Unfinished Business (4 page)

There was so much to think about. Not just the funny stories Joanie had shared with her that day, Vanessa thought as she strolled around the backyard at dusk. She needed to think about her life and what she wanted to do with it. Where she belonged. Where she wanted to belong.

For over a decade she'd had little or no choice. Or had lacked the courage to make one, she thought. She had done
what her father wanted. He and her music had been the only constants. His drive and his needs had been so much more passionate than hers. And she hadn't wanted to disappoint him.

Hadn't dared, a small voice echoed, but she blocked it off.

She owed him everything. He had dedicated his life to her career. While her mother had shirked the responsibility, he had taken her, he had molded her, he had taught her. Every hour she had worked, he had worked. Even when he had become desperately ill, he had pushed himself, managing her career as meticulously as ever. No detail had ever escaped his notice—just as no flawed note had escaped his highly critical ear. He had taken her to the top of her career, and he had been content to bask in the reflected glory.

It couldn't have been easy for him, she thought now. His own career as a concert pianist had stalled before he'd hit thirty. He had never achieved the pinnacle he'd so desperately strived for. For him, music had been everything. Finally he'd been able to see those ambitions and needs realized in his only child.

Now she was on the brink of turning her back on everything he had wanted for her, everything he had worked toward. He would never have been able to understand her desire to give up a glowing career. Just as he had never been able to understand, or tolerate, her constant terror of performing.

She could remember it even now, even here in the sheltered quiet of the yard. The gripping sensation in her stomach, the wave of nausea she always battled back, the throbbing behind her eyes as she stood in the wings.

Stage fright, her father had told her. She would outgrow it. It was the one thing she had never been able to accomplish for him.

Yet, despite it, she knew she could go back to the concert
stage. She could endure. She could rise even higher if she focused herself. If only she knew it was what she wanted.

Perhaps she just needed to rest. She sat on the lawn glider and sent it gently into motion. A few weeks or a few months of quiet, and then she might yearn for the life she had left behind. But for now she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the purple twilight.

From the glider she could see the lights glowing inside the house, and the neighboring houses. She had shared a meal with her mother in the kitchen—or had tried to. Loretta had seemed hurt when Vanessa only picked at her food. How could she explain that nothing seemed to settle well these days? This empty, gnawing feeling in her stomach simply wouldn't abate.

A little more time, Vanessa thought, and it would ease. It was only because she wasn't busy, as she should be. Certainly she hadn't practiced enough that day, or the day before. Even if she decided to cut back professionally, she had no business neglecting her practice.

Tomorrow, she thought, closing her eyes. Tomorrow was soon enough to start a routine. Lulled by the motion of the glider, she gathered her jacket closer. She'd forgotten how quickly the temperature could dip once the sun had fallen behind the mountains.

She heard the whoosh of a car as it cruised by on the road in front of the house. Then the sound of a door closing. From somewhere nearby, a mother called her child in from play. Another light blinked on in a window. A baby cried. Vanessa smiled, wishing she could dig out the old tent she and Joanie had used and pitch it in the backyard. She could sleep there, just listening to the town.

She turned at the sound of a dog barking, then saw the
bright fur of a huge golden retriever. It dashed across the neighboring lawn, over the bed where her mother had already planted her pansies and marigolds. Tongue lolling, it lunged at the glider. Before Vanessa could decide whether to be alarmed or amused, it plopped both front paws in her lap and grinned a dog's grin.

“Well, hello there.” She ruffled his ears. “Where did you come from?”

“From two blocks down, at a dead run.” Panting, Brady walked out of the shadows. “I made the mistake of taking him to the office today. When I went to put him in the car, he decided to take a hike.” He paused in front of the glider. “Are you going to punch me again, or can I sit down?”

Vanessa continued to pet the dog. “I probably won't hit you again.”

“That'll have to do.” He dropped down on the glider and stretched out his legs. The dog immediately tried to climb in his lap. “Don't try to make up,” Brady said, pushing the dog off again.

“He's a pretty dog.”

“Don't flatter him. He's already got an inflated ego.”

“They say people and their pets develop similarities,” she commented. “What's his name?”

“Kong. He was the biggest in his litter.” Hearing his name, Kong barked twice, then raced off to chase the shadows. “I spoiled him when he was a puppy, and now I'm paying the price.” Spreading his arms over the back of the glider, he let his fingers toy with the ends of her hair. “Joanie tells me you drove out to the farm today.”

“Yes.” Vanessa knocked his hand away. “She looks wonderful. And so happy.”

