Summer Reads Box Set, Books 4-6 Page 2

  Twenty-five! His son was twenty-five, only six years younger than her. When she'd been in the first grade, Raymond had been having a child. Lisa took another deep breath. The age difference didn't matter. They had the same goals now. That's what was important.

  "I don't want children," she said. "I don't need to be—a mother."

  He looked deep into her eyes. "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely, positively sure." She refused to let any doubts creep into her voice.

  He glanced down at the bracelet in his hand, fingering the tiny gold baby shoes. Finally, he set it back in the box and checked his watch. "What time are you meeting Mrs. Carstairs?''

  "Five-thirty at the bridal salon," she replied with a sigh.

  Raymond sent her a curious look. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." She hesitated. "Don't you think it would be better to have a small, intimate wedding?"

  "How small would you suggest?"

  "You and me and two witnesses," she said hopefully,

  "Don't be silly. I have family, friends, business associates. I want to show you off. Every time I see you I thank God no one snatched you up before now."

  Her heart stopped. She had to tell him. She'd been trying to for days, but the right moment had never arrived.

  "Raymond--"

  She stopped as the intercom buzzed, feeling both relieved and annoyed by the interruption. She reached over and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

  "Maggie Scott on line one, Elisabeth," the receptionist said.

  Maggie Scott—another voice from her past. Why were they all coming back now—when she finally had her life under control? "Tell her I'll be with her in a minute."

  "Problems?" Raymond asked.

  "It's an old friend of mine, Maggie Scott. We grew up together in Solana Beach. We used to be best friends."

  "Used to be?"

  "She got married, had kids. I moved away." Lisa waved her hand in the air. "We drifted apart."

  "That happens."

  She nodded, knowing they hadn't just drifted apart. She'd turned her back on Maggie, the same way she'd turned her back on her mother and...

  "Stop by my office when you're done," Raymond said, turning toward the door, "We'll discuss our plans for the weekend. Monty Friedman has invited us to a party tomorrow afternoon. Everyone will be there. It will be a good opportunity for you to meet the key players."

  "Okay," Lisa replied, her mind more on Maggie than the upcoming party. She was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. The past was catching up to the present, and she wasn't ready yet.

  * * *

  Maggie Scott pulled the phone cord around the corner of the desk in the upstairs hall, searching for a quiet place to talk. She could hear her thirteen-year-old daughter, Roxanne, practicing cheerleading routines in the living room with three other giggling, adolescent girls. Her eight-year-old son, Dylan, was playing video games on the television in the family room, yelling "Victory!" every time he knocked out a warrior. Her five-year-old daughter, Mary Bea, was having a tantrum in her bedroom. Even with the door closed, Maggie could hear Mary Bea crying, her sobs intermixed with defiant shouts of "I don't like you, and I wish I had another mommy!"

  For a guilty moment, she 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, she 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.

  Her stomach churned at the reminder. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt claustrophobic, scared, and 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 traveling 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?

  She 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.

  She 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," she 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.

  She 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," she 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.

  She 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," she 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..." Her 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. And 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."

  Her 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." 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 Two

  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. 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 sadder 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's 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.

  He 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, and 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.

  He 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.