"Now when you can handle it?" Rivka didn’t sound convinced. "You’ve lost weight, Lila, and you’ve got circles under your eyes. You aren’t handling it at all."
Lila wiped her face. "I could be handling it, if you’d just leave me alone about it. I’ll get over him."
Rivka moved away, disdain on her perfect features. "You let a man who wasn’t worth the ground you spit on take away what I’ve always admired about you. William made you Lila forever. You’re not bold at all."
Rivka left the room. Lila stared after her until the tears dried on her cheeks. The words her sister had said stung worse than a swarm of bees, but Lila no longer felt boneless and weak. She felt angry and not at Rivka. At William, who had made her sister ashamed of her. And at herself, for letting him.
* * *
Emma was singing in the shower. Her enthusiastic, off-tune words floated down the hall into Tom’s bedroom, where he was trying—without success—to sleep. He gritted his teeth against her happiness and buried his face in the pillow.
He could not begrudge his niece her joy. If only she wasn’t so vocal about it! Tom had never heard more love songs in his life than in the past week. Emma, it seemed, was an incurable romantic. She quoted Romeo and Juliet over breakfast. She made up terrible but heartfelt poetry and read it aloud to him in an awful Elizabethan accent, and expected him to give his true opinion about it. She had even invited Michel to dinner at the house and baked him a heart-shaped meatloaf. The girl was crazy. He listened to Emma’s song crescendo into an almost unbearable, deliriously love-struck trilling.
Months ago, Emma’s behavior would have made him laugh. A week ago, he’d probably have been singing right along with her. Since Lila had shut him out of her life, Tom had never felt less like listening to the wonder and beauty of love as seen by his freckle-faced niece.
He had fired both Jennifer and Wendi, despite their threats of claiming sexual harassment. He’d risk it, he’d told them. They’d get their last paychecks in the mail, don’t bother coming in to The Foxfire, good-bye and I hope not to see you later.
None of that could bring Lila back. After the confrontation on her porch, he had itched to dial her number a thousand times, but never had. He had driven past her house, but did not stop. He wanted to see her so badly he ached, but what could he do? She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t love him.
But ah, God! He still loved her! Every note of music on the radio, every star shining in his window while he tossed, sleepless in his bed…they all reminded him of her. Her eyes, her smile, the sound of his name coming from her lips. Everything, everything was Lila, and he could do nothing to stop himself from thinking of her.
He had written a dozen letters and thrown them all away. He didn’t have any talent with words, not even Emma’s poor one for poetry. Tom was a man who used action to show how he felt. If he spoke, it was from the heart. And wasn’t that what had gotten him into so much trouble? Speaking from the heart?
Tom heard the shower shut off. Emma, still singing, came down the hall and paused outside his door. He willed her to go away, but the sound of her hesitant tapping on his door told him his wish had been ignored.
"Boss?"
"I’m awake."
A thin sliver of light pierced the blackness of his room. Emma stood outlined in the doorway, her figure bulky in a terrycloth robe and thick towel swathed around her head. She stepped through the doorway.
"It’s only seven o’clock on a Saturday night. Don’t you feel well?"
"Just tired." He bit out the words like he was chewing jerky. "I’ve had a rough week."
"You haven’t even been out this week." Emma’s tone was slightly accusing. She flicked on the light switch, which made him groan and fling his arm across his eyes. "You look like hell."
"Gee, thanks." Tom slid up in the bed until he rested against the headboard. "Any other personal criticism you’d like to leave with me? I’m all up for it."
Emma sat on the edge of the bed. "What happened with Lila?"
Tom ran his hand through his hair. Then he scrubbed his face with his hands, and the stubble scratched his fingers. He hadn’t shaved for three days, or showered, or done much of anything but lay in bed. He only hoped The Foxfire would still be standing by the time he got back to work.
"This isn’t like you. I’m worried about you."
"I’ve never been in love before." As he said the words, he felt some of the burden he’d been feeling lift. No wonder women talked to their girlfriends. It made everything seem bearable.
"Oh, boss." Emma made a sympathetic noise.
"She thinks she’s not pretty enough. I tried to tell her that to me she was beautiful. She didn’t believe me. I tried telling her it wasn’t her face I loved anyway, but she didn’t believe that either. I couldn’t win, Em. I just couldn’t win."
"It’s the one time in your life your face hasn’t gotten you what you wanted." Emma’s nonchalant reply wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
Tom’s back stiffened. "Thanks."
