Like Jazz (21 page)

Sarah shifted in her seat, reached for her glass, and stared at the red liquid as she swirled it several times before looking across to me. “I know it isn’t fair of me, Cazz, because you couldn’t help it. Your parents moved and you had to go with them. But part of me never forgave you for leaving without saying good-bye. I felt betrayed. You didn’t have a choice in leaving, but you had a choice in keeping in touch. And you didn’t. You just…left.” She took a sip of wine and set her glass down before meeting my eyes. “I think to a certain extent, it still colors my interaction with you, whether or not it’s fair of me.”

The hurt took over and made me choke down the apology I wanted to offer. We were in a public place, and I couldn’t begin to explain to Sarah why I didn’t call or write after my family left L.A. I picked up a piece of focaccia, dropped it onto the plate in front of me, and tore off a little section. I was suddenly not hungry, but wanted a socially acceptable reason to avert my eyes in an effort not to call attention to how it felt to hear her say she didn’t trust me. I tossed the bread into my mouth and chewed thoroughly, staring at the plate all the while, willing myself not to shake my head in frustration. My throat felt constricted and swallowing was difficult. I tore off another piece, preparing to repeat the process, when I felt a hand on my forearm.

“Cazz.” Sarah kept hold of me until I met her eyes. “Don’t.” She released my arm.

I dropped the bread back onto the plate and forced myself not to cross my arms. “Don’t what?”

“My having an issue trusting you isn’t the same as you not being trustworthy. It’s also not exclusive to you. Don’t assume I don’t trust you. It’s just not easy for me, for a variety of reasons.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and stared into my lap, wondering how to respond. I felt her hand on my forearm again and looked up.

“Can you accept that? And know that I’m trying?”

Those last two words were a salve to my distressed ego. They helped dissolve the tightness in my abdomen and made me feel I’d received some sort of special pardon. Sarah wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable. Plus, my silence after leaving L.A. wasn’t exactly easy to understand, even if I’d bothered to explain, which I never had. And she was telling me how she was feeling, which in and of itself was a good thing, versus closing herself off from me.

I gave her a tiny smile and nodded.

At one point during dinner, Sarah asked how I liked my work at the Foundation. I hadn’t wanted to discuss it with her because I didn’t want to have to lie. I already felt guilty for withholding information from her, and it grew exponentially when she said she wanted to trust me, especially knowing now how difficult it was for her. I was loath to do anything to break that trust, however tenuous, but felt obligated not to come clean about my assignment since success in my field demanded total confidentiality.

Part of me felt I could trust her with the truth, but another part of me was all too aware that I knew virtually nothing about Sarah’s relationship to her colleagues. Especially Gregory Morrison. I didn’t want to plant any seeds of doubt that might cause her to become skeptical of anyone she worked with. I recalled Carol telling me that most of the Foundation’s employees had worked there over ten years, and I was sure they were a tight-knit group. I didn’t want Sarah’s knowledge of my assignment to come between her and anyone she cared about, especially before I was one hundred percent sure about what was going on and who was responsible. After everything Sarah was going through with her father’s recent death, I’d even begun to regret the investigation since I didn’t want her to experience any more loss in her life, should the case conclude with one of her associates being taken into custody. However justified from a criminal-wrongdoing standpoint, such an outcome would wound her deeply.

I tried for nonchalance. “It’s fine. The people are nice. The work’s steady.”

“And how’s the job hunt going?” Sarah asked as she took a bite of caprese salad.

My eyebrows lifted as I repeated her words. “Job hunt?”

“I thought this was an in-between thing for you.”

I glanced down to my plate and pushed some butternut-squash ravioli around with my fork, racking my brain for the background details of my assignment. I couldn’t recall Commander Ashby or anyone telling me I was at the Foundation under the guise of temp work. Customarily when my pilot-program colleagues and I were hired into a finance organization, the premise was that ours was a new, permanent position, even if we were on the temp-to-perm track. Although we would ultimately end up leaving the organization within a matter of weeks, we never let it be known that we expected anything other than full-time, long-term employment.

