One More Chance Read online

  Worse, it didn't seem like he'd really tried all that hard.

  Juliana stood stark naked in front of the mirrored wall of her bathroom, staring at her reflection. It was her second day home and her first chance to take inventory.

  What she saw dismayed her. She looked thin and gaunt, her ribs sharp ridges beneath her skin. Shadows lay like purple smudges beneath her eyes and hollowed out her cheekbones. She trailed trembling fingers across her cheek, letting the long fingernails drag lightly across skin flaccid and lacking in tone.

  You can never be too thin or too rich. She'd said that recently to someone, but to whom or upon what occasion she had no idea. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the weakness that grew and spread through her limbs with each passing second. She needed to know it all:

  A slightly puckered scar began three inches above her navel and rose for another three inches, neatly bisecting. her stomach with its purply pink path. It didn't hurt. She didn't even know its origin until Paige explained about the second operation.

  "They put in a shunt, Mama, a tube from your head to your stomach to drain…stuff, you know, fluids. But you didn't get better so they did a third operation to take it out."

  Juliana raised her right hand, so accustomed to the yellowing bruises on her arm that she didn't really see them anymore. With her forefinger, she lightly traced a small vertical scar directly behind her ear. About an inch long, it lay right at the hairline. She knew, without comprehending the source of her knowledge, that this was part of the shunt procedure that hadn't worked.

  Oh, it was all so confusing!

  She had another small scar, so small in fact that she didn't know how she'd come to find it. Less than two inches long, it was on her groin, and a nurse had explained at some dim and misty point that it was the result of an angiogram.

  "A narrow tube—a catheter—was inserted in an artery in your groin and threaded up to your brain… the doctor injected a dye which shows up on an X-ray and then he watched on an X-ray screen while the dye traveled—"

  "Through my brain?"

  Juliana shuddered and closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself to go on. It all seemed such a horrible intrusion. She swallowed hard and reached for a hand mirror on the blue-tiled countertop.

  Try as she might, she couldn't see where they had actually opened her skull. She could feel the spot with her fingers, on the right side of her head, two inches directly above her ear… a faint indentation, a comfortable fit for the pads of two fingers, maybe three. It felt to her much like the soft spot on an infant's head.

  At first she hadn't been able to bring herself to touch the spot, but touch was the only sense with which she could define it. She couldn't see anything; even what little hair she had got in the way, as did her inability to move her neck easily and freely from side to side.

  And her eyes… she had a new and unexpected difficulty in focusing for more than a few seconds. Much the same as the difficulty she had concentrating… she wondered if those two problems could be related.

  Or maybe she didn't really want to see that last, worst evidence. Her hair was growing back; why borrow trouble?

  Trembling with strain, she pulled on a sweat suit and joined Paige in the family room. A fresh pot of blueberry tea and a plate of oat bran muffins rested on an end table. Tired and a little depressed, Juliana settled back against the tumble of cushions on the couch.

  As Paige finished pouring the tea, the telephone rang. She answered in the kitchen, appearing moments later with the remote receiver in her hands.

  "It's John at your office," she said, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. "He says he hopes he's not disturbing you and he hopes you're feeling better."

  "Yes, sure, I'm fine."

  "And he says Stella's out of the office and he needs to put some checks into the safe. He wants to know if that's okay and if you'll give him the combination."

  "Tell him fine," Juliana said automatically, then realized she had no idea what the combination might be: she couldn't even remember the first number. In fact, at that moment, she didn't remember the location of the safe itself.

  "On second thought, tell him to just hang on to the stuff until Stella gets back."

  "Okay." Paige walked out of the room, talking into the receiver as she went.

  Juliana lay back in a cold sweat, racking her brain to remember the combination to the safe. Or the address of her office. Or her own telephone number.

  Or her daughter's birthday.

  Juliana saw her doctor one week after discharge, but the visit made little impression on her and within a few hours she'd all but forgotten it. She didn't remember what he had said to her or what she had said to him. All she knew was that he hadn't done any of those scary procedures she'd dreaded.