“She is happy.” Undaunted, he picked up her hand to play
with her fingers. It was an old, familiar gesture. “You got to meet our godchild.”

“Yes.” Vanessa tugged her hand free. “Lara's gorgeous.”

“Yeah.” He went back to her hair. “She looks like me.”

The laugh came too quickly to stop. “You're still conceited. And will you keep your hands off me?”

“I never was able to.” He sighed, but shifted away an inch. “We used to sit here a lot, remember?”

“I remember.”

“I think the first time I kissed you, we were sitting here, just like this.”

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“You're right.” As he knew very well. “The first time was up at the park. You came to watch me shoot baskets.”

She brushed casually at the knee of her slacks. “I just happened to be walking through.”

“You came because I used to shoot without a shirt and you wanted to see my sweaty chest.”

She laughed again, because it was absolutely true. She turned to look at him in the shadowy light. He was smiling, relaxed. He'd always been able to relax, she remembered. And he'd always been able to make her laugh.

“It—meaning your sweaty chest—wasn't such a big deal.”

“I've filled out some,” he said easily. “And I still shoot hoops.” This time she didn't seem to notice when he stroked her hair. “I remember that day. It was at the end of the summer, before my senior year. In three months you'd gone from being that pesty little Sexton kid to Sexy Sexton with a yard of the most incredible chestnut hair, and these great-looking legs you used to show off in teeny little shorts. You were such a brat. And you made my mouth water.”

“You were always looking at Julie Newton.”

“No, I was pretending to look at Julie Newton while I looked at you. Then you just happened to stroll by the court that day. You'd been to Lester's Store, because you had a bottle of soda. Grape soda.”

She lifted a brow. “That's quite a memory you've got.”

“Hey, these are the turning points in our lives. You said, ‘Hi, Brady. You look awful hot. Want a sip?'” He grinned again. “I almost took a bite out of my basketball. Then you flirted with me.”

“I did not.”

“You batted your eyes.”

She struggled with a giggle. “I've never batted my eyes.”

“You batted them then.” He sighed at the memory. “It was great.”

“As I remember it, you were showing off, doing layups and hook shots or whatever. Macho stuff. Then you grabbed me.”

“I remember grabbing. You liked it.”

“You smelled like a gym locker.”

“I guess I did. It was still my most memorable first kiss.”

And hers, Vanessa thought. She hadn't realized she was leaning back against his shoulder and smiling. “We were so young. Everything was so intense, and so uncomplicated.”

“Some things don't have to be complicated.” But sitting there with her head feeling just right on his shoulder, he wasn't so sure. “Friends?”

“I guess.”

“I haven't had a chance to ask you how long you're staying.”

“I haven't had a chance to decide.”

“Your schedule must be packed.”

“I've taken a few months.” She moved restlessly. “I may go to Paris for a few weeks.”

He picked up her hand again, turning it over. Her hands had
always fascinated him. Those long, tapering fingers, the baby-smooth palms, the short, practical nails. She wore no rings. He had given her one once—spent the money he'd earned mowing grass all summer on a gold ring with an incredibly small emerald. She'd kissed him senseless when he'd given it to her, and she'd sworn never to take it off.

Childhood promises were carelessly broken by adults. It was foolish to wish he could see it on her finger again.

“You know, I managed to see you play at Carnegie Hall a couple of years ago. It was overwhelming. You were overwhelming.” He surprised them both by bringing her fingers to his lips. Then hastily dropped them. “I'd hoped to see you while we were both in New York, but I guess you were busy.”

The jolt from her fingertips was still vibrating in her toes. “If you had called, I'd have managed it.”

“I did call.” His eyes remained on hers, searching, even as he shrugged it off. “It was then I fully realized how big you'd become. I never got past the first line of defense.”

“I'm sorry. Really.”

“It's no big deal.”

“No, I would have liked to have seen you. Sometimes the people around me are too protective.”

“I think you're right.” He put a hand under her chin. She was more beautiful than his memory of her, and more fragile. If he had met her in New York, in less sentimental surroundings, would he have felt so drawn to her? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Friends was what he'd asked of her. He struggled to want no more.

“You look very tired, Van. Your color could be better.”

“It's been a hectic year.”

“Are you sleeping all right?”

Half-amused, she brushed his hand aside. “Don't start playing doctor with me, Brady.”

“At the moment I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more, but I'm serious. You're run-down.”

“I'm not run-down, just a little tired. Which is why I'm taking a break.”

But he wasn't satisfied. “Why don't you come into the office for a physical?”

“Is that your new line? It used to be ‘Let's go parking down at Molly's Hole.'”

