Sleeping in Eden (37 page)

“I don't feel right giving out personal information.” Angela gave a sad shrug and took the small box out of her purse. “I'll leave this with you, then. You'll contact the owner, won't you?”

Mike wrinkled his forehead at the thought. It was evident he found the idea of playing the part of an unwilling detective distasteful. “I don't really have time to track down strangers,” he sighed, “but maybe just this once.”

There was a hushed moment as Mike's finger trailed the smudged invoice. He had written in pencil and the lead was obscured in some places. Lucas sent up wordless prayers and crossed his fingers for good measure. “Got something to write with?” Mike finally asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Angela produced a pen from her purse and positioned her hand to scribble the information on the lid of the jewelry box.

“Looks like the person who purchased it was a Mr. Jess Langbroek.” Mike blew an amused breath between his teeth and glanced up at them. “Bought it just over a decade ago for a hundred fifty dollars.”

Angela and Lucas were supposed to be entertained at the
bit of trivia, but the jeweler's joke backfired on him, because suddenly he realized that Angela might not appreciate buying a similar ring at such an inflated price. “It had an opal,” he rushed to explain. “A very tiny stone. Flawed. And that was ten years ago . . .”

But Angela couldn't have cared less. “Do you remember him?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Lucas could detect the slight strain in her voice, but he was convinced Mike didn't notice a thing. “Was he young or old?”

Mike lifted one shoulder toward his ear, seemingly relieved that Angela wasn't going to make a stink about his prices. “I've had hundreds of clients, ma'am. I have no recollection whatsoever of a Jess Langbroek.”

“Is there an address?”

He gave her a shrewd smile. “Can't say I'm comfortable giving out that kind of information. He's more or less local, I'll tell you that. But if you're serious about finding him, you're going to have to do the rest.”

“A telephone number? An e-mail address?”

“Nope,” Mike said, heaving the book closed and laying his hands on top of it with a decidedly protective air. “Anything else I can do for you folks?”

Lucas watched as Angela slid the jewelry box back into her purse and dazzled the man across from them with another of her luminous smiles. “No,” she purred. “You've been so helpful. Thank you.” And then she leaned over the counter and kissed him lightly, European style, on each cheek.

As they left, Lucas had no doubt that when Michael Kane bothered to recollect their unusual visit to his store, the edges of his memory would be blurred by the brilliance of the woman who had brushed his stubbly wrinkles with her kiss. The fact that they had solicited information about the ring would be completely overshadowed by the fond impossibility of her.

During the brisk but silent walk back to the car, Lucas could feel the excitement bounce between them, a red-hot ball of energy that made him want to shout. But they contained themselves, remembering even to walk close in case the jeweler chose to watch them retreat. When they were behind closed doors, however, all their careful calm erupted in a disbelieving frenzy of celebration.

“We have a name!” Angela shrieked.

Lucas grinned. Without thinking, he raised his hand palm out and Angela slapped it in triumph. The smack of their high five echoed through the car, and she hit him again and again, pounding at his hand with her fists until he laughed and told her that he was a pencil pusher, not a boxer. “My patients would appreciate it if you wouldn't damage the goods.”

She smiled at that, a wide, toothy look of delight that slowly faded into something softer. There was a moment of utter stillness in the car, and then Angela dropped her eyes and reached for his hand. This time, she wove her fingers through his, and when he didn't immediately pull away, she pressed the tangle of their twined knuckles to her lips. In a heartbeat, she was beyond the barrier of their hands, breathing against his cheek, her lips grazing the spot where the corner of his mouth fell into a shallow dimple.

Spurred out of immobility, Lucas jerked his fingers from her grip and banged his head on the driver's-side window of his frost-covered car in his rush to get away. He brushed his cheek with his thumb, trying to erase the evidence of her lips, and then clutched his hands in his lap as if she had stung him with her tender kiss. He didn't know how to react, what to do or say, and his mouth slowly opened and closed in a caricature of a dumb fish.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, her quiet voice cracking. “I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Lucas exclaimed, much louder than he meant to. “An accident is something that just happens, that sneaks up on you, that you can't stop.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Exactly.”

“Exactly what?”

Angela covered her face with her hands and moaned. “Are you really that stupid, Lucas? 'Cause I'd rather not spell it out for you.”

“Spell it out for me.”

Sweeping her hands through her hair, she ducked her head and sighed. Then she took a deep breath and gathered the strength to look him straight in the eye. “No. Some things are better left unsaid.”

Lucas felt his jaw drop but couldn't seem to lift it.

“Oh, come on.” Angela rolled her eyes. “It's your run-of-the-mill victim transference. Isn't your wife a social worker? Don't you talk about these things? My daddy didn't love me and I never had a strong male role model . . .” Her words were bitter, and as Lucas watched, her eyes filled with angry tears. “You're a great husband, Lucas. You love your wife. You're gentle and handsome and kind. You were the first man in my life who wasn't completely messed up. And I've always wanted to be a part of that. A part of something whole and healthy.”

“I'm not . . . whole and healthy. I'm messed up,” Lucas said, surprised to hear himself speak.

