Lover's Knot, page 3
Almost from the moment she awakened from surgery, she had told herself she would move on quickly, that she would not let the carjacker destroy her life or self-confidence. She had thought that just repeating the vow often enough was all it would take. But she had been wrong.
She looked up. “It’s inspiring. Thank you.”
“Are you ready to go home?”
She was surprised by how little she wanted to leave. She had not yearned for the condo with its view of city streets. She had not yearned for the crushing weight of deadlines, the crowded newsroom, the ringing of telephones. She had yearned for Isaac, but that wasn’t new. She had yearned for him before the shooting, too.
For a moment she couldn’t answer. Fear gripped her. Outside, spring was at its peak. D.C. did spring with minimum fuss and maximum appeal. One moment the trees were bare, the next they were suffused in blossoms. Cherries, Japanese magnolias, redbuds and dogwoods. She could walk out into the sun, leaving behind a rainy night in March when she had nearly died.
If only it were that easy.
“Kendra?”
“I’m not going home.” She looked over at him. “Not for long. I’m moving out to the Valley. I want to recover there. I don’t think I can do it here.”
He didn’t look surprised. She searched his face. “Who told you?”
“Dr. Gupta. I saw her on the way to your room.”
She took that in, relieved that she had not been required to break the news. “You probably think I’ve lost my mind.”
“It’s occurred to me. Let’s discuss it at home, okay?”
She was afraid to drive through the District’s streets, to park underground and take an elevator to their floor. Once inside the condo, she wondered, would she have the courage to leave again?
She looked away. “This is hard to explain, and harder to believe, but I’m not feeling all that brave right now.”
“You don’t have to explain. But I bet they have plans for your bed.” His voice softened. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’m here to make sure of it.”
She was spared a response. In moments they were enveloped by a swarm of staff who had come to help with last-minute arrangements. Kendra was tucked into a wheelchair and her overnight bag unceremoniously plopped on her lap. Isaac was shooed out of the room to pick up the car. She was wheeled to the elevator. By the time the first wave of fear had peaked, she was in the car and Isaac was reaching over to help with her seat belt. She fastened it with trembling hands, hoping that this, at least, would help her feel anchored to something.
Isaac drove without speaking. The streets were crowded, not unusual at lunchtime. Some part of her marveled at the sheer number of cars. Each driver knew exactly where he or she was going, exactly what needed to be done. She had always felt the same way and had never once thought how odd it was to be that certain.
Another part of her, a larger part, was terrified they would not make it through the traffic without an accident.
“I’ve taken care of your plants,” Isaac said, once they were away from the hospital. “I didn’t want you to come home to wilted ferns and African violets.”
She wet her lips. “Thank you.”
“Did they feed you lunch? I forgot to ask. We could stop. Would you like that?”
“No.” The response was emphatic, more so than she had intended. “They fed me.”
“We’ll be home in a little while. Why don’t you close your eyes and relax? I’ll tell you when we get there.”
More often than not, when she closed her eyes she saw the man who had shot her, the fury on his face, the gun swinging in her direction. She had nothing to fear from him now. He had been caught with her car not far from the drugstore and had pleaded guilty. He was in jail and would be for some time to come. But none of that seemed to help.
She searched for something to say. “What are you missing at work today? Don’t tell me nothing, because I know better.”
“Right now I’m missing lunch at the Bombay Club. Nothing someone else can’t take care of.”
She glanced at his profile. Isaac was easy to look at, if not traditionally handsome. Wide, high cheekbones, strong jaw, dark upswept brows. He tanned easily, and his skin always had a healthy glow. Three years of braces had perfected the smile that could so easily make her forget all the things that went unsaid between them.
“You’ll want to get back after you drop me off,” she said.
“Only if you’re feeling comfortable. I can clear my schedule.”
He hadn’t cleared it. She heard that. He had expected to return. Now, faced with a woman who hadn’t even been sure she could leave the hospital, he was reconsidering.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised.
They drove the rest of the way without speaking. She flinched as he pulled into the condo garage. It was well lit, the space large enough that it was unlikely anyone would be hiding, but when he turned off the engine, she had to force herself to unsnap the seat belt and reach for the door handle.
“Wait until I come around,” he said.
He helped her out, then opened the back to get her overnight bag. She had given her flowers to other patients early that morning. She had little to show for the weeks she’d spent in rehabilitation except improved muscle tone, a lopsided gait that was, nevertheless, the difference between mobility and paralysis, and the prospect of a normal life once she was fully recovered.
“There’s no nurse’s aide present. Am I allowed to escort you?”
She moved closer and took his arm. They walked slowly, but she managed well. Her gaze darted right and left. The garage seemed empty.
The ride up was uneventful. Their hallway was longer than she had remembered. The inside of their condo was filled with red tulips, yellow daffodils and hyacinth-purple balloons.
