Eva's Deadline Page 15

  The doorbell rang. Her guests had arrived. Eva hurried to let them in.

  For the next three hours, talk and laughter filled the condo. Eva busily played hostess, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. How exciting to see her old friends and catch up on their news.

  When she finally closed the door on the last departing guest, she took a moment to catch her breath, and then, humming along to “Deck the Halls,” she cleaned up the kitchen. That finished, she made herself a cup of mint tea and settled on the sofa. Outside the window, a bright silver moon glowed in the cloudless sky, while inside the lights from her miniature Christmas tree, sitting on a table in the corner, sent a glow over the room.

  Warm satisfaction filled Eva. The evening had been a success. But as she continued to sit there, some of her good feeling drained away. Yes, she’d had a wonderful time with her friends. Yet…yet what? She shrugged. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  The following day, she went alone to her church’s Christmas services and then ate leftovers for lunch. After that, she took down her decorations and put them away. When Susan came home after New Year’s, she wouldn’t need reminders of Christmas.

  With everything back to normal, she stood in the center of the living room gazing around. The holiday was over already. And now she had to leave. Sadness and regret filled her. This was where she belonged, not back in Willow Beach.

  On Sunday, it started to rain as she left Seattle. The bad weather followed her all the way to the coast. Her apartment was cold and clammy because the heat had been off while she was gone. She turned on her computer and brought up her novel, but instead of feeling inspired after being away, she faced a blank wall that no amount of concentration could overcome.

  After half an hour, she shut down the computer and paced to the window. The dark and stormy sky and the foam-capped waves crashing on the shore mirrored the restlessness she felt inside.

  She put on her hooded parka, left the apartment and drove around aimlessly in the rain. Suddenly she found herself passing the Herald’s front door. Only the night-lights shone from the reception area. Still, without knowing why, she drove down the alley to the back of the building. Mark’s black SUV sat in its usual place in the parking lot, rivulets of rain streaming down the windshield. Why was he here today? Well, no surprise, really, given his dedication to the newspaper.

  On impulse, she parked beside his car and jumped out. Pulling her hood over her head, she sprinted across the lot. The building’s spotlight shone down on the basketball hoop, where the net hung rain-drenched and limp. She pulled out her key and opened the back door. The hallway was dark except for a square of light spilling from the open doorway of Mark’s office. She stopped for a moment and then headed toward it.

  He sat at his desk, brow furrowed, studying his computer screen. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up, exposing his sturdy forearms. A faint tapping floated from the keyboard as his fingers worked the keys.

  She swallowed and took a step forward. “Mark…”

  His head shot up, and his eyes widened. “Eva! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

  She pushed back her hood and ran a hand through her damp hair. “I got back a couple hours ago. Miserable drive, pouring rain, wind…”

  He stood and walked around his desk. “I bet. So, how was your party?”

  She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Connecting with my friends again was wonderful. And I went to a party at Seattle’s Best.”

  He arched one eyebrow and took a step toward her. “Are they saving a place for you?”

  “Not that anyone said. But at least I’m keeping up my contacts.”

  “Right.”

  A beat of silence went by, and then he said, “Sasha’s crazy about the art kit you gave her for Christmas. She’s already drawn several pictures. You’ll be getting her thank-you note soon.”

  “I’m glad she likes it.”

  He lifted his shoulders in a questioning gesture. “Do you have some work to do here? I thought you were all caught up when you left.” Another step brought him closer.

  A little voice told her she should move away, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. “I, uh, right. Work to do… My column.”

  “You turned that in before you left.”

  “Oh. How could I forget?” She knotted her hands, still buried in her pockets.

  “How indeed?” His voice dropped a couple notches. He took another step, now only inches away. If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch his arm, his shoulder, his face. She stared at her feet, willing them to move. They might as well have been glued to the tile floor.