“I'll get to that. Dad can take a look at you.”

“I don't need a doctor.” Kong came lumbering back, and she reached down for him. “I'm never sick. In almost ten years of concerts, I've never had to cancel one for health reasons.” She buried her face in the dog's fur when her stomach clenched. “I'm not going to say it hasn't been a strain coming back here, but I'm dealing with it.”

She'd always been hardheaded, he thought. Maybe it would be best if he simply kept an eye—a medical eye—on her for a few days. “Dad would still like to see you—personally, if not professionally.”

“I'm going to drop by.” Still bent over the dog, she turned her head. In the growing dark, he caught the familiar gleam in her eye. “Joanie says you've got your hands full with women patients. I imagine the same holds true of your father, if he's as handsome as I remember.”

“He's had a few…interesting offers. But they've eased off since he and your mother hooked up.”

Dumbfounded, Vanessa sat up straight. “Hooked up? My mother? Your father?”

“It's the hottest romance in town.” He flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “So far.”

“My mother?” she repeated.

“She's an attractive woman in her prime, Van. Why shouldn't she enjoy herself?”

Pressing a hand against her stomach, she rose. “I'm going in.”

“What's the problem?”

“No problem. I'm going in. I'm cold.”

He took her by the shoulders. It was another gesture that brought a flood of memories. “Why don't you give her a break?” Brady asked. “God knows she's been punished enough.”

“You don't know anything about it.”

“More than you think.” He gave her a quick, impatient shake. “Let go, Van. These old resentments are going to eat you from the inside out.”

“It's easy for you.” The bitterness poured out before she could control it. “It's always been easy for you, with your nice happy family. You always knew they loved you, no matter what you did or didn't do. No one ever sent you away.”

“She didn't send you away, Van.”

“She let me go,” she said quietly. “What's the difference?”

“Why don't you ask her?”

With a shake of her head, she pulled away. “I stopped being her little girl twelve years ago. I stopped being a lot of things.” She turned and walked into the house.

V
anessa had slept only in snatches. There had been pain. But she was used to pain. She masked it by coating her stomach with liquid antacids, by downing the pills that had been prescribed for her occasional blinding headaches. But most of all, she masked it by using her will to ignore.

Twice she had nearly walked down the hall to her mother's room. A third time she had gotten as far as her mother's door, with her hand raised to knock, before she had retreated to her own room and her own thoughts.

She had no right to resent the fact that her mother had a relationship with another man. Yet she did. In all the years Vanessa had spent with her father, he had never turned to another woman. Or, if he had, he had been much too discreet for her to notice.

And what did it matter? she asked herself as she dressed the next morning. They had always lived their own lives, separate, despite the fact that they shared a house.

But it did matter. It mattered that her mother had been content all these years to live in this same house without contact with her only child. It mattered that she had been able to start a life, a new life, that had no place for her own daughter.

It was time, Vanessa told herself. It was time to ask why.

She caught the scent of coffee and fragrant bread as she reached the bottom landing. In the kitchen she saw her mother standing by the sink, rinsing a cup. Loretta was dressed in a pretty blue suit, pearls at her ears and around her throat. The radio was on low, and she was humming even as she turned and saw her daughter.

“Oh, you're up.” Loretta smiled, hoping it didn't look forced. “I wasn't sure I'd see you this morning before I left.”

“Left?”

“I have to go to work. There're some muffins, and the coffee's still hot.”

“To work?” Vanessa repeated. “Where?”

“At the shop.” To busy her nervous hands, she poured Vanessa a cup of coffee. “The antique shop. I bought it about six years ago. The Hopkinses' place, you might remember. I went to work for them when—some time ago. When they decided to retire, I bought them out.”

Vanessa shook her head to clear it of the grogginess. “You run an antique shop?”

“Just a small one.” She set the coffee on the table. The moment they were free, her hands began to tug at her pearl necklace. “I call it Loretta's Attic. Silly, I suppose, but it does nicely. I closed it for a couple of days, but… I can keep it closed another day or so if you'd like.”

Vanessa studied her mother thoughtfully, trying to imagine her owning a business, worrying about inventory and book-keeping. Antiques? Had she ever mentioned an interest in them?

“No.” It seemed that talk would have to wait. “Go ahead.”

“If you like, you can run down later and take a look.” Loretta began to fiddle with a button on her jacket. “It's small, but I have a lot of interesting pieces.”

“We'll see.”

“Are you sure you'll be all right here alone?”

“I've been all right alone for a long time.”

Loretta's gaze dropped. Her hands fell to her sides. “Yes, of course you have. I'm usually home by six-thirty.”

