"I'm not asking, Kyle, I'm telling you. Now move!"
Hearing the tone of her voice, Kyle put down his colors and started toward her.
Cursing, she went to the back porch to get her bike. Rolling it off the porch, she noticed it wasn't gliding smoothly, and she jerked it before finally learning what the problem was.
A flat tire.
"Oh, c'mon . . . not tonight," she said almost in disbelief. As if not trusting her eyes, she checked the tire with her finger, feeling it give as she applied only a little pressure.
"Damnit," she said, kicking at the wheel. She let the bike fall onto a couple of cardboard boxes, then went into the kitchen again just as Kyle was coming out the door.
"We're not taking our bikes," she said through gritted teeth. "Come inside."
Kyle knew enough not to press her now and did as he was told. Denise went to the phone and tried Taylor again. Not in. She slammed the phone down, then thought of who else to call. Not Rhonda--she was already at the diner. But . . . Judy? She dialed her number and let it ring a dozen times before hanging up. Who else to call? Who else did she know? Really, only one other person. She opened the cupboard and found the phone book, then thumbed to the appropriate page. After punching in the right numbers, she breathed a sigh of relief as it was answered.
"Melissa? Hi, it's Denise."
"Oh, hey, how are you?"
"Actually, I'm not too good right now. I hate to do this, but I'm really calling for a favor."
"What can I do?"
"I know it's really inconvenient, but is it possible for you to drive me into work tonight?"
"Sure, when?"
"Now? I know it's last minute and I'm sorry, but the tires on my bike are flat--"
"Don't worry about it," Melissa interrupted. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"I'll owe you one."
"No, you won't. It's not that big a deal. I just have to grab my purse and the keys."
Denise hung up, then called Ray again, explaining with more apologies that she'd be there by seven-thirty. This time Ray laughed.
"Don't worry about it, honey. You'll get here when you do. No rush--it's kind of quiet right now anyway."
Again she breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly she noticed Kyle, watching her without saying a word.
"Mommy's not mad at you, sweetheart. I'm sorry for yelling."
She was, however, still angry at Taylor. Any relief she was feeling was counteracted by that. How could he?
Gathering her things, she waited for Melissa to show up, then led Kyle out the door when Melissa's car rolled up the drive. Melissa rolled down the window as the car slowed to a stop.
"Hey there. C'mon in, but excuse the mess. Kids are knee-deep in soccer these days."
Denise buckled Kyle into the backseat and was shaking her head as she got in the front seat. Soon the car had made its way down the drive and had turned onto the main road.
"So what happened?" Melissa asked. "You said your tire was flat?"
"Yeah, but I didn't expect that I'd have to ride my bike in the first place. Taylor didn't show up."
"And he said he would?"
Her question made Denise hesitate before answering. Did she ask him? Did she still have to?
"We didn't talk about it specifically," Denise admitted, "but he's been driving me all summer, so I just assumed he'd keep doing it."
"Did he call?"
"No."
Melissa's eyes darted in Denise's direction. "I take it things have changed between you two," she said.
Denise simply nodded. Melissa faced the road again and was quiet, leaving Denise alone with her thoughts.
"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"
"I've known Taylor a long time," Melissa answered carefully.
"So what's going on with him?"
Melissa sighed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I never have. But Taylor always seems to turn gun-shy whenever he starts getting serious with someone."
"But . . . why? I mean, we get along so well, he's great with Kyle . . ."
"I can't speak for Taylor, I really can't. Like I said, I don't really understand it."
"If you had to guess, though?"
Melissa hesitated. "It's not you, trust me. When we were at dinner, I wasn't kidding when I said that Taylor really cares about you. He does--more than I've seen him care about anyone. And Mitch says the same thing. But sometimes I think that Taylor doesn't feel that he deserves to be happy, so he sabotages every opportunity. I don't think he does it on purpose--I think it's more that he can't help himself."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Maybe not. But it's the way he is."
Denise pondered that. Up ahead she saw the diner. As Ray had said, from the looks of the parking lot there weren't too many people inside. Closing her eyes, she balled her fists in frustration.
"Again, the question is why?"
Melissa didn't respond right away. She turned on the blinker and began to slow the van.
"If you ask me . . . it's because of something that happened a long time ago."
Melissa's tone made her meaning obvious.
"His father?"
Melissa nodded, then let the words out slowly. "He blames himself for his father's death."
Denise felt her stomach dip, then roll. "What happened back then?"
The van came to a stop. "You should probably talk to him about that."
"I've tried. . . ."
Melissa shook her head. "I know, Denise. We all have."
Denise worked her shift, barely concentrating, but because it was slow, it didn't really matter. Rhonda, who would normally have driven her home, left early, leaving Ray as the only option to bring her and Kyle home. Though she was thankful Ray was willing to drive her, he usually spent an hour after closing cleaning up, so it meant a later night than usual. Resigning herself to that, Denise was doing her own closing work when the front door opened just before it was time to lock up.
Taylor.
He stepped inside, waved to Ray, but didn't make a move toward Denise.
"Melissa called," he said, "and told me you might need a ride home."
She was at a loss for words. Angry, hurt, confused . . . yet undeniably still in love. Though the last part seemed to be fading with each passing day.
"Where were you earlier?"
Taylor shifted from one foot to the other. "I was working," he finally answered. "I didn't know you needed a ride today."
"You've been driving me for the last three months," sh
e said, trying to keep her composure.
"But I was gone last week. You didn't ask me to drive you in last night, so I just figured Rhonda would bring you in. I didn't realize that I was supposed to be your personal chauffeur."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not fair, Taylor, and you know it."
Taylor crossed his arms. "Hey, I didn't come here to get yelled at. I'm here in case you need a ride home. Do you want one or not?"
Denise pursed her lips together. "No," she said simply.
If Taylor was surprised, he didn't show it.
"All right, then," he said. He turned to look at the walls, then the floor, then back to her. "I'm sorry about earlier, if that means anything."
It does and it doesn't, Denise thought. But she didn't say anything. When Taylor realized she wasn't going to speak, he turned away, pulling the door open again.
"Do you need a ride tomorrow?" he asked over his shoulder.
Again she thought about it. "Will you be there?"
He winced. "Yes," he answered softly. "I will."
"Then, okay," she said.
He nodded, then made his way out the door. Turning around, Denise saw Ray scrubbing the counter as if his life depended on it.
"Ray?"
"Yes, honey?" he answered, pretending that he hadn't been paying attention to what was going on.
"Can I take tomorrow evening off?"
He glanced up from the counter, looking at her as he probably would have looked at his own child.
"I think you'd better," he answered honestly.
Taylor came by thirty minutes before her shift was supposed to start and was surprised when she opened the door dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. It had been raining most of the day, and the temperature was in the sixties, too cool for shorts. Taylor, meanwhile, was clean and dry--it was obvious he'd changed before coming over.
"C'mon in," she said.
"Aren't you supposed to be dressed for work?"
"I'm not working tonight," she said evenly.
"You're not?"
"No," she replied. Taylor followed her inside, curious.
"Where's Kyle?"
Denise sat. "Melissa said she'd watch him for a while."
Taylor stopped, looking around uncertainly, and Denise patted the couch.
"Sit down."
Taylor did as she suggested. "So what's up?"
"We've got to talk," she began.
"About what?"
She couldn't help but shake her head at that. "What's going on with you?"
"Why? Is there something I don't know about?" he said, grinning nervously.
"This isn't the time for jokes, Taylor. I took tonight off in the hopes that you'd help me understand what the problem is."