The Risk of Loving Read online

  The waiter appeared, refilled their coffee cups. When he left, Mark brought the conversation back to himself.

  “Well, my reason to move to an area like Rockport was practical. Ginny started first grade this year. I wanted her to grow up in a small community, go to school with the same kids through her school life, kids whose parents I’d know. I wanted to know her teachers, have neighbors who cared about her…In the city, I didn’t even know my neighbors’ names.”

  “There’s some value in anonymity. In a town like Rockport, there are no secrets. In L.A., nobody knows what you do or cares.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And you like that?”

  “We’re coming from opposite perspectives, as you pointed out. I grew up in Rockport.”

  “And don’t you think small towns have advantages?”

  “Sure. But they also have their downside. A town like Rockport doesn’t prepare you for another kind of life. It’s a real reality shift to move to a big city.” Coryn thought of her own naiveté when she’d arrived in L.A. Her expectations had ended in disillusionment. But that wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, either. Mark was looking at her intently as if waiting for her to go on.

  Suddenly Coryn thought, I’m talking too much. That was the danger with as good a listener as Mark Emery. Talking to a stranger was easier than to a friend. Safer. Chances were they’d never see each other again after tonight.

  The waiter returned to see if they wanted dessert. They refused, but asked for coffee refills. Coryn had indicated separate checks when their order was taken, so when they finished their coffee and got up to leave, there was no discussion about who paid what. They both used credit cards and made their way out of the restaurant.

  Coryn told Mark she wanted to make a phone call and added that she’d see him back in the waiting room.

  “See you later,” he replied “And thanks for the company at dinner,” he added.

  Coryn smiled as they parted. He was merely being polite, she told herself. But it was nice of him to say, nonetheless.

  In the phone booth, she dialed her L.A. number. She wanted to see if Jason had left any message on her answering machine since her last check. There was none.

  Coryn sat there for a full minute, got her phone card out of her wallet and dialed Jason’s number. It rang and rang, then his taped message came on. “Jason Kramer. Leave a message. If it seems important, I’ll get back to you. Cheers.”

  As she listened for the message to finish, a mixture of emotions swept over Coryn. Recorded, Jason’s self-confident manner came off as arrogant. Hadn’t her roommate, Sheila, often complained that Jason’s tendency for put-downs was offensive? She had defended him, saying, “Oh, he’s only kidding.” But maybe Sheila was right. She didn’t leave a message. She knew he wasn’t home, but he sometimes left a personal message for her on his greeting. Coryn replaced the receiver and sat there for another moment. Well, he hadn’t left a message for her. It had happened before. Later, he’d offhandedly apologize. But that was Jason. Take it or leave it. Coryn opened the folding doors of the phone booth to take a deep breath just in time to hear the PA announce her flight.

  She hurried toward the waiting room. Mark was standing at the entrance. He motioned her forward. He held open the door to the field for her and together they went down the steps out to where the plane was loading.

  The wind was fierce as they walked across the wet tarmac to board. Coryn hurried up the small metal steps and into the plane. She immediately noticed that the plane was nearly full with passengers who had boarded in Sacramento. At the door, the flight attendant, taking them for a couple, said, “Sorry, there are no two seats together, just singles.”

  Coryn moved down the aisle to an empty seat. She stowed her luggage in the overhead compartment then got settled, safety belt fastened, as the plane taxied down the runway for takeoff. Finally, they were airborne. Without wanting to, her thoughts returned to Jason. For months he’d occupied so much of her life. She was beginning to realize their whole relationship might have been a waste of time. It would be a relief to be away from L.A. for a while.

  Mark pushed the lever at the side of his seat to move it into a reclining position. At last he was on his way home. Home? Without Ginny.

  He’d left Ginny in San Rafael to spend the holidays with Shari’s parents. They’d always spent Thanksgiving with the Bartons. This year he’d used work as his excuse not to stay over. They accepted that. He wasn’t sure they believed it, but he knew they understood. In three years he’d made a lot of progress, but there were still too many memories of other Thanksgivings spent there when Shari was alive.

