Warm Hearts (2 page)

“We'll have dinner another night,” she said.

“I'd offer to bring food over there, but your place is probably hot as hell. What if I come rescue you, myself? You must be dying.”

“I'm fine, just very tired.”

He was quiet for a moment. By the time he spoke again, he'd apparently acclimated himself to Caroline's refusal, because there was a jauntiness in his voice. “You're missing out on a good thing.”

“I know. Forgive me?”

“Don't I always?” he countered with such flippancy that she wanted to scream. But she didn't have the strength. Or the heart.

“Yes, Elliot.”

“We're on for Saturday, aren't we?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I'll talk with you later, then.”

“Right.”

“Think of me tonight?”

She left that one alone. “I'm really glad you got the project, Elliot.”

“So am I. Bye-bye.”

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, she stood for a minute with her head bowed, rubbing the throbbing spot between her eyes. It occurred to her that with increasing frequency Elliot made her throb that way. Too bad the spot was wrong.

Rolling her eyes at the twist of her thoughts, she made for the refrigerator and a pitcher of iced tea. She'd no sooner grasped the handle, though, when there was a knock at her door. Reluctantly closing the refrigerator, she shuffled across the room and put her eye to the peephole. The cone-shaped face with an absurdly large nose in the lead was that of her downstairs neighbor.

She opened the door with a smile. “Hi, Connie.” Her eyes widened. “You look super.” Freed from the distortion of the peephole lens, Connie Halpern's face was exceptionally pretty, but Caroline had already known that. What impressed her now was the chic and daringly cut lounging outfit Connie wore. But then, Caroline shouldn't have been surprised. Connie was forty-two and divorced. A small designer boutique in Georgetown Park kept her busy by day. A congressman from Idaho kept her busy by night. “Big date?”

“Mmm. And I promised him
café kirsch
,” Connie answered with a grimace, “but I'm out of eggs. You don't … by chance…” Her eyes finished the sentence by wandering toward the wall that was Caroline's kitchen.

“Sure do,” Caroline said. “How many?” she called over her shoulder as she returned to the refrigerator.

Connie was right behind her. “Two, if you have them. Whew, is it hot up here! What's wrong with the air conditioning?”

“There isn't any.”

“Why not?” Connie asked with endearing indignance.

“Ask Nestor Realty.”

“The creeps. My place is delightfully cool.” She took the eggs from Caroline. “I'd invite you down, but…”

“You have a special guest and I look like something the cat dragged home.”

“Actually,” Connie said, tipping her head and giving Caroline a good once-over, “you look kind of sexy. Where's Elliot?”

“Home.”

“Oh.”

Caroline smiled again and gave her friend a nudge. “Go on. He's waiting.”

But Connie just stood. “I feel guilty as hell leaving you up here alone and sweltering.”

“Alone I don't mind, and as for sweltering, it's really not that bad. I was just about to help myself to a tall glass of iced tea when you knocked.”

That was enough to let Connie off the hook. “Go to it, then, girl,” she said, heading for the door. “And thanks for the eggs. You're a lifesaver.” With a wave, she was gone.

Closing the door behind her, Caroline promptly poured the drink she'd promised herself. No sooner had she replaced the pitcher in the refrigerator, though, when the phone rang. She stared at it, wishing she had the nerve to either ignore it or unplug it. But the caller could be her mother again, this time in a real panic. Or her sister, Karen, saying that she'd gone into premature labor. Or there might be an emergency involving one of her clients.

“Hello?”

“Caroline?”

Her pulse faltered at the familiarity of the voice. It had been six months since she'd last heard it, but when one had been intimately involved with a man for over a year, there were certain things one didn't forget. Like his voice. And the promises he'd made … and those he'd broken.

“Ben.”

“How are you?”

“Just fine,” she said. Actually, she was trying to figure that one out. The initial sound of his voice had touched off a reaction, but it seemed to have been more one of surprise than anything else.

