Dreams for Stones Read online

  “You don’t want that to happen.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to do something about it?”

  “I don’t think. . . No.” Five, six. Was one of the fish missing?

  “Love brings pain. You can’t avoid it, Alan. Nobody can. But denying love brings pain as well.”

  He sat counting fish, trying not to think about any of it.

  “Kathy is unfinished business,” Angela said.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Voilá,” Charles said, opening the door to his apartment.

  Kathy stepped past him and looked around with interest. Abstract art prints on the walls, a clear vase holding a large arrangement of silk flowers in shades of turquoise and teal sitting on a glass coffee table, and. . . chintz covered furniture? If she’d had to guess whose apartment this was, she would have said a woman desperately trying to look hip and failing miserably, not a man whose interests included vintage Porsches and Ironman competitions.

  “It’s ah. . . very. . . ” The only word that came to mind was “feminine.” She bit it off.

  “I think the word you’re looking for is clean. I know. I need to redecorate.” He gave her a rueful grin.

  She tipped her head. “Irreconcilable differences?”

  “Yeah. This was one of them. Have a seat. Try to make yourself comfortable. I need to check on dinner.”

  Instead of sitting down, she followed him to the kitchen.

  He opened the oven door and squinted at whatever was inside. It smelled as good as something from Mrs. Costello’s kitchen.

  “Congratulations on the verdict,” she said. “We saw you on the news. Mrs. C thought you looked very distinguished.”

  “And what about Ms. J. What did she think?”

  “Fishing for compliments, and before I’ve even had a bite to eat.” It was pleasant trading gentle barbs with Charles. A relief, actually. He was so. . . uncomplicated. She’d missed him this past month when he’d been too busy to see her.

  “Missed you,” he said, catching her thought. “Although it was superior planning on our parts to both be busy at the same time.”

  True. While he’d concentrated on the trial, she’d focused on the Bobby story.

  “So, how goes the writing?” he asked.

  “Good. I finished the story.”

  “Hey that’s terrific.” He came around the counter and pulled her into his arms for a hug. He rubbed his cheek against hers. “Let’s not do that again. Get too busy to see each other.” Then he tipped her face up and kissed her.

  She kissed him back, then moved casually out of his arms. “So, what’s for dinner?”

  He gave her a sharp look before turning back to the stove. “Roast chicken with all the trimmings.”

  She knew he was used to reading the body language of jurors and witnesses, and right now, although he wasn’t looking at her, he had to be wondering why she’d shortened the kiss and moved away. Not that her instinctive withdrawal hadn’t been a surprise to her as well.

  When the food was ready, they carried it into the dining room where the table was set with fresh flowers and candles.

  A thoroughly domesticated man, Kathy thought, looking across at Charles. Except there was nothing domesticated in the look he was giving her.

  And she knew. Actually, she’d known for some time, but had refused to face it, even after putting it into words for Grace. He was no longer going to be satisfied with kissing.

  But she wasn’t yet ready to take that next step.

  And maybe she never would be.

  Looking at Charles, she was struck anew by his sheer physical beauty, surprised as well by her own reaction to that beauty. Indifference? Or maybe the better word was unmoved.

  And she knew why.

  He wasn’t Alan.

  It was as simple and as complex as that.

  When they finished eating, Kathy insisted on helping Charles put the food away.

  “Forget leftovers.” He steered her firmly into the living room. Soft jazz floated from the stereo, and he took her in his arms and began to dance.

  When the music ended, he kissed her, gently at first and then with steadily increasing passion. Heart sinking, she broke off the kiss.

  “What is it?” His hands moved from her waist to lightly grip her upper arms.

  “I’m sorry, Charles.” She took a breath. “I think I know what you’re hoping. And it’s only fair to tell you, it isn’t going to happen.”

  He gave her a searching look. “And what exactly is it you think I’m hoping?”

  She swallowed, feeling suddenly unsure. What if she’d misread the situation? Wasn’t it presumptuous to assume just because he put flowers and candles on the table he was planning a seduction?

  But another look at his face, and she knew she had it right. She met his gaze. “You’re hoping to seduce me.”

  “So, why isn’t it going to happen?” He still held her lightly.

  Clamping down on her nerves, she pulled away and led him over to the couch. “We need to talk.”

  “Uh oh. Usually when a woman says that, it means I’m not going to like what she has to say.” His tone was flippant, but his face was solemn.

  She tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace.

  He sat next to her and put his arm along the back of the sofa, and she wished she’d picked one of the easy chairs.

  “I really enjoy our time together.” Her throat tightened, and she had to stop speaking in order to shut off the tears. Charles was a thoroughly nice man, and he’d done nothing to deserve this.

  “But you’re planning to save yourself until we’re married.”

  Married? Charles couldn’t be that serious. “I. . . well, I think sex...sometimes it obscures things.” And it needed to mean more than thanks for dinner. Or let me check to see if I still love you. She shuddered at the sudden, vivid memory of that last time with Greg.

  “You okay?” Charles leaned toward her, his brow furrowing.

