Fireside (41 page)

“I’m so sorry, honey.” He studied her through pain-filled eyes. “Please say you’ll forgive me one day.”

She felt a flash of anger, quick and hot, but it passed in an instant. None of this was his fault. He was only trying to do what was best for his son. And they had all known from the start that what AJ needed most was his mother.

“There’s nothing to say,” she told him.
Don’t cry,
she warned herself.
Don’t make this harder than it already is.

“Kim, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be. I’m proud of you for doing whatever it takes to help AJ.”

“I’m just trying to do right by my boy. I, uh…there’s something else.”

She waited again, knowing from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be more happy news.

“Under the circumstances, it’s probably better if we don’t work together.”

The irony was hard to miss. This wasn’t the first time she had been dumped and fired in the same conversation. Yet the circumstances could not be more different. With Lloyd, there had been ugliness and malice. With Bo, there was mutual concern for a child and the knowledge that there was only one choice to be made. She floated in a strange moment of suspension between the world before her and what might have been.

Let it go,
she told herself.
Let it go.

She couldn’t speak, but managed to nod her assent.

“I have to go now,” he said. “Lots to do.” He offered a smile that was tinged with sadness. “I love you, Kim. I wish…” He paused, started again. “I’m so damned sorry.”

She nodded again, found her voice. “You should go,” she said. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Twenty-Six

P
atches of snow clung stubbornly in the shadowy places of the yard, and high in the hilltops above Willow Lake. Yet where the sun shone, grass and daffodils and tulips burst through in a riot of color.

Six weeks after saying goodbye to Bo Crutcher, Kim still felt the deep hurt of losing him and AJ both. Together, they’d taken hold of her heart in a way she’d never thought possible. After she’d practically been destroyed in L.A., Bo made her believe in love again. But it was a funny thing about love. As much as it hurt now that he was gone, she had no regrets about letting him into her life. In a few short weeks, she had managed to love him with a depth and honesty that changed her in some fundamental way. In that sense, something good had come of it. She was better for having loved him, which made the empty ache almost bearable. Almost.

She could still picture a large, assured male hand, covering hers or feel the brush of his lips against her mouth. She could still hear the sound of his laughter, warm in her ear, and the memory brought on a bittersweet smile. She wondered where he was now, what he was doing.

No, she didn’t. When he left, he’d left for good, and that was the way it had to be. No contact. No phone calls or e-mail. Nothing. Kim knew her only chance of emotional survival would be to make a clean break with one swift, sure blow and no hope of reopening the wound. She refused to let herself dream of getting back together with Bo. They’d both agreed it wouldn’t work, not if he was going to create the family AJ needed—and one that would hold up to official scrutiny. She’d told Bo not to call her or send her e-mail. He needed to move ahead and do what he had to do for AJ.

After the reception, there had been hurried arrangements—passports and a swift departure for Texas. Now the third story of the house sat empty, abandoned, as though they’d never lived there, never filled the house with their voices and laughter.

According to the stack of picking-up-the-pieces self-help books she’d read, she was supposed to move on, too. By now, she should be emotionally ready, open to meeting new people, finding a new love. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Bo had ruined all other men for her. Every time a man smiled at her, she thought about Bo’s smile. When a guy flirted with her, she remembered Bo’s voice, his easy laugh and the way his eyes lit when she walked into a room. There was no way someone else could compete with those memories. With Bo, she’d learned to fling herself into love in a way she never had before. Now she had to decide if it was worth the hurt.

What she could do was stay busy. At least one good thing had come from the night at the Pierre. True to his word, Stu Westfield, the producer, had contacted her about a job—not in media training or PR, but on the other side of the mic. He wanted her to work with the play-by-play announcer for the Yankees, providing live color commentary. She hadn’t given Stu an answer yet. It would be a dream job for her, but she wondered what it would be like, being in the same world as Bo Crutcher. It didn’t seem possible.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to dismiss the opportunity out of hand. In the meantime, she had put her skills to use on behalf of
Casa de Esperanza,
which needed funding for its shelter for unaccompanied youths—American-born children, whose parents had been deported. She worked with advocates and volunteers, prepping them to take their case to the media. Because even though AJ was going to get his happy ending, there were too many others who lived in the shadow world of lost children.