“All right. I'll see you this evening, then.” She walked to the sink to turn on the faucet. She wanted water, cold and clear.

“Van.”

“Yes?”

“I know I have years to make up for.” Loretta was standing in the doorway when Vanessa turned. “I hope you'll give me a chance.”

“I want to.” She spread her hands. “I don't know where either of us is supposed to start.”

“Neither do I.” Loretta's smile was hesitant, but less strained. “Maybe that's its own start. I love you. I'll be happy if I can make you believe that.” She turned quickly and left.

“Oh, Mom,” Vanessa said to the empty house. “I don't know what to do.”

 

“Mrs. Driscoll.” Brady patted the eighty-three-year-old matron on her knobby knee. “You've got the heart of a twenty-year-old gymnast.”

She cackled, as he'd known she would. “It's not my heart I'm worried about, Brady. It's my bones. They ache like the devil.”

“Maybe if you'd let one of your great-grandchildren weed that garden of yours.”

“I've been doing my own patch for sixty years—”

“And you'll do it another sixty,” he finished for her, setting the blood pressure cuff aside. “Nobody in the county grows better tomatoes, but if you don't ease up, your bones are going to ache.” He picked up her hands. Her fingers were wiry, not yet touched by arthritis. But it was in her shoulders, in her knees, and there was little he could do to stop its march.

He completed the exam, listening to her tell stories about her family. She'd been his second-grade teacher, and he'd thought then she was the oldest woman alive. After nearly twenty-five years, the gap had closed considerably. Though he knew she still considered him the little troublemaker who had knocked over the goldfish bowl just to see the fish flop on the floor.

“I saw you coming out of the post office a couple of days ago, Mrs. Driscoll.” He made a notation on her chart. “You weren't using your cane.”

She snorted. “Canes are for old people.”

He lowered the chart, lifted a brow. “It's my considered medical opinion, Mrs. Driscoll, that you
are
old.”

She cackled and batted a hand at him. “You always had a smart mouth, Brady Tucker.”

“Yeah, but now I've got a medical degree to go with it.” He took her hand to help her off the examining table. “And I want you to use that cane—even if it's only to give John Hardesty a good rap when he flirts with you.”

“The old goat,” she muttered. “And I'd look like an old goat, too, hobbling around on a cane.”

“Isn't vanity one of the seven deadly sins?”

“It's not worth sinning if it isn't deadly. Get out of here, boy, so I can dress.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He left her, shaking his head. He could
hound her from here to the moon and she wouldn't use that damn cane. She was one of the few patients he couldn't bully or intimidate.

After two more hours of morning appointments, he spent his lunch hour driving to Washington County Hospital to check on two patients. An apple and a handful of peanut butter crackers got him through the afternoon. More than one of his patients mentioned the fact that Vanessa Sexton was back in town. This information was usually accompanied by smirks, winks and leers. He'd had his stomach gouged several times by teasing elbows.

Small towns, he thought as he took five minutes in his office between appointments. The people in them knew everything about everyone. And they remembered it. Forever. Vanessa and he had been together, briefly, twelve years before, but it might as well have been written in concrete, not just carved in one of the trees in Hyattown Park.

He'd forgotten about her—almost. Except when he'd seen her name or picture in the paper. Or when he'd listened to one of her albums, which he'd bought strictly for old times' sake. Or when he'd seen a woman tilt her head to the side and smile in a way similar to the way Van had smiled.

But when he had remembered, they'd been memories of childhood. Those were the sweetest and most poignant. They had been little more than children, rushing toward adulthood with a reckless and terrifying speed. But what had happened between them had remained beautifully innocent. Long, slow kisses in the shadows, passionate promises, a few forbidden caresses.

Thinking of them now, of her, shouldn't make him ache. And yet he rubbed a hand over his heart.

It had seemed too intense at the time, because they had
faced such total opposition from her father. The more Julius Sexton had railed against their blossoming relationship, the closer they had become. That was the way of youth, Brady thought now. And he had played the angry young man to perfection, he remembered with a smirk. Defying her father, giving his own a lifetime of headaches. Making threats and promises as only an eighteen-year-old could.

If the road had run smoothly, they would probably have forgotten each other within weeks.

Liar, he thought with a laugh. He had never been so in love as he had been that year with Vanessa. That heady, frantic year, when he had turned eighteen and anything and everything had seemed possible.

They had never made love. He had bitterly regretted that after she had been swept out of his life. Now, with the gift of hindsight, he realized that it had been for the best. If they had been lovers, how much more difficult it would be for them to be friends as adults.

