and leave me with all this. It was Keith’s idea to buy this big, stupid house, you know. I never wanted this elephant of a mortgage, and it was his idea to have three kids; I would have stopped at two. It was his idea to go into the lab that night. Maggie voice faltered. “If he hadn’t gone to his office, he wouldn’t have been there when the lab exploded,” Maggie sobbed, as her emotions spilled out. “I told him to wait until the next morning…”
Maggie’s sobs tore at Lisa’s heart. “Please don’t cry.”
“He wouldn’t listen,” Maggie said with a sniff. “He never listened to me.”
Every word Maggie uttered reminded Lisa of her own guilt, her own anger. And it was so pointless. “Maggie, you have to stop torturing yourself.”
“Why? I’m torturing everyone else.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. I need you, Lisa. I’m desperate.”
“Me? What about—your brothers?” God, she was pathetic. She couldn’t even say his name out loud.
“I can’t reach Nick. He might be away for the weekend, Joe moved up to Monterey last year, remember? And his wife is expecting a baby any day now. My parents are finally taking their second honeymoon. I can’t ask them to come home.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Watch my kids for the weekend. I know I shouldn’t ask. You’re getting married in a month, and you must be busy, but I could use a friend right now.” Her voice tightened. “And—and you owe me, Lisa. There, I said it. I’ve felt it for a long time, and now I’ve said it. You didn’t even come for Keith’s funeral. I still can’t believe you didn’t come.”
Lisa’s stomach turned over at the anger and bitterness in Maggie’s voice. Maggie was right. Lisa had been a lousy friend. “I came down the week after,” she protested.
“So you wouldn’t have to see Nick and my parents and my kids. Your feelings came before mine.”
“You’re right. I was scared.” And selfish. Lisa twisted the phone cord between her fingers. She’d felt guilty for weeks. She still did.
“I should have been there for you. If you don’t want to be my friend, I won’t blame you.”
“You’re not getting out of it that easily. I need you now, Lisa. You have to come. You just have to.”
“I’ll be down as soon as I can, a couple of hours.” Lisa mentally ran through the list of what she was supposed to accomplish that weekend. Raymond wouldn’t be happy. Neither would Mrs. Carstairs, but Maggie was right. Lisa owed her this. Heck, she owed her a lot more than this.
“Really?” Maggie’s voice filled with hope. “I know you hate it here, all the memories and Nick…”
“I can handle the memories; it’s your children I’m concerned about. Are you sure you want to leave them with me?”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” Maggie said softly.
Lisa’s gaze dropped to the charm bracelet once again. Someone else had trusted her, and she had let her down. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the only thing I am sure about. Lisa?”
“What?”
“Hurry.”
Lisa hung up the phone, worried more than ever by the note of panic in Maggie’s voice. Maggie had always been the cool one, sensible, reasonable, dependable—nothing like her older brother, Nick. Lisa’s heart raced at the thought of him. But just because she was going back to San Diego didn’t mean she had to see Nick. She’d managed to avoid him for almost eight years. Surely, she could make it through one more weekend.
Chapter 2
Nick Maddux was surrounded by pregnant women. Every time he turned around, he bumped into someone’s stomach. Muttering yet another apology, he backed into the corner of his ten-by-twelve-foot booth at the San Diego Baby and Parenting Fair and took a deep breath. He was hot, tired and proud.
His handcrafted baby furniture was the hit of the show. He had taken three orders for cradles, another two for cribs, and one for a matching crib, dresser and rocking chair. A couple of the items he had in stock, but the rest he would have to make. In some cases, it would be a challenge to have his furniture arrive before the stork, but Nick thrived on challenges, and Robin Wood Designs was finally on its way to becoming the profitable business he had envisioned.
Nick couldn’t believe how far he’d come, how much he’d changed.
Eight years ago, he’d been twenty-five years old, working toward getting his contractor’s license, and trying to provide for a wife and a child on the way. He’d kept at it long after they’d gone, hammering out his anger and frustration on helpless nails and boards.
Every evening he’d drink himself to sleep, and every morning he’d wake up more sad than he could ever have imagined. Two years had gone by before he ran out of work, out of booze and out of money. Finally, stone cold sober, he’d realized his life was a mess. That when he’d met Walter Mackey, a master craftsman well into his seventies but still taking joy out of carving wood. Walter made rocking chairs in his garage and sold them at craft fairs. Nick had bought one of those chairs for his mother’s birthday. She’d fallen in love with the beautifully crafted design, the smooth feel of the wood. She’d told Nick he’d given her something that would last forever.
It was then Nick realized he could make something that would last forever. His life didn’t have to be a series of arrivals and departures.
Walter had taught him everything he knew, and Nick had done the rest himself. For five years, he’d worked two jobs, construction during the day and woodworking at night. He’d helped Walter with his business and begun to dream of having his own.
Last year, he’d purchased a retail space on Pacific Beach Drive in San Diego. His designs, with his signature robin in the corner, had caught on, and now he was reaching out for more customers, more opportunities to put his piece of forever into someone else’s life.
