Foolish Notions Page 18

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  “She just left for yoga class.”

  “I guess I just missed her.” It was probably more like she had purposely avoided him. “I went into the office to check my messages before I came up. Why, is something the matter? Do you need something?” He looked at the array of different prescriptions beside her bed. He wouldn’t have a clue about what to give her if she did need something.

  “No, she just hasn’t seemed like herself lately.” She tried to keep her look casual and not too prying. “You wouldn’t know what’s the matter with her, would you?”

  “Mother.”

  “Well, I just—”

  “Mother,” he repeated. His deep voice commanded that she stop.

  “Oh, all right, I’ll keep my nose out of it.” She waved her hand in the air.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you eaten?” She smiled when he shook his head.

  “Samantha made a delicious dinner. She’s kept everything warming for you. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?”

  “Yeah, thoughtful. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “No. I’m going to read for about twenty more minutes, then Wheel of Fortune is coming on.” She shooed him away with her hand and picked up the book that was folded open beside her.

  “You go and get some dinner; I need to finish this chapter.”

  * * * * *

  James polished off the last of his chili and sipped his beer as he watched the ball game. He regarded the half-full amber bottle in his hand. He would need about five more to ease the pain he was feeling.

  Motion to his left caused him to look up. Samantha stood with her gym bag in one hand and the car keys in the other. Her hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. She looked as bad as he did. Their eyes met. “We need to talk.”

  He took a long sip and then said, “Don’t you think we did enough of that last night?” Just seeing her rekindled what little pain he had been able to suppress over the last few hours. He fought his building tension. “I don’t want to do this again.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “I can’t. I know where you stand and how you feel. Nothing more needs to be said.”

  “No, you don’t.” Her voice sounded small in the large room. “You don’t know how I feel.”

  Disbelief took over James’s expression. His gut twisted into a tight knot. “You can’t be serious. You may think I misinterpret things often but I got your point last night.”

  “I need to explain—”

  “There’s nothing to explain.” James muted the game and stared at her. All the hurt he was feeling surfaced. Damn, he thought he had managed to get control of it. Hadn’t he spent the last twenty-four hours stuffing it inside of him? “I don’t want to talk.”

  “But I need you to talk to me. Please, James.”

  “Do you really think that I’m that type of man?” He shrugged his aching shoulders. “Did I ever treat you like some possession that I wanted to acquire?” He watched her for a moment. “Answer me. Did I ever treat you that way?”

  She shook her head as her lashes slowly covered her eyes. “No, of course not.”

  He slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. “How can you compare what we had to other meaningless and loveless relationships?” For a brief moment he forgot about the pain, he forgot about everything, he remembered only what they had shared. “We never just existed, Samantha. We lived. We loved. Don’t twist what we had into something that it’s not. What we shared was beautiful and magical, regardless of how it ended.”

  “You’re right.”

  He didn’t speak for a few minutes. “Do you mean it?”

  She moved toward him. “Yes. What we had was amazing.”

  “Then what in the hell happened last night?”

  She sighed as she thought about it. There was no plausible excuse for the way she behaved. “I said those things last night because I was mad.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was mad at myself for wanting you.” She linked her hands together. “I thought if I made you out to be the bad guy then—”

  “Then you wouldn’t want me,” he added for her.

  “Something like that.” She moved to the couch, too weary to stand. “The things I said last night were not only uncalled for, but untrue.” She shifted when he didn’t answer. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you fighting this, Samantha?”

  “You know why.” She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to fight anymore and I don’t want to say hurtful things. So, we’re not going to talk about it.” Her fingers played with the hem of her baggy sweatshirt. “I’m trying to deal with this the best way I know how.”

  “By not dealing with it at all? You can’t ignore what we have, it’s too strong.” He turned his entire body in the chair, because if he just turned his neck he feared he would die from the pain. “If you would just let me explain—”

  “Stop.” She held up her hand. “Please don’t say another word.” It took a moment for her to put together what she wanted to say. “We’re friends. I am here because I love Marie and I want to help her. I want to help you, too. That’s all.” She got ready to continue but then saw the way he was sitting—the odd way he was looking at her. “Are you okay? You don’t have to look like it’s the end of the world just because I said we’re only friends.”

  “My neck is killing me.”

  “Your neck?” she said in disbelief.

  “Yes. And my shoulders, and my back, and my head. Right now everything pretty much hurts.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” She moved behind his chair and put her hands on his neck. She felt the tight muscles and began to work them. “You’re one giant knot.”

  “If I turn my head too fast I feel like I’m going to pass out.” He winced as she felt around, assessing the damage. “I took some aspirin but it hasn’t touched it.”

  “You know, yoga could take care of this.” Her fingers found their way to his temples, where she applied gentle pressure, using a circular motion that was amazingly effective.

  “I’m not getting down on the floor and contorting myself into some crazy position that my body shouldn’t be in in the first place.”

  “Well, that crazy position would relieve this tension.”

