Think About Love (29 page)

"But she had spasms, her heart—"

"Two top cardiologists went over her, and they've determined that last week's episode was due to pericarditis."

"Peri—what's that?" asked Sam.

"Talk English," said Cal.

"Pericarditis, an inflammation of the sack that surrounds the heart—an infection of the heart cavity. There's been no damage to the heart. Her symptoms were similar to congestive heart failure, but her fever was the biggest clue, that and the fact that she had no pain. She's on heavy-duty antibiotics to clear the last of the infection up and she'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with Dorothy's heart, Sam. She's as healthy as you or I."

"No nursing home," said Dorothy. "I told him all along that I didn't need a nursing home."

Samantha felt Cal's hand at her waist. She wanted to reach back and grip his hand, but she remembered the look on his face as he'd opened the lawyer's door for her.

Dorothy turned and Samantha saw that Kippy had a fistful of gray hair clenched in her hand.

"Moonbeam, honey, this means I'm perfectly capable of looking after Kippy. It means the Ministry has no reason to take Kippy from me, and you and your husband can adjust to your marriage the way God meant, just the two of you."

"Grandma...." She stepped away from Cal's touch. If anyone touched her at all, she thought she might break down in tears, and she mustn't.

"I'm not a fool," said Dorothy. "I'll be seventy this year. I expect to be healthy for another twenty years—my mother lived to ninety-five. But I won't risk Kippy like this again. I've been talking to Dexter. He tells me the medical reports Adrienne brought will squelch the problem. I'll be able to get Kippy back, but I won't get any younger. We need to set up formal joint custody, you and I, so this custody problem won't happen again."

Kippy reached out for Samantha. As the baby settled into her arms, Samantha fought tears. In every way that counted, Dorothy was Kippy's mother. Samantha had been a stand-in, just a substitute.

"I'm so glad you're not sick, Grandma. But are you sure you don't need me to stay? To help."

"I'll be fine. I'll get Diana to baby-sit a few hours each day until I stop needing an afternoon nap. The specialist says that shouldn't be more than a week. Honey." Dorothy patted her cheek. "I know you love Kippy. You can visit her. She can visit you and Cal."

Samantha kissed Dorothy's cheek. She wouldn't cry. She
wouldn't.
"I know she belongs with you. I'll visit more often, and if you and Kippy ever need me, I'll be here."

She lost the battle with her tears, but thankfully Dorothy didn't see because Dexter came out just then.

"Got the new documents ready," he said to Dorothy and Samantha. "Let's go. We're due in court in twenty minutes."

Cal touched her shoulder when her tears threatened to get out of control. She pulled away and hugged the baby closer.
 

Behind her, Adrienne said, "So, brother, I suppose you want your wheels back."

He must have taken his keys from Adrienne, because when they drove to the courthouse, Cal and Adrienne went in his Porsche, leaving Samantha, Dorothy and Kippy to take Samantha's car.

Dorothy placed her hand on Samantha's arm in the car.

"Honey, are you OK with this?"

She turned to Dorothy. "I started feeling like her mother." She clasped Dorothy's hand. "She's lucky to have you. Sarah and I were lucky. She'll have me, too, from now on. I'll be more than a monthly visitor. I promise."

"You and Cal will have your own children."

"I'm OK, Grandma. Don't worry about me."

Cal was waiting for her at the courthouse. He took her arm when they were called into family court. When they sat down, she eased away from him. Last night, she'd thought she needed him, that he was part of her. Maybe that's why he'd said last night was a mistake. She'd clung too much, been too needy.

The truth was, the man-woman thing didn't work for her. First she'd picked Howard, who turned into a major manipulator. Then Cal, who was so exactly perfect, except it wasn't working.

The judge reviewed Dorothy's medical certificates, Dexter's presentation. He questioned Dorothy, Samantha, and Brenda, then expressed himself satisfied that Dorothy and Samantha should share joint custody.

Samantha walked out of the courtroom numbly. It was over. Kippy would go home with Dorothy. Cal would—she didn't know what Cal would do, but she supposed she'd be expected to turn up at Tremaine's for work within a couple of days.

"I need to talk to you." Cal's voice, his hand on her arm as she left the courtroom. The others had flooded out of the building, the baby in Dorothy's arms. Cal walked her through the crowded outer waiting room to the unoccupied alcove that led outside.

He wasn't smiling, and she wondered if they'd ever figure out how to smile at each other again.

"What is it you want, Sam?"

This morning, she could have told him her needs, but now she could only shake her head. She saw a muscle jerk in his jaw and he said, "I can't do this any longer."

She'd thought she felt love, but it couldn't be, because she stared at him and felt nothing. He crammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He must have changed his shirt after feeding Kippy this morning, because there were no traces of baby cereal on the collar.

"I was in love with you. I thought I could wait, believed that if I proved to you that I love you, that you'd learn to trust me, to trust us. I was wrong."

"Cal, I want—"

"I'm not willing to wait any longer, Sam. I can't wake up one more morning after having you in my arms, all fire and love, only to find myself picking my way through the ice in your eyes."

He loved her. He did. Why didn't she feel joy?

I was in love with you.
That's what he'd said. Was, past tense.

"I'm not sure I'll ever be free of you, but I can't take any more of this. You're a coward, Sam, a twenty-four carat, gold-plated coward."

"Cal, I—I suppose I am."

His face seemed to harden with her words. "You're afraid of me, of love, of giving up control. What do you think is going to happen? What happened last night? Do you think I'm going to swallow you whole?" He laughed harshly. "When you took me in the shower, I thought I'd never breathe again. You cracked me so wide open—and it wasn't the damned
sex!
It was you, on your knees, looking up at me with your eyes filled with love."