“I'm back in town.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. I finished up in Madrid.”

Benjamin Howe was a floating member of the diplomatic corps. Only after the fact had Caroline realized that he manipulated his assignments to coincide with his love life. Or vice versa.

“How was it?” she asked, plucking uncomfortably at those parts of her shift that were clinging to her skin.

“Interesting. But it's good to be home. Tell me about you. What have you been up to?”

She shrugged. “Same old thing, Ben.”

“Still counseling?”

“It's my field.”

He paused as though trying to think of something else to say. Or waiting for her to pick up the ball. Eventually he asked, “Have you had any interesting cases lately?”

“They're all interesting.”

“I mean, anything out of the ordinary?”

“Unfortunately, broken homes aren't out of the ordinary nowadays. Neither are disturbed children, unfortunately.”

“Fortunately for you, or you'd be out of business.”

She tried to take his words for the humor she knew he'd intended, but still they sounded crass. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable in ways that had nothing to do with her stifling apartment. Ben, who'd once fascinated her with his good looks and exciting position, no longer did. She wasn't sure why he'd called.

“I'd be very happy to be out of business,” she said, “if it meant there was less unhappiness in the world, just as I'm sure an oncologist would be thrilled by a cure for cancer.”

“Ah, so lofty.”

“No. But I do mean what I say.”

There was a long pause, then a quiet “Touché.”

Caroline's lips formed the reluctant beginnings of a smile. Ben had always been astute to the nuances of words. It was necessary in his work. Apparently he hadn't lost his touch while he'd been in Spain.

“You're still angry at me,” he decided. If his perceptiveness was off just a hair, it was because he couldn't see her indulgent expression.

“No.” She'd grown a lot since she and Ben had broken up. “I'm not angry.”

“But you haven't forgotten.”

“No woman forgets promises of undying love. That doesn't mean she has to wither and die when the promises are broken.”

“So you've moved on? That has to say something about the love you felt for me.”

“I never said that I loved you. Not once.”

In the lengthy silence that followed, Caroline tugged open a kitchen drawer, took out an elastic band and, balancing the phone between jaw and shoulder, scooped her hair into a high, makeshift ponytail. The ends were wet. Her neck was even wetter. She wanted that iced tea. She wanted the window seat. She wanted peace and quiet.

“No, you never did say that, did you?” Ben asked, then went on before she could agree. “But, look, I didn't call to rehash the past. I just thought it'd be fun to get together. How about a drink? For old times' sake, if nothing else.”

“Tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Uh, thanks, Ben, but I'm beat. Maybe another time.”

“How about tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “Late meetings.”

“Then Friday. I could meet you after work.”

“I'm sorry, but I have other plans.” Opening the freezer, she dropped several ice cubes in her drink, holding one out to rub on her neck.

“You really are seeing someone else?”

“You could say that,” she said with a touch of humor. The ice felt good, though it was melting on contact.

“Anyone I know?”

“I hope not. That'd be pretty uncomfortable, comparing notes and all.”

“Is he good?”

“At what?”

“You know.”

She hesitated for only the short amount of time it took to straighten her spine. “And you don't. Why don't we leave it at that?”

“You're trying to make me jealous. It won't work, Caroline. I know what we had, and it'd be pretty hard to beat.”

Caroline heard his defensiveness and surprised herself by feeling remorse. Then again, she should have expected it. She was a softy at heart. Ben had always prided himself on his sexual prowess. Teasing him about finding a replacement was hitting below the belt in more ways than one.

“I'm not denying what we had,” she conceded. “It was good while it lasted. But it's over.”

“So what's the harm in going out for a drink?”

“Maybe another time. Listen, I'm really glad you're back. I hope things go well.”

“What's his name?”

“Who?”

“Whoever you're seeing.”