  James rested his head against the back of the chair and let out a long breath. “You seem to be relieving it just fine.”

  She allowed herself to smile. “You’re lucky that I’m not as demanding as my yoga instructor.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Paul worked his magic on you tonight.” His voice was a calm mask of disgust.

  Samantha used her thumb and dug into the muscles that covered his shoulder blade. She held the pressure for a very long moment. “As a matter of fact he did.”

  Yeah, James was sure the jerk had his hands all over her when he was doing it, too. “Is that why class ran late tonight?”

  “Are you timing me?”

  “Not exactly,” he said seriously.

  “I had to run by my place.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I do.”

  “Why? He’s not your type,” His voice was scornful.

  “How do you know what my type is?”

  “I just know.” He couldn’t take the pressure any more.

  “Okay, ease up.”

  She reduced the pressure. “At least I’m able to walk upright. A chiropractic adjustment would—”

  “Don’t even go there, Samantha.”

  “Fine.” She brought her hands to his neck. “That hot tub of yours, which hasn’t seen the light of day, might help, too.”

  “It might,” he agreed. “Are you going to get in with me?”

  “Not likely.”

  James sunk a little farther down in the seat and closed his eyes. “I’ll pass then. Besides, I’ve got a full belly, a beer, a ball game, and one hell of a masseuse.” He raised the remote and pressed the mute button filling the room with the voices
of two over exuberant commentators. “What more could a man ask for?”

  * * * * *

  Samantha watched the game for a few moments, allowing herself time to relax and regroup. The drive home from class had been pure torture because she hadn’t been sure what was going to happen when she got home. She was almost positive her antics had put her job in jeopardy and she was just as certain they would surely destroy the feeble relationship she and James had. When she had walked through the door and had not seen her bags, she’d felt a glimmer of hope.

  “We’re all right?” she asked, now.

  Samantha was surprised when James raised his hands and placed them over hers. Suddenly, he reached over and pulled her over the chair and into his lap. She landed with a thump, her face inches from his.

  “I want a confession first,” he said as he cradled her to him.

  She brushed the hair from her face and studied the warm darkness of his eyes. They reflected power and control. “What do you want me to confess to?”

  “I want you to admit you can’t ignore what’s here.” He moved his hand in the small space between them.

  It would be a miracle if she could tune out what was between them, she thought. If she could find a way to eliminate and dispose of all the emotions, which seemed to fall in the category of passion, living with him would be tolerable. His request wasn’t unreasonable, and after the way she behaved the question seemed meager, so she answered him. “If I could ignore it, do you think we would be going through any of this?”

  “You know it’s there.” His reply wasn’t a question, but a conformation.

  The look in his eyes prevented words, so she nodded.

  He touched the tip of her nose with two fingers, then her lips, even though he really wanted to kiss her. He studied her beautiful face briefly, and then suddenly tossed her back over his shoulder in one silent fluid movement. Taking each of her hands, he rested them on his shoulders, precisely where they had been only moments before. “There’s ten minutes left in the fourth. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  James found Samantha stuffing dirty clothes into the washer in the laundry room. He waited until she was finished measuring the detergent before he spoke. “Hi.”

  “How’s your neck feeling?” she said as she bent down and pulled clothes out of the dryer.

  “Much better. Thank you. The Rose Festival is today and I was wondering if you think Mom is feeling well enough to go.” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I haven’t suggested it to her yet because I didn’t know if you thought it was a good idea. She hasn’t been out in awhile and I think she would really enjoy going.”

  “I don’t see why she can’t. Just try and keep the day short so she doesn’t get too worn out.” She carried an arm full of warm clothes into the living room and dropped them onto the couch.

  James followed, picking up the garments that fell. “Ginger does the laundry.”

  “Not mine.”

  He handed her the clothes. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you think it’s too soon after her treatment for her to go? I know her cell count drops, and all that stuff.” He grabbed a shirt and folded it. “We’ve been so careful, washing our hands and making sure she doesn’t come in contact with anyone sick. So far, our efforts haven’t been wasted. I didn’t want to blow it with one outing.”

  Samantha smiled. “All that stuff is fine.”

  “Good.” He turned, paused, and then turned back around.

  “Do you want to come with us?” When she didn’t answer right away, he added. “It’ll be fun.” He needed to be with her.

  “Come with us where?” Marie said as she walked into the room. She carried her tote bag with all her crocheting. “Are we going somewhere?”

  James turned to his mom. “How does the Rose Festival sound?”

  “Just lovely. I had forgotten that it was this weekend.” Marie looked over at Samantha. “Oh, you must come. The roses are some of the finest you’ll ever see.”

  “It does sound nice.” She looked from one to the other. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Marie said when James nodded.

  “Okay, I’d love to go.” Samantha finished folding the clothes. She took several stacks of the freshly laundered clothes and then looked at Marie. “Meet me upstairs and I’ll help you get ready.”

  * * * * *

  Marie tried another hat on, this time a black one with a large brim. “None of these hats look good on me.”

