Shadow Chasing, page 9
“Philip.” Her feet kicked up sand as she raced after him. “We can talk more at the airport.”
“No.” He shook his head. “All along you’ve assumed I was booked on the same return flight as you. I won’t be leaving for another two days.”
“Oh.” She was forced to continue running to keep up with his long strides. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why? If you can’t make up your mind now, flying back together shouldn’t make any difference.”
He stopped and caressed the underside of her face. “Good-bye, Carla.” His eyes were infinitely sad, and he looked as if he wanted to say something more but changed his mind. Without another word, he turned and left.
Alone and hurting, she stood on the beach with the wind whipping at her from all directions.
* * *
—
“Phone. I think it’s Cliff,” Nancy announced on her way out of the kitchen.
Before Mexico, the news would have been mildly thrilling. But Carla couldn’t look at Cliff Hoffman and not be reminded of Philip. Not that the two men were anything alike. Cliff was the current heartthrob of half the medical staff at Highline Medical Center. Carla had been flattered and excited when he’d started asking her out.
Unhooking her leg from the arm of the overstuffed chair, Carla set her book aside and moved into the kitchen, where the phone was mounted on the wall.
“Hello.”
“Carla, it’s Cliff.”
“Hi.” She hoped the enthusiasm in her voice didn’t sound forced.
“How was Mexico?”
The question caught Carla off guard, and for one terrifying moment she couldn’t breathe. “Fine.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic. Don’t tell me you got sick?”
“No…no, everything was fine.” What a weak word fine was, Carla decided. It couldn’t come close to describing the most gloriously wonderful, exciting vacation of her life. But she couldn’t tell that to Cliff when she sounded on the verge of tears.
“I expected to hear from you by now. You’ve been back a week.” She could hear an edge of disappointment in his voice but suspected it was as phony as her enthusiasm. From the beginning of their non-relationship, Cliff had let it be known that she had plenty of competition. Philip had once asked her if there was anyone special waiting for her in Seattle. At the time, mentioning Cliff hadn’t even crossed her mind.
“It’s been hectic around here…unpacking and all.” No excuse could have sounded more lame.
“I was thinking we should get together soon.” Cliff left the invitation open-ended.
If he expected her to jump at the opportunity to spend time in his company, he was going to be disappointed. “Sure,” she agreed, without much enthusiasm.
“This weekend?”
Why not? she mused dejectedly. She wouldn’t be accomplishing anything by moping around the apartment, which was exactly what she and Nancy had been doing since their return. “That sounds good.”
“Let’s take in a movie Saturday night, then.”
“Fine.” There was that word again.
Five minutes later, Carla returned to the living room and her book.
“These arrived while you were on the phone.” A huge bouquet of three dozen red roses captured her attention. Philip. Her heart soared. That crazy, wonderful man was wooing her with expensive flowers. It was exactly like him. She’d phone him and chastise him for being so extravagant, and then she’d tell him how miserable the last week had been without him.
Nancy sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Eduardo sent them.”
“Eduardo?”
“He sent the flowers in hopes that I’ll forgive him for his behavior our last night in Mazatlán.”
Carla felt like crying, too, but not for the same reasons as her roommate was. “I’m really happy for you.” At least one of them would be lifted from the doldrums.
“You might still hear from Philip.”
“Sure,” Carla said with an indifferent shrug. If anyone did anything to improve the situation between her and Philip, it would have to be her. And she couldn’t, not when seeing him again would make it all the more difficult. As it was, he dominated her thoughts.
Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. Carla’s immediate reaction was to jump up and answer it, but Nancy was sitting closer to the apartment telephone and for Carla to rush to it would be a dead giveaway. Although Carla pretended she was reading, her ears were finely tuned to the telephone conversation. When Nancy gave a small, happy cry, Carla’s interest piqued. Eduardo, it had to be, especially since Nancy was exclaiming how much she loved the roses. She told him how sorry she was about the mix-up and how everything had changed since Mexico.
When her friend started whispering into the receiver, Carla decided it was time to make her exit. “I think I’ll go visit Gramps,” she said, reaching for her bulky knit sweater and her purse.
Nancy smiled in appreciation and gave a friendly wave as Carla walked toward the door.
The sky was overcast, and Carla swung a sweater over her shoulder as she walked out the front door. Summer didn’t usually arrive in the Pacific Northwest until late July.
“See you later,” Nancy called with a happy lilt of her voice.
Carla’s Grandpa Benoit was her mother’s father. He lived in a retirement center in south Seattle, not far from Carla’s apartment. Whereas Carla had always felt distant from her mother, she shared a special closeness with Gramps. Grandpa Benoit loved cards and games of any kind. From the time Carla could count, he had taught her cribbage, checkers, and chess. The three essential C’s, Gramps called them. It was because of Gramps that Carla had won the checkers championship through the King County Parks and Recreation Department.
