her precarious seat, she leaned forward and clicked the latches shut, one after the other, with a sigh of triumph. The suitcase groaned a little as she scooted off, but she ignored it.
A flutter of nerves rose up and twisted in the pit of her stomach. What if this didn’t work? What if someone found out what she was doing? Just imagining the gales of laughter made her groan and grit her teeth.
“Why am I doing this again?” she wondered aloud.
“Because it’ll be fun,” the voice on the phone told her.
“Yeah,” Tracy said, unconvinced. “So far, it’s a blast.” The preparation alone for this little trip into her past had just about worn her out. And that didn’t even take into account The Plan. She even thought of it in capital letters.
“Honestly, Tracy,” her sister Meg said in the drill sergeant tone she used on her children, “you might try for a little enthusiasm.”
Well, she had been enthusiastic. A few weeks ago. When this silly idea of hers had first occurred to her. Now that she was actually having to go through with it, though, the notion had lost a little of its sparkle.
She looked into the mirror directly opposite her. Since the image was out of focus, she closed her left eye. She’d been in the middle of putting in her new contacts when Meg called, so she was now only half-blind.
The woman staring back at her from the glass looked quietly elegant, professional, confident—if you ignored the squint. Which just went to prove how deceiving appearances are. Because beneath the flashy new veneer, she was the same old Tracy Hall The class nerd. The outcast. Ugly duckling to her older sister Meg’s swan.
So, she’d never be a cover girl. She’d learned to live with that. But, she told herself, even ugly ducklings grow up. And become, if not gorgeous swans, at least not-too-bad ducks.
“Tracy?” Meg said loudly. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said, smiling at the growing noise from Meg’s end of the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Just the usual,” her sister said with a rueful laugh, then, half covering the mouthpiece, yelled, “Tony! Don’t jump from the top of the stairs. You’ll break your neck!”
“Is he a good old-fashioned super hero?” Tracy asked, picturing her youngest nephew in his latest death-defying feat.
“You are way out of the loop, little sister,” Meg replied. “They’re passé. We’re into Power Rangers and Hercules.”
A twinge of regret skittered through Tracy. She was out of the loop and she knew it. At twenty-eight, she was no closer to having children of her own than she had been at thirteen. The only thing about her situation that had changed was the fact that she’d finally come to grips with the idea that she would probably never have the family she used to dream about.
Working out of your home, alone, was not conducive to meeting single men.
“I’d better go,” Meg said with a tired sigh. “Jenny’s got her Xena, Warrior Princess costume on and she’s challenging Hercules to a fight to the death.”
Tracy smiled. She might not ever get to be a mom, but she loved every minute of being an aunt. And reunion or not, she was looking forward to spending a few days with all four of her nieces and nephews. “Where are Becky and David?” she asked, wondering about Meg’s two oldest kids.
“Probably selling tickets to the fight,” her sister said. “Half the neighborhood’s arriving as we speak.”
A car horn caught her attention and Tracy walked to the nearest window. “Speaking of arriving,” she muttered as she watched the black Range Rover pull into her driveway. “Rick’s here.”
She squinted against the sun’s glare and closed her left eye, but still couldn’t see the driver. As she stared, a tall, shapeless blob of shadows emerged from the car, closed the door and locked it.
“How does he look?” Meg demanded.
“Blurry.”
“Put your glasses on.” An exasperated sigh followed that direct order.
She kept her gaze locked on the blur and asked, “Exactly what did he say when you asked him to give me a ride?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Sure,’ unquote,” Meg said.
Mistake, Tracy told herself. Maybe huge mistake. “Y’know,” she said aloud, “the mechanic insists my car is fine now. I probably wouldn’t have any trouble driving myself.”
“Uh-huh. And he’s the same mechanic who fixed it the last time?”
“Well, yeah.” Tracy frowned as the blurry figure moved toward her condo. “But he’s learned a lot since then.”
“I should hope so,” Meg muttered.
“Everybody has to work their way up in their profession. Jimmy’s improving all the time.” And Tracy would not try to explain to her sister why she couldn’t desert the young mechanic for one who was more skilled. But she wasn’t going to be the one to shatter Jimmy’s confidence by abandoning his shop.
Still, she didn’t exactly trust his abilities enough to drive home by herself, either.
“It’s not too late to take a plane,” Meg said, her voice teasing.
“Oh, no.” Tracy shook her head. “Planes are heavier than air. They fall. And they fall from really high up.” Nope. No way was she going to get into an airplane. “But I could take the train.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tracy,” Meg said, impatience coloring her tone. “What’s the big deal? Rick was driving up for the reunion anyway.”
True. And since he was stationed at Camp Pendleton, just twenty or so miles south of Tracy’s house, she really was on his way north. Camp Pendleton. She’d been tempted once or twice over the last couple of years to drive down to the base and see Rick...just for old-time’s sake. But she’d always talked herself out of it.
Accepting a ride from him today might feel a lot less awkward if she hadn’t.
“I don’t know,” Tracy said and leaned forward, watching him, until her forehead hit the cold windowpane. “It just seems weird, that’s all. I haven’t seen him in more than ten years. What if we don’t have anything to talk about? It’s a long drive to Oregon.”
Meg actually laughed at that one. “Since when do you have trouble talking?”
True. Since growing out of her gangly, adolescent years, Tracy had made up for lost time. Her father had often said that given enough time, Tracy could talk the ears right off a statue.
Of course, good-looking men still had the ability to make her tongue-tied and distinctly uncomfortable. Besides, this was Rick. She could almost feel her nerves gathering for a good old-fashioned anxiety attack. Instantly, old memories rose up in her brain and she almost cringed.
As if reading her mind, Meg added, “I’m sure he’s