  Nor had she brought up any of the multitude of minor confusions with which she struggled daily. Somehow it seemed that to do so would lend them credibility and substance. Better to simply wait and see, even though she had never felt so fragmented and unsure. Stimuli of all kinds slid off her memory like an egg off new Teflon.

  Even Stella's reports on office happenings failed to make an impression on Juliana. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly, which didn't exactly please her on the one hand, but on the other, made it possible to delay her return.

  Stella concluded each conversation with a question. "So when are you coming back to work, Juliana?"

  Juliana would put her off. "Soon. Just as soon as the doctor gives the word."

  In truth, she didn't intend to go back until she could return exactly as she'd left—mentally as well as physically. And the way things were going …I'd kill for a cigarette, she thought suddenly. To hell with the office—I want a smoke.

  What had happened to the carton of cigarettes she'd stashed in her lingerie chest just a few days before she…what? Got sick? Got hurt? Fell over like some fool? She'd never figured out what to call what had happened to her, which added to her irritation.

  Furiously she-pulled out the narrow drawers, dumping them on the floor before tossing them aside. There were no cigarettes in any of them.

  "Damn!" She stood there, swaying on her feet and breathing hard, tears backing up into a lump in her throat.

  From the other side of the bedroom door, Paige called. "Mama, you have company."

  The dark cloud of Juliana's despondency shifted slightly. "Ben?"

  "Yes, and—"

  The rest was muffled as Juliana hurried across the room, threw open the door and brushed past.

  She had missed Ben more than she'd realized.

  "Mama, slow down and let me tell you—"

  Too late. Juliana greeted Ben with a broad smile which slipped at sight of the woman beside him.

  Ben's guarded expression never changed. "Look who I found just about to ring your doorbell."

  Barbara Snell stepped forward with a solicitous smile. Despite fifty years on Planet Earth, Barbara still managed to project an impression of charmingly helpless confusion.

  Which, Juliana knew to her sorrow, covered a mind like a computer. For the past three years, she and Barbara had vied for the coveted Real Estate Star honor given annually by the Summerhill Real Estate Board. The winner received a tiny gold star-shaped pin with a diamond chip for each succeeding award.

  Barbara stood there now with a three-chip pin; Juliana didn't even have the pin—forget the chips! She gritted her teeth. And this was my year, damn it!

  "Juliana!"

  "Barbara!"

  And a rough-voiced aside: "Jesus!"

  The women embraced cautiously and Juliana glared at Ben over Barbara's shoulder. He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  "Juliana, you look wonderful," Barbara declared in her soft, little-girl voice. "You're not nearly as thin and frail as I expected. And you look cute with short hair!"

  Juliana clenched her hands together at her sides and refused to cower or try to cover her head with her hands, as she longed to do. To her way of thinking, her head resemble
d a briar patch, and under no circumstances could it be called cute. The rest of her wasn't in such hot shape, either.

  But then, she wondered, what the hell could anyone say? "You look like ten miles of bad road?"

  Ben and Paige left the room. He'd been helping her with a math class, Juliana knew. She watched them go with envy. They'd gotten close during the days spent together at the hospital, and even closer now that they were spending all that time over the books. She wasn't entirely sure she approved.

  Barbara sighed. "That's a nice piece of land Ben owns out there in Buena Suerte Canyon."

  Juliana thought the sigh was for the man as much as the land. "Yes."

  Barbara looked like a teenaged girl contemplating a hot fudge sundae she knew she'd regret. "I suppose now you'll have an inside track with him."

  Juliana frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "You know. After what the two of you have been through together, he's sure to sell to Cary Goddard. That'll bring you a nice piece of change."

  Aghast, Juliana stared at the other woman. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. How do you know what we've 'been through together,' as you put it?"