“It’s wonderful.” Kendra’s voice was husky. “Are they all from you?”
“The balloons are from your colleagues. The daffodils are from Sam and Elisa. The tulips are mine.”
“I feel welcomed.”
“You’ve been missed.” He wrapped her in his arms. This kiss was not perfunctory. “Welcome home,” he said, when he finally pulled away.
“Either you’re making me dizzy, or I’m still recovering.”
“Sit. I’ll get you something to drink. Pepsi? Snapple?”
“Why don’t you get yourself something for lunch?”
He waited until she was seated, then headed for the tiny kitchen. She pulled the old quilt from the back of the sofa and draped it over her legs, because, suddenly, she was chilled. She wondered how long the peace would last, how long she would be allowed to bask in flowers and balloons before her convalescence became the topic of conversation again.
It didn’t take long. He returned with a sandwich. She wondered when he had found the time to shop for bread and ham. Had an assistant volunteered? Had he gone online and scheduled a delivery, hurriedly checking off items he thought she might need?
“Are you really going to be all right?” he asked. “I can stay, or I can call Sandy. She said she’d come if you needed her.”
“I’ll be fine. We have a security alarm. I’ll probably use it.”
He ate in silence, as if he couldn’t fill up quickly enough. He had broad shoulders and an athlete’s build. He always ate as if he were training for a decathlon. When he had finished, he took his plate back to the kitchen, returning minutes later with a glass of milk.
“We might as well talk about this,” she said. “There’s nothing to gain from putting it off.”
“It’s been a big day. Maybe we should wait.”
“I know you don’t understand. I know you think I’ve lost my mind. But I need to get out of here.”
“I could try to get vacation time. Not next week, but the week after doesn’t look too grim. We could go away together. Someplace quiet.”
She searched for the right words, but there weren’t any. “I need to get away from everything,” she said at last.
He sipped his milk, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I gather that means me.”
“I hope you’ll stay there with me when you can.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” He got up and began to pace. “I know you’ve been through a tough time. I understand that. But what’s the point of leaving everything familiar?”
“And why should I stay? My job’s on hold. You’re never home. What friends I’ve had time to make have high-octane professions. I don’t think I’m going to enjoy strolling our neighborhood for a while. There’s nothing here for me.”
He stopped pacing. “Your husband is here. Your home.”
She settled on the second part. “This condo isn’t my home. It’s a place we bought because it was a good investment and we could afford it without dipping into my trust fund. But we can’t even have a cat. I’m lucky they let me raise houseplants. We look out over more buildings just like this one, filled with more people who work too hard. We bought the furniture from the previous owners so we wouldn’t even have to shop.”
Clearly nothing she had said made any sense to him. He was frowning when he spoke.
“Let’s try a different tack. You just got out of the hospital. You still need physical therapy. The doctor has to follow your progress, and you’re not that keen on being alone. So you respond by moving to the middle of nowhere? You’ll be completely alone out there. If you fall, if you run a fever, if you wake up terrified, who will know? Who will take care of you?”
“I could be alone here, too. The chances are good I would be.”
“It’s really about me, isn’t it? It’s about—”
She held up a hand to stave off his words. “No, it’s about me. I don’t want to be here. It’s that simple and that complicated. I can’t breathe right now. I need a place where I can heal. I need a place to get in touch with everything.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Since I woke up unsure I’d ever walk again. I told myself then that if a miracle occurred, I would leave the city.”
“You would leave me.”
She didn’t deny it. “I can’t ask you to give up your job and come with me.”
“Would you want me to if I could?”
She shook her head. “I have to take time to sort out my life and put it all back together. I don’t expect you to understand or help. I don’t understand it myself.”
“The night you were shot, you told me you weren’t sure my best would ever be good enough again. Have you decided it isn’t?”
She was surprised he remembered her words. She hadn’t thought of them. But the sentiment? The sentiment had plagued her continually. Their lives had changed, and there was no going back. She didn’t think Isaac understood that. She wasn’t sure she did, but at least she was aware of the change, even if she couldn’t see all its shapes and boundaries.
“I don’t know that we can ever be good for each other again.” Her throat felt swollen, as if she were choking back more than hurtful words. “I’m not the person I was a couple of weeks ago. I’ll never be that person again. It’s going to take a while to find out who this new Kendra Taylor is.”
She saw from his expression that he had delved as far as he could or would. This was not the kind of conversation in which Isaac shone. The pause was significant. She could see him switching gears, putting aside whatever emotion he felt.
“The cabin’s ready to live in? You got that far in the renovations?”
“Anything but fancy, but it’s habitable.” She made herself look at him. “I want the land and the cabin, Isaac. I want it to be mine so I can do whatever needs to be done without always getting your permission. I’ll trade you my share of this condo. They should be roughly equivalent. Or I’ll pay you outright if they’re not. It should be simple enough, changing names on deeds.”