She debated telling him to mind his own business, but she knew Ben too well for that. He was persistent. When he set his mind to something, he usually got it. He'd wanted her and he'd gotten her. He'd wanted out and he'd gotten out. If he wanted back in now, for whatever his reasons, she was going to have to close the door in his face.

The problem was that she wasn't naturally cruel or vengeful. She didn't want to hurt him; she simply wanted to be free of him. And the best way to do that, she realized, was to paint herself as being unavailable.

She could lie and say that she was wildly in love with another man, even engaged to be married, but she'd never been good at lying. On the other hand, she wasn't opposed to presenting the facts and letting him jump to conclusions.

“His name is Elliot Markham. He's a builder. We've been seeing each other for nearly four months.”

“Is it serious?”

Certainly not, she reflected. But if Elliot was to serve as a buffer, she couldn't be that blunt. So she said, “Give me a few more months, then ask me again. I'm being cautious this time around.”

“I see. Well—” he sighed “—maybe I'll call you another time and we'll have that drink.”

Persistence. There it was again. Or maybe it was pride. Ben didn't like being refused. Of course, chances were that before “another time” rolled around, he'd find another woman. Knowing Ben, she mused wryly, he'd invite her for the drink anyway and then have his new lady friend pick him up afterward.

“We'll see. Take care, Ben.”

“You, too, Caroline.”

This time when she hung up the phone, she did switch on the answering machine. There was something deceitful about doing that, but she was just hot and tired enough to stoop to deceit. She'd about had it with phone calls.

Ben. Of all people, she'd never expected to hear from him. Six months before, he'd made his plans without telling her, then hadn't looked back when he'd left. She'd been stunned and deeply hurt. Anger had eventually set in, but relief had followed. Ben wasn't right for her. She'd been too involved in the relationship to see it at the time, but it never would have worked. His phone call proved how thoroughly she was over him. And Elliot … well, she was grateful to have had him in the wings.

The ice cube she'd held was nothing more than lingering streaks of wetness on her neck, forehead and cheeks. Taking the glass of tea from the counter, she settled on the window seat with her shoulder and head braced against the wooden jamb. She tried to concentrate on the small stirrings of air, but there were few. The night was a thick blanket of heat. Little moved or breathed.

Unable to draw her mind into a total blank, she found herself thinking of life's little complications. There was her work, for one thing. On the plus side was her love of it. She was in partnership with three other therapists; their offices were in newly renovated and comfortable quarters within walking distance of her apartment. When she'd first joined the practice, she'd assumed that her work would consist of references from her partners, who'd already established themselves in the area. And indeed, that was how she'd started. But one client had led to another, and to a consulting position at a local prep school, and to leadership of a group session, and to more clients. Her practice was full, evenly split between children and adults. She found it incredibly rewarding.

There were days like today, though, when things just hadn't worked. Her eight-o'clock appointment, a troubled high-school junior, had stood her up. Her eleven-o'clock appointment, a woman struggling to make her marriage work, had spent the hour evading issues of dependency by asking how Caroline could possibly understand what she was going through if she'd never been married herself. Her three-o'clock appointment, a ten-year-old girl, refused to talk. And her four-o'clock appointment, a divorced pair whose two children she was also counseling, skirted every pertinent issue by accusing her of a conflict of interest in working with the whole family. It didn't matter that they'd been the ones to initially request it; when the therapist herself became a negative factor in the proceedings, the prognosis was poor. Though Caroline had promptly referred the parents to one of her partners, she'd been saddened by the loss of therapy time and effort.

After swirling the ice cubes around in her glass, she took several sips of tea. The drink soothed her throat but did little to cool her thoughts. Frustration at work was part of the job. Even on the best of days, the intense concentration she gave her patients was draining. Still, when four setbacks occurred in an eight-hour span, she was discouraged.

A trickle of sweat crept into the hollow between her breasts. She dabbed at it lightly with her shift, then, prying the undersides of her thighs from the seat, drew up her knees into a more comfortable pose.