Dane's Storm

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Audra, that maybe we’ve both needed to quiet some old ghosts.”

She shook her head, but something that might have been panic flitted over her expression. “I don’t need to quiet any old ghosts.”

“Are you sure about that? Why do you still live in that house? You could have sold it and bought a new one and still not had a mortgage. Why have you stayed there all these years?” Are you torturing yourself in some way, Audra? Do you even realize it?

She picked up her wine glass and took a last drink. I watched her throat as she swallowed, and despite feeling irritated, unsettled, slightly sad, the movement caused a buzzing in my blood. “I don’t know, okay?” she finally said. “It just felt overwhelming to think of packing that place up, moving, when I was already working myself ragged trying to get my business off the ground.” She huffed out a small breath and I sat back in my chair, watching her. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to move once I have the occasional spare weekend. . .”

Working herself ragged. I hated that. Hated it for her. Yes, that’s what it took to start a business, but it didn’t sit well with me. She should have been soaring by now. She was that talented. I sighed, picking up my fork and taking a bite of my now-cold food. “If you need help—”

“No, of course I don’t need help. But, thank you. Thank you, I appreciate that. What you’re doing, flying to Laurelton to talk to your grandmother in person, that’s more than enough.”

I nodded and some of the tension of the last few minutes seemed to dissipate as the hum of conversation around us made it back to my ears.

“So, you, um, like your job? Running Townsend Robotics makes you happy?” I appreciated her attempt to switch the topic back to me but hated that there was still sad

ness in her eyes.

“Yeah. I really do. It stimulates my mind, but more than that, I’m good at it. If I do say so myself.”

“I’m sure you are. You’ve lived and breathed robotics since you were a boy. I remember the light in your eyes whenever you talked about Townsend Robotics.” Melancholy moved across her expression, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

“Yeah. We’re designing and manufacturing prosthetic limbs now. It was something I spearheaded, and it’s brought the company to a whole new level. It’s amazing, Audra, especially when we fit a kid for a new leg or a hand when he’s never had one before. To see their whole world change . . .”

Her eyes filled with a sad tenderness and pride. “Your contribution,” she murmured.

I paused again, suddenly eighteen years old, sitting in my car, my backside wet from the rain as I confided in Audra about my dad. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat, trying to shrug off the memory. We’d been so different then. But I still had that burning desire to confide in her, to share things with her I didn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone else. “But even more,” I said softly, “it fulfills me because I couldn’t do anything for my own son, but I can help these kids. I can be part of making them whole.”

Audra’s eyes widened, pain flitting over her expressive face. I wanted to say more, and I was about to, but suddenly, several tables away, people started clapping softly and gasping when a man went down on his knees in front of a woman as she cried, bringing her hands up to her mouth. Ah, Christ. What spectacular luck that I’d chosen this restaurant to bring my ex-wife to so we could witness a marriage proposal. Great.

I looked at Audra, and she was watching the scene as well but turned her eyes back to me. For a few seconds we just stared at each other, when suddenly her lip quirked up and she started laughing softly. Surprised, I chuckled too, rubbing at the back of my neck.

I poured her more wine then picked up my glass. “Cheers to them.”

She inclined her head. “May their marriage last longer than ours did.”

I made a sound in my throat that I wasn’t sure was a laugh or a groan, and clinked my glass on hers. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh oh. I guess.”

“You work in the wedding business. Does it ever bother you that you never got that? A real wedding, I mean?”

“No. All that stuff’s fun. But I never felt like I didn’t get a real wedding, Dane. To me”—she took a breath, her eyes moving away and then back again—“to me, it was very real. Despite everything that happened later, I . . . I hope you know that.”

Our gazes lingered, the air filling with . . . something. That something I couldn’t define then and still couldn’t now. The difference was, now I knew the rarity of the unknown something that had always flowed between Audra and me. And apparently, not time, nor distance, nor a hundred unspoken hurts had diminished it. I nodded once, a quick, jerky movement, and smiled, a smile that I hoped acknowledged my appreciation for the honesty with which she’d spoken. It had been so very real for me too.

The waitress brought the check and Audra excused herself to go to the ladies’ room while I paid. I gathered my coat and Audra’s sweater and waited at the front for her. Once she’d joined me, I asked, “There’s this great gelato place a couple of blocks over. How about I tell you about the industrial park while we get one. We never really made it to that.”

She glanced at me once we’d stepped onto the sidewalk and though she looked a bit uncertain, she nodded and said, “Okay, sure.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Audra

We started walking toward the shop, and I pulled my sweater around my shoulders. It was a cool night, but not overly cold, and the sidewalks were full of people sitting at outside cafes, wearing light jackets or sweaters like myself. “Is this the coldest it gets during the winter here in San Francisco?”

“It gets a little chillier than this, but nothing like Colorado.”