Seems Like Old Times Page 6

  "Maybe the old Lisa isn't as dead as you think. See her and judge for yourself. She played nonchalant, but I noticed the way she looked at your pictures, and I saw her expression when I mentioned that we were friends."

  "It doesn't matter, Gino."

  Gene stood in the workshop doorway, eyeing his friend’s son, then lit himself a cigarette, letting the smoke billow outdoors. "Are you afraid to see her?"

  "Let it go," Tony warned.

  "All the years I've known you, I've known there was something about Lee Reynolds and you--some unfinished business that still bothered you. Now's your chance to get whatever it is over with. Resolve it, and put it aside once and for all."

  Tony put down his drink, then rubbed his brow. "It's not worth it."

  Gene gave him a long look. "Isn’t it? I remember listening to you talk to Ben one day after a baseball game. It was a game where he made about four errors, including dropping a pop fly that let the other team score the winning run. He wanted to quit and never play ball again. You told him he had to go out there and play the next game. That nothing was so bad as running away. Face it, get it over with and go on. You should take your own advice, Tony."

  "This is different, Gene. No way "

  "Dad! Where are you?"

  Tony looked through the window and saw Ben standing outside the house calling for him. He went to the door to the workshop. "I'm in here, Ben."

  Ben came running. "Billy's mother gave me and Josh a ride home. But she got mad and said we were making too much noise Oh, hi Gene. What're you guys doing?" He walked over to the once upon a time motor. "Uh oh."

  Cantelli snickered.

  Tony wiped some grease off his fingers with a blackened rag. "I'm fixing it. Don't worry. It'll work."

  "But what's Grandpa going to do in the meantime?"

  "You keep bugging me and I'll make you ride around with Billy's mother some more."

  "Oh, no!"

  "Actually," Cantelli said, "I've seen Billy's mother. I wouldn't mind a ride with her myself."

  "She's a terrible driver," Ben said.

  Gene and Tony glanced at each other. Gene laughed, and Tony picked up a wrench to begin attacking the motor once again.

  "I'm going to go see Grandpa," Ben shouted as he bounded out the door.

  "See you later, Ben," Gene said as Ben waved and ran off.

  "Dinner will be in about an hour," Tony called after him. The two men watched him a moment, each remembering when they had been that young and filled with such energy and enthusiasm.

  Gene said, "Speaking of women that you need to deal with..."

  "Were we?" Tony cocked a sardonic brow at his friend. It seemed to him that Gene had been doing all the talking.

  "Any word from his mother?"

  Tony’s insides churned sickly at the mention of his ex-wife. "Same old garbage." He tried to sound complacent, but failed.

  "And?"

  He placed both hands on the motor as if needing it to steady himself. "She thinks I'm going to feel sorry for her, but she's wrong. It's taken her eight years to realize she's a mother. Eight years and a rich husband who can't give her any more kids. The hell with her."

  "It's tough. In a way, I do feel sorry for her."

  "You don't know her." He slammed the palm of his hand against the motor. "God, I hate what she's doing! Ben deserves to be more than a substitute for what she can't have."

  "She still asking for joint custody?"

  Tony shut his eyes tight, trying to ward off the nausea that threatened whenever he thought of losing his son. "That's what her lawyer calls it. But they expect Ben to live with her." He yanked a bolt free and it flew from the wrench across the workshop. "No one's taking Ben away from me, Gene. No one."

  Gene nodded, then ground out his cigarette and picked up another wrench to help.

  o0o

  Lee drove straight to the city without bothering to shop for carpets or drapes along the way. Her heart simply wasn’t in it. Once she’d given in--in the long run, what did three more days matter?--she found that, like Miriam, she wanted to see the familiar sights.