That was what he wanted, all he wanted, he assured himself. He had no intention of breaking his heart over her a second time.

Maybe for a moment, when he had first seen her at the piano, his breath had backed up in his lungs and his pulse had scrambled. That was a natural enough reaction. She was a beautiful woman, and she had once been his. And if he had felt a yearning the night before, as they had sat on the glider in the growing dusk, well, he was human. But he wasn't stupid.

Vanessa Sexton wasn't his girl anymore. And he didn't want her for his woman.

“Dr. Tucker.” One of the nurses poked a head in the door. “Your next patient is here.”

“Be right there.”

“Oh, and your father said to stop by before you leave for the day.”

“Thanks.” Brady headed for examining room 2, wondering if Vanessa would be sitting out on the glider that evening.

 

Vanessa knocked on the door of the Tucker house and waited. She'd always liked the Main Street feeling of the home, with its painted porch and its window boxes. There were geraniums in them now, already blooming hardily. The screens were in the open windows. As a girl, she had often seen Brady and his father removing the storms and putting in the screens—a sure sign that winter was over.

There were two rockers sitting on the porch. She knew Dr. Tucker would often sit there on a summer evening. People strolling by would stop to pass the time or to relay a list of symptoms and complaints.

And every year, over the Memorial Day weekend, the Tuckers would throw a backyard barbecue. Everyone in town came by to eat hamburgers and potato salad, to sit under the shade of the big walnut tree, to play croquet.

He was a generous man, Dr. Tucker, Vanessa remembered. With his time, with his skill. She could still remember his laugh, full and rich, and how gentle his hands were during an examination.

But what could she say to him now? This man who had been such a larger-than-life figure during her childhood? This man who had once comforted her when she'd wept over her parents' crumbling marriage? This man who was now involved with her mother?

He opened the door himself, and stood there studying her. He was tall, as she remembered. Like Brady, he had a wiry, athletic build. Though his dark hair had turned a steely gray,
he looked no older to her. There were lines fanning out around his dark blue eyes. They deepened as he smiled.

Unsure of herself, she started to offer him a hand. Before she could speak, she was caught up in a crushing bear hug. He smelled of Old Spice and peppermint, she thought, and nearly wept. Even that hadn't changed.

“Little Vanessa.” His powerful voice rolled over her as he squeezed. “It's good to have you home.”

“It's good to be home.” Held against him, she believed it. “I've missed you.” It came with a rush of feeling. “I've really missed you.”

“Let me have a look at you.” Still standing in the doorway, he held her at arm's length. “My, my, my…” he murmured. “Emily always said you'd be a beauty.”

“Oh, Dr. Tucker, I'm so sorry about Mrs. Tucker.”

“We all were.” He rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “She always kept track of you in the papers and magazines, you know. Had her heart set on you for a daughter-in-law. More than once she said to me, ‘Ham, that's the girl for Brady. She'll straighten him out.'”

“It looks like he's straightened himself out.”

“Mostly.” Draping an arm over her shoulder, he led her inside. “How about a nice cup of tea and a piece of pie?”

“I'd love it.”

She sat at the kitchen table while he brewed and served. The house hadn't changed on the inside, either. It was still neat as a pin. It was polished and scrubbed, with Emily's collection of knickknacks on every flat surface.

The sunny kitchen looked out over the backyard, with its big trees leafing and its spring bulbs blooming. To the right was the door that led to the offices. The only change she saw was the addition of a complicated phone and intercom system.

“Mrs. Leary still makes the best pies in town.” He cut thick slabs of chocolate meringue.

“And she still pays you in baked goods.”

“Worth their weight in gold.” With a contented sigh, he sat across from her. “I guess I don't have to tell you how proud we all are of you.”

She shook her head. “I wish I could have gotten back sooner. I didn't even know Joanie was married. And the baby.” She lifted her teacup, fully comfortable for the first time since her return. “Lara's beautiful.”

“Smart, too.” He winked. “Of course, I might be a tad prejudiced, but I can't remember a smarter child. And I've seen my share of them.”

“I hope to see a lot of her while I'm here. Of all of you.”

“We're hoping you'll stay a good long time.”

“I don't know.” She looked down at her tea. “I haven't thought about it.”

“Your mother hasn't been able to talk about anything else for weeks.”

Vanessa took a smidgen of the fluffy meringue. “She seems well.”

“She is well. Loretta's a strong woman. She's had to be.”

Vanessa looked up again. Because her stomach had begun to jump, she spoke carefully. “I know she's running an antique shop. It's hard to imagine her as a businesswoman.”