Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers Page 10

  They’d made plans to meet in the Columbia River Gorge in two weeks. Maybe that’s where she would have the chance to tell him the truth. If he took it well, maybe there could be more. Assuming they both wanted the same thing. After he learned who she really was.

  • • •

  To maintain the pretense she was coming from Seattle, on Saturday morning, Claudia drove to the Portland airport, left her car in the parking lot, and took the shuttle to the terminal building where Brad picked her up. They drove to Skamania Lodge, had a couples’ massage followed by an early, long, and delicious dinner, and an even longer and more delicious round of lovemaking.

  The following morning, she asked about places to hike, pretending she knew nothing about the geography of the area. He immediately suggested Beacon Rock, the 848-foot massive basalt column west of the resort, which once formed the core of an ancient volcano. The route to the top of Beacon Rock covers nearly a mile of switchbacks on a sheer rock wall. Getting to the top on most summer days is like snaking around in line for a Disneyland ride, there are so many people on the trail. But this Sunday, early in the morning, they were alone as they began the gentle walk through the forest at the base to get to the southernmost face of the rock.

  It’s not a technical climb, more like a walk up a steep path on a trail marked with ironwork bridges and steps. It was a gorgeous day, and they stopped at every overlook to see the river beneath them and the scenery around them. Not to mention to let their lungs catch up with their muscle exertions. This time, the breathlessness when she was with Brad wasn’t from his kisses, which was a first.

  Claudia was smiling when they reached the summit. Part of it was being happy to have reached the top. Part was being there with him. Part was a sudden memory of a story she knew, which always made her smile and want to whirl around in a Sound of Music moment. Brad caught her expression before she could tamp it down. “What’s the secret look about, lovely?”

  “No secret. I’m happy to be at the top, that’s all.”

  “I may not have known you long, but I know that smile means something else. Don’t want to tell me?”

  “Well, I guess I can.” She laughed at what she imagined the expression on her friend Ruth’s face would be if she knew Claudia was about to spill her secret. “I have a friend …”

  “Is this one of those stories that’s actually about you but you’re too embarrassed to admit it?”

  “No, it really is about a friend. I’ve been sworn to secrecy and can’t reveal her name …”

  “Or she’d have to kill you.”

  “Something like that. But you have to stop interrupting so I can tell you the story.”

  With his thumb and forefinger, he made a zipping motion across his mouth, although the imaginary zipper didn’t stop a grin from appearing.

  “Anyway, this friend had a boyfriend—they eventually got married and now have a baby daughter, which is the reason this story can’t get out. At least until the daughter is, like, thirty.”

  Her friend had called her in a panic when she realized someday her daughter might hear this story. “So, right after they got engaged, my friend and her guy came here. It was the first spring weekend with really clear weather. They got here early and were the only people on the rock. When they got to the top, he kissed her and whispered, ‘Hooray, hooray, it’s the first of May.’ She finished with ‘outdoor screwing begins today,’ and he asked her if she was game. She said yes and they did.”

  Brad pulled her to him, kissed her, and said, “It’s not the first of May, but I’m game if you are.”

  “No, no,” she said, sure panic had made an unwanted appearance in her voice. “I didn’t mean I wanted to …”

  He laughed. “Actually, I didn’t either. I’m too used to a nice comfortable bed. We should be someplace private, intimate, not in public with kids and dogs around.” He motioned to the group coming up behind them—a mother and father, two high-school-age daughters, and a golden retriever.

  They looked vaguely familiar; at least the two young daughters did, although she couldn’t figure out why. Brad definitely knew them, if the smile he was directing to them was any indication.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Hello, Turners. Nice day for a hike, isn’t it?” He extended his hand to the man who was smiling in return. When the handshake was over, he turned to her. “This is Janet and Jim Turner, Claire. And these two are Julie and Jessica. They’re two of my students at St. Mary’s. This is my friend, Claire Mason.”

  Another round of handshakes while Claire tried to figure out if she knew them and, if she did, whether she should jump off Beacon Rock to change the subject and hope for the best. There was something about the family that tickled at her memory, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Her worst fears were realized when Janet, the mother, said, “You look familiar, although I don’t recognize your name. Any chance I know you?”

  “I doubt it,” Brad said. “She’s from Seattle.”

  Janet persisted. “I’m sure I’ve met you.”

  Brad looked at her, a questioning look in his eyes. She knew what he was asking, but she was not going to reveal her April Mayes persona to a family of strangers. “I can’t imagine we’ve met unless you’ve been in one of my classes. I teach English lit at Bellevue College.”

  Janet said, “That’s not it. We do have a daughter who’s an English major in college, but she goes to Portland State.”

  Crap. Crap. Crap. Now she knew why they looked familiar. She’d had a student last year named Jocelyn Turner who was obviously a member of this family.

  Janet continued, “You’re a teacher like Brad. Do you write romances, too?”