Carla pulled into the parking lot and sat in her car for several minutes. If she showed up again today, Gramps’s questions would only become more probing. From the day she’d returned to Seattle, he’d guessed something had happened in Mexico. At first he hadn’t pried; his questions had been general, as if her answers didn’t much concern him. But Carla knew her grandfather too well to be tricked by that. Yesterday, when she’d stopped by on her way to work, they’d played a quick game of checkers, and Carla had lost on a stupid error.
“I guess that young man from Mexico must still be on your mind?” His eyes hadn’t lifted from the playing board.
“What young man?”
“The one you haven’t mentioned.”
Carla ignored the comment. “Are you going to allow me a rematch or not?”
“Not.” Still, he didn’t lift his gaze to hers. “Don’t see much use in playing when your mind isn’t on the game.”
Carla bristled. She’d lost plenty of games to Gramps over the years, and it was unfair of him to comment on this one.
“Seems you should have lots of things you’d rather be doing than playing checkers with an old man, anyways.”
“Gramps!” Carla was shocked that he’d say something like that. “I love spending time with you. By now, I’d think you’d know that.”
His veined hands lifted the round pieces one by one and replaced them in the tattered box. “Just seems to me a woman your age should be more interested in young men than her old Gramps.”
Carla started picking up the red pieces. “His name’s Philip. Does that satisfy you?”
The blue brightened on his ageless face. “He must be a special young man for you to miss him like this.”
“He is special,” Carla agreed.
Gramps hadn’t asked anything more, and Carla hadn’t voluntarily supplied additional information. But if she were to show up again today, Gramps wouldn’t let her off as lightly.
Backing out of the parking space, Carla drove to a local Hallmark shop and spent an hour reading through cards. She selected two, more for the need to justify spending that much time in the store than from a desire for the cards.
* * *
—
That evening, as a gentle drizzle fell outside, Carla sat at the kitchen table and wrote to Philip. The letter seemed far more personal than an email. It was probably the most difficult of her life. Bunched-up sheets littered the tabletop. After two hours, she read her efforts with the nagging feeling that she’d said too much—and not nearly enough.
Dear Philip,
You told me to let you know when I was ready to let go of the fears that rule my life. I don’t know that I’m entirely prepared to face you in full police uniform, but I know that I can’t continue the way I have these last two weeks. Nothing’s the same anymore, Philip. I lost a game of checkers yesterday, and Gramps said I shouldn’t play if my mind isn’t on the game. The only thing on my mind is you. The moon has your image marked on its face. The wind whispers your name. I can’t look at the ocean without remembering our walks along the beach.
I’m not any less of a coward than I was in Mazatlán. But I don’t know what to do anymore.
I used to be happy in Seattle. Now I’m miserable.
Even checkers doesn’t help.
Once, a long time ago, I read that the longest journey begins with a single step. I’m making that first attempt. Be patient with me.
Carla
The letter went out in the next morning’s mail. Since she didn’t have Philip’s address, Carla sent it to him in care of the Spokane Police Department. His return letter arrived four torturous days later.
Dear Carla,
My first reaction was to pick up the phone and call, but if I said everything that was going through my mind, I’d drive you straight to Alaska, and I’m afraid you’d never stop running.
My partner must have thought I was crazy when the watch commander handed me your letter. I’ve read it through a thousand times and have been walking on air ever since. Do you mean it? I never dreamed I could take the place of checkers.
Carla, I don’t know what’s been going through that beautiful head of yours, but with every minute that passes I’m all the more convinced that I’m in love with you. I didn’t want to blurt it out like this in a letter, but I’ll go crazy if I hold it inside any longer. Get used to hearing it, love, because it feels too right to finally be able to say it.
You asked me to be patient. How can I be anything else, when that first step you’re taking is on the road that’s leading you back to me?
Hurry and write. Your last letter is curling at the edges from so much handling.
I love you.
Philip
P.S. I can tell I’m going to like your grandfather.
If Philip claimed to have read her letter a thousand times, then Carla must have doubled his record. Her response, a twelve-page epic, went out in the next day’s mail.
* * *
—
Monday evening the phone rang. Nancy called Carla from the kitchen. “It’s for you. Cliff, I think.”
Carla was tempted to have her roommate tell him she wasn’t home. Their date Saturday night had been a miserable failure. The movie had been a disappointment, and their conversation afterward had been awkward. But the problem wasn’t Cliff, and Carla knew as much. Nothing was wrong with Cliff that substituting Philip wouldn’t cure.
“Hello.”
“Who the hell is Cliff?”
“Philip,” Carla cried, and the swell of emotion filled her breast. “Is it really you? Oh, Philip, I’ve missed you so much.” Holding the phone to her shoulder with her ear, she pressed her fingertips over her eyes. “Good grief, I think I’m going to cry.”
“Who’s Cliff?” he repeated.
