got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. The garage was dark, but he didn’t flip on a light until he reached the kitchen. Becky had always said he had the night vision of a vampire.
Becky. He clung to the memory of her smile, her laughter, her perfume. She’d been tiny and spirited, with dark hair and eyes, and it seemed to Jordan that she’d never been far from his side, even after her death. He’d loved her to an excruciating degree, but for the past few months she’d been steadily receding from his mind and heart. Now, with the coming of Amanda, her image seemed to be growing more indistinct with every passing moment.
Jordan glanced into the laundry room, needing something real and mundane to focus on. A pile of jeans, sweatshirts and towels lay on the floor, so he crammed as much as he could into the washing machine, then added soap and turned the dial. A comforting, ordinary sound resulted.
Returning to the kitchen, Jordan shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it over one of the bar stools at the counter. He opened the refrigerator, studied its contents without actually focusing on a single item, then closed it again. He wasn’t hungry for anything except Amanda, and it was too soon for that.
Too soon, he reflected with a rueful grin as he walked through the dining room to the front entryway and the stairs. He hadn’t bothered with such niceties as timing with the women he’d dated over the past two years—in truth, their feelings just hadn’t mattered much to him, though he’d never been deliberately unkind.
He trailed his hand over the top of the polished oak banister as he climbed the stairs. With Amanda, things were different. Timing was crucial, and so were her feelings.
The empty house yawned around Jordan as he opened his bedroom door and went inside. In the adjoining bathroom he took off his clothes and dropped them neatly into the hamper, then stepped into the shower.
Thinking of Amanda again, he turned on the cold water and endured its biting chill until some of the intolerable heat had abated. But while he was brushing his teeth, Amanda sneaked back into his mind.
He saw her standing on the deck of the Chamberlins’ boat, looking up at him with that curious vulnerability showing in her blue-green eyes. It was as though she didn’t know how beautiful she was, or how strong, and yet she had to, because she was out there making a life for herself.
Rubbing his now-stubbled chin, Jordan wandered into the bedroom, threw back the covers and slid between the sheets. He felt the first stirrings of rage as he thought about the mysterious James and the damage he’d done to Amanda’s soul. Jordan had seen the bruises in her eyes every time she’d looked at him, and the memory made him want to find the bastard who’d hurt her and systematically tear him apart.
Jordan turned onto his stomach and tried to put the scattered images of the past two days out of his thoughts. This time, just before he dropped off to sleep, was reserved for thoughts of Becky, as always.
He waited, but his late wife’s face didn’t form in his mind. He could only see Amanda, with her wide, trusting blue eyes, her soft, spun-honey hair, her shapely and inviting body. He wanted her with a desperation that made his loins ache.
Furious, Jordan slammed one fist into the mattress and flipped onto his back, training all his considerable energy on remembering Becky’s face.
He couldn’t.
After several minutes of concentrated effort, all of it fruitless, panic seized him, and he bolted upright, switched on the lamp and reached for the picture on his nightstand.
Becky smiled back at him from the photograph as if to say, Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.
With a raspy sigh, Jordan set the picture back on the table and turned out the light. Becky’s favorite reassurance didn’t work that night. Maybe things would be okay in the long run, but there was a lot of emotional white water between him and any kind of happy ending.
It was Saturday morning, and Amanda luxuriated in the fact that she didn’t have to put on makeup, style her hair, or even get dressed if she didn’t want to. She really tried to be lazy, but she felt strangely ambitious, and there was no getting around it.
She climbed out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, where she got the coffee maker going and fed Gershwin. Then she had a quick shower and dressed in battered jeans, a Seahawks T-shirt and sneakers.
She was industriously vacuuming the living room rug, when the telephone rang.
The sound was certainly nothing unusual, but it fairly stopped Amanda’s heart. She kicked the switch on the vacuum cleaner with her toe and lunged for the telephone, hoping to hear Jordan’s voice since she hadn’t seen or heard from him in nearly a week.
Instead it was her mother. “Hello, darling,” said Marion Whitfield. “You sound breathless. Were you just coming in from the store or something?”
Amanda sank onto the couch. “No, I was only doing housework,” she replied, feeling deflated even though she loved and admired this woman who had made a life for herself and both her daughters after the man of the house had walked out on them all.
“That’s nice,” Marion commented, for she was a great believer in positive reinforcement. “Listen, I called to ask if you’d like to go Christmas shopping with me. We could have lunch, too, and maybe even take in a movie.”
Amanda sighed. She still didn’t feel great about Christmas, and the stores and restaurants would be jam-packed. The theaters, of course, would be full of screaming children left there by harried mothers trying to complete their shopping. “I think I’ll just stay home, if you don’t mind.” She stated the refusal in a kindly tone, not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings.
“Is everything all right?”
Amanda caught one fingernail between her teeth for a moment before answering, “Mostly, yes.”
“It’s time you put that nasty experience with James Brockman behind you,” Marion said forth-rightly.
The two women were friends, as well as mother and daughter, and Amanda was not normally secretive with Marion. However, the thing with Jordan was too new and too fragile to be discussed; after all, he might never call again. “I’m trying, Mom,” she replied.
“Well, Bob and I want you to come over for dinner soon. Like tomorrow, for instance.”
“I’ll let you know,” Amanda promised quickly as the doorbell made its irritating buzz. “And stop worrying about me, okay?”
“Okay,” Marion answered without conviction just before Amanda hung up.
Amanda expected one of the neighbor children, or maybe the postman with a package, so when she opened the door and found Jordan standing in the hallway, she felt as though she’d just run into a wall at full tilt.
For his part, Jordan looked a little bewildered, as though he might be surprised to find himself at Amanda’s door. “I should have called,” he said.
Amanda recovered herself. “Come in,” she replied with a smile.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the apartment, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He was wearing jeans and a green turtleneck, and his brown hair was damp from the Seattle drizzle. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out to lunch or something.”