Nick had decided to focus on baby furniture because something for one’s child always brought out the checkbook faster than something for oneself. Besides that mercenary reason, Nick had become obsessed with building furniture for babies that would nurture them, keep them safe, protect them.
He knew where the obsession came from, just not how to stop it. Maybe he didn’t need to stop it. Maybe Robin would be proud of all that he’d accomplished in her name.
Robin. The thought of her made him smile even as his heart broke yet again. He wondered when he’d ever stop feeling the familiar ripping pain that ran through his body every time he said her name, thought of her sweet face, remembered.
He looked around his booth at the two pregnant women checking out his furniture. One had come with her mother, the other with her adoring husband. As he watched, Nick saw the husband rest his palm on his wife’s stomach and whisper something into her ear. She smiled. The man kissed her on the brow tenderly, lovingly.
Nick felt himself drawn into the past. In his mind he saw Lisa with her round stomach, her glowing smile, her blue eyes lit up for the world to see. She’d been so happy then, so proud of herself. In the few months since their marriage, Lisa had blossomed into a woman loved and secure. He’d taken pride in knowing it was because of him. He’d brought that smile to her face. And in making her feel special, he’d made himself feel special. He was no longer the invisible middle child, not the oldest or the brightest or the youngest or the cutest—just the one in the middle.
He’d felt the anonymity of that place every day of his life. His father had focused all of his energies on Nick’s older brother, Joe.
Joe was the smart one, the one who could calculate algebraic equations in his head, the one who would go on to a brilliant career in finance, just like his father. And Maggie was the darling, the joy of their family, the silly little girl whose imagination took more flights than their father’s frequent business trips across the country.
Nick loved all of them, but he’d never felt loved for himself—until Lisa. She’d looked past the cocky insecure arrogance and seen who he really was and loved him anyway. When she’d become pregnant, they both thought they’d won the lottery.
He closed his eyes for a moment as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, and he saw her again.
“I can’t believe I’m having a baby.” Lisa took his hand and placed it on her abdomen. “Feel that? She’s kicking me.”
Nick’s gut tightened at the fluttering kick against his fingers. It was the most incredible feeling. He couldn’t begin to express the depth of his love for this unborn child, but he could show Lisa. In the middle of the store, he kissed her on the lips, uncaring of the salespeople or the other customers. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.
She looked into his eyes. “I love you, too. More than anything. I’m so happy it scares me. What if something goes wrong?”
“Nothing will go wrong.”
“Oh, Nick, things always go wrong around me. Remember our first date—we hit a parked car.
He smiled. “That wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m the one who distracted you,” she said with a worried look in her eyes.
“Okay, it was your fault.”
“Nick!”
“I’m teasing. Don’t be afraid of being happy. It’s not fatal, you know. This is just the beginning for us.”
It had been the beginning of the end.
Nick blinked his eyes open as the woman in his booth asked him a question, intruding on his memories. “Excuse me?”
“How much is the cradle?” she asked with a curious smile.
“One hundred and thirty dollars.”
She nodded. “It’s expensive, but it’s also gorgeous. Are you the craftsman?”
“Yes.”
“You do beautiful work.”
“Thank you.” Nick ran his calloused fingers along the side of the cradle, sending it into a gentle rocking motion.
“It’s so quiet. We’ve looked at a lot of cradles, but yours seem—special. I can almost see my baby lying there, rocking.”
“Me, too,” he muttered, but it wasn’t her baby he was seeing, it was his—Robin with the tiny curls of black hair and the bright blue eyes, so like her mother’s. Nick shook the thought out of his head.
“We’ll take two,” the woman said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“We’re having twins,” she explained with a laugh, patting her rather large abdomen. Congratulations. “”Go luck would be more appropriate.”
Nick smiled as he took down her name, address and phone number and set up a delivery date. When she and her husband left, the booth was empty, save for two lanky teenagers. So much for sentimental moments.
It was time to get on with the business of breaking down the booth.
“Hey, boss. It’s almost five. Can we start packing up?” Ernie Mackey asked.
“I’m starving,” David Schmitz added.
Nick smiled at the teenagers, whose pants were three sizes too big and whose shirts trailed down to their knees. Ernie was Walter’s grandson and had absolutely no interest in making furniture, only in making money. He was a high school senior who needed wheels and cash for the prom, so he’d agreed to work for Nick after school and on the weekends.
David was Ernie’s best friend.
“You guys have already eaten your way through the food court,” Nick replied. “I think you can make it another half hour.”
“Aw, man,” Ernie complained. “You’re a slave driver.”
“You want to work for a slave driver, try working for your grandfather.”
“You’re right. He’s worse, but at least he doesn’t do baby shows,”
Ernie said with disgust. “I’ve never seen so many screaming, ugly babies or pregnant women in my entire life.”
“Yeah,” David agreed. He leaned over and dropped his voice a notch. “I didn’t know so many people in San Diego were having this much sex. And some of them are really old.”
Nick laughed. “Like forty, right? Now you know what’s in store for you if you have unprotected sex.”
