Never Too Late Page 15

  She was quiet for a moment. “It’s nice. Remembering some of the good things. The funny things. For a long time I could only remember that terrible time—when his plane went down. Too long. I was stuck in that time frame too long.”

  “It’s so good to hear you laugh. We had some great times back then.” He paused and then said, “Clare, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  She was cradling the phone next to her ear, getting sleepy. “I can’t believe how it feels like no time has passed.”

  “Remember when we all went to my grandpa’s cabin to ski?”

  “Oh, God,” she said, laughing again. They had built a snow fort, a snow wall, and lay in wait for some of the others and hammered them with snowballs. Waled on them! Beat the tar out of them! “We teamed up a lot,” she said sleepily. There was a smile on her face as she drifted.

  “Remember the time…?” he said. He went into another story. But before the end of it, Clare was asleep, the phone beside her ear.

  “Clare?” he asked. “Clare, are you there?”

  She made a little snort, followed by a snore. She rolled over. She had the most lovely dreams in which she was a girl again—a happy girl, surrounded by friends, laughing, dancing, singing. They had a most magical teenage experience in the shadow of the glorious Sierras—the football and basketball games, the dances, hayrides and ski trips, the long days spent at Lake Tahoe. They used to sun and swim all day and then build a bonfire on the beach and cook hot dogs and sing songs and make out.

  The sun streamed into the window and Clare slowly roused. The first thing she remembered was a wonderful, long conversation she was having with Pete before she fell asleep. Then she rolled over and saw the phone lying in the bed beside her and she jerked awake with a startled yelp. “Pete!” she cried. She picked up the phone and saw that the line was still open. She’d fallen asleep on him! “Pete?” she yelled into the phone.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re there?”

  “Huh?” Clare heard a little rustling around and then he said, “Clare?”

  “You’re still there?”

  “Uh, I think you fell asleep during one of my more entertaining stories,” he said sleepily.

  “Why didn’t you hang up?”

  “If you were asleep, I didn’t want the phone to go aaa-aaa-aaa-aaa.”

  She said, “I’m sorry!” But she was laughing. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I did that!”

  “Clare? Listen…Sunday. The weather’s so great—meet me at Barkley Park at two. I have the kids this weekend, but will drop them off in the early afternoon. I’ll bring us something. I’ll bring a thermos.”

  They used to hang out at Barkley Park. Play touch football. “Sounds perfect,” she said.

  The phone was ringing as Clare stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around herself and answered it in the bedroom.

  “Clare? Hi,” Sam said. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why?” she asked.

  “I tried calling your cell phone and home phone. I’d get your voice mail on the cell, but the answering machine never came on the home line.”

  “Oh that,” she said. She laughed an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry. The phone was off the hook and I forgot about it. I fell asleep. And of course the cell is in my purse in the closet downstairs, where I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Well, at least you’re okay. I was a little worried. Why was your phone off the hook?”

  She thought fast. “Um…I was just avoiding any drunk dialing from Roger.”

  “Gotcha,” he said. “Just wanted to tell you, I’m working a little overtime this weekend. I have to work swing the next two days. But I’d really like to try that date thing again. What are you doing?”

  Clare bit her lip. What she needed was not to see Sam for a couple of days; his overtime this weekend was fortuitous. “Let’s see…I promised to take Jason to the electronics store for an upgrade on his computer this morning, then I’m going to work at the store for a few hours this afternoon. And tomorrow I’m having Sunday brunch with the family. I’ve got to get together with Maggie about the divorce. Roger has to be put out of his misery.”

  “It kind of looks that way,” he said.

  “Later tomorrow afternoon I’m meeting an old friend from high school for coffee.”

  “How about Monday night—let’s try again. Maybe we can make the evening end better.”

  “I kind of like to hang close on school nights, Sam. But how about lunch? I’m not on the clock—I can take as much time as I need.”

  “Good. I’ll plan something nice. Something special.”

  She chewed her lip. Special wasn’t exactly the right word. Only she knew that she was about to break his heart. “That’ll be good,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hung up the phone and it rang. She picked it up and Roger said, “Do I owe someone an apology?”

  “Me, my date, all the diners at The Fireside and the management. I hope you’re miserable and in excruciating pain.”

  “You have no idea….”

  “Good. I can’t talk. Take aspirin and consider more therapy.” She hung up on him.

  Clare got dressed and went downstairs to make coffee. On her way to the kitchen, she took her cell phone out of her purse and looked at the call record. Five missed calls; as many messages. If she wasn’t sure before, she was now. Sam, bless him, was in over his head. With her usual penchant for putting things off, she had let this go on too long, let him get too close.

  She should have seen this coming, but she was naive about the dating world and hadn’t realized what was happening. It was one thing to chat with him on the phone during her recovery—she was out of reach and he was held safely at bay by the crack in her pelvis. But lately he’d moved closer. Sam had been heating up and she hadn’t exactly discouraged him. He was starting to sizzle. She felt it last night when he pressed her against the door. He was committed to getting her in bed.

  Clare had a sticky little problem here. And she knew it. She hated to have to hurt him. Five missed late-night calls suggested this was going to smart.