"I’m being honest." Emma shrugged. "You’ve had it real good your whole life, boss. Women have just fallen all over you. You’ve never had to work at anything because no one ever turned you down."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Now he realized why men didn’t talk about these things with their guy friends. Blunt, brutal honesty. It was a real bitch.
"I heard the whole story about last Saturday night from Donna at The Foxfire." Emma let out a low whistle. "Lila got double-teamed by two pros—Jen and Wendi. It would take a woman with nerves of steel not to buckle under that."
"But I never said she was my charity case! I told her those women were nothing! I told her how I felt about her!"
Emma snorted. "All you men. You think your words are enough. What did you do to show her?"
"She didn’t want to listen to me. She closed the door in my face."
"Did you knock?"
He had not, but he didn’t want to say so. "I don’t play games, Emma!"
His niece scowled and crossed her arms at him. "And my guess is Lila doesn’t either. She’s not playing hard to get."
"Well, what is she doing?"
"I don’t know." Emma shrugged. "But if you really love her, I don’t think you’d have given up so easily."
"I didn’t give up. I shouldn’t have to fight for her to listen to me." Tom thumped his head on the headboard.
Emma rolled her eyes. "That’s what love is all about. Fighting to keep what you want. Fighting to keep the one you love from harm. Fighting to make your pig-headed lover see the truth if that’s what you need to do!"
"Are you calling me pig-headed?"
"I think you must both be stubborn idiots if you’re letting two bimbos who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut come between you."
"What are you saying?" Tom was bewildered at how his younger niece had managed to learn so much about love while he had remained clueless.
Emma made a noise of long-suffering patience. "I’m saying that if you love her, you shouldn’t let her shut you out. If she loves you, she’ll listen. If she doesn’t, then at least you’ll know. Either way, it’ll be better than hibernating in here forever."
"You harder on me than your mother ever was."
Emma shrugged. "Learned from the best, I guess."
Tom allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips. "Maybe I should hire a skywriter. Or take out an ad in the paper."
"Maybe. Or maybe you should just tell her you understand how she feels. Instead of trying so hard to make her believe you think she’s great, try a little harder to understand why she doesn’t." Emma grinned. "That’s what we women want, boss—someone to understand us."
"She dated a guy who made her feel ugly." Tom briefly told Emma the story of William and his "favor."
Emma groaned. "No wonder she got so upset! I’m surprised she even went out with you at all, looking the way you do."
"Can we forget about my face
for a minute?"
"Sure. Short of plastic surgery, it’s not going to change anyway."
Tom sighed. "So what do I do now? If she won’t take my calls, I mean."
"You do have a certain event coming up." Emma gave him a sly glance. "It might be the perfect place to show Lila—and the world—what she means to you."
Tom shook his head. "Emma, you scare me."
"Genius always scares those who don’t understand it," Emma replied serenely, getting off the bed and going to the door.
"I’ll be taking a huge chance," he called after her.
"That’s what love is all about." Emma stopped in the doorway. "Taking chances."
"I thought you said it was about fighting."
"Who am I, Dr. Ruth?" Then she was out the door and he was left to ponder all she’d said.
Had he taken Lila’s trust in him for granted? Had he just assumed she would believe him, just because no one had ever not believed in him before? Possibly. He had never been in love before, and, as Emma had said, had never had to work for anything before. He had assumed Lila would hear his words and know the depth of his sincerity, when in reality, had he not mouthed similar phrases in the past without meaning them? True, he’d never said he’d loved anyone before, but Lila couldn’t know that.
Yes, she ought to have trusted him. But he should have made sure she had no doubts. It was up to him to make her see he couldn’t live without her. And more importantly, that Lila couldn’t live without him.
* * *
The shoebox wasn’t heavy, though it was stuffed to overflowing. Lila took it down from the depths of her closet and blew a layer of dust off the top. The cardboard was faded, the writing on it nearly illegible, but she knew what it said—Lila’s Stuff.
Not the most elegant way to describe the mementos of her romantic life, but accurate. Lila curled up on the bed and lifted the lid. The contents weren’t arranged in any sort of order, but she didn’t mind. She had no plans for the evening.
She sifted through the items in the box and matched pieces that went together. When she was done, she was left with what looked like piles of paper. What she really had was a chronology of her life as a woman.