How could she feel so frozen when tears pressed against her eyes?

"It's fake, isn't it, Sam? Because when it comes to the crux, you're gone. Just like your damned mother. You don't walk out, but you leave just the same. You leave your body and your eyes behind, and you hide yourself from me."

Her eyes burned and she couldn't talk for the lump growing in her throat, but she wouldn't cry. If she kept blinking, she wouldn't cry.

"If this is a battle for control—let's call it a war—then you take the gold medal, Sam. You're brave enough when it comes to bats and battles of will. But you're so afraid of losing control, you're too much of a coward to let yourself love. Because you know damned well that you can't love without being vulnerable, and you'd rather live your cold life, alone, trapped in the past with your miserable childhood."

"Cal, please—" She wasn't supposed to feel pain, but it shafted through her with every word.

"You've kept control, Sam, kept yourself safe from love. But you're out of control regardless, and that's a hell of a situation, because you're the lady that can't stand to give up control. You're so damned trapped in your own cage that you don't even know it's a cage."

The door to the outside world opened and a woman walked in. She crossed the hall with a clatter of high heels and disappeared through the door. Cal and Samantha stared at each other in silence, and she knew that if she managed to walk out of this building, she wouldn't be able to face him again.

She managed to say, "I think we should dissolve our contract."

"What about the marriage?"

"The marriage, too," she whispered. "I'll leave Tremaine's, find you someone to replace me."

He angled his head. "Get someone else at Mirimar to look after it."

"I'll have to tidy up some, get things ready in the office for someone else to look after."

There was nothing in his face, and his eyes were coldly impenetrable as he said, "I'll be in New York for a few days."

She reached out her hand, couldn't seem to stop the gesture.

Cal turned away and she stood rooted in the family court corridor, watching him walk out of the building, out of her life, her hand stretched out to grip empty air.

Cal got his portable computer from Sam's car and fished Dorothy's bag from the trunk. He stopped in front of Dorothy, who was holding Kippy.

"Can I say good-bye to her?"

Dorothy handed the baby to him, and Kippy settled in his arms and started babbling. Dorothy demanded, "What's wrong with you and my granddaughter?"

He lifted the baby and said softly, "Have a good life, kid."

Kippy gurgled in return, and he handed her back to Dorothy. Behind her, Samantha climbed into the driver's seat of the Honda, her face stiff.

"What have you two fools done?" demanded Dorothy.

Cal couldn't think of anything to say. He shrugged and said, "I've talked to the service shop on Gabriola. They're going to be fixing your car tomorrow. They'll give you a loaner."

Behind him, Sam started the engine.

"You're not coming back to Gabriola with Sam?" demanded Dorothy.

"No."

Dorothy glowered. "You're walking out on her?"

"I guess that's true."

"What is it? Five days? I thought you were a fighter, not a quitter."

"I thought so, too." He hadn't imagined how hard it would be, every time he got to Sam, every time he thought he'd won her, facing that coldness in her eyes afterward. "Take care of yourself, Dorothy."

Dorothy glared at him. "You're a fool, young man."

When he got in the Porsche, Adrienne said much the same. "I thought you were driving back to Seattle with Samantha?"

"No. With you."

"You've had a fight? That's it? You've had a fight?"

He started the car and shoved it into first. The Porsche took the road with a snarl.

"Why aren't you back there with her, fixing it?"

He shoved into second gear and laid rubber turning onto Commercial Street. "You can't fight with someone who's not there."

"You damned fool!" Adrienne settled herself in the passenger seat, arms crossed and face filled with impatience. "You' re the one who hasn't been there. Ever since you walked into the lawyer's office, your face has been as rigid as one of those guys guarding Buckingham Palace in London. How the hell's a woman to talk to you when you look like that?"

He made an illegal left turn on Commercial Street.

"You're a fool," she said. "You're in love with her, and you're throwing it away."

"I didn't do the throwing," he growled, but he wasn't sure it was true. Last night had been the real mistake. She needed her defenses, needed careful wooing to learn to trust him, to trust herself to let go, to allow love to take control. But last night he'd deliberately stripped every defense from her. He'd made her cry, and he'd seen her eyes afterward.

If that weren't enough, he'd made a mess of the scene outside the courtroom. He'd meant to suggest they go back a few steps and take it slow. But she'd looked at him and he'd felt the overwhelming need to strip away the stiffness, the distrust. And he'd known that if he promised to go very slowly, very carefully, he wasn't all that sure he'd be able to pull it off. Look at last night! He'd meant to find a crack in her mask, but he'd gone way too far.

No wonder she couldn't trust him. He'd told her she could safely kiss him, that they weren't going to make love. Then he'd deliberately used her sleepy vulnerability to get under her skin.

If he hadn't done irreparable damage last night, that scene in the law courts entrance must have finished it. He'd said things that might be true, or half true, but he should never have done it that way. A woman who grew up being dragged around by an out-of-control mother had every reason to have some control issues. Any man who loved her owed it to her to understand, to make allowances.

Not to attack her and call her a coward.

"You're a fool," muttered Adrienne again.

Yeah, he was. Not only had he proved to the woman he loved that she couldn't trust him, he'd topped it off by ranting like an out-of-control adolescent about all the things that were wrong with her, when the blame lay right here, in Cal Tremaine. He should have waited, kept his hands off her last night the way she'd asked; should have suggested they take a lot of time, that they go back to Seattle and date, take it one slow step at a time.

Instead, he'd attacked her, and he'd lost her completely.

Chapter Thirteen