Romantic Interludes Part 18

"He's Mom's friend!" Hannah informed the greeter.

April paled before red circles appeared on her cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Old friend. Our moms were good friends and all that, back when we were kids."

"It's good to be able to celebrate Christmas with friends," Justin said, trying to give April time to compose herself. From within the wors.h.i.+p center came the sounds of "O Come, All Ye Faithful."

"Ah, here's a wors.h.i.+p order. Sounds like they're ready."

With a feeling of reprieve, Justin smilingly accepted what was offered and followed April and Hannah into the sanctuary. Candles flickered on the raised platform at the front of the room and a choir dressed in black, red, and white paraded in from side doors as April looked for a pew.

Finding one, she halted and looked unsure. Justin reached over Hannah's head and tapped April on the shoulder-it had been the first time he had touched her since the last Fourth of July barbecue they had both attended, long ago in another life. With a quick angle of his head, he silently asked if he should go in first. He was feeling totally on edge ever since helping Hannah out of the car, earlier. April was acting very p.r.i.c.kly, and he didn't quite know what to do about that.

She apparently took his movement as an indicator that she should enter first. As if determined to keep her distance as great as possible, April arranged it so that Hannah sat between herself and Justin. He exchanged smiles with Hannah, more tentative ones with April, and took a deep breath to do his best to calm himself before wors.h.i.+p started.

He wanted to enjoy this, the opportunity to celebrate Christmas with the woman he'd wanted for half his life.

Hannah opened one present-a magic kit of the "master the sleight of hand card trick" variety-before April put her to bed. Justin didn't know if the girl picked up on the tension in the air of her home or if she had been just too excited to notice. Justin hated that he had been the cause of possibly darkening a family time between them, but he had not been the one to suggest he stayed to talk, either.

"Be right back," April had said, her voice teasing though her eyes were serious.

Energy vibrating uncomfortably under his skin, he paced back and forth in her living room. It was an old house, and the living room felt old in the way an historical building felt old. The stone hearth, the antique-looking stockings hanging on cast-iron hooks, the Victorian feel to the trim at the top of the walls-wainscoting, he thought it was called-all told him that April wanted her house to have a unified feel to it.

She had always been good about details and had studied history in college, he remembered. This seemed to suit her. But so far away from California? He had to wonder what that was all about. Her husband had worked out of Los Angeles-his business details had been a matter of public record.

What did she want to talk to him about? He could ask her about the move since he hadn't done so in the past week of their renewed communications. Those eggsh.e.l.ls he was walking on could break any minute.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Clark!" Hannah's voice echoed through the halls and into the living room, making him smile. He wondered if this was a sign that maybe things would work out this time. He didn't respond, though, because he felt that would be considered even more intrusive by his hostess and he was already preparing for a battle on one front with her.

She re-entered the room, hands woven together in front of her. "Sorry about Hannah," she began.

He held up a hand and shook his head. "She's terrific. Can't imagine why you'd be apologizing. So . . . why did you ask me to stay?"

Her face flamed and she started to toy with the stocking on the mantle that had "Mom" embroidered on it. "I wondered what was going on with you."

"Pardon?" What he wanted was to lean against the mantle, close enough to feel her hair if she tossed her head. What he did was stand by the Christmas tree so she didn't feel crowded in the least. He estimated that six feet separated them. "What do you mean?" Had she objected to his coming with them? No, she'd invited him purposefully. The only thing he could remember that seemed to set her off was when he held his hand out for Hannah to grasp as the girl got out of the car.

"I mean . . . I mean . . ." Tossing up a hand, she blew out a frustrated-sounding breath and stared at him. "What do you want from me?"

That hit him like a knuckle-punch to the heart and he heard a breath explode from his mouth. "April!" Gazes locked, neither said anything for a full minute. A minute that, for Justin, was buzzing with possible answers. He wanted a second chance with her. He wanted the opportunity to get to know her better than before. He wanted her friends.h.i.+p, and he believed he wanted her heart. He wanted to know if she could handle being a Marine's wife. What he finally settled on saying was, "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too, you know. But then I met John and-well, that's a long story."

Trying to look casual, he slid his hands in his pockets. "Is there a short version?"

"Yeah. We met in an unlikely place, he swept me off my feet, and we fell in love."

Though his chest tightened to hear it, he could still look pleasant. Her eyes shone with a fond light and her smile was sweet. "Were you happy?"

"Yes."

"Is there a long version?"

Her smile faded. "Yeah."

"I guess we both have a couple of long stories, huh?"

She sighed and stepped closer to the Christmas tree. And to him. "I guess we do. Hey, your present. I didn't open it, yet."

He shook his head, deciding that perhaps enough had been said for one night. The first night they'd seen each other in so many years. "You can open it tomorrow." It was just a book called The 100 Best Movies You've Never Seen. He'd checked on Amazon for a book about movies for her, since that was where their friends.h.i.+p had really started, but the only other t.i.tle he'd considered involved the words "Before You Die" and he thought that would be inappropriate.