  Barbara laughed patronizingly. "Oh, Juliana, everybody knows you collapsed at his place, and that he took you to the hospital. Why my goodness, he practically lived there. He wouldn't let anybody in to see you—you'd think he was your husband, the way he acted."

  "And you're suggesting that now I'm in a position to talk Ben into selling? You must think I'm a real—"

  "Businesswoman!" Barbara winked. "Hey, far be it from me to criticize. Business is business, but that's not why I came. I just wanted to see for myself how you're getting along. Everybody sends their regards."

  Juliana refused to squirm. She was convinced Barbara's only motive was morbid curiosity but didn't entirely blame her. Who wouldn't be curious? "As you can see, I'll soon be good as new."

  Barbara raised her brows ingenuously and her glance flicked over the shorn scalp. "Absolutely. If this hadn't happened, I truly believe you'd have given me a real ran for the money for the Star award this year." Ostentatiously she fingered the gold pin, the one with the three diamond chips.

  "How sweet of you to say so, Babs. I think so, too. How have you been doing in my absence?" It hurt Juliana's face to keep smiling.

  Barbara looked as satisfied as a cat with a mouthful of mouse. "Very very well. But you know, Juliana, nobody's nailed down the Good Samaritan award at this point. Maybe that's the one you ought to go for."

  Yes, and you should— "Do you think so?"

  Barbara's baby-blue eyes widened. "Of course. I mean, your father won it so many times they gave it to him and bought a new perpetual trophy. Like father, like daughter."

  The old, familiar feeling of frustration welled up in Juliana's chest. It seemed her father would forever be held up as a measure of her own shortcomings.

  Nobody seemed to care that she'd taken her father's failing business and turned it into one of the most successful real-estate firms in town. All anybody remembered was that Webster Malone was the man who'd find a way to make good things happen for others.

  At the expense of himself, of his wife, of his daughter… She was spared a response by the timely return of Ben and Paige.

  Barbara jumped to her feet. "Ben, I've got a couple of clients who are interested in learning more about home security. I heard you've been doing a little consulting."

  "Sure." Ben looked past her to where Juliana sat.

  Juliana examined him from beneath lowered lashes. He looked damned good, powerful and sure of himself in denim and chambray. She felt an unexpected prickle of awareness. It threw her off balance and she made the mistake of looking up. His deep blue gaze connected with hers. For a heady moment their glances locked. But something disturbed her. There was something different about him… She frowned.

  Of course! He was clean-shaven! The day he'd taken her to the hospital, he'd had a days-old beard…but while she was in the hospital he…had he shaved then or…why did she notice this now? In her annoyance, she closed her eyes and shook her head impatiently.

  Ben's harsh voice drew her back. "Okay," he snapped, his face hardening. "Forget I mentioned it, Juliana. You ready, Barbara?"

  Barbara smiled her goodbyes and followed Ben from the room, her eagerness apparent.

  Paige turned on her mother the instant they were alone. "Why were you so rude to him? He was only asking—"

  "What are you talking about?" He hadn't asked a thing—had he?

  "Just now. It was nice of him to offer to take you out to his place for a change of scene. I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance, and you don't even give him the courtesy of an answer. You just shake your head like he was some kid trying to sell you cookies or something."

  Paige stood stiffly in the doorway, her soft mouth set in a disapproving line. "Just don't hold your breath until you get another invitation from him," she said wrathfully, and stomped out of the room.

  Ben heard his telephone ringing as he walked across the yard. He'd just left Juliana's and he wasn't in the best of moods. Without any particular interest or curiosity, he banged open the kitchen door and stepped inside.

  The jangle of the bell continued. He grabbed the receiver off the wall-mounted telephone and issued a terse greeting.

  A long silence… someone playing games, he thought, preparing to hang up. Then he heard Juliana's voice. "Ben? It's me, Juliana."

  "Juliana who?"

  "Very funny. I… I called to apologize."

  Beware of Greeks bearing gifts—or real estate people bearing apologies. He kept his voice noncommittal. "That right?"

