Jack watched the red Viper roar down the street and skid to a jerking stop at the light. Then he checked into his hotel and went up to his room. The first thing he did was pour himself a drink. It didnt help. He was as jittery as a rookie on game day. All he could think about was how much this chance meant.
Please, God. He glanced down at the phone and knew he should call Birdie, but the thought exhausted him. Hed have to pretend he was in town to see some college athlete--as if--and shed blather on about sofa fabrics. Neither one of them would really listen to the other.
It had been that way for years. So why was it bothering him so much lately? With a sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed his home number.
On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. Birdies recorded voice said, Hi, youve reached Jack and Birdie. Were not here but the answering machine is. Leave your message.
"Hey, honey," he said, "Im at the Carlyle Hotel, room 501. The numbers on the fridge. Call me. I love you. "
; Those words came automatically, but in the silence that followed, he found himself thinking about what they meant . . . and how long it had been since they were completely true.
He went to his window and stared out at the glittering Manhattan night. A watery, faded reflection of his own face stared back at him. He closed his eyes, and in the sudden darkness, he saw a younger, brighter version of himself. A man still puffed up with the certainty of his own greatness.
That man walked through another time and place, far from here. Seattle.
Dusk, on a cold winters day . . .
Hed gone to the Delta Delta Gamma sorority house on Forty-fifth Street and been told that Elizabeth Rhodes always spent Sunday evenings in the Arboretum. Hed had no choice but to go looking for her there. Desperation had spurred him; there was nothing more desperate than a college football star with a failing grade.
Hed found her in the marshy trails along the edge of Lake Washington. Shed been painting. At first, all hed seen was her hair, gilded by the setting sun. Shed had on a blue shetland wool sweater and baggy denim overalls that completely camouflaged her body, a trio of paintbrushes stuck out of her back pocket.
Odd that he remembered that single detail, but there it was. Shed had three brushes.
He still remembered their conversation, almost word for word. . . .
He cleared his throat and said, "Elizabeth Rhodes?"
She spun around so fast, she dropped a paintbrush. "Who are you?"
Her beauty stunned him.
She tented a hand across her face, squinting into the setting sun. He noticed the strand of pearls at her throat, peeking out from beneath a tattered denim collar. "Who are you?"
"Jackson Shore . . . I got your name from Dr. Lindbloom in the English Department. He said you might have room in your tutoring schedule for a new student. " He grinned sheepishly. "Im flunking out of Lit one-oh-one. "
A frown pleated her brow. "What year are you?"
"Junior. "
"A junior flunking out of a basic English lit class who calls for help--on a Sunday--in the final week of the quarter. " Her ocean-green eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: athlete. "
"Football. "
The smile she gave him was thin. "Of course. Look--what was your name, Jock?--Id love to help, but--"
"Thats great. Dr. Lindbloom said I could count on you. When can we get together? My final paper is supposed to be a verse in iambic pentameter. Whatever the hell that is. I really need your help. "
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. The movement left streaks of yellow paint across her forehead. "Damn. " After a long moment, she said, "I suppose I could meet with you tonight. "
"Tonight? Whoa . . . homework on a Sunday night? I dont think so. "
He could see that she was trying to remember his name again, and insanely, that turned him on. He was used to women pursuing him, sleeping with him because he was the quarterback, and yet here he was, drawn to this woman who couldnt remember his name. "Im sorry. Youll have to find someone else. " She inclined her head in dismissal and went back to painting.
He took a step toward her. His tennis shoes sank into the wet, marshy grass. "What if I want you?"
She turned around. Staring up at him intently, she tucked a flyaway lock of blond hair behind her ear. That was when he noticed her huge diamond engagement ring. "Look, Jake--"