Crazy Ever After (2 page)
The minute Samara pulled her rental car into the driveway of the house she used to call home, she had to fight the urge to keep going right around the circular driveway, back onto the street and all the way back to San Francisco.
She sat there gripping the steering wheel, her stomach in knots. During the nearly two-hour flight to Portland she’d felt okay, but now she was there, sitting in the driveway, her hands started to shake.
She looked out the window at the Tudor-style house she hadn’t seen for seven years, still elegant, immense, impressive. Three cars lined the curved stone driveway, all of them expensive. Bright petunias, verbena and ivy cascaded out of massive terra cotta planters, bright splashes of red and purple and green in the afternoon sunshine.
She closed her eyes, her heart aching at the thought that she’d never see her father again. It still didn’t seem like it could be true.
She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. No tears. Not now.
She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her spine. She could do this. She blew out a breath that lifted the long bangs slanting across her forehead and tightened her fingers momentarily on the steering wheel. Then she climbed out of her car, slung her slouchy leather bag over her shoulder and started toward the front entrance of the house.
A wave of nostalgia swept over her as she climbed the steps. Her life in this house had been full of love and laughter and joy. That had all come slamming to a halt pretty damn quick, throwing her into adulthood overnight, ending her romantic teenage dreams, and sending her out into the world alone. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and pushed down on the gleaming brass lever of the door.
In the cool foyer, the sound of muted voices drifted down the hall. The alarm chimed when she closed the door behind her. She waited, but nobody appeared, so she started down the hall. The tap tap of her heels on the dark wood floor surrounded her, and as she drew closer to the den, the voices grew only a little louder. With each step, the cramping tightness in her stomach grew worse, and memories flooded back of that last time she’d walked into the house through the front door and taken these same steps down the hall toward the den.
She’d been out with friends and had arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, surprised to see Travis’s car in the driveway at that time of day. With her heart banging in her chest, she’d entered the house, an unreasonable, crazy hope spiraling up inside her that he was there to see her...
Unsure where he was, she’d poked her head into the den, much as she was about to do now, and had seen Travis and her mother sitting on the couch, their heads bent close together. Travis’s arm rested along the back of the couch around Mom’s shoulders. Samara had paused, hand on her throat, their murmured words reaching her ears.
“How on earth did he find out?” Mom had asked Travis.
“I had to tell him,” Travis said. “I’m sorry, Dayna. I had to. I never meant for this to cause problems for your marriage.”
Mom had nodded, head bent. “It’s not all your fault,” she said, her voice thick. “I didn’t handle things very well when he confronted me.”
Travis’s low groan had made Samara’s eyes widen. He sounded so agonized. “He wants me to move to L.A.,” he’d told her mom. “He says we can’t work together anymore.”
“Oh, Travis.” Mom had looked up at him with wet eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to go. But maybe that’s better...for everyone.” She’d leaned in as Travis’s arm pulled her closer.
Samara couldn’t watch anymore. With a buzzing in her ears, her legs stiff, she’d slipped unseen down the hall and had climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There she’d sat on her bed for a long time, thinking about what she’d seen and heard, fighting the nausea rising up inside her. Remembering the argument she’d heard her parents having in their bedroom the night before, and putting it all together, her already bruised heart splintering into sharp shards.
Those old feelings returned along with the memories, and Samara now paused in the hall with a hand pressed to her rolling stomach. She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath and then stepped up to the French doors of the den.
Her mom sat on the chocolate leather sofa across the room, the sunlight streaming in the big mullioned windows lighting up her auburn hair, the exact color of Samara’s own but worn in a shorter flippy style. Samara studied her mom’s face. She’d hardly aged at all in the last seven years, although maybe she was a bit thinner. What Samara really noticed was the heartache on her mother’s face, her pale, her eyes and nose pink, and her eyebrows pulled down in sadness.