“Um, well, I guess it’s true that nonprofit accounting isn’t my expertise,” I said, cutting a piece of ravioli with my fork.

“Hmm,” Sarah murmured. I assumed she expected me to expand on my comment as several moments passed before she spoke again. “And how do you know Jim?”

“Jim?”

“Ashby.”

Sarah swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes focused on the deep-red liquid. It was the color certain to be rising to my cheeks right about now.
Damn.
Sarah had confirmed what I suspected: Luke Perkins was the personal friend to whom Commander Ashby had alluded. I focused on my plate and again fumbled around in my head trying to come up with the tidbits of how I was supposed to be connected to Jim Ashby. Nothing registered. Commander Ashby had failed to disclose several important pieces of information that would have prepared me for such questions. At a loss as to how to respond, I opted for a minimal, honest reply.

“I don’t, really. Know him, that is. We’ve met.”

“Interesting. Greg mentioned you’re the niece of a friend of my dad’s, but Dad told me you were referred by Jim, who has no siblings.”

I kept my eyes on Sarah, trying not to give away my discomfort with the cracks in my story. She arched an eyebrow and studied me. It seemed to dawn on both of us that Sarah’s father must have told Morrison and Sarah two different things when he opted to bring me on board. That was intriguing for a couple reasons. First, it meant Luke had reservations about Morrison. Second, it meant Luke had given both of them a heads-up of my hiring, which accounted for Sarah’s override of Morrison when I initially arrived. Unfortunately, it was also painfully obvious I hadn’t been forthcoming with Sarah as to the true nature of my employment.

“Huh,” I said, refocusing on my food. Thankfully, she let it go. It was good I hadn’t been forced to lie to her, but unsettling because her line of questioning indicated she knew I was withholding information.

“Tell me more about the grant-making side of the operation,” I said, as we browsed the dessert menu.

Sarah’s eyes darted up and she cocked her head to the side. “Why?” There was no sarcasm or irony in her question, only genuine curiosity. “It’s hardly glamorous. Not like the fund-raising events.”

I set my menu down to focus my attention exclusively on Sarah. “Because it’s important to you. If I had to guess, I’d say if you never had to attend another fund-raiser, it couldn’t be too soon. And if I had to make another guess, I’d say finding ways to help the people the Foundation supports is the reason you wake up in the morning, the last thing on your mind before sleep, and the only thing that explains the gleam in your eyes when you press the flesh at those events. It certainly isn’t the scintillating conversation.” I rolled my eyes, then finished my train of thought. “Thank God you’re able to keep it all in perspective when you attend those blasted soirees and feign delight all evening. You amaze me. Truly. I don’t know how you do it.”

I scanned the dessert options for a few seconds before peering back up at Sarah, growing concerned as her lips slightly trembled and she bit the lower one as if trying to still it. Telltale moisture crept into those wondrous light-blue eyes, eyes that hadn’t left me during my little monologue. Shit. I’d probably offended her.

“What is it?” I asked.

She slightly shook her head as she lowered it to refocus on the menu.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head again but didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Time to backtrack. “Those events are probably super fun, and it’s only me that finds them a little trying. I know how important they are to the Foundation and I shouldn’t be so quick to—”

Sarah put her hand on mine. “Stop.”

“I didn’t mean—” I started anew and tried to pull my hand away, but she tightened her grip.

“Just…stop,” she said, her attention shifting to where her hand rested on mine. Turning my hand palm up, she cupped my fingers in hers. She focused on our hands a moment longer before meeting my eyes and gently squeezing my fingers. “Thank you,” she said with a small, sad smile. She squeezed my hand again before removing it. “You nailed it,” she said softly. “All of it.”

But if I was right, why did she look so sad?

The waiter swung by to inquire whether we were interested in dessert.

“Share?” Sarah asked me.

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Tiramisu or profiteroles?”

Either sounded heavenly. I looked up at the waiter. “What do you recommend?”

“If you’re only ordering one, go with the tiramisu. If you don’t like it, I’ll comp it,” he said.