  Family dinner time varied on Sundays, according to what was going on in everyone’s schedule, and fortunately for Clare, her nieces had afternoon commitments, as did she. They had their meal together at noon, after which George and Bob took their coffee to the living room to watch football, the teenagers dispersed and the sisters washed up, letting Dotty go home and relax.

  Maggie carried the dishes from the table. “Okay, spill,” she said. “What happened with your young stud on Friday night?”

  “Stop calling him that,” Clare said, not looking up from her rinsing chore. She passed a plate to Sarah to put into the dishwasher. “It was a disaster.” She told them about Roger’s drunken antics.

  “Oh my God,” Maggie said. “I think Roger’s losing it. He’s not going to calm down until he realizes it is irrevocably over. We’d better do that divorce.”

  “I think you’re right,” Clare said. “Will you please help me with that?”

  “Absolutely. Damn, I’m sorry about Roger. I had it in my head that you were going to…You know. Get so, so lucky.”

  Clare passed another plate to Sarah. “I could have killed Roger,” Clare said. “But in the end, he might’ve done me a favor. This thing with Sam…It just isn’t for me.”

  “What?” Maggie and Sarah said in unison.

  “I should have seen this sooner, but what do I know about dating, about relationships? I’ve been playing do-si-do with Roger for sixteen years. It’s very clear that Sam is ready for something serious. Something…intense.”

  Sarah shivered visibly. Both sisters looked at her. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’s great—he’s got it all. Looks, personality, charm—and have you seen his arms? Woo. Clearly, he could have any woman he set his sights on. But what I saw as friendship has obviously grown in his mind, and hasn’t in
mine.”

  Maggie leaned one hand against the kitchen counter, the other on her hip. “Clare, he’s gorgeous. Young, energetic, and so hot for you he’s almost smoking! Are you crazy?”

  “There’s something about Sam that I never realized. Something not apparent in a few months of casual phone chats. He’s not capable of playing around. He’s passionate. There’s allure in that—the sheer power of his passion. Maybe I’m making a mistake, maybe I’ll regret it, but I think I’d be taking a big chance getting any more involved with him. It isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Except maybe a thoroughly fabulous roll in the hay,” Maggie said. “Here I was, jealous, and you’re going to have this sudden attack of conscience and mess up your one opportunity for what appears to be unrivaled ecstasy.”

  “I know—I think I’ve lost my mind,” Clare said. “A little unrivaled ecstasy sure would feel good right now. But the picture I can’t get out of my mind is the look I’d see on Sam’s face when I tell him—as I eventually will—that I can’t see him anymore. He doesn’t deserve to be my middle-age experiment.”

  “Are you sure?” Sarah wanted to know.

  She looked at her younger sister. “Honey, no matter how tempting, he feels a lot like a sweet younger brother. I just can’t get the term boy toy out of my mind. And believe me, Sam is no boy toy. You saw him, how he behaves. He’s not the kind of guy who goes into anything halfway. He’s already invested a lot of emotion in this relationship—and we haven’t even spent that much time together.”

  “But how do you know it won’t develop into something—you know—that you’re as passionate about as he is?” Sarah asked. The look in her eyes was so earnest it was almost pleading.

  “Here’s what I know. I should say here’s what I remember. When you fall for someone, when you fall in love, you can’t wait for his calls, yearn to be alone with him, ache to have him touch you, hold you—it’s unmistakable. It’s impossible to keep from calling him first. You don’t sleep, your heart skips beats, you think about him constantly, you live for the next kiss.” She took a breath. “It felt very good to have his interest. His attention. It would be very easy to go along with this and have some pleasure, too. But I’m not serious about him. I don’t think we can even be friends—it will encourage him, and that would be cruel.”

  Sarah sighed. Maggie threw down the dish towel and started to leave the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Clare said. “Where are you going?”

  “I think I’m going to take Bob home and tie him to the bed.”

  When Clare got to the park Pete was already there, sitting on top of a picnic table. He had a small picnic basket and beside it a thermos. Her heart lifted. She had felt morose knowing she was going to have to tell Sam she was breaking it off, but seeing Pete, her old friend Pete, brightened the day considerably. She had missed him so without realizing it. He stood as she approached and gave her a welcoming hug. “Good to see you. So good,” he said as he embraced her.

  “Pete, you reconnected me to a part of my life I’d forgotten, and I can’t tell you how good that feels. I’m sorry about the other night, about falling asleep like that.”

  “It’s okay.” He grinned at her. “I wasn’t that insulted.”

  “What did you bring?”

  “A hot rum drink—just like at the lodge. And cookies,” he said, flipping the lid on the basket. “Made ’em myself.”

  “You bake?”

  “My daughters like to bake—I supervise so they don’t burn the house down. I just dropped them off at home.” He poured her a drink in a mug. “Catch me up on your sisters and dad.”

  They sat on the top of the picnic table, feet on opposite benches, facing each other. Clare filled him in on Maggie and Sarah, told him about life at the store and the house she’d made the offer on, which she expected to hear about on Monday. She asked him about his daughters, they gossiped a little bit about the high school that had so briefly employed her. An hour passed in what felt like seconds. They reminisced about the good old days and the laughter that had caught them up then was back. Clare didn’t want the day to end.