  She looked up and their gazes collided. Time skidded to a halt, and she could barely breathe. Then, before she knew what was happening or exactly how, she was in his arms, pressed against his chest, his warmth surrounding her. She pulled her hands free and returned his embrace, resting her palms on his back, feeling his muscles flex as he drew her even tighter.

  “You feel good,” he said, his mouth against her ear.

  “You do, too,” she whispered before she realized what she was saying.

  He held her awhile longer and then drew back. His eyelids lowered, his gaze focused on her mouth. Knowing instinctively what was coming next, Eva stepped back. “No, no, I’m…I’m all wet. My jacket, my hair…”

  “I don’t care.” He reached for her again.

  She sidestepped his grasp and held up her hands. “Mark, no. Remember, you said at the picnic that what happened then wouldn’t happen again.”

  He seemed to come to his senses and gave her a wry smile.

  “I’ve been known to say some stupid things.”

  “That was the right thing to say. This is wrong. Wrong for us. We don’t belong together.”

  “Then why does holding you and kissing you feel so good?”

  She folded her arms and looked away. “Two people can be attracted but still be wrong for each other.” She darted him a glance. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose. So, what do you suggest we do about our, ah, attraction, as you call it?”

  “Nothing. Just make sure our association is strictly business.” Before he could reply, she turned and hurried from the office.

  *

  AFTER EVA LEFT, Mark returned to his desk and sank into his chair. He stared blankly at the words on the computer screen. He hadn’t planned to work over the weekend, but Sasha was spending the night at Bella’s and he’d had nothing to do at home. Work was the only other place for him, and so he’d come to the office intending to write his From the Editor’s Desk column.

  Now Eva’s sudden appearance had destroyed all his concentration. He’d thought about her a lot over Christmas, wondering how her party had turned out and wishing instead that she’d chosen to spend the holiday here with him and Sasha.

  Sasha, too, had been disappointed when she learned Eva would not be joining them for Christmas. He’d tried to compensate with inviting Bella and some of her other friends for a sleepover. Still, Sasha frequently mentioned Eva and how much she missed her.

  Then, when Eva suddenly appeared tonight, he hadn’t been able to resist taking her in his arms. They’d clung to each other like long-lost lovers.

  Which of course they weren’t. Far from it. She’d soon made that clear. He’d do well to heed her warning and keep their relationship strictly business.

  *

  “OH, EVA, PLEASE COME.”

  “A house party? I don’t think so.” Eva sipped her latte and then met Fran’s gaze across the table. They were having a holiday lunch at the Beach Café. Eva had returned to work at the Herald, while Fran, being a teacher, was still on vacation.

  “Like I told you, it’s at the old Fenton mansion, up on the bluff.”

  “Yes, I know the house. Lovely old Victorian, complete with gingerbread trim and widow’s walk. It’s been turned into one of those rental places for tourists, where all the dishes and linens and such are provided.”

&
nbsp; “Right. A bunch of us rent it every year for New Year’s. We have a blast. I would have invited you earlier, but I thought you’d be in Seattle for the entire holiday.”

  “I didn’t want to push for so much time off work, or I would have. But isn’t your party for families?” Family gatherings weren’t her thing. In Seattle, there were enough singles to balance get-togethers. But Willow Beach was definitely family country.

  Fran poked her fork at her chicken salad. “Yes, but there will be singles, too. Most of us stay overnight. There are rooms for the kids, rooms for the couples, and singles sleep dorm-style. It’s a huge house. The Fentons had, what, twelve kids? Good thing old man Fenton made a bundle on real estate. But you wouldn’t have to stay over. It’s close enough that you could drive to your apartment.” She grinned. “Unless you’ve had one champagne cocktail too many. Then I wouldn’t let you.”

  “So who all will be there? Anyone else I know?”

  “Oh, my, yes. Will Greer and Robbie Romero from our class are two of the single guys. Oh, and Kathleen Young. She’s divorced now.”

  Eva nodded. “I remember her. She always sat at our table in the lunchroom.”

