Cold as Ice (17 page)

C
arla is busily typing, preparing for the six o'clock news, when her desk phone rings. She hits SAVE. “Newsroom, Carla speaking.”

“Hey, Carla, it's Devin.”

Her heart feels like it's stopped beating. A hot flash fills her body as she pictures him as he looked the other night, in his Armani suit, smelling like macadamia nuts, buttery and warm. His lips were the same. Smooth and lush, making her body seize up with emotion. How can Devin, a guy she barely knows, have that effect on her? That tenderness about him, making her think there's much more under the glass case than meets the eye. And back to those lips, and desperately wanting to taste more of him. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi. I wasn't sure how to reach you.”

“You have my cell . . . but this is fine. . . .”
More than fine.

“I left a message. I know you're busy.”

“Do you have a news story?” she asks jokingly to break the ice.

“It could be, I guess.” He laughs and then turns serious. “I'm going out to a new restaurant, ah, Flourish? Flamingo?” He laughs. “I can't remember now.”

She gushes. “Flavors? They just opened on Robson Street.”

“That sounds right. See? I don't even know where it is. I'm hoping you can show me.”

“You just want to see where they're located?” she asks, giving him a hard time. “'Cause I can just tell you. It would make it easier. . . .”

There's a pause, and she's not sure what he's getting at.

“Well, it's supposed to be a great place for dinner. That's what I hear, and I have the number of the manager. I can make reservations. I'm told that's probably best since it's so busy and hard to get a table. . . .”

“Dinner?” Why can't he just say it? What is he afraid of?

“Dinner. Do you want to try it?”

“I've been. Great food.”

“Oh.”

She can imagine his broad shoulders sinking like a barge. Disappointed? What did he have in mind? “I'd love to go there again sometime.”

“Okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Sorry, I work until seven, weekends off.”

“I have a game Saturday.”

“I know.” She stares at her computer screen.

“How 'bout lunch?”

“I'm scheduled to do the noon news tomorrow.”

“Okay. We could make it another night or day. . . .”

“I'm free for breakfast?”
Breakfast?
She makes a face and clutches her hands on her desk.

“Breakfast? All right. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, smiling.

“Meet you at IHOP?”

“Okay.”

“Okay! Great!” he says. “I'll see you then.”

“Yes, see you then.” She hangs up. Why is she so excited about breakfast? This is new for her. Nothing can come from the most important meal of the day, can it? She calms herself by rereading her script.

“Carla!” a boisterous voice yells.

Her head pops up from the screen. Russ, the station manager. Her stomach sinks like she's ridden in an elevator dropping to the ground floor.

“Can I see you in my office? Now.”

Her stomach is in the basement now. She squeezes her fingers together and releases, doing this several times as she gets to her feet.

His hand is in his front pocket, jingling his keys. It's nerve-racking being called to the attention of many. Eyes in the newsroom stare, and some pretend they're not listening as they work.

Carla's face is flushed with uncertainty. Is she getting fired? Demoted? Did she say something in a story she shouldn't have? Will he give her a warning?

“Russ!” she exclaims. It's a good confidence booster to be positive, Carla decides. If this is her last day, then she might as well go out with a bang.

“I hope I'm not taking you away from anything too pressing,” he says, opening his office door. “Have a seat.” He pulls out the chair as he walks to his desk and sits down. Russ folds his hands on his desk.

Carla notices his gold band on his left hand and a mustache that's well trimmed above his lip.

“I'm just finishing up a news story. I can be done in five minutes,” she says, pushing her back to the seat.

“What's the story? The Warriors not making the play-offs?”

“No, they'll make it.”

“They have Devin Miller. He's been making some good plays for offense.”

“Actually, Alex Price is out indefinitely. He needs knee surgery and won't be well enough to make the play-offs.”

“Sucks for him.” Russ looks at loose white sheets of paper.

Carla can't tell what they are. Perhaps notes of evidence for letting her go?

“I wanted to see you and talk to you about the sports department.” He pauses. “It's come to my attention that the department is struggling with having enough staff on hand. I wasn't aware of the issue.”