Closer to home, she took unexpected pleasure in helping to plan her mother’s wedding. When Kim commented on how quickly it was all happening, her mother said, “I’ve waited a long time for a man like this. It’s either do it now or live in sin and embarrass you even worse.”

She set the countertop TV on ESPN, still her favorite channel, to keep her company while she polished the silverware for the upcoming wedding. A quick news wrap-up caught her attention. In the NBA semifinals, Lloyd Johnson committed a hard foul in the paint and started a brawl, abetted by his archrival, Marshall Walters. Sidelined and fined a fortune, Johnson found himself with a broken nose and bearing the brunt of the blame for giving away a shot at the championship. Kim felt nothing but a passing interest. Lloyd was simply becoming more like himself, and she was glad she wasn’t around to deal with the fallout.

A few minutes later, there was a recap of early-season baseball games, which she listened to with far more interest. She could easily picture herself in the broadcast booth, and the temptation to accept the job offer grew stronger. The Braves had defeated the Cardinals in a 9-0 rout. Cincinnati fell to Boston, and there was a puff piece on the identical twin brothers, each on opposing teams. After a commercial break, the latest Yankees win was covered, and the 90-second player spotlight that followed it galvanized Kim. “Once considered an unlikely prospect for this club, Bo Crutcher started his major-league journey as a batting practice pitcher. That only lasted a week, when a starting pitcher was sidelined by injury. Crutcher stepped in, and he stepped up, with a strong start to the season. A long, tall lefty with a deceptively smooth overhand delivery, his curveball is already getting a reputation—it just might be unhittable….”

Kim rubbed harder with the polishing cloth as her agitation morphed into energy. She and Bo had agreed not to contact each other. For AJ’s sake, he needed to make a go at being a family, making a clean break with Kim. Seeing him now merely flayed an open wound, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. The camera loved him. The press loved him. The fans loved him. And why not? Why should the rest of the world be any different from Kim? She couldn’t help herself and neither could anyone else. She wondered what his life was like now. Had he and Yolanda gotten a place in New Rochelle or Larchmont, perhaps? Had their two years of cohabitation started? Did AJ finally have the family he’d dreamed about?

She shook off the thought and focused on the broadcast. Bo looked as though he’d been born to play this game. The long-limbed grace of his windup and delivery inspired the announcer to declare that he was poetry in motion. It was wonderful to watch him play baseball, in the way it was wonderful to watch a gifted dancer. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat.

The report cut to the game’s end, with a clip from the clubhouse. Kim couldn’t suppress a smile when he said something straight out of her playbook: “I got one job to do—make it so the team has a chance to win. It worked today.” He sounded as genuine and natural as he was in person.

“You’re a lot scarier on the mound,” the interviewer noted. “Is that where the nickname Iceman came from?”

“I’m not trying to be scary. Just doing my job.”

“What about your personal life? Wife? Girlfriend? Family—”

Bo offered his trademark grin, the one Kim had once explained would never fail him, so long as he let the smile reach his eyes. “My friend, there’s a reason it’s called private life. And hey, thanks for coming out today. See y’all around the ballpark.” He effectively ended the interview without seeming to be rude.

At least she knew he was doing all right, and there was some measure of satisfaction in that. By the time she’d left L.A., her ideals had been muted. She’d learned to lie and spin for the sake of the client. The refreshing thing about Bo was that he was completely genuine, with a good story, and she was proud to have helped him shape it. She tried to feel a sense of accomplishment, but it was thin, and fleeting.

Kim reached across the counter and snapped off the TV. It was time to stop lying to herself. She wasn’t okay. Not even close.