  No. She wasn’t okay, but she nodded anyway, then stared down at her hands. “I want a relationship built on more than physical attraction. And I want to fall in love first.” She glanced at him. “I’ll understand if you feel differently and decide you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  It hurt more than she expected it to. Saying that last bit. She’d come to depend on Charles and enjoyed his company in all sorts of ways. As someone to look for when she went jogging, someone to go out with on a Saturday night, someone to share parts of her life with.

  She didn’t want it to end, but it wasn’t fair to hang on to him if all she was looking for was companionship, and he wanted more than that.

  Charles eased his arm from behind her, then sat sideways looking at her. Under that scrutiny, she felt like a defense witness, who had just given him the perfect opening.

  “You ever been in love?” he asked.

  She thought she had, several times. Except, looking back, she now knew she hadn’t been. Not really. They’d all been quick, bright flares, easily blown out with the cross wind of a single unkind word or thoughtless act. She’d gotten singed, but none of it had touched any deeper than that. Until Alan. That feeling of certainty Jade had described, overlaid now with loss. It reached all the way to her core.

  “Once.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged, looked away. “He. . . he didn’t feel the same way about me.” And if she let herself really think about those words, she’d start crying.

  “Recently?”

  She nodded.

  “You aren’t over it.” The words were flat.

  “No. I kept hoping I was. But no.” In spite of her efforts, tears filled her eyes. “Sorry.” She wiped the tears away with the back of a hand. Charles handed her a handkerchief.

  He waited while she wiped her eyes. Then he sighed. “Guess I could use that help in the kitchen, after all.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  She discovered he was serious about the
kitchen help. After they cleared the table, she rinsed off plates and bowls then handed them to him for the dishwasher.

  “It was a delicious dinner.” She tried to smile, but it wasn’t much of a success.

  “Yeah. I’ll make someone a lovely wife.”

  “That you most definitely will.” She was relieved he was starting to joke again.

  “Actually. . . ”

  “Actually, what?” She glanced at him as she handed him another plate.

  He shook his head sharply. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You ever do any teaching?”

  “Sure.” The question puzzled her. A non sequitur if she’d ever heard one. “I taught a seminar at DSU last spring. Why do you ask?” She rinsed another bowl and handed it to him.

  “Did you enjoy it? The teaching?”

  She nodded, handing him a plate. “If you get an enthusiastic group of students it can be a real high. Good thing, because the pay is peanuts.”

  “So, what did you get out of DSU for your efforts? Reserved parking, an office?”

  “Enough money for dinner and a movie if I stuck to McDonalds and Blockbuster.” She was finally able to give him a real smile.

  “You didn’t happen to meet an Alan Francini at DSU, did you?”

  It was the last thing she expected him to ask. She almost dropped the pan she’d started to rinse. She had to swallow before she could speak. “You know Alan?”

  Charles nodded, taking the pan from her.

  She turned away and concentrated on gathering together a handful of silverware. “Isn’t that a coincidence.” She had to clear her throat, but she thought she’d managed to sound casual, although she felt anything but. “How well do you know him?”

  When Charles didn’t answer, she glanced at him. He was frowning at the wall over the sink, but she didn’t think he was seeing it. Then he blinked and looked at her. “Yeah. I know Alan.”

  He hadn’t answered the question she’d asked, but she wasn’t inclined to challenge him. And he looked too strange for her to ask the other questions swirling in her head. Have you seen him recently? Do you know how he is? Did you know Meg? Do you know how Meg died?

  Later, when he took her home, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I want to keep seeing you. But I think it’s better if I don’t.” His look was strained. Meeting his eyes, she felt a surge of sorrow. Before it could overwhelm her, she pulled away and hurried into the house.

  In the days that followed, she gradually stopped expecting to see Charles running in Cheesman or to hear his voice when she answered the phone.

  She was surprised at how much she missed him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “I plan to get drunk,” Charles said, when Alan answered the phone. “And I could use company. How about it? You in, or are you going to consign me to crying on some stranger’s shoulder?” The tone was much too flat to be a joke.

  “Why don’t you come over here?”

  “You got anything besides beer?”

  “Nope.”

  Charles sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  When Charles arrived, Alan got a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator. “We drinking to anything special?”

  Charles opened the whiskey he’d brought and poured a large amount over a small amount of ice. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.” Charles tapped his glass against Alan’s bottle. “Let’s drink to experience.” He took a gulp.

  Alan frowned. “We talking any experience in particular?”

  “Believe I need to finish this before I’ll be ready to get into particulars.” Charles saluted Alan, tipped up his glass, drained it, then reached for the bottle and poured a refill. He was obviously serious about getting drunk, even though normally he wasn’t any more of a drinker than Alan was.

  Halfway through the third drink, Alan could tell the whiskey was taking effect. Charles set the glass down carefully and blinked as if he were having trouble focusing.

  “Particulars,” Charles said. “You asked what particular experience prompted this evening’s visit. Believe I’m almost ready to,” he stretched his neck, “tell you the whole frigging story.”

  Alan sipped his beer, ready to distract Charles if he tried to drink any more. But Charles seemed to have forgotten the whiskey.

