Later that afternoon Jackie sat in her tiny office, unable to focus. She stared out her window and watched the dusk creep along the headland cliffs and the last of the surfers paddle in and head home.
She’d read the same lines in the report that Bradley had sent from UC Davis four times. Even in her fuzzy state it was pretty clear that the results of the water sample tests showed there had to be more than one source for the fertilizer runoff. The highest concentrations were at the mouth of the river, but the samples she took in the north stretch showed the same radioactive fingerprint.
Yet there was little or none in the samples she’d taken in between. Someone must be using the fertilizer heavily upstream and someone, probably the same someone, must be dumping the remainder in the bay. But why? She rubbed at her eyes. Conjecture wasn’t helping her or the seals.
In the face of such important findings, why it bothered her to call Alex about the gala stumped her. She’d called senators to get them to support marine mammal protection measures, called stubborn scientists to enlist their help investigating diseases, made calls to prickly fishermen to get help with rescues. The prospect of calling Alex for a very legitimate reason shouldn’t shake her.
Perhaps it was because she would be asking him to put himself on the line for the Center, asking him to be a show pony. She never liked being a show pony, but sometimes the work required it. And sometimes to reach the public you had to have a star. Right now, Alex was that star. Yet it was one thing to put yourself on the line, entirely another to ask somebody else to do it.
But the feeling that squeezed into her chest told her that it wasn’t just that. The morning of the water rescue, when she’d really gotten the measure of him, she knew in her heart that he was the kind of man she could imagine loving. Well, except for the ladies’ man, ballplayer part. And the knowledge that she was even thinking about needing a man at all shocked her. Shocked her so much that she was gazing out a window, mooning about the man, rather than working.
She gave up.
She loaded an armful of books and her laptop into her truck and headed home. Maybe she could concentrate better there.
When she reached the house, neither the hummingbirds hurrying to gather sips of nectar from her overgrown garden nor the soft breeze drifting across her patio and out to the rolling hills eased her.
She grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer and paced the perimeter of her tiny patio, waving her spoon in the air as she ran possible scripts in her mind and cursed Michael Albright under her breath.
Frustrated, she picked up the portable phone from her patio table and punched in Alex’s number. Feedback and an echo said she had a bad connection—she kept meaning to call the phone company—so she hung up and dialed again. The echo didn’t go away, but it wasn’t as bad.
With the first ring it occurred to her that she’d probably end up talking to an answering service. That would be just fine. She’d leave a detailed message and tell him to call Michael.
“Tavonesi here.”
No such luck.
She took in a breath.
“Hello. It’s Jackie Brandon. From the California Marine Mammal Center.”
He laughed. “I do recognize your voice and I happen to remember where you work. My basic brain skills are still operative.”
He wasn’t going to make this easy. She realized she had no idea what time zone he was in. She glanced at her watch. Four thirty.
“You’re not at a game, are you? I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
He laughed again. “I can assure you we don’t take calls during games. We had a day game today. We won.”
“Oh.” She paused. She’d rehearsed this, but it wasn’t going as planned. “That’s wonderful.” Another pause. Butterflies danced in her stomach. Something about his voice made her traitorous body override her mind, as if the sound went directly into her skin and skipped her brain entirely.
“I imagine you didn’t call to check on the final score,” he prompted.
Perhaps she should ask about the game. Likely that’s what one did in a situation like this.
“What was it?”
“Five to two,” he said.
She heard the playful tone in his voice.
She could talk about the weather. One could always rely on it as an icebreaker. Then she could quickly ask him to chair the gala and hang up.
“We’ve had another freak storm here,” she said. “What’s the weather like there?” Where there was, she had no idea. Worse, he probably knew she had no idea where he was. She should’ve Googled the team’s schedule. She hadn’t been thinking.
“It’s always a steam bath in Atlanta at this time of year,” he said. “I think even the bats sweat, it’s so hot.” He paused, then added, “Sorry to hear about the storm. More casualties?”
Ah, something she could talk about.
“Not yet. Likely we’ll see more toward the end of the week. It’s going to be a warm weekend, so there’ll be many more people on the beaches. We’ll have lots of stranding calls.” She paused, sorting out what to say next.
“Sorry I can’t be there to help.”
He sounded like he meant it. It was the perfect segue.
“There is something you could do.” She stopped. Should she put it on Michael or leverage her relationship with Alex? She settled on telling him the truth.
“Michael Albright asked me to call and ask if you’d be Honorary Chair for the gala on September fourteenth. You wouldn’t have to do anything. Well, except show up. And talk to people. And—”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” she repeated. She sounded like a parrot. She’d expected to have to pitch him.
“Yup. Hold on.” There was a moment of silence. “It’s now on my calendar. It happens to be a night when I’ll be around. We fly in that afternoon. But I do have one stipulation—have a glass of champagne with me after?”
Harmless enough, but the idea—and the images running through her head—sent the butterflies in her stomach leaping once again.
“Okay,” she said.
“Seems to be the word of the night,” he said with a light tone. She heard commotion in the background, a man’s voice calling out to him.
“I have to go,” he said. “I promised my winning pitcher I’d buy him dinner and a cheesecake. See you on the fourteenth. I’m looking forward to it. Hold on—”
His voice was muffled, as though he’d covered the phone.
“My buddy Scotty wants to come, would that be okay? You can charge him double.”
“It’s fine, well, yes, of course.” Heat rose in her cheeks—she was stammering like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous. “Okay. See you then.”
She pressed the button and ended the call, then sat staring at the phone.
There. That wasn’t so hard. Not if she didn’t count the jitters, the pint of ice cream she’d eaten while she rehearsed what she’d say and the pacing as she’d practiced.
Then it dawned on her—she’d meant to ask him questions about the vineyards along the river. Likely he’d know the habits of some of them. And she hadn’t thanked him for the floor, hadn’t properly thanked him for his help when he’d volunteered. He must think her an ingrate. She considered calling back, but the jitters she was fighting to ignore made that option unappealing. She’d send a note and have the board members do the same. She pulled up her calendar. September 14 was only two weeks away.
She went into her bedroom, pawed through her closet and pulled out a rumpled evening gown she’d shoved to the back. She’d worn it to the past three galas. Eyeing the wrinkles across the bodice, she tossed it on her bed and headed for the freezer. Empty. She’d finished the last of the ice cream.
No dress and no ice cream. In Alex’s vernacular, she was about to strike out.
A muffled scraping sounded along the west wall of her house. She froze. Swallowing down her nerves, she tiptoed to the living room window. All she saw was the wind swaying the clumped g
rasses between the oak trees. She was jumpy, being ridiculous for no reason.
She returned to her bedroom and pulled the gown from her bed. She held it up against her and pivoted to peer at her reflection in the tiny mirror across the room. Even she could see the gown had seen better days.
It was time for something new.
She stared into her reflection, at her wide eyes and the hands holding tight to the gown.
Something new. If the jitter of nerves flooding her chest was any indication, she wasn’t ready for what the feeling heralded. But deep in her heart she wished she was.