That Certain Summer Read online

  Val was out the door before her mother had a chance to have second thoughts.

  And she took full advantage of her hour break. She downed a container of yogurt as she waited in the checkout lane, indulged in a latte at the coffee shop next door to the grocery store, and picked up enough fresh fruit, vegetables, whole-grain bread, and lean meat to last until the weekend.

  By the time she returned to the therapy center with five minutes to spare, she was feeling much more relaxed.

  No sooner had she settled in with a magazine, however, than David summoned her from the door of the waiting room.

  “How did it go?” Val edged past as he moved aside to let her precede him.

  The man had nice manners.

  “We had a productive session. Your mother was very cooperative, and she has a lot of spunk.”

  Val could think of many adjectives to describe her mother. “Cooperative” and “spunky” weren’t among them.

  “Mom can be pretty determined about going after what she wants.” It was the kindest thing she could come up with short of lying.

  “That’s a good quality—under these circumstances, at least.” He closed the door behind him.

  “True. But to be honest, I’m a little surprised. I almost had to drag her here.”

  “A lot of patients feel that way. Part of our job is to help them see the value of therapy, persuade them it will speed up their recovery.”

  That argument might work with most people, but she was surprised it had swayed her mother. Speeding up her recovery meant less dependency. It meant her daughters wouldn’t have to care for her with quite the same level of attention—and Margaret liked to be taken care of, sick or well. Why else would she have sold the car twenty years ago, after Dad died? She could have learned to drive, become more independent. She’d only been fifty. But no. She preferred relying on other people to take her places, then felt sorry for herself if they couldn’t—or wouldn’t. It fed into the long-suffering martyr complex she nurtured.

  “You seem skeptical.” David cocked his head as he regarded her.

  The man was perceptive too.

  “On the contrary. I’m admiring your powers of persuasion.”

  “And don’t forget my charm.”

  His comment might have been made in jest, but he was charming. She could see why her mother had fallen under his spell. Not that he was Val’s type, of course. He was too wholesome, too all-American for someone like her.

  Besides, she wasn’t in the market for romance.

  “Shall we join your mother? Third door on the right.”

  He motioned down the hall, and Val preceded him, slipping into a chair beside her mother once they entered the tiny office. David took a seat behind a small desk.

  “I did very well,” Margaret told her.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Margaret certainly helped me get my new job off to a good start.” David flashed the older woman a smile. “I hope it’s an omen.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Margaret leaned over and patted his hand. “David just moved here from St. Louis. I was his very first patient in Washington. He decided to leave the big city behind.” She arched her eyebrows at Val. “Some people appreciate the charms of small-town life.”

  David looked from mother to daughter and changed the subject. “I’m going to give you some sheets that describe the exercises we did today, Margaret. Val, I want to be sure you understand them too, since you’ll be supervising the program at home.”

  For the next few minutes, he explained the exercise regime he’d developed. When he finished, he put the sheets in a folder and handed it to her. “Any questions?”

  “It sounds straightforward.”

  “Margaret? How about you?”

  “I just hope Val won’t be a hard taskmaster.” She sniffed and shot a dark look in her direction.

  “A good coach pushes his or her players to the limit. That’s their job. You thought you couldn’t do one more rep today, yet you managed to pull it off with a little encouragement. You’ll do fine with Val too. And I’ll want a full report on Tuesday.”

  “Could you go over that finger exercise once more? I think I may be doing it wrong.”

  “Sure.”

  While David worked with Margaret, Val looked around his office. Diplomas hung on the walls, and a shelf behind his desk was filled with medical and exercise books bookended by two framed photos. One showed David with a beautiful blonde-haired woman who was holding a baby. The other was of a blonde girl about four or five years old who had David’s merry green eyes and a captivating smile. She was the kind of little girl meant for tea parties, bedtime stories, and snuggling on your lap during a summer thunderstorm.

  The kind of little girl Val would never have.

  “Val! I’m ready.”

  With a start, Val shifted gears. “Sorry. I-I was admiring the photo of the little girl. Your daughter?”

  “Yes. Victoria. She’s five.”

  “Oh, such a lovely child!” Margaret leaned forward and adjusted her glasses. “What an angelic face!”

  One corner of David’s mouth hitched up. “Don’t let the face fool you. She can be a handful.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Margaret gave a long-suffering sigh. “I raised two daughters of my own.”

  “But I wouldn’t change a thing, would you? Victoria’s been such a blessing in my life—as I’m sure your daughters have been in yours.” Without giving her mother a chance to respond, he rose. “Well, my next patient awaits.” He came around the desk, and together they helped Margaret to her feet. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions between now and our next session.” His last comment was directed to both of them as he opened the door.

  “We won’t.” Margaret took a firm grip on her arm.

  Val held out her hand. “Thank you again.”

  As David’s perceptive gaze connected with hers, the oddest feeling swept over her. It was almost as if he were looking straight into her heart, past her veneer of sophistication, and seeing far more than she wanted him to see. Stranger still, when his lean fingers closed around hers, his sure, steady grip seemed to say, I care. You can trust me. I’m here for you.

