Fools Rush in(96)

I took a deep breath and launched into the whole story, ending with Sam’s endless apologies.

“Huh,” said my best friend. “Hmm.”

“Can you do better than that?” I asked, more caustically than I intended, glancing at Joe, who was still immersed in his paperwork.

Katie grimaced. “Gee, Millie, this is a toughie. I guess you’re just going to have to talk to him and get it straightened out. But still, he did kiss you, so he must have some feelings there.”

“Which he’s sorry for! You should have seen his face!”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And you’re not going to know until you talk to him.” Chris called Katie’s name and she looked up. “I’m sorry, Millie, I need to get back to work. Just talk to Sam. Sorry I can’t help more. Call me tomorrow. I’m home all day.”

So much for the advice of a best friend. Nonplussed, I rose to leave. Joe jumped up. “Millie!” I stopped. “Hey, Millie,” Joe said, coming closer. “Listen, it was…” He paused. “It’s good to see you, Mil.” He gave a small smile, and tears pricked my eyes.

He was forgiving me.

“It’s good to see you, too, Joe,” I whispered.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE NEXT DAY, THE BEEPING of a storm warning scrolled across the bottom of the television screen. Huh. A tropical depression was rolling up the coast. Could grow into a hurricane. Well, that would be fun. Storms were fantastic on the Cape. Lots of drama, lots of wind. I didn’t have anywhere to go.

At some point the night before, I had resolved to call Sam. I couldn’t just lie around drooling anymore. He deserved to hear from me, and I had been acting like an ass, avoiding him. I would let him say his piece, assure him that I’d be fine and pretend to have no feelings for him for the rest of my life.

Thus steadfastly determined, I decided to procrastinate just a little bit longer. I dragged the porch furniture into the cellar in case the wind got too rough later on, taped the living-room picture window and made a pot of soup. Glancing at the scudding gray clouds outside, I decided to take advantage of the fact that it wasn’t raining yet and go for a run. Digger stood stock-still as I put on my running shoes, breathlessly hopeful that his dream might come true.

“Let’s go, pal,” I said, and he leaped joyfully for the door.

The wind was growing stronger, and the smell of rain was in the air. Every once in a while a gust would shove at Digger and me, or I’d have to run around a small branch in the road. The wind was cold, and occasionally I could hear a rumble of thunder as the front came closer. It was getting darker by the minute. Perhaps this had been a mistake.

It was. Just as I reached the halfway mark, stinging rain began to pelt down from the black clouds. I had no choice but to run faster. I rounded the turn onto Ocean View Drive, hearing the waves well before I saw them. Sand blew across the road, slicing into my skin, and I opened my stride as much as I could.

By the time I was finished, I was exhausted. My legs ached, my ears burned and I was completely drenched by rain and salt spray. Even Digger was subdued, fur soaked through.

As I plodded up the driveway, I saw Sam sitting in his pickup. He got out, bent to pat my wet dog, then straightened and looked at me, shielding his eyes from the rain. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sam.” I managed to smile a little. “Believe it or not, I was going to call you the minute I got home.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t smile back.

“Um, how’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.” He waited until I sighed. It was time.

“Come on in,” I said, opening the back door. Turning on some lights, I grabbed a towel. Drying off Digger meant that I didn’t have to look at Sam. Digger moaned joyfully at the brisk rubdown. When I released him, he immediately went to Sam’s leg for a little romance.

“No, Digger.” Sam bent to remove Digger’s front legs from his shin. “Millie—”

“Is it okay if I just grab a quick shower? I’m not trying to stall, I’m just afraid the power’s going to go out.”

“Sure,” he answered a bit tightly, taking off his jacket. “I’ll, um, I’ll make some coffee.”

I showered and washed my hair as fast as I could. The sky was downright black now, and the house shook periodically from the force of the wind. I pulled on some jeans and my comfy old Holy Cross sweatshirt and went to face Sam. The minute I stepped into the kitchen, the lights went out.

“Well, this gives us a sense of foreboding, don’t you think?” I asked cheerfully, though my stomach was in knots.

“At least the coffee’s done perking.” Boy Scout that he was, he’d rooted out a few little votive candles while I’d been in the shower, and now lit them, placing them around the kitchen. Their warm, gentle glow flickered in the drafts. Sam handed me a cup of coffee, cream, no sugar, just the way I liked it. “I filled up some pots with water in case we’re out for a day or two,” he said, and I could hear his nervousness in his voice.

“Thank you.”

Sam cleared his throat and leaned against the counter.

“Do you want to sit down?” I asked, suddenly dying to delay this awful moment.

“No, I’d better do this standing up,” he answered. Dread rose in the bottom of my stomach and trickled into my arms and legs, leaving a path of cold behind. It was one thing to imagine this conversation, but it was another to have it here and now.