“Trust me, no one important.” How could he even think anyone meant half as much to her as he did? “We went out Saturday night, and I think he was thoroughly pleased to be done with me. I’m rotten company at the moment.” Her laugh was shaky. “It seems my thoughts are preoccupied of late.”
“Mine, too. Jeff’s ready to ask for a new partner. I haven’t been worth much since I got back.”
Carla stiffened, and her hand tightened over the receiver. If Philip was being careless, he could be stabbed again. Or worse.
“What’s wrong? You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden.”
“Oh Philip, please be careful. If anything happened to you because you were thinking about me, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Carla, I can take care of myself.” The tone of his voice told her he was on the defensive.
Carla paused, remembering that he’d already been stabbed once. “I…I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m so glad you called,” she said, and leaned against the countertop, suddenly needing its support. “I’ve never felt like this. Half the time I feel like I’m living my life by rote. Every day I rush home and pray there’ll be something in the mail from you.”
“I do, too,” he admitted, his voice low and husky. “Listen, Carla, I’ve got two days off next Thursday and Friday. I’d like to come over.”
“Philip, I’m scheduled in surgery both days.”
“Can you get off?”
Carla lifted the hair from her forehead and closed her eyes in frustration. “I doubt it. This is vacation time, and we’re shorthanded as it is.” Their mutual disappointment was clearly evident. “Don’t be upset,” Carla pleaded softly. “If it was up to me, I’d have you here in a minute. What about the weekends? Unless I’m on call, I’ll be free.”
“But I won’t.”
“Right.” She sucked in an unsteady breath. For a moment she’d forgotten that he didn’t work regular hours. His life had to be arranged around his job. Even love came in a poor second to his responsibility to the force.
The awkward stillness fell between them a second time.
“Now you’re upset?”
“No.” The denial came automatically. “I understand a lot better than you realize. I can remember how rare it was to have Dad home on a weekend. Nothing has changed to make it any easier for you.”
“You’re wrong.” Philip’s voice dropped to a husky timbre. “Everything’s changed. My life is involved with this incredible person who fills every waking thought and haunts my sleep.”
“Oh Philip.”
“The worst part is that I get discouraged. You asked me to be patient and I promised I would be. I guess I’m looking for you to make leaps and bounds and not small steps.”
Her throat tightened and she struggled not to give in to tears. “I’m trying. Really trying.”
For a long moment he didn’t speak, but when he did, his voice was ragged. “Please, Carla, don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” she lied, sniffling. “I wish I could be the kind of woman you want….”
“Carla—”
“Maybe it would be better if you quit wasting your time on me and found someone who can adjust to your lifestyle.” Her voice shook. “Someone who doesn’t know the score…someone who doesn’t understand what being part of the police force really means. Believe me, ignorance is bliss.”
“Maybe I should,” Philip said sharply. “There’s not much to be said about a woman who prefers to live with her head buried in the sand.”
Carla placed her hands over her eyes. All this time they’d been fooling themselves to think that either of them could change.
“I think you’re right,” she whispered in a voice that was pitifully weak. “Good-bye, Philip.”
He started to say something, but Carla didn’t wait to listen. Very gently, very slowly, she replaced the receiver. She expected a flood of tears, but there were none—only a dry, aching pain that didn’t ease. In some ways, Carla doubted that it ever would.
Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Carla didn’t answer it, knowing it was Philip. The phone was silent for the remainder of the evening.
Carla found two messages on the kitchen counter when she returned home from work the following afternoon:
PHILIP PHONED.
CLIFF DID, TOO.
Carla returned Cliff’s call. They made arrangements to go to dinner Thursday night. Carla wasn’t particularly interested in continuing her non-relationship with Cliff. But not for the world would she let someone—anyone—accuse her of burying her head in the sand. That comment still hurt. Most girls should consider themselves lucky to be going out with Cliff. Obviously there was something about him she was missing. Thursday she’d make a determined effort to find out what it was.
* * *
—
Two days later, a letter arrived from Philip, and Carla silently cursed herself for the way her heart leapt. She managed to make it all the way into the apartment, hang up her sweater, and pour a cup of coffee before she ripped open the envelope.
Dearest Carla,
I promised myself I wouldn’t rush you, and then I do exactly that. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? At least give me the chance to make it up to you.
Be patient with me, too, my love.
Philip
Carla read the letter twenty times nonstop. Never had any two people been more mismatched. Never had any two people been more wrong for each other. But right or wrong, Carla couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d never felt this strongly about a man. If this was what it meant to love, she hadn’t realized what a painful emotion it could be.
Dear Officer Garrison,
It’s been brought to my attention that two people who obviously care deeply for each other are making themselves miserable. One has a tendency to expect overnight changes, and the other’s got sand in her eyes from all those years of protecting her head. I’m writing to seek your advice on what can be done.
