Ryan's Return, page 16
"But sometimes I don't feel as if I've really experienced what I've seen. It's like reading a good book, wanting to know the characters, wanting to touch them and hold them, but no matter how hard you try, you just can't get in the pages. It's someone else's story, not yours."
"I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel that way here, trying to live in this town, where I belong and yet I don't. I think if I push hard enough, I'll begin to fit in."
"And if you don't, will you leave?"
"No. Because this is what I want. And I believe this is my story."
Ryan grinned. "I have the sudden urge to turn to the end of your book and see what happens."
"That would be cheating," she said, shaking a finger at him. "Besides, as Aunt Josephine says, it's the getting there that's the fun. The destination is the last bite of pie, not the first."
"Who else is in this story with you?"
"Angel, of course. These wonderful, mischievous puppies who have already eaten through two of my shoes. Andrew, Billy. The whole town."
"Even me?"
"You -- you are an unexpected plot development."
He raised an eyebrow. "Major or minor?"
"Minor."
"Why minor?"
"Because this is my story, not yours."
"Somehow I have a feeling it might be ours."
Ryan stared at her so long, she felt her body begin to tremble. The desire was back in his eyes, the connection between them stronger than ever.
Kara drew in a breath, then slowly let it out. She didn't want to talk about their story, didn't want to admit to him or to herself that they could share anything together. She tipped her head toward the clearing sky outside. "Looks like the storm is over," she said.
"For a while anyway."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know." Ryan grinned. "I guess you'll have to turn to the next page and find out."
* * *
Ryan was right. The storm returned with a vengeance at noon on Friday, one hour before the arts and crafts fair was due to open. When Kara arrived at the high school, the vendors stood huddled under an overhang, their station wagons and vans still loaded. Puddles large enough to wade through covered the front lawn and the parking lot.
So far the Centennial Celebration was turning into a survival test.
"Hi, honey," Josephine said as she waited patiently near the front door of the school with Ike. Josephine was scheduled to have her teacups on display as well as other knickknacks and antiques that she wanted to sell. "Did you sleep well?"
"No."
"The storm kept you awake?" Josephine asked perceptively.
"Among other things," Kara replied.
"Ah, that sounds interesting."
"You best save it," Ike interrupted as a group of vendors walked over to them.
Cole Jackson, one of the painters, spoke for the group. "Looks like a bust, Mrs. Delaney. We'll need refunds if you're going to cancel."
"I'm not going to cancel," she said. "We'll move it inside."
"Where? We won't all fit in the cafeteria. And the principal won't let us use the gym floor. We spoke to him a few minutes ago. He said they just redid the floor for basketball."
Kara knew that was true, because she had already had more than one conversation with the principal about that very matter.
"We'll start in the cafeteria and overflow into the classrooms," she said, trying to sound decisive.
The vendors eyed her doubtfully. Even Josephine looked skeptical.
"The classrooms?" Cole stroked his bearded chin. "I don't think that will work. There are desks and books, and the lighting certainly won't do anything for my paintings."
"There's nothing I can do about the lighting, but at least your paintings will be dry," Kara said with stubborn determination. Why did she seem to be climbing mountains alone? You'd think she was the only one in town with a vested interest. "We don't have any other choice. We can't disappoint our visitors. Let's make the best of things. Need I remind you that there is money to be made?"
The mention of money eased the grumbling. No one had anything better to do. They were ready for action. They might as well set up shop as best they could.
At one o'clock the fair officially opened. Kara had found more streamers to decorate the front hall, and she hoped the trophy case would add a touch of glamour to the setting. After all, she wanted the developers to know that they had an excellent school system, small though it might be. It was quality all the way.
The first few visitors were mostly relatives of the vendors. Ticket sales were slow, and nobody seemed to be buying. Either the town was still waking up from the previous evening or the arts and crafts fair was a bust.
Kara hoped it was the former.
Unfortunately the slow ticket sales and lack of people gave her too much time to think. There was only so much wandering she could do from vendor to vendor before she caught up with her thoughts.
And that meant thinking about Ryan. She shouldn't have kissed him, and she shouldn't have sat up half the night talking to him. Now she knew that not only was he sexy and a great kisser, but he could also listen, and it was that quality that most appealed to her.