  She’d been their pride and joy, the light of their lives. All those clichés people use to describe the feelings of doting parents of an only daughter fit the Bartons. Since her death, their house had become a kind of shrine to her memory with photos of her everywhere. Shari in her cheerleader outfit, as homecoming queen in high school, at her senior prom and as a bride. Shari had done it all. The only thing she hadn’t been able to do was have a baby.

  They had adopted Ginny. Then their happiness was complete. For a while at least. He felt a deep, familiar sadness well up in him. It was so unfair. But it had been three years ago. He should be getting over it, shouldn’t he?

  At Rockport Airport the terminal clock read 2:20 a.m. Too late certainly to call home. Coryn walked outside into the foggy night in hopes of finding a cab or maybe one of the hotel-shuttle vans. Neither was in sight. She’d have to go back inside, phone for a cab. Just then, Mark Emery emerged through the glass doors, carrying his overnight bag and briefcase.

  “No one to meet you?”

  “I didn’t really expect anyone this late.”

  “I left my car parked here Friday. I’d be glad to drive you home.”

  Coryn hesitated. “You’re sure? It might be out of your way. My parents live in Chestnut Hills, that’s quite a way on the other side of town.”

  “No problem. We live in Kensington Park.” He looked at her carry-on and overarm leather tote. “Is that all you have?”

  “Yes, I’m only staying through Thanksgiving,” she explained as they started walking toward the parking lot.

  The night air was damp and smelled of fog. He unlocked his car, a station wagon, and held the door open for her to get into the passenger seat. He went around, got in the other side, turned on the ignition. They pulled out into the curved road leading from the airport.

  Fog drifted in eerie yellow swirls in the headlights as they merged onto the freeway. “Looks as though it just opened up enough so we could land, now it’s closed down again,” Mark said.

  “Typical north-coast November,” Coryn replied.

  “I’m getting used to it. In fact, I like it. The rain, the fog. There’s a kind of feeling of being sheltered, protected from the outside world.”

  “Some call it the Redwood curtain.” Coryn glanced at him. “You don’t feel confined? I mean, after working in the city I would think you might find living up here too insulated.”

  “No, not at all. It’s better for Ginny. And it’s what Shari wanted…what we planned to do if she had lived.”

  Coryn murmured something she hoped sounded sympathetic.

  “It’s working out just fine. Great, in fact,” he said firmly. He sounded as if he was convincing himself.

  They drove the rest of the way mostly in silence, each locked into private thoughts. Mark took the turnoff to Chestnut Hills, one of Rockport’s prestigious residential areas. They wound up the twisting tree-lined road.

  “Next right, number 183.” Coryn directed and Mark swerved into a gravel driveway and pulled to a stop in front of a rambling stucco and timbered house. An old-fashioned lamppost lit the way to an arched stone entrance.

  Coryn slung the strap of her tote over her shoulder and opened the car door. “Don’t bother to get out. I can manage. Thanks for the ride.”

  “My pleasure,” Mark said. “Good night and have a ni
ce visit with your folks.” He watched her until she had opened the door, turned back and waved and gone inside.

  The minute Mark turned the key in the lock of his front door he was hit by the emptiness. He quickly switched on the light in the hall, set his suitcase down and stood there for a minute. It still happened, that wave of depression crashing down on him, knowing there was no one to welcome him.

  He looked through the mail Mrs. Aguilar had left neatly stacked on the hall table. Nothing important. Mark felt tired but not sleepy.

  He went into the kitchen, turned on the light, went to the refrigerator. Ginny’s last drawing brought home from school adorned the front of it. A smiling Pilgrim family, complete with a huge orange cat. A Thanksgiving art project, or was this her way of persisting in her plea for a pet? “Just a little kitten, Daddy, please. I’ll take care of it, I promise!” Mark smiled. Even at six Ginny knew how to get to him.