Angela managed a thin smile in spite of the wetness shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Yes, you are,” she agreed. “Very messed up. Just like the rest of us. And I'm not really in love with you. Not anymore. That's what a good counselor can do for you.”

“You were in love with me?” Lucas stammered.

She snorted and carefully dabbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “You are so clueless.”

“You just told me that you're in love with me!”

“Was,” Angela corrected. “I was in love with you. Or I thought I was. Maybe I'm still getting over it a little. Maybe I'll always be getting over it.”

“I don't get it.”

She gave him a wicked half grin. “I was in love with Jenna, too.”

“You're a lesbian?” Lucas croaked.

At this, Angela laughed so hard, the tears that had threatened to spill streamed down her cheeks.

“You're not a lesbian?”

“No,” she finally assured him, still chuckling. “I mean that I loved the both of you. Like parents in a way, but you weren't old enough to be my parents. And like mentors, I suppose, because all my life I wanted to be just like you. And sometimes I loved you like friends, and sometimes I loved you because you were the only people that God put in my life to love me back. Get it?”

Lucas nodded. “I think I do.” He paused, bit the inside of his lip. “But you . . .”

“Tried to seduce you?” Angela finished. She picked at a buckle on her purse and avoided his eyes as much as he tried to evade hers. “I'm sorry,” she said after a moment. “Old habits die hard, and it's difficult for me not to try and gain the upper hand in any situation by using what I've been given. My body, my face, my charm.”

He pondered that for a moment. “Well,” he said eventually, “someone certainly thinks highly of herself.”

“You made a joke!” Angela applauded him. “That was funny, Lucas. Well done.”

“I'm a funny guy,” Lucas protested. “I make jokes.”

“No, you don't.”

“Sometimes.”

“Rarely. Admit it, you're uptight.”

Lucas frowned. “I prefer ‘conscientious.' ” He chanced a peek at Angela and saw her narrowing her eyes at him with an almost palpable skepticism. Raising his hands in defeat, he said, “Fine. You caught me. I'm uptight. But it's just because I want to do the right thing.”

“How do you know what the right thing is?”

“It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I'm quite sure you have a conscience, too.”

Angela nodded. “And yet you took the ring.”

“Character malfunction.” Lucas sighed, trying to be droll.

But Angela didn't laugh. Instead, she dug in her purse and produced the box that held the ring. Flipping open the top, she plucked it out with her thumb and forefinger and offered it to Lucas. “Maybe it's not always about being right,” she said softly, watching his face with a look he couldn't quite decipher. “Maybe, sometimes, it's about being good.”

“There's a difference?” Lucas said trying to lighten the mood. He accepted the ring and stuck it in his pocket without looking at it.

“It wasn't right to take the ring, was it?” The question was rhetorical; Lucas didn't bother to answer. “But if this name leads us in the right direction and we figure out who she was, that would be a good thing, right?”

Maybe. Maybe not. Did they have any idea what they were getting themselves into? Had he paused for even a second to consider the implications of his selfish, impulsive act of potentially damning theft? If he had known that taking the ring would lead him to a parking lot in Omaha where a woman ten years his junior would reach across the car and tempt him, again, would he have taken it? Lucas shivered, suddenly aware of the cold, and reached to start the car. “I get it,” he said, “but I'm not in the mood for a theological debate with you.”

“It's not theology.”

“I'm not in the mood for an ethical, philosophical, existential, metaphysical, or theological debate with you.” He pressed his lips together in a smile of finality. “Look, I think we've lost sight of our goal. We got excited, we went a little crazy, but we're okay now. It's been enlightening.” He paused, his hand on the gearshift and his countenance declaring the subject closed. “We okay?”

Angela held her tongue, and since Lucas didn't want to think anymore about what had happened, he chose to interpret her silence as assent.

“Good,” he said, looking over his shoulder and putting the car in reverse. “Because my mystery woman is ready to be named.”

Lucas started when he felt her hand on his arm in spite of what they had just been through. His stomach sunk a little, but when he turned to confront her, Angela's eyes were wide and serious, her expression earnest.

“Your mystery woman already has a name,” she said. “It's Jenna. I wouldn't forget that if I were you.”

Because Lucas didn't know what to say, he didn't say anything at all.

M
eg liked her new roommate. Katie was the antithesis of a California girl, with jet hair and skin the color of the ivory-rose underside of the shell Meg had found on the beach. She was also the most self-assured person Meg had ever met, but her confidence made her selfless and friendly, quick to smile and happy to forge her own path in life.

Katie wore jeans when it was ninety degrees, but occasionally forgot to don shoes when she left the apartment. Her lips were striking, no matter the time of day, in a shade of cheap Revlon lipstick that reminded Meg of apples, so shiny and smooth, it seemed a reflection played off the pout of her ample mouth. Best of all, her long arms and the soft curve of her shoulders and upper back were resplendent with a rabble of tiny butterfly tattoos in the colors of a pastel rainbow. Meg often looked at her friend and was overwhelmed with a feeling of serenity, as if the girl was so gentle, so safe, she collected fragile, winged wonders around her.