  Talk about off-the-wall. What had gotten into her today?

  Still, the impression lingered . . . and added to his charisma. Perhaps others picked up on it too. If so, it was a great skill to have in a profession that required him to motivate patients and push them beyond their comfort level.

  Too bad he was married.

  Not that it mattered, of course. Even if he was available, she wasn’t.

  With an effort, Val retrieved her hand and took her mother’s arm. The trek down the hall was slow, but as she opened the waiting room door to usher Margaret through, she caught sight of David. He was still standing by his office, watching them. Raising a hand in farewell, he stepped back inside and shut the door.

  The symbolism resonated with her.

  Closed doors were the story of her life.

  And she had no one to blame but herself.

  David leaned against the door and took a deep breath. He did have another patient waiting. That had been the truth. But first he needed to jot down some notes about his session with Margaret—and collect his thoughts.

  Because these past few minutes had been interesting . . . and intriguing.

  Not so much in terms of Margaret. She was easy to read. The woman was a master manipulator—but he’d dealt with enough patients like her to know how to elicit cooperation.

  Her daughter was another story. There were layers there, and deep, turbulent pools beneath the placid surface. Complexities and shadows and hidden corners, all safely concealed behind a beautiful face and great body.

  And safely was the appropriate word. He’d be willing to bet most people never got past Val’s physical beauty. Never delved deeper. Including her mother.

  Pushing off from the door, he walked over to his desk, sat, picked up his pen—an
d turned it end-to-end on his desk instead of writing his session notes.

  Margaret had referenced Val’s theater and modeling background, so it wasn’t surprising her daughter moved with grace and poise. Or that her body language suggested confidence, conveying the message that she was in control of her destiny and certain of her place in the world.

  Yet her melancholy eyes told a different story—especially when she’d looked at the photos on the shelf behind him.

  Swiveling in his chair, he studied the family photo, a familiar heaviness tugging at his heart. He might not understand Val’s reaction, but he did understand the sadness of wishing for something that would never be. They’d looked like a perfect family, he and Natalie and Victoria. Yet something had been missing. When Natalie had held Victoria in her arms back in those early days, she’d never worn the soft, special expression he’d seen on Val’s face a few minutes ago.

  Of course Natalie had loved Victoria, in her own way. He’d never doubted that. It just hadn’t been the way he’d always hoped his wife would feel about their child. And it certainly wasn’t the way he felt. He cherished each day with his precious daughter.

  His gaze shifted to the shot of Victoria. His daughter was adorable, and few people were immune to her charms. He’d often had patients and co-workers tell him he was a lucky man to have such a lovely daughter.

  Though Val had left the words to Margaret, her eyes had spoken volumes. As she’d gazed at the photo, they’d been filled with longing. Easy to understand, since Victoria would appeal to the maternal instincts in any woman. But what was the story behind the sadness in their depths? The wistfulness?

  It was as if what she longed for was beyond her grasp.

  Why?

  Sighing, he pivoted back to his desk and opened Margaret’s file. He couldn’t take on the burdens of the world, solve everyone’s problems, as Natalie had always reminded him when he’d made one too many commitments at church or to some worthy project in need of volunteers. And she’d been right.

  Whatever Val’s issues, he needed to steer clear of them.

  Because he had more than enough challenges of his own trying to settle into a new life and a new job, all the while doing his best to play both mother and father to a little girl who had plenty of adjustments of her own to make.

  3

  At the sound of a car in the driveway Saturday afternoon, Karen lifted the living room curtain to peer outside. “Kristen, your father’s here.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  “You’re going to be late.”

  “I said I’ll be out in a minute!”

  Karen rolled her eyes. After eighteen months, you’d think Kristen would give up on this ploy. Did she really think that by hanging back in her room whenever Michael came by—thereby forcing her parents to engage in small talk—she might prod them into a reconciliation?

  Good luck with that. Michael had no interest, and she found the whole thing awkward.

  The bell chimed, and she headed toward the foyer. Straightening her shoulders, she tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled the door open. “Hello, Michael.”

  “Hi.” He gave her his usual dismissive, distracted glance. “Is Kristen ready?”

  “Almost. She’ll need a little help getting to the car.”

  “Oh. Right.” He looked toward his late-model sports car, then stepped inside.

  She gave him a quick once-over. As usual, his attire was impeccable. The crease in his khaki slacks was razor sharp, the starch in his Oxford shirt crisp. It didn’t matter where he was—in the classroom at the university, on the golf course, or attending today’s school picnic with his daughter. He was Mr. GQ.

  He was also in great shape, even if he was thirteen years her senior. Regular visits to the gym and a diligent exercise routine had kept him looking far younger than his fifty-one years. Only the touch of gray in the dark brown hair at his temples hinted at his age. But instead of making him look older, it gave him a distinguished appearance.

  Maybe that’s why he still attracted younger women.

  Good looks, stylish clothes, and firm abs were no excuse for infidelity, however. Even if your wife was a little overweight and more plain Jane than Jane Russell.