  “You’ll never know how much I regret that I avoided you for years. What seemed so disastrous before, now feels like just a misunderstanding. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever get past it. And here we are, friends, like old times.”

  He hung his head briefly, as though that bothered him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I say something wrong?”

  When he looked up, his eyes seemed troubled. “I’m glad, too,” he said.

  “Um, something about that didn’t seem completely glad.”

  “Clare, I have to tell you something. I’m a little nervous. Afraid it might be a mistake—might be purely selfish. But I don’t want to mislead you.”

  “Uh-oh. Now you’re scaring me.”

  He took a deep breath, then poured himself a small amount of hot rum from the thermos and took a bolstering drink. “I did this on purpose—the rum. I wanted to loosen us up. Well, I wanted to loosen you up and give me some courage.”

  God, she thought. He’s getting married. He has a terminal illness. He’s moving to Costa Rica. “You don’t want to mislead me how?”

  “I want to cleanse my soul,” he said gravely. “Clear my conscience. That night—nineteen long years ago. Clare, that wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just too much wine. Not for me. It was the greatest moment of my young life.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  He put his hand over hers on the tabletop. “What I did was wrong and I knew it, but it was intentional. I had a huge crush on you. Since I was about fourteen, I guess. I was in love with you.”

  “You couldn’t have been…” she said, shaking her head. They goofed around together. Laughed insanely. There had never been a hint of romance in their relationship. She pulled her hand out from under his.

  “Oh-ho, I was so gone, it was almost tragic. But I was this skinny freckle-faced kid and the only way I could get your attention was to make you laugh. Then you got hooked on my brother—who was older, bigger, smarter, better-looking. And I think I stayed this kid brother in your eyes all through high school, so I just kept making you laugh.”

  “You never let on,” she said in a soft breath. “Not once.”

  “Are you kidding? I liked living. Mike would have killed me. But he was gone, we were alone, and I could tell you were warming up to me in a brand-new way.” He shrugged. “What an asshole, huh? It turned out I took complete advantage of you. Then felt completely ashamed of what I’d done to you.”

  Clare was flabbergasted. This possibility had never occurred to her, not once in nineteen years. She held her mug toward him and he tipped the thermos over it. “How did you expect things to turn out?” she asked him.

  “Ah. Well. In my fantasies I thought you’d realize you were marrying the wrong brother and we’d break it to him. He’d be pissed, but by the time we’d had our second or third kid, he’d be over it. Or, I thought it was possible you’d stick to your original choice—but have no regrets about what we’d done. You’d have let me down gently—you always were a really nice person. Then there was always the chance that you’d go ahead and marry Mike and struggle not to be unfaithful again even though you were constantly tempted—and the strain would be with us through forty years of family dinners. The one thing I never considered was that you would be shattered by it. And hate me.”

  “I never hated you.”

  “And never did I consider that Mike would up and kill himself in a jet. And screw us all up even worse than we were already screwed up.”

  “I just don’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head.

  “It’s absolutely true. I wanted you. For years. I was about as desperate as a tortured young man can be.”

  “My God,” she said. “I just don’t know what to think.”

  “It never crossed your mind? In all these years?”

  “Not once.”

 
“And you thought—?”

  “That we drank too much wine, were too alone, did what came naturally without using one single brain cell in the process.” She looked down. She cleared her throat. “Wow. Now I’m going to have to remember this in a whole new way. From an entirely different perspective.”

  “I’ve been wanting to get together since we talked in August, but knowing that I had to do this—it took me a long time to get up the nerve to call you.”

  “Why did you feel you had to tell me this? You really didn’t have to.”

  “Because I just couldn’t let you go on thinking that I was as innocent as you were. For you it was a mistake—which you only made because I went after you with everything I had. I wanted you to know the truth because…”

  “Clare,” someone shouted. They both turned and looked as Sam approached. He was uniformed and his cruiser was parked behind Clare’s car. As he recognized Pete, a broad smile broke over his face. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  Pete stood and accepted the handshake. “How you doing, Sam?”

  “Great, Coach. Great!” Then he moved closer to Clare, leaned toward her and gave her a proprietary peck on the cheek. “Hi. Is this your old friend from high school?”

  “As a matter of fact,” she said. “You two obviously know each other.”

  “I coached Sam in varsity football,” Pete said. “About a dozen years ago?”

  “At least! What a hoot! I thought you’d be getting together with a girlfriend!”

  “Pete and I grew up together,” Clare said. “We graduated in the same class.” She forced a smile. “And taught at the same high school for four whole days.” And made mad passionate love nineteen years ago that I just found out was premeditated.

  “That kind of put us back on the same path,” Pete explained. “We were just talking about old times. What brings you out here?”

  “Oh—I saw Clare’s car and wondered what she’d be doing here. So I stopped.” His radio sputtered and he turned it down. “I’m not one to pass up a golden opportunity. So, how are Vickie and the girls?”