Joshua employed two hundred men and women who worked at producing and marketing the fantasy games both children and young adults had embraced.
He glanced at Claire, surprised to see her staring at him. As their gazes met, she quickly looked away and grabbed the sugar bowl and creamer for the table.
“Mind if I wash up? My hands are dirty.” Without waiting for her reply, he stood and walked over to the sink.
Claire moved aside, but not before he smelled the floral scent of her perfume.
The scent had a touch of honeysuckle to it. Instantly he remembered those summer nights when he and Claire had made out on the porch swing with the sweet scent of the nearby honeysuckle wafting in the air.
“When did you get into town?” Sarge asked, as Joshua turned on the faucet and shoved those memories aside.
“Late last night. I ran into Claire this morning out by the old Dragon Tree.” He finished washing his hands and turned off the water.
“Were you out there digging for the ten thousand bucks, too?” Sarge asked.
Joshua took the hand towel Claire proffered and dried his hands. Her gaze was cool, disinterested, but as she took the towel back from him he noticed that her hand trembled slightly. So, she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.
He sat back down at the table. “I was drinking a cup of coffee this morning at the diner and reading the paper. I saw the clues for the treasure hunt, and you know I’ve never been able to resist a puzzle.”
“I guess Cookie didn’t find the treasure, otherwise she wouldn’t be pouting now,” Sarge said.
“I’m not pouting,” Claire stated as she poured three cups of coffee. “I’m just listening.” She set one of the cups of coffee in front of Sarge. “Twelve o’clock,” she murmured. “And no, I didn’t find the money. All we found was an old tin box.”
“With a photo inside,” Joshua added. “An old photo of a couple who look exactly like Claire and me.” He took a mug of coffee from her, surprised that as their fingers touched he felt a responding surge of heat sweep up his arm.
She jerked her hand back as if she felt it too and the scowl on her beautiful features deepened.
“Well, that’s strange,” Sarge exclaimed. “You say the people in it look like you and Claire?”
“They could be our twins,” Joshua replied. The photo in the old tin box wasn’t the only thing strange around here, he thought.
He wanted to know what had caused Sarge’s blindness and his descent into a wheelchair. How long had Sarge been sick, and had Claire been dealing with it all on her own? He wanted to know when things had gotten so obviously bad.
What he found stranger than anything was that the woman he’d finally come here to divorce still had the ability to fill him with a white-hot desire and a deep yearning for something he couldn’t identify.
“How long are you staying?” Sarge asked as he carefully brought his cup to his lips to sip the fresh brew.
“I’m not sure.” Joshua leaned back in the chair, his gaze once again falling on Claire.
He’s leaving as soon as he finishes his cup of coffee, Claire wanted to say. He’s getting back on whatever plane or train or bus brought him here, and he’s never coming back again.
He smiled at her, as if he read her thoughts, then directed his attention back to Sarge. “I don’t have any definite schedule. I just decided I needed a little time away from work. You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Damned right,” Sarge exclaimed. “Making money is nice, but there’s other things important in life, too. You’ll stay here,” Sarge added firmly.
“Oh, I don’t…” Joshua began.
“I’m sure Joshua will be more comfortable at the Red Inn,” Claire interjected quickly. She assumed he was at the Red Inn since it was the only motel in town.
“Nonsense,” Sarge replied. “I’ve been trying to get both the Health Department and the Building Codes people to shut that place down for years. It’s not fit for a skunk. You’re family, Joshua. You’ll stay here and that’s final. Now, tell me all about this business of yours and about all the loony people in California. I hear tell the women sun-bathe stark-naked there.”
Claire didn’t want to listen to Joshua extol the luxurious lifestyle he’d built for himself, nor did she like the way his very presence stirred not only memories of what had once been, but also an edge of physical awareness that was distinctly uncomfortable.
She excused herself from the table and left the kitchen. She wandered back into the living room, drawn to the tin box Joshua had left on the coffee table. She sat on the sofa and pulled the box onto her lap.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it and picked up the picture. Immediately, a strange electrical surge washed up her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, just warm and disconcerting. She’d felt it when she’d first taken the picture from Joshua.
She dismissed the sensation, telling herself she was out of sorts, highly on edge and that’s why she thought she felt something strange.
Again she studied the features of the two people in the photo. There was no question about it. They shared more than a passing resemblance to her and Joshua. It was as if she and Joshua had sat for the photo in one of those vacation photo places where you could dress up in historical outfits.
But they had never had a photo like this taken and there seemed to be no explanation as to why Sarah and Daniel Walker looked exactly like Claire and Joshua McCane.
The couple in the picture wasn’t smiling, nor did there seem to be any hint of intimacy between them. He stared straight ahead, one of his hands resting not on her shoulder, but rather on the top of the chair where she sat.
She thought she detected a weary sadness about them, especially radiating from Sarah’s eyes. Who were these people and why had they buried a photo of themselves in the middle of nowhere?
She placed the photo back in the box, disturbed by it more than she cared to admit.
“Sarge would like you to take him back to his room for a nap.”
She started at the sound of Joshua’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway. Fighting against a burst of weariness that had become as familiar as the color of her own eyes in the mirror, she rose from the sofa.
“He usually gets quite tired at this time of the day,” she said unnecessarily.
He stepped out of the doorway and into the living room. “I’ll just wait here. We need to talk.”
“It usually takes me a while to get him settled in.” She hoped he’d get the hint, that he’d realize they had nothing to talk about, that she had nothing to discuss with him.
“I’ll wait.” He sank onto the sofa where she had been seated only moments before, looking for all the world as if he had a right to be there.
It