  A few of the spots, like Coit Tower and the Palace of Fine Arts, were places Miriam had gone to with her husband, Patrick Dailey. Patrick had been a black haired, blue-eyed man of Irish descent. He had flown reconnaissance missions off an aircraft carrier over the Arabian peninsula. Miriam still kept his picture by her bedside, and each night, she'd once admitted to Lee, she still whispered goodnight to him, just as she did when he first went into the service. He’d been shot down and was listed as missing-in-action. As the years passed, and the fear he wasn’t ever coming home became a reality, she had become used to being alone. She had thought of remarrying, but every man she met fell short of the one she’d lost. Finally, she’d come to accept that Patrick was the only man she would ever loved, and the only one she would ever want to love.

  They drove through Chinatown and Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, ate an early dinner at an Italian restaurant in North Beach, then went home exhausted but sated. Lee had almost forgotten how beautiful the area was. Now, seeing it again through Miriam's eyes, made it all the lovelier.

  About nine o'clock that evening, Miriam had just finished making some tea when the doorbell rang. Lee flipped on the porch light, then opened the door.

  Cheryl stood in front of her. "Hi. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

  "Not at all. Come in."

  "Actually, I was wondering if you could come out. I just had a huge fight with Mark. I thought I'd stay away from home for a couple of hours so he'll appreciate me better when I go back. Right now, I was heading over to Big Bob's for a hot fudge sundae. I was hoping you could join me. Nothing makes me feel better after a fight than something sweet from Big Bob's."

  "Oh...well..." Lee thought Cheryl looked remarkably calm for someone who just had a big fight with her husband. She wondered if Cheryl fought with him often. Maybe that passed for entertainment in Miwok?

  "Come on, Lisa. Remember how we used to cry on each other's shoulders? I could use a shoulder right now. I really could."

  Cheryl was right. They'd always been there for each other when they were growing up. Anyway, she had nothing better to do tonight. "Why don’t you say hi to Miriam while I grab my purse. She’s in the family room. I know she’d love to see you again."

  Cheryl got them to the restaurant in no time flat. She and Lee sat in Big Bob's parking lot talking of trivial things. Cheryl rambled from one object to another, apparently in no hurry to go inside, and Lee was content to follow her lead, her usual self-restraint standing her in good stead. A jeep pulled into the lot. "We'd better go in," Cheryl said abruptly. "No sense having others ahead of us in line."

  Lee looked around at the few cars in the lot. What line? Cheryl's behavior seemed very peculiar. "Sure," she said as they got out of the car. "By the way, I’m not leaving tomorrow after all. Miriam convinced me to stay until Monday."

  Cheryl’s eyes lit up. "Hey, that makes it even better!"

  "What’s better?" Lee asked, but Cheryl was walking fast and she had to hurry to catch up.

  Just inside the entrance was a large waiting area with benches, cigarette machines, telephones and rest rooms. Cheryl stopped at the cigarette machine.

  "I didn't know you smoked," Lee said.

  "Only when I'm nervous. Or upset. Like now. The fight with Mark, you know."

  "Of course." Lee glanced at the tables beyond the cashier as she waited for Cheryl to find the right change for the machine.

  "Oh my, look who's here." Cheryl’s voice rang out.

  Lee spun around.

  Tony Santos stood in front of her, his dark brown eyes intense and questioning as if he were as shocked by the encounter as she. The air squeezed out of her lungs then seemed to rush through her, stronger than before, vibrant and alive.

  Her gaze passed over him quickly, absorbing everything that she could. He wore a cream colored mohair pullover, with drop shoulders and w
ide, loose sleeves over a yellow oxford shirt. His trousers were brown, as were his loafers. The boy in sweat shirts and denims was gone, and in his place was this handsome man, this stranger.

  A husband and a father now.

  Her gaze lifted to his and held. She couldn’t stop herself from studying his face. His eyes were still the dark, deep pools that carried a hint of the Aztec, his butternut skin smooth except for faint crows feet at the corners of eyes framed with long, black eyelashes and arched brows. His nose was high, straight and proud, and a few strands of gray brushed the temples of straight black hair, neatly trimmed. He used to be reed thin, which made his elbows and knees pronounced, even his feet had seemed too big for him. He’d grown nicely into his body. He was broader and thicker now, but still, everything about his carriage announced the sleek, well-honed strength of an athlete.

