Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

a single sound before that. Apparently his government training or his years at Taumaturgio or both had left him able to move without noise. If the water pipes didn’t gripe at being used, she would have had no idea he was awake.

Having him in the house and not knowing where he was or what he was doing, that would make anyone edgy.

When the water went off, she started the eggs and toast. She’d planned on over-easy eggs until the first one hit the pan. Maybe she needed more sleep.

She didn’t hear him come into the kitchen, either. Yet she knew exactly when he’d rounded the corner.

She liked that even less than not knowing where he was.

“I hope you like scrambled eggs. That’s all Matthew will eat, and I seem to be out of practice at making any other kind.”

He held his silence. She couldn’t resist the almost palpable pull of his will. She looked up.

His hair was wet, slicked back the way Paulo had worn it, but already starting to dry enough to let the waves work free. The stubble on his cheeks had blossomed toward a beard and his clothes proclaimed they’d been slept in. But his skin didn’t have the gray tinge of last night, his shoulders were straight and his eyes had shaken off some of the ghosts.

Or put them back behind closed doors.

“Scrambled’s fine.” He stepped to the edge of the counter that divided the working area from the eating area. “Kendra, I’m sorry about last night.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

His mouth twisted. “How about for crying all over your shoulder?”

“You didn’t.” She turned back to the eggs. “If you want to be technical, I did the crying. You talked about some things. There’s no crime in that.”

He snorted. “Seems like talking’s all I’ve been doing. They put me through more debriefing back in Washington.” The toaster oven door clicked open. Without being asked, Daniel took the toast out, put it on the plate she’d left nearby, then started two more pieces. “You’d think they’d already have every thought that ever passed through my head down on paper by now, but they wanted more.”

“And that’s what got you thinking about Santa Estella again.”

“Yeah, I guess. Butter or jelly?”

“Strawberry preserves for me.” She spooned fluffy eggs onto two plates. “But you should feel proud of what you did, Daniel. You–”

“Those kids needed me to stick around–they need me there now. I let them down.”

“Daniel, you gave years of your life–”

“I could still be there if I hadn’t gotten so damned sure I could pull off anything.”

They met at the kitchen table. Her with the two plates with eggs, him with the toast, plus a cup of coffee he’d poured himself.

He dug into the eggs, apparently still filling the hole created over several days of not eating. She nibbled at a piece of toast.

“You know, there are other ways to help kids, Daniel. Other kids – people–who need help. All around you. There might not be the headlines, but it’s still important. It might not mean flying daredevil missions into dangerous spots. It might be quiet and ordinary things, but it needs doing.”

“Trouble is, I’m not sure I have those skills.” His would-be wry grin stretched tight with pain. “I watch the parents with their kids at the co-op and especially I watch you with Matthew, and . . . I’m a hell of a lot better at flying in to some isolated spot in the dead of night. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m good at. That’s what I should be doing.”

“Did you ever think that if you were still doing that, you wouldn’t be here for Matthew now, like you weren’t here for him his first two years of life.”

It was harsh, but it stopped him.

“You’re right. I should have been there–for Matthew and you.”

“What’s important is how you’ll be here for him now. As for me–” A memory of being wrapped in strong arms flashed through her. She blinked it away. “–I’ve done fine.”

“If I’d been around, you wouldn’t have had to give up your career.”

“What do you mean give up my career?” she demanded in mock indignation. “I still have a career. I’m still a reporter.”

The line of his mouth eased. “I meant network television–your chance to crack the big-time, the way you dreamed of.”

She’d thought that herself at first. Sometimes in anger, occasionally in self-pity. Now she felt only impatient at the thought. She busied herself with the dishes.

“I had a journalism professor who said that if you knew you were down to your last day of life and being on the air wasn’t how you wanted to spend it, then network reporting probably wasn’t for you. It takes the kind of dedication and single-mindedness that would make you have to get the big story, even if the big story is the end of the world.”

“Are you saying you didn’t have that kind of dedication?” Daniel asked skeptically. “I wished I’d known that when you were chasing Taumaturgio so hard.”

“Oh, I wanted that story, all right. As a means to an end–the end being lifelong financial security.” She remembered lying in the hospital bed, alone with her son for the first time, could almost feel the curve of his newborn cheek under her fingertip. “That didn’t seem so important after Matthew came along. He changed my view. Don’t get me wrong, I still want security. It’s just that I’ve adjusted my view of what will make me secure.”

*

She pulled up next to Daniel’s car in the otherwise empty church parking lot. They had cleaned up the breakfast dishes in near silence. He’d said he could walk back to town, and she’d told him she had an errand in town anyhow. It wasn’t the truth but it kept him from arguing.

“Listen, Kendra, I don’t know how to say–”

“There’s no need to say anything.”

“I feel like–like I spilled my guts.”

“Now you know how I felt after Santa Estella.”

He stared at her a moment. “I suppose I do.”

He