he’d told Anita, and himself, nearly a year and a half ago. Looking at her now, he needed a refresher course.
Why was she living in Mercy? Why here out of all the thousands of towns in the country? Was she here to rekindle things with him? Or worse, to confront him about the callous way he’d broken off their relationship? He decided not to ask—just in case the answer was one his daughter shouldn’t hear.
His head throbbed where the pan had connected with his skull. “You pack a decent wallop.” He probed the spot gingerly.
Anita turned, smiled. “I went easy on you, too.” Maybe it was just the intimacy of the hallway or the soft glow of the moon on her features, but her smile caused a deep twisting in his gut that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Anita was here. In his life again. A thousand different emotions, like a shower of fireworks, erupted in his gut.
He should leave now, before he started traveling down a path he knew he shouldn’t take. But his feet kept moving forward, propelling him with a will of their own.
The house was small and they entered the dark kitchen a second later. He reached past Anita and pulled the chain attached to the ceiling-fan light.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Anita said, reaching for his hand at the same time. Their palms collided. Luke jerked back when an almost electric jolt coursed through him, harder and faster than the Teflon blow. The light burst on, making everyone blink.
“It seems to be working fine.” The circular light fixture hanging from the center of the ceiling glowed brightly…maybe a bit too brightly. Then there was a sizzle and a hiss, followed by a loud pop. A shower of sparks and shattered bulb glass rained over them and the small wooden kitchen table.
The room was thrust into darkness again.
“Way to go, Dad,” Emily said.
Anita sighed and brushed the glass off her shoulders and hair. “What is it with men? Why do they always think they know everything?”
“Because we do.” Luke chuckled. “Or at least, we like to pretend we do. Makes up for our natural insecurity.”
Anita’s light laughter echoed in the quiet. “This coming from the same guy who always insisted he knew where he was going, even when he was heading for Oregon instead of San Francisco?”
In the dark, her teasing seemed more intimate, almost like a joke between longtime lovers. He remembered that car ride with her. Two glorious hours, spent lost and wandering up and down the California coastline. Well, he’d really only been lost half the time. He’d never admitted that to her, though.
Luke cleared his throat. “Well. Do you have a candle or something?”
“Right here.” Anita flared a match and lit a candle that sat on the table. She blew the match out, then crossed the kitchen to get a small broom and dustpan.
In the amber candlelight, she looked even more beautiful, glowing almost, than the last time he’d seen her. He’d always thought the name Anita fit her—lyrical and tough, all at the same time.
Her hair was shorter now. It was still the same shade of deep rich brown, reflecting the light in shimmers of cranberry. Eighteen months ago, her hair had reached past her shoulders, cascading in waves that curled at the ends. Now the tendrils teased around her neck, emphasizing her delicate features like a custom frame.
Here she was, standing in his brother’s wife’s old house.
Why? Had she sought him out? Come to finish what had been left undone between them? And why did that thought both terrify and unnerve him?
For a moment, he pictured finishing what they’d started back in California. But one glance at his daughter, sitting sullenly in a kitchen chair, drumming her fingers on the table, reminded him where his priorities lay.
“Lemonade? Or iced tea?” Anita gestured toward a cooler.
Her chocolate eyes met his, and the spark of electricity jolted through him again. “Uh…we need to get home. Thanks, but…we need to get home.”
She smiled. “You said that already.”
He couldn’t have acted more like a blubbering idiot if he’d tried. For once, he longed to have just a pinch of the charm his twin had. A few suave words that could get him out of Anita’s house with his ego intact.
Instead, he mumbled something about it being late, grabbed a protesting Emily by the hand and left by the back door before he humiliated himself further.
“How does house arrest until you’re eighteen sound?” Luke asked Emily. His anger at her disappearance, and his pan bashing, returned full force.
It was also far easier to focus on lecturing Emily than to think about why Anita was here. And why her presence had upset his life’s applecart with the force of a small tidal wave.
“We could get you one of those electronic monitors on your ankle so you can’t stray more than fifty yards from the front porch. Because that’s as far as you’re going for the next week. If I ever let you out of your room again.”
No answer. Emily crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared out the window of the car, practicing for Statue of the Year.
His daughter hadn’t said more than three words to him in so long, he’d begun to wonder if she was working toward a career in mime.
“I talked to the principal at school today.” No response. “The school year started a week ago and already you’re on out-of-school suspension until Friday for breaking the dress-code rules. Again. You knew this would happen. What were you thinking when you put that stuff in your hair?”
He glanced to his right and saw Emily’s profile, so like her mother’s. Underneath the neon pink, she had Mary’s hair color and eyes, the same classic blond and blue-eyed beauty. Despite all that had gone wrong—and all the mistakes he had made and could not undo—Luke loved Emily. He had never doubted his feelings for her. Some days, that was all that kept him at it, a miner trying like hell to break down the wall that stood between him and his daughter.
He reached out a hand to touch her, then withdrew, knowing she’d only pull further away.
They reached the driveway of his parents’ house. Before he could bring the sedan to a halt, Emily threw open her door and dashed into the house. Luke sighed, put the car in Park and followed after her, feeling one hundred, not thirty.
When had his daughter become this angry preteen who had about as much fondness for her father as she did for an extra helping of turnips?
What happened to the kid who used to climb all over him, begging Daddy to play one more game before bed? The same little girl who’d ended each night with butterfly kisses against his cheek and bear-tight hugs that made her squeak?
Where was his life? Not the one he used to have, but the one he’d dreamed of having when Emily had been born?
Luke shook his head, forcing himself to stop dwelling on the past. There was a future for him, and for Emily, he knew it.
He just didn’t know where it was…or how to reach it.
On