“There's no issue. I'm not sure who told you that. We seem to be fine.” Even if there is a staffing problem, she isn't going to say it. She wants to keep her job. The last thing to do is complain in the middle of reconstruction.

Russ clears his throat. “You're doing a fine job. But . . .”

But? There's a
but?
She plays with her fingers. Her heart races. Here it is. She shifts in her seat.

“I want to see Ryan do more anchoring shifts. Not every night; Monday and Tuesday nights. You can do mornings.”

She lowers her head. “Monday and Tuesday mornings?” she asks.

“It would be better for you.”

“It would? What about Jay? Where is he going? He usually does mornings.”

“I let him go.”

“You fired him? When?”

“Just now. He told me he got a job at Sports National.”

Her head drops. A cold twinge rises up her spine. “So you let him go? Why? We need him,” she tells him in a mere whisper, trying to comprehend the news. “Jay is great at what he does. We need him back. You didn't tell him he should stay?”

He shakes his head. “Jay is good, but he'll do better elsewhere.”

“But why?” As much as Jay thinks he's better than the rest, she needs him and his talent. Who can she count on besides Ryan?

A smirk comes across his face. “No need to worry. We do what we have to do.”

“I counted on Jay. He worked whenever and did what needed to be done. Now what are we going to do?”

“Use Edson.”

“He's so green! I can't put him just anywhere.” She tries not to panic.

“He'll get experience,” Russ says passively. “He'll learn.”

Why does this bother her more than the general manager? “And what about the late news? Who's covering sports?”

“Edson.”

Carla exhales. What's the reason behind this? she wants to ask. She can't ask because that will cause tension, and when there's tension, jobs are jeopardized.

“You guys will be fine,” he says, pushing the papers that are in front of him into a pile.

He doesn't know Ryan is browsing for a new job. She sinks in her chair. Then what will happen?

“I don't know,” she says, worried. “What happens if someone else leaves? We'll have no one.”

“Is someone leaving?”

“Well, no, no, not that I'm aware of, but I'm saying we'll be short-staffed if someone does.”

“No, you won't,” he says.

Her eyebrows furrow.

“I hired a new reporter. Kip—”

Her eyes can't stretch any wider.

She returns to her desk pale-faced and angry. She can't wrap her mind around it.

“Boss!” Ryan says, running toward her.

Carla plunks herself down.

“Jay got fired.”

“I just found out.”

“What happened? Do you know?”

Carla shakes her head. “I don't.”

“That sucks,” Ryan says. “I mean for you. What's going to happen?”

“I don't know.” Carla stops herself from telling him what Russ told her, at least for now. It's good for him to be uncertain. She doesn't know what's going on either.

C
arla sips her coffee, holding it with both hands, sitting across from Devin at a restaurant table at nine-thirty in the morning. She's never had a breakfast date before. In fact, meeting someone of the opposite sex at a restaurant before noon doesn't feel like a date at all.

“Have you ever been on a breakfast date?” he asks, pouring syrup on his buttermilk pancakes.

“No. Never. Not even with my ex-husband.” She cautiously puts down her cup and smiles. “Timothy wasn't much of a breakfast guy.”

“Most important meal of the day!”

“He considered noon early.”

“It's all about your daily schedule. I prefer mornings, but playing hockey at night pushes me to wake up late.” He cuts into his pancakes. “How 'bout you? Do you like working nights?” He takes a bite.

She shrugs. “I'm used to it. My days are sometimes long, depending on what's going on. What do you do when you're not playing or training?”

“I'm still trying to get settled. I have boxes to unpack.” He sips his coffee.

“Do you have a lot? I mean, moving from city to city, how much do you bring with you?”

“A fair share. I'm going to be here for six years, so I'm putting things away and not leaving them in boxes like I did in the past.”

His past, Carla thinks, and is reminded that she has the letter in her purse. She has to give it to him. It's Devin's.

The waitress refills their coffees.