Her first boyfriend, Brett. At seventeen, he’d been handsome and funny, a soccer player for the school team. Cocky.He’d told her he loved her while standing on the front porch of her parent’s house and risked curfew to steal a few extra kisses. He’d probably said the words to try and get her into bed. That gave her a smile. His plan had failed. She caressed the picture of the two of them at the prom. She’d worn a pink dress and ballerina slippers so she wouldn’t be taller than him.
Another prom picture. She was a year older, thinner, wearing an emerald green gown. Her second high-school love, Shawn, beamed from the photo with his arms around her waist. He’d been in the band, not an athlete, and he didn’t have Brett’s attitude. Though their breakup had been bitter, they had managed to salvage their friendship after a few years.
College photos came—a slew of photos and letters from her years at school. A love poem from a secret admirer she had later discovered to be the most popular boy in her dorm. They’d dated once or twice, but no more than that. And why? Because Lila had started dating a guy in her theater elective. What was his name? Tobin. He hadn’t been handsome. He’d been skinny, dark-haired, and a chain-smoker. Yet, something about him had been so exciting.…
All the men in her life. Lila riffled through the piles she had made. Some had hurt her, some she had hurt. Others had done neither. And what did that tell her now?
She sure wasn’t dumb; she’d always known that. Yet, she had allowed William to make her feel that way. She wasn’t ugly either, though he had made her feel that way, too. Lila felt the slow burn of anger begin again in her belly. All those young men in her life, and only one had ever made her feel unworthy of being loved.
She found the only photo of William she had. The surprise photo had been taken at her office holiday party. It was the only photo she had of William because he had always refused to allow her to capture him on film. At the time, she had thought it was because he wanted nothing to show just how pathetically unattractive his girlfriend really was. Looking at the photo now, however, Lila saw a different truth.
She wore a velvet gown of royal blue, her hair tied up in a complicated swirl of curls that William had complained made her look too fussy. She was holding onto William’s arm, laughing and looking up at him. He wasn’t even smiling. Lila was radiant, her cheeks flushed from laughing and her eyes asparkle. She looked beautiful, and William looked.…
"Not as handsome as I remember." Lila touched the tiny figures in the picture. "I guess nobody ever told you that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Willy."
He’d hated being called Willy, or Will, or even Billy. Staid, arrogant, full-of-himself William. Lila crumpled the picture with a sudden twist of her fingers and stared at the wad a moment. Smoothing the picture carefully, she placed it back in the box with the others. She might need to look at it again, sometime.
William had been wrong about her. He had not been doing Lila a favor. It had been the other way around. Lila had done William a favor by letting him in her life. She had made him laugh once or twice, and it was probably the only time in his life he’d ever let himself go so wild.
All at once, as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds, Lila felt the weight of William’s betrayal fall away from her. It didn’t matter any more what he thought. What Tom had told her was true. You can’t hurt someone who doesn’t care about you. William couldn’t hurt her anymore because she didn’t care about him.
"I love Tom." The words filled her with a bubble of joy that tickled her insides.
So what if women were falling all over him? He had chosen to be with her, hadn’t he? Didn’t that say anything?
"I love Tom Caine. I love him!"
She was ashamed she had let Jennifer’s cruel words pierce her. The blonde hostess meant nothing to Lila, and nothing she said ever again could possibly bother her. Lila was also ashamed she had not trusted Tom. Because Tom wasn’t William.
Lila put the box back from where she had taken it and relegated it once more to the depths of her closet. She didn’t need to see anything in there anymore. Though the memories it held would always be pleasant, none of those romances could compare to what she felt for the tall man with hazel eyes whom she’d met at her sister’s art showing. The joys and sorrows of all those past relationships had shaped her into the woman she was, true, but what she had shared with Tom had shown her the woman she was going to become.
It was like growing up all over again. Struggling through the angst of adolescence, trying to find herself. Trying to see herself as others saw her, whether their opinions were based on her face, her soul, or where she lived and what sort of car she drove.
It didn’t matter how everyone else saw her now. All that mattered was how she saw herself. The reflection she saw in Tom’s eyes was how she wanted to be.
She would tell him that, too, and hope she was not too late. She would apologize for not trusting him. She would make things right.
Feeling suddenly empowered, Lila plucked a wrench from her toolbox and headed for the basement. Making things right with Tom was important, yes, but first she had to do something else, something for herself. It was time for her to fix that blasted furnace.