  Her husband rolled his eyes. “She has dozens of romance novels on her Kindle, including all of yours, Brad. It’s not enough we shovel money at St. Mary’s to pay your salary, but we subsidize your afterhours job, too.”

  Panicked at how to turn the conversation away from her, Claudia grabbed at the first thing she could think of. “Brad’s a good writer, isn’t he? What’s your favorite of his books?” Brad looked disappointed she wasn’t telling the Turners about her other life. But at least this lie was one of omission.

  “Oh, I always seem to like the most recent one the best,” Janet said.

  “I think Mrs. Duniway’s Assistant is terrific, too,” Claudia responded. “I recently read it myself.”

  When the conversation died after her compliment on his book, Brad stepped in. “We’ll let you savor your moment at the top. We’re on our way down so I can get Claire to the airport for her plane back to Seattle. Nice to see you, Turners. See you two,” he winked at the young girls, “on Monday. And I don’t want any I-was-stranded-on-a-mountain excuses for not doing your homework assignment.”

  One of the twins, Claudia wasn’t sure which one, giggled. “We had to have it all finished before we left home this morning. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Then enjoy the rest of the day.”

  They didn’t talk on the way down to the car. When they were all buckled in and she expected him to start the car, he didn’t. Instead, he stared out the windshield for a few moments before saying, “Why didn’t you want the Turners to know you write romance novels? You’re a great writer. You shouldn’t be ashamed of your work.”

  “How do you know what kind of writer I am? I thought you’d never read anything I wrote.”

  “I hadn’t when we talked at the conference. I bought The Storm Inside when I got home. I finally had time to start it last week. I’m not finished yet, but what I’ve read so far is beautifully written. Based on The Tempest, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you. And, yes, it is. That’s one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. When were you going to tell me you read it?”

  “It’s one of my favorite plays, too. And I thought I’d wait until after I finished it to tell you how much I enjoyed it.” He glanced over at her. “But you’re changing the subject. Why not tell the Turners about your work? They can’t
do your career in Seattle any harm.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, I’m so used to keeping it secret I’m not comfortable letting anyone know. Particular strangers.”

  “They’re not strangers. They’re friends.”

  “Of yours. Not mine. I can’t take the chance until after the tenure committee meets. Why do you think I’m so careful about being seen with you? I told you, two of the committee members have very strange ideas about commercial fiction. Even yours, I imagine.” She wanted him to understand it wasn’t going to happen until she felt safe from her colleagues’ disdain. It would help if she could tell him about her connection with the Turners’ daughter and her fear that the news of her extracurricular activities would get back to her colleagues through them, but she couldn’t.

  “And when does the committee make a decision?”

  “In six weeks.”

  He shook his head, started the car, and put it in gear. “I guess I can hold out until then. But I have to tell you, I’m at the point where I want to stand on top of Beacon Rock and shout how happy I am because of the beautiful woman I’m involved with.” He pulled out onto Highway 14 and headed west.

  “Is that what we are? Involved? I’ve wondered.”

  “What the hell did you think we were? The world’s longest one-night stand?”

  Chapter 11

  Even after a second weekend in Seattle, Brad was still mystified by the lovely Claire. Unlike every other woman he’d been involved with, she was more fascinating the longer they were together. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with her.

  But he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something going on with her. He was sure she was keeping a secret from him, but he couldn’t imagine what it could be. And he was no closer to figuring it out after four weekends than he had been after one.

  He thought they’d talked about everything. From their academic careers and writing to politics both in their jobs and on the national level to the minutia of which vegetables they loved and hated. They’d exchanged childhood memories and were amused to discover both had had dogs named Spot when they were kids and they both disliked seeing animals dressed in costumes.

  They’d even gotten into the deep stuff. On the last weekend they were together at her place in Seattle, they’d talked about families. He had told her all about his dysfunctional family of five children and two completely irresponsible, immature parents who he loved but who he really didn’t think should have been allowed to be responsible for a goldfish let alone five kids. He’d picked out a few funny stories about their notoriously careless parenting to share, like how they had once argued with a teacher about his sister’s work only to find out the teacher had one of his brothers in the class. He assured her that somehow, all his siblings had survived without anyone being jailed or permanently disabled, although it had been close in a couple of instances, including several scrapes he’d had with the authorities when he was a teen. For the first time, he told someone about his juvenile record and how, if it ever came out he’d been picked up for shoplifting once and vandalism more than once, he could lose his job. He counted on the fact that juvie records were sealed at eighteen if there are no further problems. There hadn’t been, but he still worried. He even told her he’d lied about it when he’d applied at St. Mary’s. He had justified the lie at the time by telling himself he’d been asked if he’d ever been convicted of a felony and he’d only committed misdemeanors, but he knew he was on shaky ground.

  He didn’t tell her how much he had resented his parents for showing little interest in their children or how they made promise after promise, not one of which was kept. The promise to pick him up at a friend’s house but never show. The promise to buy a special present for his birthday but somehow lose track of when the big day was and get the gift to him weeks later. Or never. The lie about how much they loved their kids when clearly they really only cared for each other. At least, it’s how they came across to their children.