Seeing her mom after all this time, seeing her looking so sad, tugged at something deep inside Samara, something soft that she didn’t want to feel. She’d been so hurt by what her mom had done all those years ago she did not want to feel sorry for her. Her throat tightened, and she drew in a shaky breath.
Beside her mom sat Alec Duffy, the Chief Financial Officer of Cedar Mill Coffee. Alec’s tanned handsome face wore grooves from his nose to the corners of his mouth and a furrow between his brows. His hair might be little grayer than the last time she’d seen him, but he was still an attractive man in his early fifties. Another man Samara didn’t recognize sat on a chair to his right, his face just as somber.
Then Samara’s gaze moved to the fourth person in the room. Travis. Her breath caught in her throat like a fishbone. He was here.
Her heart started thudding painfully against her ribs and she pressed a hand there, still standing unnoticed as the four in the room talked. Travis sat in a chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. Seven years ago he’d looked like a tanned surfer dude with shaggy blond hair. Those deep blue eyes hadn’t changed, and though still tanned and athletic, he wore his blond hair shorter now and brushed back from his face. His wide shoulders seemed even broader in the fitted white dress shirt, the sleeves turned back on his strong forearms. Seven years had passed, but he was still intensely male, strong and sexy.
As she watched, he reached out and took one of her mother’s hands in his.
Pain sliced through Samara, right through her core, so fierce her knees weakened. She gripped the door frame to steady herself and drew in another fortifying breath, cursing inwardly. She closed her eyes. He should not affect her like this, seven years later. Should. Not.
Then her mother looked up and saw her. Mom’s eyes widened, her mouth curved into a smile that even Samara had to admit was beautiful, and she jumped to her feet, oblivious to the hand that held hers. Her eyes glowed with surprise and joy, and Samara’s throat constricted again. She swallowed painfully.
“Samara!”
“Hi, Mom.”
Her mother flew across the plush Oriental rug toward her then stopped right in front of her, her expression suddenly uncertain. “Oh, Samara. You came.”
Her mother’s emerald-green eyes devoured her, the glowing love and pride and relief in her gaze filling Samara with confusion and unexpected guilt. Then her mother took her in her arms for a hug. Samara leaned in stiffly, let her mother press her cheek to her hair and embrace her. She rested one hand on her mother’s shoulder, the bones there narrow and fragile, and felt a sudden urge to sink into her mom’s embrace, bury her face in her shoulder and sob like a little girl.
Samara held on to her control with a fragile grip, acutely aware of the men’s gazes, especially Travis’s, as she drew back from her mother. She risked a glance his way. He watched them intently, his face tight, jaw square. The taut coil of nerves and anxiety in her stomach tightened further.
“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you,” her mother murmured, holding Samara’s face in a tender, maternal gesture that only made Samara’s throat ache more. She let her mom study her with wide, avid eyes, as if absorbing the sight of her. “Why didn’t you call? I could have picked you up at the airport.”
“I rented a car. It’s fine.”
“Thank you.” Her mom’s voice thickened. “Thank you for coming home. Oh Samara...” For a moment, they looked at each other with shared pain and disbelief. Then her mother straightened her shoulders and drew her forward with her arm linked in hers. “Come say hello to Alec and Travis.”
Samara allowed herself to be tugged across the room. The men all stood, and she extended a hand to Alec.
“Samara,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her into a polite hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Her throat constricted again. “Thanks.”
“Samara, this is Hank Proshen. He’s the Vice President of Quality Control at Cedar Mill.”
Samara nodded. She’d never met him, but she knew who he was and shook his hand while he too expressed his condolences.
She turned to Travis. Oh god. What if he hugged her too? Everything inside her quivered in anticipation and heat swept over her. Her lungs refused to expand.
Their eyes met, his warm and steady. Travis took her hand in his and shook it formally but made no attempt to embrace her. Remembered hurt and humiliation swept over her in a hot wave.
“Travis,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. Got in a few hours ago.” He tilted his head in a way that was so familiar and attractive to her her chest ached. His sapphire eyes brimmed with sympathy and compassion. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Samara.”