  “I liked the sun hat,” Samantha said as she sat on the edge of the bed, looking over Marie’s shoulder through the mirror.

  “I’ve never looked good in a hat. My forehead is too low, so the band rests on my eyebrows, cutting off half of my head.” She set the hat aside. “I don’t know why I even bought them.”

  “Then don’t wear one if you don’t like them.” Samantha looked at Marie, who was trying to brush her thinning hair into somewhat of a style. It had saddened her to see Marie’s head of beautiful white hair slowly grow sparse over the last several months. “Come over here and let me give it a try.”

  Marie sat next to her. “What’s it going to hurt?”

  “Exactly.” Samantha raised a finger. “Just a minute.” She darted out of the room and was back in seconds. She held up a large can of hair spray. “We’ll have to pull out the big guns for this.”

  “Extra hold?”

  Samantha laughed and looked at the can. She read the small print across the bottom of it aloud. “Super hold.” She picked up a comb and began fluffing her hair. She moved around Marie’s head, teasing and spraying here and there. She worked the front, then moved around to the side, and after a few minutes she gave the once-limp hair a final spray. “What do you think?”

  Marie looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. “How did you do that?” She brought both hands to her hair and patted lightly. It was holding its shape, not collapsing into some lifeless, sparse heap. “That’s amazing.”

  Samantha set the hair spray down, as Marie looked at herself in complete disbelief. Although her hair was thin, it looked very nice, Samantha had to admit. Maybe she missed her calling. Hair could have been her area of expertise. “When I was in high school big hair was in. I learned every trick there was to getting the biggest hair.”

  “You would have loved the bouffant.”

  Samantha laughed. She had seen her mom wear the popular sixties style many times. “Yes, I’m sure I would have. If I’m lucky it might just come back in style.”

  James knocked on the open door as he walked in. “You ladies ready?” He paused as he looked at his mom. “You look wonderful.” He hadn’t seen her wear her favorite yellow sundress in months and her hair looked amazing.

  “Thank you. Samantha did my hair.” She took Samantha’s hand into hers and stood up from the dressing table. “Isn’t it perfect?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m going to go get my purse. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  James watched Samantha stand before the mirror and arrange her hair. She then rearranged it several more times, contemplating the style. She wore a long floral skirt that hugged her legs. The ribbed green shirt was cut low. A beautiful gold charm hung near her breasts. Her makeup was kept to a minimum, just enough to accentuate her beautiful features.

  “Wear it down.”

  Samantha released the hair she held at the top of her head, ready to secure it with a clip. Looking through the mirror, her eyes found and then settled on James. He was standing over her right shoulder watching, waiting. “What would you do if I cut it off?” She used her hand and gestured at chin level. “Right about here.”

  James cringed. Her hair was so beautiful. It was shiny, lustrous, and agonizingly soft to the touch. It would be a crime if she cut it. “You wouldn’t. It suits you long.”

  “No, it suits you long. What’s your infatuation with my hair anyway?” She looked back into the mirror, v
isualizing the cut. “I think it might be fun.”

  James moved close. She smelled sweet, the hint of fragrance agreed with him. “You’ll never cut it.” It was more of an order than a statement. Heaven forbid if she did.

  Her amusement vanished, as an intent expression flickered across her face. “Don’t tempt me.”

  The touch was meant to throw her. It was meant to startle and remind. It did all that and more. James’s fingers found her lips, her chin, and the corners of her eyes. His mouth barely opened as he spoke. “Don’t tempt me.” The warning was spoken against her cheek. “Ready?”

  * * * * *

  The day was a perfect seventy-eight, and the festival drew crowds. City blocks had been shut down and merchants had set up in the middle of the road, some with white canvas tents and others with nothing more than a few tables. Part of the festival’s charm and attraction was the live outdoor music, from local bands. Mix that with good food and beautiful flowers, and it made for a picturesque sight.

  Flowers came in every form. Hanging baskets dripped with green foliage dotted with bits of color. Cut flowers were held in white containers, in symmetrical rows, according to type and hue. Marie purchased bouquet after bouquet, because she couldn’t resist the arrangements with so much color—every one unique.

  Samantha’s senses were inundated when they passed a booth that offered every herb imaginable. She stopped and bought some basil and rosemary because the freshness was mouthwatering. She would make spaghetti tonight.

  They passed more booths, which were filled with paintings, sculptures, photographs, and other beautiful pieces that revolved around the festival’s theme. Local artists had set up mini studios, and James, Samantha, and Marie paused every so often to watch them work.

  When they found the American Rose Club’s booth, they spent over an hour there. Marie had been a member of the ARC for over fifteen years. She took the time to get caught up on all the latest happenings since she had been away.

  The next stop was to gawk over a new miniature rose that she had never seen. Marie clasped her hands together in sheer enchantment. “I must have one. The head size is perfect, the color is superb, and the variegated leaves make it irresistible.”