  Tony felt his mouth go dry as he watched the look of surprise, then pleasure, then caution fill her large, expressive eyes. He could always read her thoughts in those light blue eyes. The remembrance was a bolt from the past.

  He took in everything about her in an instant. When he was last with her, she was a lovely eighteen year old, but before him now was a mature, beautiful woman. Soft, supple teen age curves had given way to a womanliness that took his breath away. Even wearing casual slacks and a blouse, she dripped elegance and sophistication so out of place in Big Bob’s he would have laughed had she been anyone but Lisa.

  He noticed that the freckles on her nose were gone, as was the fullness in her cheeks. Her cheekbones were pronounced now, the skin taut around them, and so smooth and translucent it seemed flawless. Her mouth was still as kissable as he remembered, the lower lip a little fuller than the upper, giving her a pouty look that belied her untouchable, cool image. He had been the first man to kiss her and he still remembered the taste of it his lips. He had been the first man to make love to her, and those memories, too, hit him with the force of a hurricane.

  He stared, far too long as the pleasure in seeing her again mixed with the aching hurt that he'd thought had died long ago. Being with her again, he learned it hadn't.

  For no reason she could explain, she stepped closer. She'd spent every day since her return to Miwok trying not to think about him, trying not to remember the past. But it had caught up to her. Tony was here. Years had passed, but the intimacy they’d shared surrounded them with memories and neither seemed to quite know what to say or do.

  "What a surprise!" Gene Cantelli said, a little too forced, a little too loudly. "Why don't we get a table together?" he suggested.

  "Sounds great," Cheryl immediately answered. "Excuse me a minute, though. I've got to find the ladies' room."

  Gene, too, backed away. "I want to get a newspaper. I’ll be right back."

  "Gene!" Tony made a move toward him.

  "One minute, paisan, that’s all." Gene tossed the words casually over his shoulder and left, whistling jauntily.

  Tony and Lee stood watching their departing friends.

  Cheryl and Gene should be horse whipped for this stunt, Lee thought. With a sigh, she faced Tony.

  "Well," she said finally, her voice breathless, "hello." With a jerking, too fast motion, she stuck out her hand.

  He looked surprised, then gripped it hard, too hard. "Lisa," he answered.

  She was aware that his hands were broader now, with a sprinkling of hair on his fingers. They were a man's hands, strong and solid. He was aware that her hands were slimmer than those of the girl he knew, and had the creamy softness and perfect nails of a woman who knew the luxury of a pampered life.

  They dropped their hands as if burned.

  He spoke. "I hope you don't mind Gene saying we should join you." God, what a dumb thing to say. Right out of the tenth grade. He put his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

  It was a sweetly familiar gesture. Years ago, Tony had never been one to stand still, and it seemed that characteristic continued. "It's fine," she said, annoyed that she sounded somewhat breathless. Even more annoyed that she felt somewhat breathless. What was wrong with her?

  She searched his face. His eyes were more wary than when they were young. She wondered what had put the wariness there. After a struggle, she found her voice. "I guess we may as well sit...." What had happened to the smooth, eloquent Lee Reynolds who had boldly interviewed Presidents and Prime Ministers?

  They sat perched on the edge of the foyer bench, both ready to jump up and flee at a moment's notice. Silence palled. They both began to speak at once, then stopped abruptly, eyeing each other with patent embarrassment and yet amazement to find themselves side by side again. There should have been enough between them to laugh at this; but instead they found there was too much. Still too much.

  "You first," Tony said. His voice was like sand, hers smooth as quicksilver.

  "All I was going to say was that I'd hoped to get a chance to say hello to you before I left." There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn't know where to begin. She could discuss the news in front of strangers on national television, but she couldn't say "Tell me how your life has been" to one man right beside her, the one man who had once been the world to her.

  "I meant to call you as well, to see about coming over to give my condolences...." He leaned forward, legs wide, arms on thighs, his hands clasped. He stared straight ahead.

  "You never used to call first."