Actually it wasn't just that he listened, it was that he talked. Give and take, the way two people were supposed to communicate. With Andrew she felt as if she did all the talking. Getting him to say anything remotely intimate was harder than playing the piano.
Setting her elbows on the table, Kara rested her chin in her hands, suddenly feeling weary. Every second of her day seemed to be a test. What the hell was she trying to prove? Deep down, she knew she wasn't a superwoman. She couldn't save the town single-handedly, raise her daughter, run the Gatehouse, learn to play the piano, reunite the Hunter family, and still retain her sanity. She was trying to do too much, but now that she had started, she didn't know how to stop.
The last thing she wanted to do was fail. Stopping anything she had undertaken would mean failure. She had no choice but to go on.
The flash of light startled her. For a moment she thought the lightning had returned; then she realized it was the flashbulb on Ryan's camera.
"You didn't take a picture of me, did you?" she asked in alarm. "I'm a mess." She pushed her hair behind her ears.
"I like messy. It's more interesting than clean."
She made a face at him.
Ryan snapped another shot.
"Stop that."
"Hey, you're the one who insisted I take photos."
"But not of me. Of the fair, of the vendors, of the townspeople."
"You are one of the townspeople. One of the prettier ones, I might add."
"You're a charmer, I'll give you that."
He walked over to the table. "How's it going?"
She held up the large circle of unsold tickets. "Slow. Very slow."
"The weather, no doubt."
"No doubt."
"Guess I'll wander around," Ryan said. "Unless you'd like some company?"
She wanted to say yes. He looked good in his forest-green twill slacks and tan shirt, and his eyes had their usual sparkle. She realized then that he was always lit up, a man who lived life to the fullest, who loved adventure, who always played offense.
She felt pale next to his tan, listless next to his energy, insecure next to his confidence. She wondered if Andrew felt the same way, if that's why he had such a difficult time dealing with his brother.
"If you don't need me, I guess I'll go," Ryan said when she didn't answer.
"Sure, walk around. Take some shots." She glanced through the front door, where she could see all the way out to the sidewalk. "Why don't you go now?"
Ryan stepped behind her so he could look out the door. Andrew and Billy were walking up the steps. They stopped to wave to someone else. Then they smiled at each other as they waited for that someone to join them. Seeing them together, side by side, touched Ryan in a way he couldn't fathom.
Father and son. His eyes blurred with emotion, and for a moment Andrew looked like Jonas and Billy looked like Andrew or himself as a young boy.
Ryan had never felt the need to re-create himself until this very second, until it finally occurred to him that the only way he would ever have a family was to build his own. There was no room for him now with Andrew or Billy or Jonas. They didn't want him and they didn't need him.
As he looked away from Andrew, he glanced over at Kara's face. She was watching them, too, but her expression looked troubled instead of joyful. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if he was partly the cause of the frown that creased her forehead.
He shouldn't have kissed her last night. He should have stayed the hell away from that sun porch. Because getting to know her had only made him want to know more of her. He couldn't see her with Andrew at all. She was a redhead, for God's sake. She had a temper and passion and an unbelievable amount of stubbornness. She would drive Andrew crazy in a second.
Andrew was too methodical for Kara, too organized, too predictable, too stuck in his own ways, in the old ways. Why couldn't they see that they were wrong for each other?
Just like Becky Lee and Andrew.
God, it was happening again.
And if push came to shove, Kara would pick Andrew, because Andrew knew one very important thing: He knew how to give a woman what she wanted, and Ryan didn't. He couldn't figure out what he wanted, much less what a woman wanted.
Ryan backed away from Kara, away from Andrew and Billy and the past that was creeping up on him. When Andrew reached the front door, Ryan turned and jogged down the hall. He didn't stop until he got to his old locker, until he saw the scratching in the corner and the initials BLW and RH wrapped around a heart.
He couldn't escape. Everywhere he looked there were memories. He couldn't hold them back any longer. They were everywhere. He saw the janitor's closet and remembered when he had smoked his first cigarette. He walked down the hall and saw the fire extinguisher that the principal had used to put out his first cigarette. A smile curved his lips at the thought.