“No way. I’m not having kids, not until I’m at least thirty,” David said. “I want to have fun, man.”
“Just remember that every time you have fun, and I do mean every time,”
Nick said pointedly.
“You sound like my father,” Ernie complained.
He did sound like a father, but he wasn’t one—not anymore. “Why don’t you guys take down the crib? I think we’re just about done.”
Nick slipped the orders he had taken into a manila envelope.
“How did you do, Nick?” Suzanne Brooks asked from the booth adjoining his.
“Okay,” he said.
A slender woman with a sleek cap of red hair that framed her face and emphasized her brown eyes, Suzanne owned an expensive baby clothing store in La Jolla, and they had become a source of referrals for one another. They had gone out a few times. Nick enjoyed her company but was wary of her eager interest in him. Suzanne seemed to be pushing for a deeper, more personal relationship, and he wasn’t ready for it.
Although as soon as the thought came to mind, he felt like a fool. Just when the hell was he going to be ready? It had been almost eight years, well past time to move on with his life.
“Do you want to get a drink after work, maybe some dinner?” she asked, straightening her emerald green suit jacket. “I didn’t have a chance to get lunch.”
“Sure.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised,” he said with a grin.
“No, I’m pleased. Shall we go to the Glass House? It’s supposed to be very good.”
Nick frowned. “I’m more steak and potatoes than pheasant under glass, Suzanne. I’m not sure I could find a suit if I needed one to be buried in.”
“Well, wherever you want to go then.”
“Ruby’s Chili House.”
“Oh, okay. That sounds interesting.”
She looked a bit disheartened by his choice, which didn’t totally surprise him. Suzanne was a lovely woman, but her tastes were more sophisticated than his.
“I’m not very good with spicy food,” she added. “Is the chili hot?”
“Hotter than hell,” he said cheerfully. Lisa had loved Ruby’s chili.
He could still see the sweat beading along her forehead with every bite, the fire in her blue eyes, the rosiness of her cheeks. She’d been as passionate about food as … God, where had that thought come from? “Never mind,” he said to Suzanne. “Let’s go somewhere else. You pick. Just don’t make it black tie, okay? I’m a working guy.”
“You’re a successful business owner, a great-looking man. Most of the women stop by your booth just to look at you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. I don’t think they can fathom how such a big, brawny guy can make such beautiful furniture. I wish you could see yourself as others see you.”
Nick smiled somewhat awkwardly as he dug his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans. If Suzanne could really see him for what he was, she’d run as far away from him as possible. Sure, he’d seen desire in a few women’s eyes over the past couple of years. But he still remembered that one scathing look of complete and utter rejection.
“Nick?”
He shook himself, not understanding why the memories had begun again.
It probably had something to do with Silvia, Lisa’s mother. Two days earlier, Silvia had asked him for the key to the storage locker where they’d put Lisa’s things all those years ago. She’d said she wanted to get something out, something important.
Nick hadn’t asked what. He hadn’t been to the storage locker in years.
He probably should have cleaned it out or at least sent Lisa the bill, but for some reason, he’d just kept paying it.
“Nick?” Suzanne repeated. “Shall I come by your place and pick you up?”
“Don’t like riding in my pickup truck, huh?” He knew the battered blue Toyota wasn’t much to look at, but it was handy for moving furniture.
“I can bring the jeep. I know it’s not much better, but at least it has a solid coat of paint.”
“That’s fine.”
“Why don’t I pick you up at seven-thirty?” he suggested.
She hesitated. “Is there something you’re hiding in that house of yours? You’ve never invited me in. I’m beginning to think you have a wife stashed away inside.”
“No wife,” he said bluntly. “If you’d rather I didn’t come by, we can forget the whole thing.”
“No, no.” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to pry. You can pick me up. You can even stay for breakfast if you want.”
He saw the seductive invitation in her eyes and knew she’d make good on her promise, but what about the morning? What about breakfast, lunch and dinner? He had a feeling Suzanne Brooks didn’t sleep with a man for the hell of it, and that was the only reason he’d slept with anyone in the past eight years.
Walter kept telling him it was time to move on, to settle down, to get on with the rest of his life. Perhaps the old man was right. He could get used to breakfast at Suzanne’s. He could forget that her skin wasn’t dark, her eyes weren’t blue, her hair wasn’t the color of the night.
Or maybe he’d spend the rest of his life haunted by a memory, by a woman he would probably never see again—at least if she had anything to say about it.
Raymond Curtis took the elevator downstairs. Instead of descending to the underground parking, he impulsively stepped off at the lobby level.
He didn’t feel like going home yet. His Spanish-style house in the San Fernando Valley with its cool red tiles and slick hardwood floors would be neat and clean and waiting for him. The evening paper would be on the dining room table, and his housekeeper would have something warming in the oven, but Elisabeth wouldn’t be there.
No, Elisabeth was on her way to San Diego to rescue some childhood friend from a panic attack. Raymond frowned, still angry at Elisabeth’s abrupt and sudden departure. He didn’t like unpredictability. He didn’t appreciate people doing what they weren’t supposed to do.