  He froze, his back visibly stiffening, and she cursed the flush heating her face. Why she had said that, why she had brought up the intimacy of the past, she didn't know. His expression, when he turned to her, was serious, as if he couldn't let himself smile. "I couldn't believe it was you at my son's game on Sunday," he said quietly. "I thought I was dreaming."

  Her eyes never left him. Her heart and mind whirled with the force of his presence, and she wanted more than anything to just look at him. To take in everything about him that was the same and all that was different. Still handsome. Still exciting. Her Tony. But he wasn't her Tony anymore, and she dropped her gaze. "Being back, it is almost like a dream." She looked up. "But you know I love baseball."

  He relaxed and let his hands hang loose between his legs. "Heck, that's not baseball. It's Little League."

  She smiled then, without restraint or defense. You always knew how to make me smile, Tony.

  He sat upright, his spine against the backrest of the bench. "You should have stayed and watched. We won."

  "I had to run. I had to meet Miriam." She was quite sure he didn’t believe a word she said. She never could fool Tony. "You have a nice looking boy."

  His face lit up. "His name's Ben. He's a great kid."

  "How old is he?"

  "Nine."

  "Already? My goodness! Any more kids?"

  "No. No, just the one."

  "Ah." She rubbed her hands together and looked around, avoiding his eyes, fighting the piercing emptiness, the aching hurt, that threatened to overwhelm her. Somehow, she would get through this. Where was Cheryl? "You and your wife must be very proud of him."

  He folded his hands again. He used to say he had "soft" hands, and that's what made him such a good fielder. She saw nothing soft about them.

  "I'm divorced."

  She raised her eyes, surprised, and yet half-expecting something like that to explain Gene and Cheryl wanting the two of them to meet. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

  "It happened a long time ago. How about you? Did you marry?"

  She shook her head quickly, her gaze capturing the door, tables, the waitress, anything but him. "Never could fit it into my schedule, it seemed."

  He rested an elbow on the back of the bench. "Must be hell being a rich, famous TV star."

  His arm nearly touched her. She sat forward, putting her palms on the edge of the seat, her fingers curled under. "Doing news is hardly stardom."

  "Close enough. The way you're going, you'll end up owning the network if I know you, Lisa."

  She felt his eyes measuring her.
"Thank you."

  "It's what you always wanted." He tried to force a harshness to his voice, but it sounded almost wistful to his ear.

  She took a deep breath. Some emotion, long dormant and hidden deep within her, was responding to him in a way she recognized as dangerous. "So, what are you doing these days?" She tried to sound upbeat and casual, and failed miserably.

  Over the years since she’d left him, he’d imagine himself telling her all he'd done with his life, all he'd accomplished. Now, though, it didn't seem so significant. "I own the Circle Z."

  Her mouth dropped open. "You own it? You're kidding."

  "No." He glanced at her as if wondering if he should say more, then away as he spoke. "I grew up thinking horse ranches were boring and dumb. A few years ago, my dad told me the owners were going to put the place up for sale and I realized it was home--more home than I'd ever known. I didn't want some stranger to buy it."

  "You were able to buy that entire ranch? That’s wonderful! Good for you."

  Back in the days when he still thought about Lisa, he used to wonder why she broke off their relationship so suddenly, so hurtfully. He’d racked his brain for an answer, and finally decided it must have been because, while she was ambitious, talented and driven, he was a nobody, and she expected that was all he'd ever be.

  Her reaction at learning he'd made something of himself was everything he'd ever dreamed of.

  He spoke. "I made a few bucks while I played baseball."

  She smiled, and he watched her pale blue eyes sparkle the way they used to do, the way he’d always loved. "So you did play."

  He cleared his throat, suddenly aware that gloating over his success didn't give him the satisfaction he had imagined. Her pleasure at learning he’d played ball seemed so genuine, to brag would have embarrassed him. "I played for a while. Now I raise Arabians on the ranch. Of course, my dad really runs the place. He's the expert. I just pay for it."

  She didn’t understand his sudden discomfort. "I'd imagine Vic's run every place he's ever worked," she said. "I remember going out to the ranch with you to help your dad exercise the horses. But he never found us much help."