  Shari would have let her have a kitten. That’s for sure. The sharp sensation of loneliness came again. The realization of not having things like this to share with someone. Sometimes the pain was sharp and sudden. Other times just a dull ache.

  Somehow, he and Ginny had managed to survive. They had a housekeeper, the efficient Mrs. Aguilar, who adored Ginny, cooked good meals and kept the house, saw that their clothes were washed and ironed. The first year had been the hardest. Now going on three since Shari’s accident, they’d managed. Just.

  Maybe it was wandering around the San Francisco airport waiting for the next flight north that had put him in this strange mood. The unexpected meeting with Neil Dodge’s daughter. He had seen the quick brightening of her eyes in sympathy when he’d told her about Shari. It was as if she’d wanted to say something comforting but was too shy. Sensing that in her had sharpened his own need to share his heart with someone again. Someone who would understand. It might be crazy. He might be way off base, but he had sensed a vulnerability in Coryn Dodge under her poised surface.

  He’d like a chance to get to know her better…but that took time and effort. He’d tried going out after the first year. Friends had fixed him up with someone they “knew” he’d like. But nothing had ever worked out. He knew there was a void in his life, but relationships took time and effort.

  Coryn Dodge might be someone he could be interested in. She had been easy to talk to, had listened with warm empathy…as if she understood.

  Mark opened the refrigerator, got out a quart of milk, poured himself a glass. Coryn Dodge. There had been something- about her, something elusive that lingered in his mind. Like the scent of her perfume had lingered in the heated car after she got out.

  He drained the glass, rinsed it and left it on the drainboard. That kind of thinking was going nowhere. Theirs had been one of those chance meetings. After Thanksgiving she’d be back in L.A. His life here would go on. He had a long weekend to get through somehow, alone.

  Coryn let herself in the house. The lamp on the hall table shed a rosy glow, touching the gold frame of the mirror on the wall above and gilding the bronze chrysanthemums in the vase beside it. A note was propped against the base of the lamp:

  Welcome home, darling! We called the airport and were told your connecting flight had been delayed in Sacramento. Hope it wasn’t too awful. There’s an apple pie on the kitchen counter. We’ll see you in the morning.

  Love,

  Mother and Dad

  Coryn removed her coat, flung it on one of the Queen Anne chairs that flanked the table. She dropped her bag and set down her carry-on, took off her boots and walked stocking-footed down the hall to the kitchen. She heard a low whimpering and the sound of scratching from behind the closed utilityroom door. Smiling, she opened it. Ranger, their fourteen-year-old black Lab, came out sniffing and whining deep in his throat.

  “Hello, old fella. How are you?” she whispered, bending over to rub his head, scratch his ears. His thick tail swung like a heavy whip as he circled her. He moved stiffly. Coryn realized Ranger was getting older. His arthritis was worse, there was gray around his muzzle. “Good boy.” She nestled his head against her shoulder and hugged him. “I know, it’s been a long time. I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Her throat constricted suddenly. She hadn’t realized. Away from home, in her mind, everything remained the same. The picture held constant, secure, reassuring. But Ranger was visibly changed. What other changes would she find here?

  Chapter Two

  Coryn opened her eyes and looked around the bedroom. It had been redecorated for her sixteenth birthday. The furniture was the ivory French Provincial she had requested. Wallpaper, curtains, pillows on the curved window seat were all in her favorite color, blue.

  The room had suited her perfectly when she was a teenager. But even when she came home from college on spring break or summer vacations, it had seemed juvenile, though she had not spent much time in it. There was always too much to do. Friends to see, places to go. It had just been a place to sleep or change clothes, to come to and leave from.

  Everything in the bedroom was familiar. As if she’d never been away. Yet everything had changed. She most of all. From sixteen to twenty-six.

  Faintly she heard muted sounds, movement, voices from downstairs. Her parents were probably already up, knew she was home.

  She got out of bed and looked out the window. Fog dripped from the Douglas firs surrounding the house. She thought of the days of endless smog-hazy sunshine in L.A. and shivered. She was back in “God’s country,” as natives of the area called it.