  “Uh-huh. And she had such a crush on your brother. Remember the time she waited for him after school, faking a sprained ankle, hoping he would give her a ride home?”

  “Oh…yeah.” Eva looked down at her plate, where the remaining half of her ham sandwich had suddenly lost its appeal.

  Fran leaned across the table and touched Eva’s arm. “I’m sorry, Eva. I know you don’t like to be reminded. It just slipped out.”

  Eva made a dismissive wave. “It’s okay, Fran.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ll never get over what happened to Brett out there at Pine Lake.”

  “It happened to you, too, Eva.”

  Eva shook her head. “We definitely don’t talk about that. Dad never could, either.”

  “Your dad loved Brett, but he loved you, too.”

  “Whatever. We got off track here. The party. What about food? I’m not much of a cook, you know.”

  A teasing smile crossed Fran’s lips. “Hmm, yes, I seem to remember a lot of burned pans when it was your turn to cook in our Home Living class. But don’t worry about food. Pick up some cookies or a cake at Bon Ton.”

  “You’re making it very easy, aren’t you?”

  “I want you to come!”

  Eva sipped her coffee and, focusing on the beach outside, asked in a low voice, “Will…Mark be there?” Since their talk Sunday evening, their association at work had been polite and businesslike—just as she’d requested. Which should have eased her concerns. Curiously, though, whenever their paths crossed, she felt more on edge than ever.

  “Mark? Yes, he will.”

  “He’s not from the old high-school gang.” Eva set down her cup and ran her forefinger around the saucer’s rim.

  “No, but he and Jason are on the same basketball team. Bernie’s on the team, too. He and his wife and Bella are coming. Why? Does that make a difference?”

  “It’s just that, well, Mark and I don’t always get along.”

  “So, you can keep your distance. There will be plenty of other people there to talk to.”

  Fran had a good point, but would Mark take her appearance at a party he was also attending as a sign she wanted to relax their “strictly business” relationship? She couldn’t afford for that to happen.

  “I’ll admit I’m tempted,” Eva said. “But I feel so…so in limbo. As though I don’t belong anywhere.”

  Fran sobered. “I wish you felt you belonged here again. But I understand, really I do.”

  *

  AT 2:00 P.M. ON New Year’s Eve, Eva pulled her car into the parking lot at the side of the Fenton mansion. After much deliberation, she’d decided to put aside her worries about Mark and accept Fran’s invitation.

  Half a dozen other cars were already in the lot. Mark’s black SUV was one of them. The sight of his car almost made her turn around and drive back to her apartment, as dull and drab as it was. Then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She would not let his presence ruin her New Year’s Eve or her chance to spend time with people she considered friends.

  She got out of the car, walked around it and reached into the passenger’s side for the box resting on the seat. She’d taken Fran’s advice and visited Bon Ton Bakery. There would be no food disasters like the one at the Fourth of July picnic.

  She studied the house as she headed up the walk to the front door. Painted a soft yellow with the gingerbread a rusty brown and the widow’s walk poking up from the roof, it truly was magnificent. She imagined what the place was like when the Fentons lived there. With twelve children, the house would be teeming with noise and activity.

  Just then, the front door opened and three children, two boys and a girl, ran out—Sasha and Fran and Jason’s twins, Tyler and Kyle. They clattered down the front steps. Sasha rushed to Eva and flung her arms around her waist. “Oh, Eva, I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Eva laughed and returned Sasha’s hug. “I wasn’t sure, either, until a couple hours ago.”

  “I bet my dad doesn’t know you’re here. He will be surprised.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Eva murmured.

  The boys stood a few feet away, looking on with unabashed interest.

  Eva pointed to the one nearest. “You’re Tyler, right?”

  “No, I’m Kyle.”

  “I’m Ty,” the other twin said, grabbing his ankle and hopping on one foot.

  “Sorry, I’ll never be able to tell you apart.”

  “No one can,” Kyle said.

  “Not even Dad,” Tyler echoed. “Mom can…usually.”