The morning of the wedding dawned cool and blustery, yet the air was sweet with the promise of spring. The cake had just been delivered by the Sky River Bakery and Kim found herself alone in the kitchen, admiring the colorful fondant icing that coordinated strangely with the color scheme of the house.

She fixed a cup of tea and sipped it, hoping the day would warm up enough so she could wear the party dress she’d picked out for the event. She could hear the sounds of people elsewhere in the house, getting ready for the big day. The rented tables and chairs had already been set up, and friends and neighbors were bringing the food, potluck style. Bo’s former band—with a new bass player named Brandi—would be playing the music.

And just like that, her thoughts circled around to Bo Crutcher again. Maybe a time would come when she would wake up and her mind wouldn’t go there, but today wasn’t the day.

She heard the thud of a car door slamming and glanced at the clock. Another delivery? Or—

The kitchen door opened and a whirlwind burst in.

Kim dropped her mug into the sink, unable to believe her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked, already feeling the tears well up.

“Surprise!” AJ was grinning from ear to ear. “I bet you’re surprised to see me.”

She flew across the room and hugged him, loving the sturdy feel of him in her arms, the grassy boyish scent of him. She’d missed him more than she’d thought possible. More than…She stepped back. He looked like a different child, bigger, stronger, more vibrant and assured, his eyes sparkling with an inner light she’d never seen before. “I can’t believe it! What’s going on?”

“We came to Avalon to live,” he said. “My mom and I—it was Bo’s idea. He fixed everything. Everything!”

“Oh…” Despite her joy at seeing AJ again, her heart plummeted. She’d only just begun to believe she would survive what had happened, and now this. What was Bo thinking, bringing the woman he’d married to live in this town? Did he really mean to torture her like this?

“He said he’d go crazy missing me if we stayed in Texas.” AJ’s smile turned shy. “And I’d miss him. Really bad.”

“How about you, pretty lady?” Bo asked, walking through the door, his tall frame seeming to fill the entire room. “Did you miss me, too?”

Kim stood transfixed, feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of her. She clutched the back of a chair, needing to steady herself.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bo said. “Dino wouldn’t hear of me missing his wedding. Besides, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” He made a gesture with his head, and AJ responded instantly, scampering out the door.

“He looks wonderful,” Kim said, finally finding her voice. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”

Bo nodded. “He needed his mom. You and I were right about him needing her more than anything. And, Kim, about that—”

“Yes, about that.” She was trying not to freak out, but he looked incredible, standing just a few feet away. She found herself staring at his arms, his hands, his mouth. Oh, she was so not over him. “I can understand you wanting him to live closer to New York. But here, Bo?” Her voice broke on a note of anguish. She couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like, meeting Yolanda, both women knowing what they knew and pretending not to.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, “couldn’t leave him down in Texas, where I’d never get to see him. I just met my son, just learned to love him, and I wouldn’t have been able to stand having him so far away.”

She stepped back. If he touched her, she’d be lost. “Bo, you shouldn’t have come here—”

“I need to explain about Yolanda,” he said, coming closer. “Just listen, okay? I didn’t marry her.”

The words resonated through her, but still, she thought she’d heard him wrong. “You…didn’t…”

“Didn’t have to. Now, don’t get me wrong—I would have, if that was what it took to keep her in the States. I would have done that for AJ’s sake.”

A cold knot formed in her stomach. “Are you…going to?”

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It was a Yankees jacket, still bright with newness. “See, when I went down to Texas, the lawyers’ investigators told me they’d found some irregularities in Yolanda’s family records, and we needed to do more research into her family background.”

“What kind of research?”

“The birth records for her parents were the key. Yolanda always thought they were both born in Mexico, but, well, that was just an assumption. Her mother was born in Nuevo Laredo—that’s in Mexico, just like she thought. But her father—Hector Martinez, who passed away—turns out he was born in Laredo, on the U.S. side, although he grew up in Mexico. Took forever to locate the records, but we did. And because of that, Yolanda qualifies for an expedited temporary visa, and she can apply for naturalization.”