  "Yes. Paige really chewed me out after you left. But the fact is, I didn't even hear what you said to me. I… I guess I zoned out there for a minute. Will you forgive me?"

  He hesitated. "Sure," he said finally, not meaning it. He added a half-hearted "Why not?"

  He knew why not. He'd been responding to temptation when he'd blurted out his invitation. Hell, he'd come to his senses the instant the words left his mouth.

  She pressed on. "Good. Then it's all right if I come visit you one of these days?"

  "Want to keep your eye on the place for your client, I suppose."

  He heard her suck in her breath. "I'm not like that, Ben."

  He took a few seconds to steady himself. "No," he said at last. "I don't suppose you are."

  "Thank you for admitting that," she said, and hung up the telephone.

  He stood for a while, leaning against the kitchen counter and staring moodily out the window.

  She was getting to him, despite everything he could do to prevent it. He hadn't had time to erect his usual defenses. Her fight for survival had become very personal to him, and now that the crisis was past he found himself toting around all kinds of excess emotional baggage.

  Somehow her recovery had come to symbolize his resurrection as a worthwhile member of the human race.

  He'd come back to Summerhill convinced on an abstract level that his only chance to regain his self-respect lay in hanging on to this land and making it work. But now he wondered if that would be enough.

  Through the long days and nights of Juliana's ordeal, he had come to realize how much he needed to care on a personal level. At first it had been Paige who cracked his defenses. Now Juliana was widening that crack to a canyon.

  I've been alone with these damned avocado trees too long, he told himself. He shook away thoughts of her and walked to the refrigerator. But again he hesitated, leaning his forehead against the cool white exterior. He closed his eyes.

  This situation with Juliana was about to get out of hand. His nerves still tingled with the aftereffects of that once-over she'd given him. Did she realize what was going on? Somehow he doubted it. She hadn't been catching many subtleties lately.

  Gradually he became aware of meowing and scratching sounds at the door. It was that damned stray cat again. If it hangs around here it'll starve to death
'cause I sure as hell won't feed it, he thought wrathfully.

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a half-full carton of milk. He opened the flap and took a swig from the container.

  Outside the door, the cat meowed pitifully.

  Of course, cats could be useful when you lived in the country. Good way to fight those avocado-eating mice and rats without resorting to dangerous poisons. On the other hand, domestic animals in this country—dogs as well as cats—usually wound up bait for the coyotes.

  Ben walked to the screen door. Moodily he lifted the milk carton to his lips and drank. He kicked open the screen and glared down at the scrawny little black-and-orange feline.

  It was beyond a doubt the ugliest animal he'd ever seen with its matted fur and crazy calico hide. Somebody probably tied it in a sack and dumped it off in the canyon because it was too ugly to live, Ben theorized. Move on, cat. I got nothin' to give to nobody.

  The creature turned its pointy whiskered face toward him, its sharp little kitten teeth bared in a piteous yowl.

  Well, hell. He knelt and drew a disgusted breath, considering the creature. "Okay, cat," he announced, "here's the deal."

  He leaned over and picked up a foil pan he'd put out earlier in the week with bread crumbs for the birds. He began to pour milk into the pan. The kitten managed to get beneath the flow and Ben cursed as the white liquid flattened the animal's wild pelt.

  "If you're gonna hang around here, you'll have to earn your keep, you little freeloader," he said to the ecstatic kitten, who lapped frantically at the milk. "I won't have any damned animals in the house, but you can bunk in the barn if you keep the mice out. Got that? I see a rodent and you're on your way to cat heaven."

  The kitten purred with such vigor that its skinny sides vibrated. It lifted its wet head and licked its whiskers as if agreeing to the deal Ben offered.

  "Jeez." He stood up. "A damned freeloading cat. Just don't go thinking this means we're friends."

  He didn't want any friends. And he sure as hell didn't want any lovers. All he wanted was to be left alone in peace to grow his damned avocados.