  Claire told him a bit about her family, mostly about her father, who’d died when she was in undergraduate school. She had been the light of his life, it sounded like, and she missed him still. When Brad prodded a bit, she admitted she had a “baby” brother and a mother, neither of whom were close to her. Her brother was lost in the bottom of a bottle someplace in LA, and she hadn’t seen him in over ten years. Her mother lived in a cabin in the woods someplace in Colorado, and although there were sporadic phone calls between the two, they hadn’t been together in more than two years. Her mother had always favored her brother and had gone into hiding, almost, when he had disappeared. Her daughter’s achievements were a footnote to her mother, much to Claire’s dismay.

  Her story made him understand better her drive to succeed in her career and why the regard of her colleagues and achieving tenure were both so important to her.

  Neither of them, they agreed, had come from a family that would have won awards from Parents Magazine, although Brad was glad he had his parents rather than hers. At least he and all his siblings loved each other even if they had not exactly been tended to with care. They’d always had each other’s backs as they stumbled their way through the maze of growing up.

  Claire had overcome considerably more hurdles than he had in both her academic and professional lives—a testament to the strength of her character, he told her. She brushed it off, but the smile she tried hard to hide when he gave her the compliment said she appreciated it.

  The smile disappeared when he asked her if she planned on seeing her mom when she went to Denver for the Romance Writers of America conference. She not only said she wasn’t planning to call her mom but backpedaled about going to the meeting at all. He tried to encourage her to attend, but she closed up; she said she would make up her mind about it soon. He wasn’t sure if she was resisting because her mother lived in Colorado, because she didn’t want to go to any more writers’ conferences, or because of something he’d done. He let the subject drop and moved on to asking how her writing was going.

  But something about their conversation had apparently triggered a reaction from Claire, and not a good one. In their texts and phone conversations, she began to make excuses about why she might not be able to go to RWA, in spite of her earlier plans to attend. She also began to take longer to respond to him.

  Finally, he sent a text that seemed to get her attention.

  What have I done to piss you off? Please tell me so I don’t do it again.

  She responded right away.

  Nothing. It’s me. I’m struggling with my book. Please forgive.

  He wrote back:

  It’s not me, it’s you? LOL. Can I see you next weekend?

  He wasn’t happy with her response:

  I’m booked. Not sure when the next open weekend is.

  This was not good. She’d always been as eager to see him as he was to see her. Whatever was eating at her must be serious. He had to find out what it was. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he pushed back.

  What about RWA? We’re still meeting in Denver, aren’t we?

  When there was no response for hours, he was sure he’d blown it. The “nothing to lose” attitude had, in fact, lost him something important—Claire. He was sure she’d given up on their relationship.

  Then, unexpectedly, he got an answer.

  Okay, I’ll meet you in Denver.

  He’d wanted to coordinate their flights, but he didn’t press his luck by insisting. He texted back:

  What day are you arriving?

  Her response came an hour later.

  Mary Lynn and I are booked on a flight arriving late in the afternoon of the first day. We’re sharing a room in the convention hotel.

  Sharing a room with her agent? Definitely a crimp in his plans to have her with him the whole time they were in Denver. He wasn’t sure if Mary Lynn knew about them or, if she did know, if she’d approve of Claire spending the night in his room. What the hell was going on?

  Chapter 12r />
  “You don’t have to inspect my suitcase, Mary Lynn. All the trampy clothes and hooker heels from the last conference I went to are there along with enough makeup for the cast of a major Broadway musical. I didn’t forget anything.” Claudia had come back to her agent’s home after her hair and nails appointment to find Mary Lynn digging into her suitcase.

  “I didn’t think you had. I was tucking a little surprise in your belongings for you to find when we got to Denver.” She pulled an envelope out of the side pocket of the suitcase and handed it to Claudia. “But now that I got caught, I’ll give it to you here.”

  Claudia opened the envelope. Inside was a contract for her next four books. “Four books? I thought we were only going to get a two-book contract?”

  “‘Thank you for being the best agent an author could have,’ might be the better response, don’t you think?”

  Claudia grinned. “Yes. It would. And I’m sorry. You are the best agent an author could have. Thank you. But how …?”

  “Your sales have been great, out the roof since San Fran, which pleased them. You won those awards this year and, I hear, might pick up another one in Denver. Your last book just hit number one on the USA Today list, and the two before were on Amazon’s top ten list for weeks. You’re an overachiever. Tom was happy you’ve started showing up at conferences but is now worried you’ll meet a publisher you like better at one of them and leave him. Or, God help us, go indie and self-pub, since you have such a loyal following. So he decided to tie you up, so to speak, all for himself.”

  “Why would he think I want to leave? I’ve been happy with him.”

  Mary Lynn’s cat-with-canary-feathers-sticking-out-of-her-smile was the tell.

  “Oh, my God, you told him I was looking at other options.”