At the end of the hall, he jogged up the stairs past Mr. Conrad's classroom, where he had taken ninth grade algebra and fallen in love with Kristie, or was it Donna Jean?
The next classroom had belonged to Hannah Davies. She had taught English then, and she had forced him to read by offering him a deal he couldn't refuse. For every chapter he read in War and Peace, she would let him publish a photograph in the school newspaper. He had jumped at the chance, because Jonas refused to publish any of his photos in The Sentinel. And Ryan had wanted to prove that he was a good photographer, so he had finished that damn book, every last page.
The experience had changed his life, not the reading really, but the photography. That's when he had first thought of making a career for himself away from the town, away from his father's newspaper.
Ryan lifted his camera and took a shot of the hallway, of the artwork, of the drinking fountain, of the desks and the books and the lockers, of everything that was high school, everything that was youth. He could almost see a pictorial in his mind, the rites of passage at a small-town American high school.
Damn. He caught himself just in time. He was starting to think like Kara, to believe that the outside world would have an interest in a town like Serenity Springs.
But the shots were taken, and he couldn't help loading another round of film. It was easier to look at the school through the lens of his camera. He could divorce himself from his surroundings. He could keep the memories on the other side of the lens. He could remind himself that he was only a spectator, not a participant. Only the players could feel pain and joy, not the people watching.
He tried to hang on to that thought as he prowled the hallways of his past, trying desperately to focus on the people who were there now, and not on the people he remembered.
Chapter Twelve
"This place brings back a lot of memories," Andrew said as he sat down next to Kara at the front table.
"Good ones?" she asked, pleased that Andrew had initiated some personal conversation.
"Mostly." He looked down the hall to where Ryan had vanished. "I wonder what he thinks."
Kara barely caught the softly spoken words and doubted that Andrew intended to say them aloud. "Ryan probably thinks the school is smaller than he remembers. When I first came back, everything seemed smaller. Of course, I left as a child, and Ryan left as an adult, so maybe it's different."
Andrew shrugged. Sharing time was apparently over. He handed her a white paper bag.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A turkey and cranberry sandwich from the diner."
She smiled at him with pure delight. "My favorite."
He nodded, looking extremely pleased with himself. "I thought you might be hungry."
"I'm starving."
"Why don't you take a break? I'll sell tickets for a while."
"That's sweet of you." Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek. His skin felt smooth beneath her lips and somewhat cool, chilled from the storm, she supposed.
Andrew touched her cheek with his hand. It was the most intimate gesture she had had from him in several days.
"I want to make you happy," Andrew said, his tone somber. He had none of Ryan's humor. No sparks of light firing from his eyes. No hint of mischief just beneath the surface.
"You do -- make me happy," she said, realizing he was waiting for an answer. She just wished she sounded more definite, less wishy-washy.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, about the jail, your eye, everything."
He sounded sorry, and Kara couldn't help responding to his tone. He was a good man, she told herself fiercely. He was trying hard to please her even in the midst of the impossible situation she had thrown him into. How could she have doubts?
She touched her eye. It was still tender but no longer swollen, and the bruise had faded. "I'm okay. Just remind me not to get between you and your brother again."
Andrew stiffened, and she realized her mistake.
"I don't want you between us," Andrew said. "I don't want you anywhere near him."
"Ryan can't get between us if we don't let him." And if I don't kiss him again.
"Ryan has a way with women," Andrew said. "I can't explain it. They just fall at his feet."
"Well, I'm still standing. Actually I'm sitting, but you know what I mean." She tried to smile, but Andrew didn't respond. "I think I will take a break." She stretched her arms over her head. "I'll be in the teacher's lounge if you need me."
"Okay. Oh, I almost forgot." He handed her a copy of The Sentinel.
A montage of photos from the banquet covered the front page. The newspaper photographer had caught the excitement of the moment and none of the tension. There was no sign of Ryan, however.
"It's nice," she said. And it was nice. It was just a little bland, a little too safe. Not that she wanted controversy, but she also didn't want boring.
"The other papers will use Ryan's picture. This is the best I could do."