She knelt to pick up the wrapped gift and laughed a little. "Did you wrap this?"

"Of course."

She turned it over in her hands, her fingertips grazing the straight corners and the ribbon he'd tied around it. "Did you take lessons? Do all Marines take Gift Wrap 101?" Chuckling, she shook her head. "Seriously, Justin, this is incredible. I almost don't want to open it, it's so perfect." She looked up at him from where she still knelt on the floor. He loved the play of the tree's white lights on her smooth hair, the way her body moved so gracefully, and he definitely appreciated the way her skirt hiked up her thigh, but he endeavored not to stare. "I didn't get you anything," she told him softly.

He didn't know what it was, but something inside him threw caution to the winds. A coward dies a thousand deaths; a brave man dies but one. Was that how that quote went? She'd probably know, but he wasn't going to ask her. "What I'd really like," he began slowly, kneeling so that they were knee to knee and he could smell the slightly spicy scent of whatever it was she was wearing for perfume, "is something you asked of me once."

He saw her jaw tighten, saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed. "What?"

"I'd like a day to spend with you. Just the two of us. We could share the long versions of our stories, maybe. I could give you a tour of D.C. Just one day."

"Justin . . ." Her lips parted, her breath caught, and she studied his face. He grew nervous, wondering what she was seeing. He felt all kinds of vulnerable, more than he felt when he'd been deployed in places far away and quite dangerous. "I'm not ready."

"Ready?"

"My husband died a year and a half ago, you know? And I, we moved out here for a fresh start. To get, to get away from . . . some things." She slid his present to her back under the tree to rejoin the other gifts that waited patiently for tomorrow morning and the eager eyes of a little, red-haired girl. "I'm not ready to date yet, Justin, is what I'm trying to say."

"All right. How about being ready for a friend?" He offered her his hand.

Slowly, she took it and he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. "I could use a friend."

"You have one."

"You're not going to delete your email again, are you?"

He knew she was teasing, but the reminder hurt anyway, las.h.i.+ng him with guilt and regret. "No. I promise. And if I have to, I'll make sure to give you a way to contact me. If you still want me to."

"Yes!"

"Thank you."

It was an awkward moment. He had a flash of memories in which he had felt rather similarly awkward, once upon a time. When he'd been home on leave and she'd been in college and they'd walked each other out to whichever car was being driven that day. Handshakes? Too formal. Hugs? Too intimate for them. Then, as now, it was just uncomfortable. Now, as then, it was a lifted chin and a crooked smile that said more than they would ever allow themselves to communicate.

"Thanks for inviting me to service," he said once he was on the long porch. "And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Justin."

He smiled, nodded a little and turned to walk toward his car, which he had left on one side of her long paved drive. Ice crunched under his feet as he got his keys from his pocket. He had just reached his door when she called his name.

He turned on his heel, his heart giving a sudden thump at the hopeful tone in her voice. "Yeah?"

"I'll let you know, about the day. Your Christmas present. I'll give it to you when I can, if you still want it."

Thank you, G.o.d! Grinning like a besotted teenager, Justin a.s.sured her he'd wait. "Thank you!"

"Merry Christmas!"

September 17, 2005 John Patrick Sinclair rocked his baby daughter in his arms. April marveled at the softness in his mossy green eyes, at the gentleness in his voice as he sang Hannah a lullaby. "Too rah loo, rah loo rah . . ."

He was such a good man. He put Hannah to sleep in her ba.s.sinet and he and April stood, hand in hand, to watch tiny lips purse and small fists clench and unclench. Then, John squeezed April's hand. "Come on. Let's go to the office."

Their steps were nearly soundless on the plush carpeting of their home on Mulholland Drive in Beverly Hills, California. "Everything okay?" she inquired, looking up to see his profile. He had a short nose, square jaw and freckles. Though he was sixteen years older, he was in excellent physical shape. Their house boasted a gym, sauna, and an infinity pool, so they could be both private and active.

He smiled rea.s.suringly down at her. At six feet in height, he was taller, but not so much as to make kissing him a work of flexibility. "Everything's great, hon. I just wanted to show you some things."

Some things turned out to be a financial plan in place for her and their daughter. April's blood felt icy to even read it. "John, are you all right?"

He pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her hair. "I am, but I wanted you to know that, should the worst happen, you are provided for. You and our daughter. And if we have any more children . . ." He leaned back a bit to grin mischievously into her eyes. "Them, too."

Using his mouse and a Power Point presentation, John proceeded to show her what he had set aside for college educations, living expenses, housing, etc. "I want you to be able to do what you want, if it comes to this, April. And I want our children to have nothing denied them for lack of funds."

April could appreciate that. She had worked so hard to get a good scholars.h.i.+p and she had studied to the exclusion of all else to keep it. "Well, I hope I'll never have to look at this again," she said while snuggling into his muscular chest. "I'd be just as happy if you could write out college tuition checks yourself, you know."