  “All started by chance, you know. I saw her running in the park and asked her out. Turned me down. After I promised I wouldn’t touch, finally went out with me. Should have known something wasn’t right.”

  Alan froze, barely breathing.

  “Hard not touching. That hair. So. . . silky.” Charles’s fingers moved, caressing the air. “Took it slow, though. Seemed like that’s how she wanted it.” He wiped at his mouth, then looked around as if trying to figure out where he was. “Elusive. That’s the word. Didn’t want to go slow any more. Made a move, she stopped me cold.”

  The relief hit Alan like a fist. All these last weeks he’d avoided Charles, because seeing him, all he could think about was Charles and Kathy together, talking, laughing. . . making love.

  Charles’s head wobbled, and he shifted as if to rebalance it. “Says she loves someone else, but he doesn’t love her. Think I know who she meant, though.” Charles’s head nodded up and down in a slow rhythm.

  Alan’s relief turned to regret. She loves someone else. It was still too late. Alan looked across at his friend, whose eyes were now closed. Charles swayed gently as if he were responding to a phantom breeze. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Alan, although Alan wasn’t at all sure what he was seeing. “’Magine that. Funny, huh? Waste, though. Don’t you think? What good is pain if there’s no chance for. . . happiness?”

  Charles stopped talking abruptly and sat silently for a time, then his eyes drifted shut.

  Alan lifted Charles’s legs onto the couch, propped a pillow under his head, and draped a blanket over him. Then he poured the rest of the whiskey down the drain, turned out the light, and sat nearby.

  As Charles slept, Alan, feeling a deep sadness, kept watch.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the morning, Charles sat up groaning and holding his head. Alan handed him a glass of water and two acetaminophen.

  “Just shoot me,” Charles said.

  “Think you can handle a cup of coffee?”

  “Absolutely not. Tea, maybe.”

  After a cup of tea, Charles picked at a piece of toast. “Really made an idiot of myself, huh?”

  “Incoherent,” Alan agreed. “Although one thing was clear.”

  Charles touched his head and winced. “Yeah. I’ll bet. Kathy.”

  “I take it she broke up with you.”

  Charles shook his head, then stopped moving abruptly and rubbed his temples. “I broke up with her.”

  “Why?”

  “That incoherent, huh? Hmph. Figured it would be a lot easier to tell you while I was drunk. Blew it.”

  Alan waited impatiently while Charles poured more hot water into his cup and re-dunked his teabag. Then Charles closed his eyes. “Sorry. Bit nauseated.” He took a careful sip of tea, then raised bloodshot eyes to Alan’s face. “I was slow, but I finally put it all together. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  Alan froze, trying to meet Charles’s look.

  “One. She’s an editor. Two. She taught a seminar at DSU last spring. Three. She says she met you, but you acted like you didn’t know who she was. Four. Grace Garibaldi, the dog lady, right? Although I can’t quite figure out how she fits in. But you see where I’m going with this.” He stopped speaking, and his hands went up to clench his arms, rubbing them as if he were freezing. “You and Kathy. You lied about knowing her.” He narrowed his eyes, frowning at Alan. “A witness lies, means he has something to hide.”

  Alan’s heart squeezed into a tight aching lump. He tried to remember why he hadn’t told Charles he knew Kathy. Partly it had been the shock. But that wasn’t the whole truth. He’d like to believe he’d done it to allow Charles and Kathy to discover what they might mean to each other, but he knew
the main reason he hadn’t said anything was because he simply couldn’t bear to talk about what happened with Kathy.

  “So I asked myself. Why didn’t Alan just say, ‘Charles, old buddy, Kathy Jamison, huh? You’re talking about that editor Hilstrom foisted on me last spring.’”

  Alan found he was clenching a case knife in one hand and a mangled piece of toast in the other with no memory of how either got there.

  “Only one answer to that,” Charles continued. “Something happened between you two.” He nodded, his lip sucked in. “Know you’ll find it hard to believe. Went the noble route. Told her I’d better not see her again. But I got to thinking. Didn’t solve a thing.”

  Charles lifted his head and stared at Alan with those awful eyes. “Bottom line. I’m only going to be noble so long. You do something soon, or I’m back in the game, and this time I’ll do everything I can to get her to forget you and fall in love with me.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Charles shook his head in irritation, then winced. “Giving you a sporting chance. We’ve been friends too long.” He stopped and lowered his head into his hands.

  Then he looked at Alan again, his face haggard from more than too much whiskey. “For God’s sake, man, how could you let her go?”

  He hadn’t let her go. He’d pushed her away.

  But now. The anguish he’d felt when Charles said he planned to marry Kathy had been replaced with an agonized hope.

  Hope as fragile and tentative as a foal trying to stand the first time.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the wake of Charles’s visit and his revelations, Alan felt restless and uncertain. To distract himself, he once again pulled the box containing his writing out of the closet and sorted through it, pulling his stories together in one pile, his novel in a second. He returned the research materials and computer disks to the box.

  Charles had been wrong. Not a thousand pages. Only five hundred. He split the pile into three parts, tapping the stacks to straighten them, then he picked up his first page, realizing he could no longer even recall the beginning.