  She lifted her chin a fraction and shut the door with more force than necessary. “I’ll check on Kristen.”

  Her daughter chose that moment to appear. What a coincidence.

  Not.

  “Hi, Dad.” Kristen’s voice was a little too bright, and she refused to meet Karen’s gaze.

  “Hi, sweetie.” He moved forward and gave her a hug. “I see you’ve been collecting some autographs on that cast.”

  “Yeah. Most of the kids stopped by in the beginning, but they don’t come around as much anymore.”

  “You’ll see them all today, though. Are you ready?”

  “Uh-huh. Mom, where are the brownies?”

  “In the kitchen. I’ll get them.”

  “Were we supposed to bring something?” Michael directed his question to Kristen as Karen passed by.

  “Yeah. But Mom makes great brownies.”

  “Stephanie could have picked up a cake at the bakery.”

  Meaning his cute little love interest didn’t frequent the kitchen. Karen stifled a smirk. No wonder Michael’s waistline was so trim. He probably hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since they separated.

  “Homemade stuff is better. And Mom’s a great cook.”

  Misplaced though it was, Karen had to admire her daughter’s tenacity.

  “Could you hurry it up, Karen?” Michael called. “I don’t want to keep Stephanie waiting.”

  Not even a thank-you.

  How typical.

  Their voices carried into the kitchen as Karen retrieved the brownies, and she didn’t feel one iota of guilt about listening in.

  “Why did you bring her?”

  “We’re a couple, Kristen. We do things together.”

  “But this was supposed to be just us. Father-daughter time.”

  “I thought the end-of-school picnic was a family event?”

  “It is. But Stephanie’s not family.”

  “She may be.”

  “She isn’t yet.”

  “Look, do you want to call the whole thing off?”

  Karen stepped back into the room to find them glaring at each other.

  Shoulders slumping, Kristen ended the standoff. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

  “Then let’s go and enjoy ourselves.”

  “It would be better without Stephanie.”

  Smiling sweetly, Karen handed the plate of brownies to Michael. “Have fun.”

  His lips tightened into a thin line. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Karen’s smile faded as she regarded her daughter. Kristen had been so excited about spending the day with her dad. He hadn’t given her a lot of attention in the past few months—thanks to Stephanie, Karen assumed. Now she was fighting back tears.

  Karen reached over to hug her, whispering as Michael opened the door, “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “It won’t be the same.” Kristen sniffled in her ear. “Nothing’s the same.”

  What could she say?

  After giving her one more squeeze, Karen backed away. Michael and Kristen left the house in silence, and a few minutes later she heard the car start. From behind the sheer curtain in the living room, she watched as Michael pulled out of the driveway.

  Stephanie was in the passenger seat, looking out the window—away from Michael. Michael was staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel. Kristen was sitting in the back, her leg propped on the seat, her arms folded tight across her chest.

  Looked like they were all in for a jolly afternoon.

  “Karen? Val. Can I ask a favor?”

  A caution sign flashed in Karen’s mind, and she shifted the phone to a more comfortable position as she pulled plates out of the dishwasher. “What is it?”

  “My car was making a funny n
oise on the way down from Chicago, so I took it to the shop this morning. I couldn’t believe Fred was still there. He must be eighty-five! Anyway, he says I need a new timing belt—whatever that is. He gave me a ride home, because the car won’t be ready until late in the day. I was planning to go to the grocery store while Mom naps, and I wondered if you might be able to run me over there. I grabbed a few quick things on Thursday during her therapy session, but the whole kitchen needs to be restocked.”

  Turning toward the window, she considered the request as she watched the sun play hide-and-seek with the branches of the maple tree. Her first inclination was to say no. She’d much rather stay home and enjoy the rare treat of uninterrupted personal time on a Saturday afternoon. On the other hand, she did need some things herself. If she took Val, she should still have plenty of time to herself before Michael brought Kristen home from the picnic.

  “Okay. When do you want to go?”

  “ASAP. I just got Mom settled for her nap. I should be able to escape for a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be ready.”

  Not likely. Val had always run late for everything.

  But nine and a half minutes later, when she pulled into the driveway, her sister was already on the porch—looking chic as always, of course. Her loose blonde hair shimmered in the sun, her long legs were tanned and trim beneath her white shorts, and her black-and-white-striped knit top showed off her curves to perfection.

  Karen squirmed in her seat and smoothed a hand down the denim on her thigh. Would it have killed her to take five minutes to freshen up? Brush her hair, apply some lipstick, change clothes instead of pulling her long hair back with a rubber band, going au naturel in the makeup department, and settling for too-tight jeans and baggy T-shirt that emphasized her extra pounds instead of disguising them.

  Then again, why even try to compete with Val?

  “Hey, I appreciate this.” Her sister slid in beside her. “Sorry for the short notice.”

  “I need some stuff too.” She put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. “Shopping today will save me a trip early in the week. Work is busy this time of year, and I hate having to stop at the grocery store after a long day.”