“Do you want me to take the wheel?”
“No.” A surge of frustration bubbled inside his heart when she glanced at her watch then frowned. The words burst out before he could check them. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold up your mission. I just need a break.”
“Fine. We’ll take a break. Do you want something to drink?”
“Coffee would be nice.” And some tape on my mouth to hold it shut so I won’t say anything else stupid.
“Fine. Coffee it is.” She turned, walked down the steps. A few minutes later he heard the rattle of the coffee pot. Every so often the rich aroma of percolating grounds caught on the breeze and filled his nostrils, hailing reminders of other sailing days when life with Callie had seemed good, right. Forever.
Long ago days.
Max edged his way into the bay, dropped anchor and climbed down from his perch. Callie had an umbrella set up over one of the loungers. Two steaming cups sat on the side table, one of them filled with a rich mocha-colored liquid.
Strong and creamy. At least she remembered that much.
“Thank you,” he murmured, sinking into the chaise. He took a sip of the smooth, creamed coffee, then let his head tip back against the chair as the pounding took over. He pretended he couldn’t feel her watching him.
“I suppose I should be able to take over the helm but I’ll be just as happy if I don’t have to. I guess that doesn’t make me a very good sailing partner.” The words died away.
After a moment she spoke again, her voice brimming with hesitancy and something else—shame?
“But then I never was a very good partner, period.”
He hated her saying that, hated that he’d obviously made her so unhappy.
“Callie?” Max reached out, grasped her wrist before she could move away. Though he could tell she didn’t like his grip, she remained still. “Could we please just let the past lie for a while? You don’t want to talk about what happened between us. Fine. I’ll try to abide by that. But could we at least make an attempt to enjoy this trip?”
“While I’m a prisoner, you mean?” She did slide her hand away then. Her jaw thrust forward in defiance, letting him know she wouldn’t forgive him so easily.
“Come on, Cal,” Max chided, almost smiling at her stubborn tip-tilted chin. “You’re not a prisoner and you know it. Anytime you ask, I’ll drop you off at the nearest town.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“I know.” He took another sip and decided it was long past time for the truth. “Those papers made me mad, Callie and I reacted badly. We don’t see each other for ages, I can’t get hold of you, don’t know whether you’re alive or dead, and suddenly some man I’ve never even seen before serves me with divorce papers in front of a crowd of people I’m trying to persuade to buy one of my designs.”
“So I embarrassed you with my bad timing. Again.” She winced. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t the timing, Callie.”
“Whatever it was, then. I’m still sorry. I’m always sorry. But it doesn’t seem to help much.” She flopped down opposite him, sipped her own coffee.
Max shook his head, sought for the right words.
“After the ba—when you left, you said you were taking another job because you had to get away, to think things over. Then you wrote you needed more time to get past…”
He swallowed hard, tiptoed around that subject.
“I agreed because I figured some space might be good for both of us. But I’ve hardly heard from you, I never know where you are. You certainly never once said anything about divorce in those cryptic little notes Finders Inc. forwarded to me.”
“Again—I’m sorry,” she whispered but she didn’t look at him.
Max was heartily sick of hearing that word, but at the moment there seemed little else either of them could say. He was sorry, too. He’d made his own mistakes, pushed when he should have just been there for her.
As he studied her, Max suddenly realized that this woman was not the Callie Merton he’d married. Body and mind were there. But her soul, the essence that made Callie who she was, now hid in a mask of protection that prevented him from reading her real emotions. She seemed as confident as always, but was it real or simply a front—something to keep him from getting too close?
Callie lifted her cup and he noticed her hand was shaking. He took a second, more deliberate survey of his wife, sans sunglasses and hat. The sight stunned him. There were dark rings around her eyes, she was far too thin, her cheekbones too pronounced even for a fashion model. Physically she looked like she was at the end of her rope. That wouldn’t affect her job, of course. She still projected the same confidence she’d always had in her work. The cause of her frailty must lie elsewhere. It had stolen the joy from her eyes.
Daniel’s warning that Callie had changed rang true. The more Max studied her, the more he realized that she was forcing herself to sit here, to talk to him. She seemed unusually nervous about it and he couldn’t help wondering if maybe seeing him again had helped twig old memories for her, too. Maybe she was rethinking the divorce.
Maybe he still had a chance.
Until now he’d thought only of his own hurt, anger, disappointment. He’d seen himself as the wronged party. But it was clear Callie wasn’t at peace despite her decision to cut herself off from him.
“Can you tell me anything about this mission?” Maybe the reason God had brought them together was for him to help her somehow. “What’s supposed to happen when you get to Ketchikan?”
In the past Max had helped out Finders Inc. several times and as a result Daniel had granted him a certain security clearance. Surely Callie remembered that and wouldn’t try to block his questions, because if she did he’d phone Daniel and get the truth. And while Max had the CEO on the phone, he’d ask him a few hard questions about her latest physical.
“I have to find a man, get him to sign some papers. Piece of cake.”
“Can I know the name of the man?”
She looked at him, raised one eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
She lay back on the lounger, kicked off her deck shoes and stretched her toes in the sun. “Josiah Harpnell. Ring any bells for you?”
Max nodded. “As a matter of fact it does. He published some research on the grazing paths of caribou and elk herds when they migrate north in the summer. Once the environmentalists got hold of it in Washington, there were fireworks. I think that was about two years ago.”
“You were considering entering politics then.”
She said it with a certain resignation that made Max remember how much she’d hated his constant political glad-handing, the unending meetings, phone calls, game playing. It was one reason she gave for continuing her