I took the bait. “How many have you comped this week?”

He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

That sealed the deal. “Tiramisu, please. Two forks.” I grinned back.

“Excellent choice,” he said as he plucked the menus from our hands and left us again.

My smile waned as I settled my gaze on Sarah’s face. “As much as I like to be right, I’ve obviously said something to upset you, and I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t upset me.” Smiling that doleful smile again, she set her wineglass in front of her and started to spin it clockwise in small increments, giving it her full attention. She spoke to her glass. “I’m just…it’s a little disconcerting how well you seem to…In any case, I’m not upset. Maybe a little sad, but not because of anything you said.” She tried to lighten the mood by offering a tepid smile. “Probably premenstrual.”

Sarah was clearly bothered by something but seemed to want to spare me the gory details.

I took a few moments before responding. “Fair enough. But, please. Enlighten me. Tell me about your work. Educate me about the grant-making side of things. Please.”

She gave me a long stare before returning to the important task of spinning her wineglass via snaps of her fingers along the stem at the base.

“As you know, the Kindle Hope Foundation focuses on issues like human rights, education, civic engagement, reproductive health, community sustainability, and freedom of expression. We focus our giving on niche areas and organizations that have difficulty getting funding from other sources. Our preference is to make small grants that can have a large impact on individual lives.” Sarah stopped turning her wineglass and shifted her gaze to me. “Bored yet?”

Sarah was nothing short of captivating when she talked about her work, so I was anything but bored. I gave her a smile but held my verbal reply as the waiter approached. He set down two forks and a small white plate housing a generous piece of tiramisu dribbled with chocolate sauce. “Enjoy,” he said as he departed.

I lifted a fork and sliced a piece of the decadent-looking dessert. “Please, continue.”

She narrowed her eyes warily at me for a moment before proceeding. As she progressed with her narration, she became more animated, using her hands for emphasis as she explained how impactful the Foundation had been and could continue to be a driving force for hope and change for hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. With almost childlike reverie, she lost herself in stories that told of myriad ways the Foundation was making a positive difference in people’s lives. Watching Sarah tell me about this aspect of her life was like imagining myself sitting in the eye of a hurricane from where I could safely watch the flurry of movement surrounding me, be amazed at its power to transform everything it touched, yet feel completely secure in the knowledge that nothing could impact its progression. Sarah was indeed a force of nature. A force for good.

I’d eaten my half of the tiramisu long before she took her first bite, so engaged was she in telling me about certain organizations she’d located that helped further the Foundation’s mission. She finally lifted her fork. “Now aren’t you sorry you asked?” She ate a bite, closed her eyes, and moaned with pleasure. In and of itself, the sight and sound was incredibly tantalizing. But coming on the heels of hearing what moved her so deeply, what she’d dedicated her life to, the compassion in her voice as she talked about the hardship so many of the Foundation’s beneficiaries endured, and the humility she conveyed as she downplayed her role in helping them, Sarah was the epitome of sexy. Hearing that moan made me have to stifle one of my own.

For the last umpteen minutes, all traces of sadness, stress, and hard work faded, giving her face a youthful glow. Her eyes had transformed into wondrous pools I wanted to dive into. She spoke with insight and confidence, and exuded an energy and excitement that was truly joyful. She was absolutely riveting. When her eyes landed on mine and focused on me, she swallowed hard and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

I must have been looking at her like she was the next course. At this realization, I fumbled for something to say and dumbly ignored her question. “Tasty.” Sarah gave me a mischievous smile as her other eyebrow joined its counterpart. Warmth rushed to my cheeks as I realized how that might have sounded. “The tiramisu,” I quickly added. “It’s tasty, isn’t it?”

Sarah dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I have to say, that’s not the reaction I typically get when I talk about grant-making. Usually I watch as eyes roll back into heads, not burn into me like lances.”

My hand shot out for my water glass in a desperate attempt to get my hormones to chill. After taking a large swig, I briefly offered my best apologetic smile, then focused on the napkin in my lap that was suddenly incredibly interesting.