Delivered with Love (4 page)

C
hicken cordon bleu. The smell of Michael's favorite dish still permeated the kitchen, but his plate sat in its place on the mahogany table, clean and empty, except for the note. Michael scanned the scrawled-on piece of paper. Sandy had gone to bed. And she didn't want him to wake her.

He wadded the piece of paper and tossed it in the garbage. He'd made a mistake. He squeezed his tight neck muscles with his right hand. He should have called at seven o'clock, when he missed dinner. Instead, he stayed at the office and followed up on a few leads, hoping to drum up business. What a waste. He opened the refrigerator door and searched the shelves, looking for the leftovers.

The blinking light on the answering machine caught his eye. He pressed the message button and heard his daughter's voice.

"Hey, Mom. Did you show Dad the picture of the wedding dress? I went to the bridal shop and tried it on again. It has my name written all over it. Oh, and I found the nicest place for the reception—Sanderlings, the restaurant at Seascape Resort. I can't believe I'll be Mrs. David Richards in only a few months. Call me. Love you. Bye."

Michael hung his head and let out a breath. He slipped off his tie and tossed it on the cream-colored leather couch, then shrugged out of his suit coat and hung it over a kitchen chair. It looked as though he'd need a higher equity line of credit. A stab of pain shot through the knotted muscles in his upper back.

He needed to relax and forget his troubles. And there was only one place that would soothe him at this time of night. Forgetting dinner, he crossed the room to the downstairs bathroom, stripped out of his clothes, and donned his trunks. He walked out to the backyard with a beach towel wrapped around his waist.

He slipped into the hot tub and hunkered low, allowing the pulsating jets to knead his sore muscles. Eric was right. He was tense, too tense for his own good. He'd have to see the doctor for blood pressure medication if he wasn't careful. Michael looked up. The moon, shining through the gazebo's glass dome, gave the water a luminescent effect.

Lord, please help me sell another house . . . or at least find renters.

Michael shifted to another seat, the jets now focusing on his lower back. Tomorrow he would run by his rental property since he had missed his chance that afternoon. The painters would be finished repainting the inside, and the carpets should be steam cleaned by now. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Honey." Sandy's voice trilled above the whir of the hot tub. "Where have you been?"

Michael bolted upright. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I was, but then I heard the garage door open and waited for you to come upstairs." Sandy wrapped the chenille blanket tighter around her shoulders. "You didn't answer my question."

Michael turned off the jets. "I was at work."

Even in the dark, he could see the look of distrust in Sandy's eyes. "You've never stayed at work this long without calling."

"I was going through files of potential clients." Michael playfully flicked water at Sandy. "Care to join me?"

"It's almost midnight." Sandy took a step back. "I'm going back to bed. Will you be long?" She flung one corner of the blanket over her shoulder to cover her exposed neck.

"A few more minutes. It's been a rough day." Michael slunk down in a corner seat.

"For me too." Sandy took another step toward the back door, her figure more of a shadow. "I'll be upstairs, waiting. "She turned and went into the house.

Michael pressed the button for the jets once more. Should he stay in the hot tub long enough for Sandy to go back to sleep? He didn't feel like talking.

Didn't his wife realize he was working his tail off for her? For Julia? And for the wedding he wished he'd saved up for a long time ago? Michael laid his head back and looked at the moon.
Lord, help me relax.

"Go? Right now?" Claire stood dumbfounded as Pearl and Harry prepared to leave the campground.

"It's a good three hours to San Francisco from here and I want to see my new grandbaby come into the world." Pearl folded the bed back into a table.

The thought of a good night's sleep vanished. "I'll let you two get ready." Claire turned to grab the door handle.

"And where do you think you're going, young lady?" Harry set his baseball cap on his head and reached out to stop Claire from leaving. "You're coming with us."

For a moment she felt as if she were being kidnapped. But the sweet look on Harry's face told her otherwise.

"That's if you don't mind hanging out with two old folks like us." Harry laughed. "Or do you have somewhere else to go?"

"No, but I can't simply leave my car . . . ?" Claire peered out the window. "I don't think we can move it ourselves to hook it onto your trailer." She thought about the letter and Capitola. Could they drop her off at the return address? Claire shook off the thought.

Harry rubbed his chin, which made a scratching noise against the stubble. "You're right about that. I'd hate to wake the Andersons."

"Why don't you two go?" Claire blurted. "Samantha's probably still awake. I'll bunk with her and then call a tow truck in the morning." Claire leaned down and snatched her purse from the tan leather seat.

"I hate to leave you." Pearl took a tissue and blew her nose. "I know God put you in our lives for a reason. And we're blessed because of you."

Claire didn't understand this couple. She had rammed into them. Their RV had a big dent because of her. Didn't they see that? "I'll be fine. You'll be hearing from me again. I'll send you a check for a new bumper when I get the money. All I need is your address."

Pearl waved her off, and then reached out with both arms to give her a hug. "Now, take care of yourself. Godspeed, my child."

Claire stiffened in Pearl's embrace. She pulled back. "You'd better hurry. That baby isn't going to wait for you."

Harry patted Claire's shoulder. "Nice to meet you, young lady."

Claire stepped out of the RV. She stood next to her car as Harry started the engine. As they drove off, Pearl's hand fluttered out the window until the RV was out of sight.