“It’s gone that far? We’re splitting assets?”
“Just this one. But I need to make a home.”
She saw him sorting through responses. She imagined them all, had imagined them for the entire week since her plan had solidified. In the end, though, he gave her the one she’d known he would.
“Do whatever you want. You don’t need my permission. And someday, if need be, I’ll sign it over to you.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you want me to call Sandy?”
“No. I’ll be all right. I’ll probably take a nap.”
“Then I’m heading back to work. Call if you need anything. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
The balloons danced when he closed the door behind him. Kendra stopped swallowing tears and let them flow.
CHAPTER 3
A BRAND-NEW CAR was sitting in the clearing in front of the cabin when Isaac and Kendra drove up. Even though Kendra’s sedan had been recovered, she hadn’t wanted it anymore. As soon as she arrived home from the hospital, she had traded it in for a new forest-green Lexus RX with all-wheel drive. She claimed she would need a car that drove efficiently on dirt and gravel roads, but Isaac suspected the real reason was simpler. The sedan had nearly gotten her killed, and she would never forget that.
Sam and Elisa Kinkade, Kendra’s minister and his wife, had picked up the new car on a trip into the city and delivered it here. Isaac had met the Kinkades after a story that Kendra had done about them almost a year ago, and liked them both. Sam was a minister with a healthy social conscience, for which he had twice suffered the rigors of prison. Elisa was a doctor from Guatemala who had suffered her own nightmares. Isaac was not a believer in happy endings, but he thought these two deserved one.
Until now, Kendra hadn’t even seen her new SUV. She hadn’t been willing to make the trip to the showroom, and her salesperson had driven to the condo to collect the sedan as a courtesy.
“You’ll finally get to check out your new car,” Isaac said.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?”
The car said a lot about his wife. Luxury, yes, but not obviously. Kendra hadn’t gone for the top of the line, although she easily could have afforded it. She hadn’t seen the point of more car than she needed, or shown any need to flaunt inherited wealth. She would drive the SUV carefully and for as long as she sensibly could. When he’d met her, she had been driving a twelve-year-old BMW that had traveled from coast to coast half a dozen times.
She sat forward to peer out the front window. “From here you can’t see most of the changes, but you can see the logs. Dabney removed the siding that covered them. And he re-roofed the front porch.”
“I don’t really remember what it looked like.”
“It’s been a long time since you were here, hasn’t it?”
“Not long enough.”
“Please come in and look around.”
“What did you think? That I was going to drop you off and speed away?” He was sorry the moment he’d said it, and sorrier for the edge in his voice.
She was calmer. “I didn’t think that. I just didn’t know if you’d want to come inside.”
He rarely apologized—he’d spent his childhood being forced to say he was sorry for everything except the air he breathed—but he did soften his tone. “I’m sure I’ll feel better about your move if you can prove there’s a decent bathroom.”
“There was always running water and a toilet. Your grandmother lived the way a lot of people in that generation did.”
He didn’t like to hear anyone call the woman he’d inherited the cabin and land from his “grandmother.” He had never met Leah Spurlock Jackson and felt no connection. His adoptive father had made it clear his pitiful specimen of a son had descended from poor white trash. It was no surprise to Colonel Grant Taylor when Isaac only made Bs in algebra or wasn’t chosen for the best soccer teams at whatever Air Force base on which they were living.
Isaac, who had excelled at almost everything he touched, was well beyond believing anything his father had said about him. But the little he knew about his birth family reinforced this particular rant. His mother had worked in a bar and hadn’t been sure who his father was. And for most of her life, his grandmother had lived in this primitive cabin with no husband in residence.
He unhooked his seat belt and grabbed the keys, although out here there was little chance anyone was going to steal the car. First they would have to navigate the rutted dirt road that led to the clearing.
“I’ll unload. Why don’t you open up?” He turned back to Kendra. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
She shook her head. He opened his door, and once he was out, he slammed it harder than he needed to.
When he opened the trunk, Kendra insisted on taking a shopping bag filled with miscellaneous kitchen items she’d collected from the condo. She had left more than half for him, although both of them knew he would probably be eating all his meals out.
“Do you know what they call this architectural style?” she asked as they moved slowly toward the cabin.
“Lean-to?”
“It’s a dogtrot cabin. The early settlers were restricted by the length of the available logs and the weight they could lift. So they built small homes, and when it came time to add on, they just built another house across from the first and connected them with a roof and flooring. A dog could trot right between the houses, and that’s where the dogs stayed on a hot day or at night. The design acts sort of like a tunnel and sucks in any cool breezes. A lot of houses started this way, then they were covered with siding, and the middle porch became a room or a hallway. There are more of them around than you’d guess.”
“Uh-huh.”
His lack of enthusiasm didn’t stop her. “Your interest is noted. At least part of the house was built before your grandmother’s time, and the front porch was added later. I don’t know when.”