“Are you free tonight after work? I've been doing my own touring.”

She grins. “I'd like to see what you've found.”

“It's just a view of the water. I'm sure you've seen it before.”

“I can always see it again.”

“How about tonight?”

Her phone rings and she reaches into her purse, pulls it out and looks at the number. “It's my sister.”

“Carla. It's Sadie,” she says, panicked.

“Is everything okay?” Carla combs her hair away from her face with her fingers.

“I'm sick,” Sadie whines. “I have a horrible head cold and need to lie down. Brin's been up all night.... I can't get hold of Mom and I need help.”

“I'm on my way!” Carla says, hangs up and tosses her phone back into her purse. “Sorry. I have to go.”

“Everything okay?”

“My sister is sick and needs a hand with her daughter.” Carla downs the last of her coffee and pushes it aside, taking out cash from her wallet.

“I'll walk you out.”

“You don't have to. You're still eating.”

“No. I'm done.” He wipes his lips with a napkin and drops it on his plate. He leans up and takes out his wallet from his back pocket, throws down money and slides out of the booth.

“Devin Miller!” a guy at a table yells.

Devin looks behind him and grins.

“That's him!” someone says as he walks past a booth. They get outside before people approach him and head over to Carla's car.

“So, about tonight . . .” Carla says, getting out her keys. “I can be out of work by seven-thirty.”

“That's good.” Devin stands beside her car. “Text me your address. I'll pick you up.”

“I can pick you up. Isn't that the deal? I show you the city?”

“I like to drive. It will help me learn the roads.”

“All right,” Carla says, opening her car door.

“Devin! Devin! Is that you?” someone says, rushing toward him, with another guy trailing behind.

“I have to go.” Carla gets into her car. “Sorry I can't save you.”

“See you tonight,” he says and turns to face hockey fans, who are in his face with pens and papers to sign.

Carla looks in her rearview mirror. He handles it just fine, she thinks, driving off.

 

It's a twenty-minute drive to her sister's town house. There used to be a time when shopping and lunch dates were a weekly event. Now they're lucky if coffee is on the go and the sandwiches are premade.

Sadie answers the door, holding her head with one hand and a baby on her hip with the other.

Automatically, Carla reaches out to take Brinley, who is crying and fussing.

“I think she's teething,” Sadie says, shutting the door and locking it. “I haven't seen a tooth yet, but she's been gnawing on her fingers.”

“At six months?” Carla pats her niece's back and bounces. The little girl is sucking on her hand.

“Did you try a teether?”

Sadie raises an eyebrow.

“I know a little bit about children.”

Sadie lets out a breath. “Yes.”

“How about a cold washcloth like Mom suggested?” When her sister doesn't answer, Carla goes into the bathroom and grabs a cotton facecloth from the drawer. She wets it down with one hand, squeezes it, leaves it in a tight roll and hands it to Brinley. “There you go, princess.”

The little girl sucks on the cloth and coos.

“Go have a hot bath and lay down,” Carla instructs. “I'm fine. Did you get hold of Mom?”

“She's on her way.”

“Good.”

“If she doesn't get here when you have to get to work, wake me.”

“Okay. Shut your door and don't worry. If I run into trouble, I'll get you.”

Sadie turns around. “Thanks. Brian would have stayed home if he could, but he had some important meetings to get to.”

“You have me. Any time.” Carla looks at her niece. “Let's give Mommy a break and go read a story.” She carries her niece into her room to pick out a book and sits on the rocking chair with Brinley curled up on her shoulder. Carla closes her eyes and takes in the smell of the baby and rubs her cheek against hers, feeling the firm skin and button lips. So perfect. Would her children be as beautiful? What would they have looked like had she had them with Timothy? She often wonders because it was the closest chance she had with someone. Would her eyes light up with joy every time she said his name? Could she love her baby just as much as she loved Brinley?

Carla rocks, opens the book and begins to read. “‘Guess how much I love you?'” she says, letting her head settle gently against the baby's. It is quiet and peaceful. Getting the situation under control, she lowers her voice, noticing the baby is almost asleep.