Claire turned toward the Anderson's campsite. The lights were out in their motor home. If she knew where Samantha slept, she could tap on the closest window, but she didn't feel right about waking the whole family. She scanned the darkened campground. Only one campfire glowed in the distance. Claire felt hollow and alone in the dark of the night, the sound of crickets filling the void. She needed to formulate a plan.

Claire sat in the front seat of her Volkswagen gripping the steering wheel with both hands. How she wished she could start her car and drive up the coast. She glanced in the backseat at her pillow and blankets. She could sleep in her car, but would she get an ounce of rest?

Instead, she dug through her wallet. There had to be one credit card that wasn't maxed out. Her sister had used her credit cards on occasion for her shoe fetish and had sometimes forgotten to return them.
Ah.
Her Visa. Maybe she could get to Capitola tonight after all. Claire grabbed her cell phone and punched 0 for the operator. She wrote down the number for a towing service, called the number, and huddled under her blanket to wait.

Why hadn't she thought of leaving earlier? If she had realized how easy it was to call a tow truck, she might have. Claire knew the real reason. Pearl, Harry, and the Andersons. Claire wouldn't have traded this night for anything.

A tow truck arrived within a couple of hours, and in short order the driver hooked up her car. Any other campground and she'd be stuck for the night, but Plaskett Creek didn't have a gate—cars were free to come and go when they pleased.

She glanced over at the Andersons' RV. She hated to leave without saying goodbye to Samantha, but maybe it was better this way.

"Are you ready, ma'am?" The tow truck driver called over his shoulder. His voice was low and deep, surprising for a small man.

"Yes." Claire stole one more glance, and then hopped into the truck.

The closest auto body repair shop was in Monterey, an hour north. Claire yawned and fought to stay awake as they drove the winding highway. She scooted down in the passenger's seat, and laid her head against the headrest . . .

"Ma'am?"

Claire felt a nudge on her shoulder.

"We're here."

Claire rubbed her eyes and sat up straight.

"Do you have anywhere you need to be? Mike's Auto Repair doesn't open for another six hours."

No, Claire didn't have anywhere to go at 1:30 in the morning. What was she thinking? She could've had a full night's sleep if she had stayed with Samantha. Should she call her sister? No, that would only cause more problems. If Haley knew she'd had an accident in their mother's VW, she'd call her irresponsible and tell her to come back to Los Angeles. Claire wanted to go to Capitola. And find the writer of the letter.

"Ma'am. Did you hear me?"

"No, sir, I don't have anywhere I need to be." She looked around at her surroundings. Half the lights from the repair shop sign didn't work. The place looked haunted. Few cars were on the road. And there was no one around.

A woman alone in a strange place was an invitation for trouble. Claire's heart beat wildly. Hadn't she learned anything from living in L.A.? Her throat was dry, and she tried to swallow. She was at a loss for words.

"It's the middle of the night, and you're a young lady . . ."

Claire's mind whirled. Her thoughts drifted toward the unthinkable.

"My wife and I live in the town of Capitola. We have an extra room. You can stay the night if you'd like. Then I can bring you back here in the morning."

Claire didn't realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled loudly. The driver's offer came back to her in one-word sentences.
Wife. Room. Capitola.
"Yes. Thank you. I'll get my things," she heard herself say.

Claire rummaged in the backseat of her VW for her duffel bag, pillow, and blankets. She looked over at the driver. He was talking on his cell phone.
Probably calling his wife.
A stab of panic ran through her. This might be a mistake, but what choice did she have? It would be more dangerous to hang out in her car all night in a deserted parking lot. She sized up the driver. He was about her height, and she guessed he didn't weigh much more than she did. She could take him if he turned on her.

"Ready?" He was beside her in a flash.

Claire checked his left hand. He wore a gold wedding band. "Yes."

"I'm Tom Daniels." He took her duffel bag and threw it in the truck. "My wife's name is Nancy. We should be home in forty-five minutes."

The drive to Capitola made her miss her mom all the more. She envisioned her mother as a teenager and living in the small town the summer of 1972. Had her mother driven on this highway? Claire gazed at the silhouettes of the trees as they drove past, wondering what lay ahead for her.

The pine scent from the air freshener in the tow truck filled her nostrils. Claire took a deep breath and remembered the words of the letter.
Riding roller coasters, surfing, and late-night walks.
She sighed.
Holding hands, stealing kisses, and sharing dreams.
Sounded heavenly.

"We're almost there." Tom gave Claire a warm smile, revealing a space between his front teeth. "Nancy is a nurse and works the night shift. So you don't need to tiptoe around. She's used to being up during the wee hours."

A nurse. His wife was a nurse—a career Claire dreamed about. She couldn't wait to talk with Nancy, if she existed. A nagging feeling continued to grab at her gut.

They pulled up to a small ranch-style home, the sidewalk flanked by two queen palm trees, lit by solar lights in the grass. Relief crept into her tense muscles. Surely he wouldn't bring her to a beautiful place like this if he intended to harm her. "Your home is beautiful. What I can see of it in the dark."

"Thank you. Nancy's uncle left it to us a few years ago. Wait till you see the inside. My wife's the decorator. Come on in. I'll help you with your bags." Tom reached in the backseat and grabbed her duffel bag.