  In the adjoining pink-tiled bathroom, she splashed water on her face, scrubbed her teeth, brushed and tied her hair back with a ribbon she found in the vanity drawer.

  At the doorway of the kitchen, Coryn hesitated a moment, taking in the scene. Cheerful yellow walls, daisy-print café curtains accented the oak cabinets. Pots of red geraniums on the windowsill brightened the gray day outside. Her father stood at the counter, holding the morning paper, scanning the headlines. Her mother sat in the curved breakfast nook sipping a cup of coffee. Coryn realized anew what an extraordinarily good-looking couple her parents were.

  Neil Dodge, six-foot and broad-shouldered with iron-gray hair that was perhaps receding a bit these days, was still a handsome man at fifty-five. He had strong features. A prominent nose and high cheekbones in a face tanned from weekends on the golf course or on fishing trips.

  Her mother was…well, the only way you could describe Clare Dodge was beautiful, even at this hour of the morning, without makeup. Her silver-blond hair fell in natural waves around her slim shoulders.

  “Good morning!” Coryn said as she stepped into the room.

  “Darling!” Her mother greeted her happily and got up to hug her. “It’s so good to have you home.”

  Coryn returned the hug and over her mother’s shoulder, smiled at her father saying, “Hi, Dad.”

  “Good to have you home, honey. How was the trip?”

  “Not bad at all. Just late.” She went over to kiss him. Ranger struggled to his feet from where he had been sprawled on the floor looking up at her hopefully and Coryn bent over and rubbed his ears affectionately. “The flight was overbooked and I had to take the later one.”

  “I’m not surprised. This time of year,” her father said. “I’ve cooled my heels at San Francisco International myself plenty of times waiting for the fog to lift. It’s to be expected coming up the coast. I thought you might have to stay overnight at one of the airport hotels.”

  “Did you see anyone you know from Rockport in the airport or on the plane?” her mother asked. “Your father usually runs into someone.”

  “Not exactly. No one I knew. But I did get to have some company in the waiting room. Someone named Mark Emery. He’s a reporter for the Times. We had dinner together while waiting for our flight. He drove me home.”

  “Mark Emery, the columnist?” Her father looked interested. “He writes fine, incisive articles. Pulls no punches.”

  “Sit down and have some brea
kfast, darling,” her mother urged. “What would you like? Waffles? Muffins? Bacon and eggs.”

  “Just coffee for now. Thanks, Mom.”

  “That’s no breakfast for a growing girl,” her father teased. It was a family joke. He’d made the same comment for years at breakfast. “Better eat something. You’re too thin.”

  “Didn’t someone say you can’t be too thin or too rich?” Coryn slid into the built-in cushioned seat of the breakfast nook.

  “I don’t know about the too thin but maybe I agree about the too rich.” Her father pretended to scowl.

  Her mother set down a cup of coffee in front of Coryn. “There’s so much to talk about. You never write and when you phone, well, you always seem in a hurry. Tell us all about everything.”

  “That’s a tall order. Can it wait until I get my daily dose of caffeine?” Coryn smiled. Taking a sip, she regarded her mother affectionately, noticing that she seemed a little pale. Still, no one would ever guess her to be fifty-three.

  Her mother sat down opposite her and reached over to pat her arm. “I’m so glad you’re here. There is so much I want us to do. We’ll have to go Christmas shopping, of course, and I’d like to do something special for you while you’re here. Wouldn’t you like to have a little get-together with some of your old friends? Lora and Cindy both want to see you and—”

  “Mom, I’m going to be here only a few days. There won’t be much time.”

  “Clare,” her father’s voice cut into the conversation. “Are you planning to cook something? All the burners on the stove are on high.”

  “Are they?” Sounding startled, her mother jumped up. “Oh, dear, I didn’t realize—” She looked flustered and went over to the stove, snapped the buttons off. Her face was flushed, she darted a quick anxious look at her husband. “I’m sorry—”