"That's the plan, hon!"

May 30, 2011 "He said he left you a plan, just in case," the attorney said, her voice soft and almost questioning at the end. She was clearly treating the young widow of the rich and powerful magnate with kid gloves.

April's eyes were so dry they ached. In the privacy of her mind behind those eyes, she was grieving. Weeping and wailing and hitting her hands on the gla.s.s walls of their home. Their lovely home with its gorgeous pool and pretty things. Not all of their endeavors to keep fit and healthy had prevented a blood clot from hiding in John's brain. His death had been sudden at Hannah's birthday party the Sat.u.r.day before. One minute, he was scooping homemade ice cream into waffle-cone bowls and the next, he held his head, winced, and fell down dead.

"He showed me the plan years ago," April managed to say without cracking. "I never wanted to have to look at that thing again."

The lawyer, a woman in her sixties who was a partner in the law firm of Barton, Costas, and Steiger, put a comforting hand on April's elbow and led her to the chair in front of the computer. "I know, but you need to, Mrs. Sinclair. Your daughter needs you to, too."

"Hannah . . ."

"Is well provided for, as are you."

How well provided for became a matter of public record, to some degree, as soon as the papers were filed.

With Hannah in school, April found herself with time. Time to explore her new neighborhood, time to be alone. Just . . . alone. Alone with her thoughts, her feelings, her memories. And alone with her curiosity about the future.

Because, for the first time since John died, she was able to taste optimism over her usual resigned relief. Here, across the country from where she had spent her whole life, she had reconnected with a part of herself that she had missed.

"What kind of hours do you keep?" she asked Justin when he called one day in late January. "It's noon."

He laughed. "I do get a lunch hour. Well, a half-hour."

With a smile, she curled up in her favorite armchair with a cup of Earl Grey tea. "I thought you military types had to get up at the crack of dawn and run for hours every day."

"Nah, that's just boot camp. Here at the barracks, I've got an administrative job. Office work and supervising, really." She heard him sigh a little. "I run during morning PT, though. Physical Training. And I'll run for hours again if I have to."

April felt her whole body tense for a moment. She wasn't even sure if her heart moved. "A- Again?"

"It's my job, you know? And I'm more than proud to do it."

"You've had to go away before, right?" She knew he'd had to go fight in the war, but he hadn't told her details about his time, then, and she hadn't asked in the time they had been reacquainting themselves with one another.

"I have," he told her, his voice solemn. She could imagine how his face looked as he used that tone of voice. He was a very attractive man, in her estimation. She remembered when his hair was much lighter, but his deep blue eyes hadn't changed. They'd only grown more serious since his youth. His shoulders were broad, his body strong, he looked breathtaking in his uniform and- She set her cup down with a clatter and all but launched herself from the leather armchair. She shouldn't even be thinking . . .

But why not? Justin wasn't some guy she'd just met. He had been first, in many ways. How was it, though, that he looked so much more amazing to her now than he had before? Not that she'd had any complaints before.

Not that she'd had any opportunity to complain.

He'd ignored her. It had been the worst feeling ever.

Resolved to forgive and forget-after all, that ignoring had opened the way to John Patrick Sinclair and Hannah and April would never regret either of them-she turned her full attention back to the phone call.

"I'll be stationed here for two years more." His voice sounded hopeful and April didn't know how she should respond.

"Then what?"

"I . . . I don't know, April. I haven't put in any requests for my next station."

"Oh."

With a bracing tone, as if knowing he'd disconcerted her, Justin asked, "Have you been doing any more exploring of the local sights like you wanted?"

All at once, what she wanted was right in front of her. What she hadn't let herself think of wanting for years because she'd been so happy with her life. Opening her mouth to say something to that effect, her breath caught in her throat.

"April? You okay, honey?"

The endearment startled her into finding her voice. "I'm fine, thank you. Um." Oh, G.o.d. Is this the right thing? She really didn't know for sure, but he had asked and she wasn't going to "ignore" that request any longer.

"You want to make good on your Christmas present? My mom is coming to visit next month and she'd love to stay with Hannah for a day."

Stunned silence. Fierce nerves raced. A voice told her she was being an idiot. But then, she heard a long, deep breath on his end.

"That would be great. Let me know when your mom will be in town. And April?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

February 16, 2013 Please don't gush, Mom. Please don't gush. Please don't embarra.s.s me. Great, now I'm sounding like a teenager. It was barely seven in the morning, but Hannah the early riser was already up and drinking hot cocoa. Justin, looking disgustingly appealing at this hour in a pair of dark jeans and sweater, was leaning against the refrigerator, one ankle crossed over the other, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand, too. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were red with the cold.

"Really? You walked from the station?"

No, Mom. Do not eye him up and down. He's used to the exertion, I'm sure. Just . . . stop, okay?