Bittersweet Surrender (5 page)

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched her favorite candy swirl to its gruesome end. She turned to him and shoved her palm against his shoulder. “Our friendship is on the line here, Scott.”

He shook his head. “I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I had no idea.” He reached into his pocket. “Here, try these.”

She looked at the shell-covered pistachios in his hand, then looked up at him. “That's it? That's your remedy for getting me off chocolate? Nuts aren't exactly low calorie, you know.”

“They take the edge off your appetite. It takes time to shell them and you only eat a few a day. It's your treat.”

“Oh, joy.” She grabbed the nuts from his hand before he could change his mind. She was desperate.

“Where did you get those?” he asked.

“What?”

“The chocolates. Where are they?”

“Well, duh. You put them down the garbage disposal.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

She sighed. “Yes, I want your help. Those were the last of them.”

He gave her the trademark stare.

“Oh, all right.” She reached back into the towel drawer, pulled out the bag, and plopped it into his outstretched hand. “But don't you dare throw these away. Just hold them for me until I reach my first goal of losing ten pounds. Then I'll reward myself before going on to the next ten.”

He seemed to consider it a moment.

“I'll run out and buy more if you get rid of these,” she threatened.

“I'm just trying to help you.”

“Diet Nazi.”

Scott pulled tumblers out of the cabinet and filled them with ice while Carly got the popcorn bowl. Getting a glimpse of him, her heart squeezed. He was such a great guy—well, all except for that diet thing—and she knew he missed Ivy so much.

“Scott, you would never leave Spring Creek, would you?”

He turned to her. “Why would I?”

“Well, with Ivy gone, I just wondered—” The question stuck in her throat. She wasn't even sure where it came from. “Losing one good friend is enough. I couldn't stand to lose you too.”

He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and smiled. “I'm not leaving. Besides, somebody has to keep you away from you-know-what.” He grinned and got a soda from the refrigerator.

“I work with chocolate. Chocolate is my world. No one can keep me from it.” At his raised brows, she quickly added, “Okay, okay, I'll try not to eat it.” Her second fib in the last hour. Carly flipped him with a nearby towel.

“Oh, so that's the way you want to play, huh?” Scott grabbed a towel from the drawer, twisted it, then snapped it with precision until it whipped the back of her leg.

“Ow, that hurt.”

He danced around the kitchen like Rocky Balboa. “That's what happens when you mess with the big guys, little girl.”
Snap.
Another hit. He raised his fisted arms in victory.

“Okay, now you're making me mad.” She pulled the nozzle on the faucet way out and pointed it at him like a Glock pistol.

Scott held up his hands in surrender. “Carly Westlake, don't you go there.”

Carly could feel the evil intent rise up within her. She turned the faucet and squeezed the nozzle. But just as water sprayed across the floor, Magnolia reentered the room. Carly watched in horror as the older woman's right foot kicked out in front of her.

Scott dashed to her, literally slid beneath her, and broke her fall just as she was going down.

He looked like a squashed bug on a sidewalk. A surprised squashed bug.

Magnolia blinked three times as though she had no idea what had hit her. “Oh dear,” was all she said.

“Are you all right, Magnolia?” Carly ran to the older woman's side and hauled her upright, noting how Scott gasped for breath when relieved from his load.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm not sure what happened.” With a frown, she pointed an accusing finger at Scott. “I think I tripped over you.”

Scott hauled himself up and brushed the dust from his pant legs.

“Actually, Scott protected you by taking the brunt of your fall,” Carly defended.

Magnolia let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Scott. “I suppose I should thank you.” She paused to think it over. “So, thanks.” She hobbled out of the room, evidently forgetting why she'd come in.

“Well, that was heartfelt,” Scott said with a laugh. He grabbed a tumbler for his soda and leaned in to Carly. “I'll get you later.”

“Not if I get you first.”

Once the movie was over, Magnolia went to
bed. Carly walked into the living room carrying a tray for their coffee mugs.

“I'm sorry I don't have tomato juice. Hopefully, this won't put you over your coffee limit for the day.” She placed a steaming mug on the stand beside the recliner.

“I don't think this will hurt me too much.” He winked.

“You doing okay, really, Scott?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Each day gets a little easier.” He picked up his cup and took a sip.

“I miss her so much,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence hovered between them, each lost in thought, sipping their drinks, remembering their days with Ivy.

“Do you think she sees us?” Carly asked.

“I don't know. But I do think she'd be happy that I'm working with you,” Scott said. “You were the sister she always wanted.”

Carly smiled. “Same here. C. J. is a good brother, but a sister would have been nice.”

“How do you know when it's time to move on?” he asked, startling Carly.

“Move on?”

“You know, get on with our lives. Stop living in the past, all that.”

“So you are thinking of dating again?”

He stared into his cup. “I don't know.”

Of course he was. He was a man. He couldn't be alone forever. “Scott, you're entitled to be happy again.”

“Like I said, I don't need a woman to be happy, but still, I'm just thinking.”

Carly took another drink from her cup. “So, who is she?”

He looked surprised. Then his eyes twinkled. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

It was obvious he was not going to tell her yet. That was okay. He was also entitled to his secret.

Still, it seemed strange for both of them to be dating all of a sudden. Though she was happy for Scott, a bit of sadness tugged at her heart too. She was afraid they would lose their special friendship. When other people came into the mix, things just were never the same, and that would be hard.