  Kyle laughed. “’Cept for the time I snitched the cookies and she thought you did it ’cause I had on your baseball cap.”

  Tyler stood on both feet again and balled his hands into fists. “You’d better not try that again. I was grounded for two days.”

  Sasha grabbed Eva’s hand and led her up the stairs and into the house. The place was full of people, with music blaring and enticing smells coming from the back of the house. “I need to find Fran,” Eva told Sasha.

  “Okay, but I want to show you the picture I made with the art set you gave me. Did you get my thank-you note?”

  “I did. I found it on my desk yesterday. And I’d love to see your picture.”

  Sasha and the boys ran off, and Eva continued on to the kitchen. She looked around surreptitiously—she hoped—expecting to see Mark, but he was not in sight. She reached the kitchen. Fran and a few other women were grouped around a butcher’s block, stuffing several whole salmon with a rice mixture.

  Fran’s eyes lit up. “You came!” She stepped away to give Eva a hug. “You can put your whatever over there.” She pointed to a counter full of covered dishes.

  Eva squeezed her cake box onto the counter. She turned to greet Kathleen Young, a tall woman with a single braid and no makeup, except a light lipstick. Fran introduced Eva to those she didn’t know.

  “So where are the guys?” Eva asked, looking around and seeing only women.

  Kathleen frowned. “You’re not trying to fix us up, are you, Fran? ’Cause I’m free now and aim to stay that way.”

  Fran shook her head emphatically. “No, no, not at all.”

  “I just wondered if the men were hiding out so they didn’t have to do kitchen duty,” Eva said.

  “They’re outside.” Fran tipped her head toward a window at the back of the kitchen.

  Eva walked over and looked out. Directly behind the house was a patch of pavement with a basketball hoop. Several of the men were shooting baskets, while others stood around talking and sipping from bottles of soda. Her gaze landed on Mark just as he jumped and stretched out his long arms to shoot the ball. It hovered on the rim and then fell in the basket. The onlookers whistled and clapped. Mark grinned and took a bow. As he straightened, he looked up at the window. His eyes widened. Eva pasted a smi
le onto her face and fluttered her fingers.

  When the men trooped in later, Mark stepped up beside her and said, “Hello, Eva,” but then moved off before she could do much more than return his greeting. Not that she would have started up a conversation. What did they have to say to each other? Still, it soon became clear that being at the same party with Mark, no matter how big the Fenton mansion, would prove uncomfortable and distracting. In the narrow hallway they ran into each other going in opposite directions, and both did an awkward little dance before Mark flattened himself to the wall and made a sweeping motion for her to pass by.

  Later, Eva was sitting on a sofa in the parlor, where kindling and logs were ready to light in the huge fireplace, and card tables had been set up for games. Sasha danced in carrying a sheet of drawing paper in both hands.

  “Here’s the picture I made.” She laid the paper in Eva’s lap.

  Eva set down her glass of soda and studied the picture. The drawing showed three people, two adults and one child, walking on the beach. They were all holding hands. Several birds flew overhead and dramatic waves rose from the water’s surface. The figures Sasha had drawn were more than the stick figures usually created by young children. These were fleshed out, even wearing hats and coats.

  “That’s us,” Sasha explained. “You, me and Daddy.”

  Eva placed a hand to her chest. “You’re quite an artist, Sasha, but—”

  From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone standing behind the sofa. She turned to see Mark, arms folded across his chest, gazing down at the drawing.

  Sasha looked up at Mark. “What do you think, Daddy?”

  “I think you’re a very good artist, too, sweetheart.” He cut Eva a swift glance and then stalked away.

  After a while, the guys disappeared again to cook the stuffed salmon on several outdoor barbecues, while the women set up the rest of the food on the dining-room table. When it was time to eat and Eva had filled her plate, she sat at a table where only one seat was left—and where none of her tablemates was Mark. The children were off by themselves, so she didn’t have to worry about Sasha wanting the three of them to sit together.