Brinley's light brown eyelashes flutter as her eyes get heavy, and when her lids finally close, Carla's voice gets softer until Brinley falls asleep.

“‘. . . To the moon and back,'” Carla says and gently puts the book down on the dresser beside her, wraps both arms around the baby and stands, careful not to disturb her position. At the crib, she extends her arms and places Brinley down on her back. Slowly, she takes the cloth away and tiptoes out of the room. Mission accomplished. She can do this!

A cry stops her in her tracks. She probably wants her pacifier. When Carla walks back into the room to peek in on her, Brinley is staring back at her through the wooden slats of the crib. Then her bottom lip curls and an outburst of a cry makes Carla scoop her up and take her in her arms, bouncing her and hushing her back to sleep.

“You're okay,” she whispers. “It's nap time. Auntie needs to go to work shortly and Grandma will be here. You get to see Grandma.” Carla's words run into one another as she fears her sister will come into the room and take over. “Shhh.” She bounces. “You must be really tired . . . shhh . . . you need your beauty sleep . . . shhh.” The baby starts to calm. Carla relaxes her shoulders and holds her firmly to her chest. She takes a seat on a large chair in the living room and sits mindlessly holding the sleepy baby. Her phone rings. Carla gets up and sidesteps to her purse, careful not to move the baby. She reaches in and takes it out to answer it.

“Hey, Carla, it's Devin.”

“Hi!”

“About tonight, sorry; I can't make it.”

“Oh, okay.” Her heart slows and she presses her lips together.

Devin doesn't want me.
He doesn't know how to say it. Probably like a lot of things in his life, his dad being one of them.

She sits back down in the chair, staring at the abstract painting on the wall. She still can't figure out what it's supposed to be. Her mind is wandering. Why did she think Devin liked her? He didn't care for her from the first time they met. Why is now any different?

“Something came up,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Maybe this weekend? If you're not busy.”

“We'll see.... I might be working,” she lies, looking at Brinley's eyes fluttering.

“Okay. Let me know. Sunday works for me. Game Saturday night.”

“I have to go; my niece is waking up.” She hangs up and enjoys the cuddles with Brinley until a tap sounds at the door. Carla carefully gets up, the baby snuggled into her neck. She opens the door.

“Hi! Oh, she's asleep?” her mom says, stepping in and taking off her shoes. She pulls the blanket back to peek at her granddaughter. “Looks like you have it under control. A baby looks good on you.”

Carla looks at her niece and kisses the top of her head. “It's a good feeling, holding a baby.”

“Yes, it is. The best feeling in the world. You should think about it.”

“About being a mom?”

They look at each other with hesitation.

“I always think about it,” Carla admits, giving her niece a squeeze.

“Don't think about it for too much longer.”

“Then what?”

“How about that Devin guy?”

“What about him?”

“He seems like he'd make a good dad. I saw how he smiled when he met Brin.”

Carla looks at her mom, thinking about Devin. “I'm not falling for that.”

“For what?” her mom asks, her forehead wrinkled.

Carla hands over her niece to her mom so she can get her shoes on. “For just any guy.”

“He's not just any guy. He's Devin Miller.”

Carla grins, liking the sound of his name. “I don't know how he feels about me.”

“He likes you! What are you talking about?”

“I don't know.” Carla picks up her purse. “Mom, you have to stop pressuring me.” She shakes her head and secures her purse on her shoulder. “You know I want kids. Always have. If and when that day comes, I want to be with the person I love. And until that day comes, I need my space. Please. Give me a break. I need it.”

“Oh, Care Bear,” her mom says, taking a free arm and bringing her daughter in for a hug so they're cheek to cheek. Her mom gives her a peck before letting go. “I love you.” She stares into Carla's eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you. I'm trying to help.”

“Pressuring me isn't helping.”

Her mom lowers her head, her eyes droopy. “I'm sorry.”

Carla nods. “I gotta get to work.” She opens the door and turns back to say, “I love you,” and runs to her car.