She nodded. She didn’t know what to say to that. It was his loss as much as hers. Then she became aware that Travis still held her hand in his big, warm one, and she yanked it away.
“Samara, please sit down,” her mother invited softly, gesturing to the couch.
Samara took a chair directly opposite Travis, dropping her purse onto the floor beside it.
“Can I get you anything? You must be tired after your flight. Or are you hungry?” Her mom clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, I’m so glad you came.” Relief added a breathy tone to her voice.
Samara noticed the coffee cups on a tray on the large leather ottoman between them. “Coffee would be great,” she said. “I assume it’s something good.”
“It’s Guatemala Antigua.” Her mother lifted the thermos and poured another cup for her. She handed Samara the cup, knowing she drank her coffee black. Like her father.
She took the cup and raised it to her lips—a medium roast, rich with hints of a chocolaty aroma.
They made some polite small talk about their flights and the weather for a few minutes. Then Alec stood. “I should be going,” he said. “You two will have a lot to catch up on.” Hank stood as well.
Samara looked at Travis, waiting for him to say the same and make an exit. But he didn’t. She looked from him to her mother. What was their relationship after all this time? Bitterness rose up in the back of her throat. Every muscle in her body ached from the tension gripping her. It was hard enough facing her mother after so long, but Travis too? At the same time? Nausea rolled in her stomach.
She sipped her coffee again, this time not even noticing the rich taste.
“I’ll see you out.” Dayna stood, smoothed down the skirt of her black shift dress, and followed the two men out of the den, leaving Samara and Travis alone.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Of course.” For a split second, she actually thought he was talking about them, reading her memories about what had happened between them, and her speculation about him and her mother. She gave her head a little shake. “I think it still hasn’t really sunk in.” She eyed him. “What happened? Do you know anything more?”
“Not much more than I told you on the phone,” he said, his mouth twisting.
She nodded, keeping her grief tightly leashed. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know.” His voice was somber. “None of us can. It’s like this can’t be real, and he’s going to walk in that door any minute. Everyone at the office is in shock.”
“The funeral...”
“Your mother wanted to wait for you before she started making arrangements.” His eyes softened with compassion. “I told her you were coming, but I don’t think she believed me until you walked in that door. She’ll need your help.”
Samara pressed her lips together. “Oh, I doubt that.” But the truth burned inside her. Her mother had depended on her husband for so much. For everything. How was she going to deal with all this on her own?
“Samara. Her husband just died. Your father. I think you both need each other.”
She resisted the urge to snort, wanting to deny what he’d said. She didn’t need her mother. She was an adult, capable of looking after herself, as she had been for a long time now. But when she looked at him, the softness in his eyes made her feel ashamed. Damn him. He knew as well as she did that her mother would need help. So she kept her mouth shut. “I’m here,” she finally said. “Of course I had to come.”
His mouth tightened into a straight, grim line. “Well, at least you have a sense of duty, if not love, for your family.”
His disapproval sent a quiver of shame through her. She was there out of a sense of duty. She’d known how difficult it was going to be to come home, but also knew she had no choice with her father having died.
She glanced at the door. What was taking Mom so long? Sitting here alone with Travis was making her twitchy and jittery. Not that being with her mother was any more comfortable.
She sipped her coffee, looked at Travis over the rim of the cup. He was watching her mouth purse on the edge of the cup, and her hand trembled, sloshing coffee over the rim and onto her skirt. She looked down at the wet spot on the pale gray fabric. Just what she needed, more embarrassment in front of Travis. As if she hadn’t been humiliated enough at his hands.
“Here.” He stood up and reached across the ottoman to hand her a pretty paper napkin that matched the bright coral and yellow of the Mexican pottery cups they’d been drinking from. She snatched it out of his hand and pressed it to the spot, heat sliding over her.
Why, why, was he affecting her like this? After all those years?
“Did you burn yourself?” he asked.