He downed the rest of his coffee. “Well, it's getting late. Time for me to go home. Thanks for the dinner and movie. It was fun. The movie was anyway. Dinner? Not so much.”

They laughed together, and she walked downstairs with him. “See you tomorrow.”

He looked at her for a couple of long seconds, as though he wanted to say something else. “'Night, Carly,” he said before disappearing into the dark.

Closing the door behind her, she checked the locks, then went back upstairs to clear the coffee cups from the living room. Noticing the brochure tucked beneath her saucer, she picked it up. Luckily, it had gone unnoticed tonight.

Her fingers ran along the brochure with information on reconstructive surgery following breast cancer. She should have done it long ago. But Gary had fixed things. Let the insurance lapse and not told her. Then left her paying the cancer bill out of pocket on her own. She'd had a little money saved. And now, with each disbursement check, she hoped to gain more so that someday she could get the surgery—if it wasn't too late.

With a sigh, she headed toward the kitchen, deposited the cups, then went upstairs to bed.

The covers were hot when she slipped into bed, so she pulled everything off but the sheet. It lay flat against her left side, emphasizing her scar. When Gary had left, she hadn't cared about that in the least, but now it made her sick to see it. There it was, the truth of it: she couldn't stand the sight of her own body. She was flat where she should have been curvy, and fluffy where she should have been flat. No matter how many manicures, pedicures, and facials she had, she felt ugly to the bone.

Her eyes glanced to the dresser where her wig fit on a frame. Why didn't she get rid of it? So what if it cost a lot of money; it was a constant reminder of those days. She had never let anyone see her without hair. No one. She couldn't stomach it herself. She'd wrapped a scarf around her head in the mornings, made sure it was intact before she got out of bed. She caught occasional glimpses, but tried to block them from her mind.

Unfortunately, try as she might, the images stayed with her. They were burned in her mind.

No hair.

No breast.

No husband.

Pinkie sauntered up to Carly and licked her arm.

“Hey, baby.” Carly picked her up and nuzzled her face into the soft fur. This dog was her lifeline. When Scott and Ivy had brought Pinkie over, Carly was at her lowest point in life. Gary had walked out; she was sicker than—well, a dog; and she'd needed some company. They knew she had always wanted a teacup terrier and that Gary had refused to allow her one. He'd said they were sissy dogs, and besides, the upkeep on a pet was too much. She'd thought the distraction of caring for Pinkie would help her not to dwell on her own problems.

Turns out she was right.

When the dog finally settled down at the foot of the bed, Carly hardly noticed anymore the sheet that lay flat over the left side of her chest.

Hardly noticed at all.

three

Dressed in her robe and fluffy Garfield
slippers, Carly opened the front door with a yawn.

“Come on, let's go.” Scott wore sweats, a headband, and a smile. Though he was a little blurry, Carly thought he was doing calisthenics.

Her jaw dropped. Through eyes barely cracked open, she saw the sun creeping up the side of town. Either that or she had died and it was the light coming for her.

“Go where?”

He ran in place. “You said you wanted me to help you. Get your sweats on. We're going to jog.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

The sound effects to
Psycho
screamed in her head. “It's six o'clock in the morning.”

“Get dressed. I promised to help you, and I always keep my promises.”

His jogging was getting on her nerves. And so were the robins twittering some stupid birdsong in a nearby tree. “I don't suppose it would help to say I've changed my mind?”

“Nope. Get your sweats on.”

“Of all the friends I could have and I get Richard Simmons.”

“You'll thank me one day. Get dressed.”

Scott wasn't exactly Jack LaLanne but he was definitely the outdoors type—right down to flannel shirts on a chilly October night. Carly could see no way out of this one.

After she dressed (no easy feat at this time of the morning), she came back down the stairs. “We need to go out a side entrance so no one will see me,” she said when she reached Scott.

“We don't open till nine o'clock. No one would be here this early.”

“People arrive at garage sales an hour early.”

“This isn't the same. Besides, people sleep in on Saturdays. But we'll go out the side door if that makes you feel better.”

They stepped into the spring morning. Carly took a deep breath and pulled in the sweet scent of a nearby honeysuckle vine that looped its way along a white wooden fence. With the way Scott's adrenaline was pumping, she figured it would be the only breath she'd get in the next hour.

Five minutes later she knew she was right. “Good grief, Scott, what are you trying to do, kill me?” she gasped.

“Oh, too fast? Sorry. I've been at this for a few weeks, so I'm building up some stamina,” he said all studly-like.

“You're the dude,” Carly said, completely void of emotion.

“You'll thank me.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He sucked in a dramatic deep breath as though he was leading a fitness class. “Isn't this great? Crisp, clean morning air, health, vitality.”

Carly glanced around for a hidden TV crew but saw only trees and houses. “Coffee, Scott. Does that mean nothing to you?” Her lips vibrated with every word, reminding her of Fat Albert.

“You'll get some—sans the whipped cream—after you've earned it.”

More
Psycho
sound effects. “I'm not giving up my whipped cream,” she growled.

“Yes, you are. You don't need it. Whoever heard of having whipped cream on top of regular coffee?”

“Me. And just so you know, my coffee isn't regular. I add creamer and cocoa.”