Proper Care and Maintenance of Friendship (9781609417291) Read online

  chapter fourteen

  Sarah closed her eyes and tilted her head against the headrest. Twenty hours of travel, and she hadn’t managed more than a few hours of sleep. The airplane had just made its first queasy drop in altitude, presaging the long slow descent toward Newark Airport. The fact that this leg of the journey was almost over gave her no comfort. She knew she still had so far to go.

  Her body ached. Not just from the discomfort of the seat, but from emotional exhaustion. She needed a full night’s rest, uninterrupted by plane changes, and, more important, the dog-chasing-its-tail cycle of endless moral uncertainties. She wasn’t the only one absorbed in her own internal battles. Kate squirmed beside her, pressing her forehead against the window, as if she could will the clouds to pass more quickly. Waves of remorse billowed from her hunched frame.

  Sarah nudged one of Kate’s tense, tight shoulders. “I could ask if they have a parachute for you.”

  Sarah knew Kate had had even less sleep than herself. Kate had been frantic trying to rearrange flight plans for the two of them, to get them home as quickly as possible.

  Now Kate kneaded her swollen eyes with the butt of her hands. “Why don’t I just jump without a parachute? It’d be quicker. And less painful.”

  “I wouldn’t try that.” Sarah tilted her head toward the buzz-cut guy two seats ahead of them, sitting on the aisle. “Mr. Air Marshall there will tackle you before you reach the door.”

  “Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll shoot.”

  “I don’t think that’s what Rachel had in mind when she wanted you to skydive in the first place.”

  “Huh, so you’ve figured it out? What Rachel had in mind?”

  Sarah’s throat tightened. She’d been thinking about Rachel a lot lately. One memory kept haunting her—the image of Rachel, in full climbing regalia, grinning down at her from the top of a craggy rock face as Sarah struggled across a difficult pass.

  Hurts like hell, doesn’t it, Pollard? Push through it, kid, because heaven’s all the way up here.

  “Rachel knew change was hard,” Sarah said. “She knew none of us would change our lives without a good push.”

  “Yeah, and who’s to say change is always good?”

  “It isn’t.” The plane banked again, and the view from the window was an autumn patchwork and the shimmer of the setting sun against the city in the distance. “Not always, anyway. Honestly, Kate, I think Rachel didn’t know how this was all going to work out.”

  “What?!”

  “After her push, I think she figured we’d all be on our own.”

  Kate made a noise like she’d been hit in the solar plexus. “Don’t tell me that.”

  “C’mon. You didn’t really think Rachel was some all-knowing yogi, leading us to enlightenment?”

  “Actually,” she sputtered, “after my first jump, I did. I’ve been doing all this on faith.”

  “Well, maybe she knew that’s how you’d react.” Sarah sighed as she pressed her head back against the seat. “I might be reaching, Kate, but I know this much for sure: Every single day of Rachel’s life, she confronted her own fears, and it made her happier.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “So I suppose, in Rachel’s point of view, if she pushed us to do the same—confront exactly what we feared most—then, ultimately, we’d work it all out. We’d find the same joy.” Sarah shifted her gaze to the blue, blue sky, as understanding softly unfurled. “I think Rachel was just trying to give us happiness.”

  “While destroying my marriage?” Kate made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sob. “Making questionable choices for her own daughter? Risking Jo’s career? Sending you into the arms of that two-timing—”

  “Hey, I know it destroys your saintly image of me, but I’m the Jezebel in this situation.” Sarah unfolded her legs, then curled them under her. She’d been on this plane so long she swore she was developing a bedsore on her hip. “And I always thought it would do Jo some good to rearrange her priorities anyway.”

  “Well, Rachel sure as hell rearranged mine.” Kate balled her fists in her oversized sweatshirt. “About all I’m getting out of this is bragging rights. Now, over an appletini, I can talk about elephant rides in the jungle and bouncing in a rickshaw through Bangalore.”

  “You’ll be the life of the party.”

  “I can start conversations like ‘While I was getting my hands hennaed in the souk…’ ”

  “The snake on your belly is more interesting.”

  “And I can always mention Sam, the color-blind Nigerian gunrunner.”

  Sarah tugged her skirt from under her thighs, feigning interest in the folds she gathered on her lap. Memories of Sam—unexpected, and unexpectedly vivid—washed over her. In Burundi, when Sam pulled into the camp with a jeep full of sanctioned supplies—as well as a trunk full of what they really needed, bought on the black market with money from a questionable source—the villagers considered it a time for dancing. She remembered the wicked flash of Sam’s smile when she’d given in to his insistence on accompanying her on an unauthorized trip into the mountains to reach a localized epidemic and isolate it before it spread. She remembered Sam, standing in the rain outside the clinic, anxious for news from Dr. Mwami about the wounded child he’d smuggled across the border.

  Mostly, she remembered Sam cradling a bottle of banana wine by the light of a kerosene lamp after he’d brought in the girl with the crooked braids. He’d talked, that night, about leaving the business altogether, returning home to cricket matches, decent housing, and warm beer. And she’d found herself battling a fierce urge to stop him—to beg him not to leave.

  Kate’s nail-bitten hand slid over her knee. “I assume I don’t have to tell you, Sarah, that Sam’s crazy for you.”

  Sarah thought of the acacia tree on the border of Lake Tanganyika. The way the wet branches traced cracks against the gray sky. His kiss had tasted like rain.

  Sarah shook the memory from her mind. She couldn’t think about Sam. Or Burundi. Her senses were in chaos, her emotions too bruised, and the ghost of Colin lingered. “It won’t work, Kate. The timing’s wrong. Or maybe the pieces just don’t fit.”

  The plane landed and taxied to the gate. Walking through the terminal with her backpack cutting into her shoulders, Sarah couldn’t help scanning the gates as they passed, looking for the ones marked with the destination Los Angeles.

  Colin had stated it so boldly.

  I can’t let you go.

  Sarah had convinced herself that he didn’t mean it. Not really. If he’d meant it, he’d have taken her into his bed that last night. He’d have made love to her without guilt. If he’d meant it, he’d have done more than just urge her to come visit him—he’d have made definite plans. Even though she knew that just wasn’t his way.

  Departing now, Gate 117. Flight 776 direct to Los Angeles. Priority seats only, please, and passengers who need assistance…

  Jo waited for them at baggage claim, barking into a cordless earpiece jutting across her cheek. She high-heeled over to Kate, talking loudly all the way, stopping only as she engulfed Kate in a hug.

  They hugged for a very long time. When Jo pulled away, Sarah noticed that both their faces were wet.

  “Sugar, you look like hell.” Jo braced Kate an arm’s length away, then glanced at Sarah. “For the love of sweet Jesus, what did they do to you two? I swear right now, I’m never traveling to a country that requires shots.”

  Sarah smiled wanly and neglected to tell Jo that even the U.S. required shots for some visitors. Personally, she thought Jo looked jittery and sleepless herself—and told her so.

  “Double-shot lattes,” Jo explained, as they searched the carousel for Kate’s overstuffed luggage. “More than one. I had to pull an all-nighter getting the presentation in shape.”

  Kate spotted her suitcase, dashed over, and used all her strength to yank it off the carousel.

  Sarah asked, “Well, how did it go?”

  “Discordant a
nd unorganized.” Jo summoned a porter with nothing more than a pointed look. “We gave dueling presentations—mine was better, of course—but I suspect we did nothing but make ourselves look fractious and uncooperative.” She gave a tight shrug. “Six months of work over and done with, and I tell you, all I really want is a good night’s sleep. Today is Grace’s first evening alone with Latoya.”

  Kate heard the last part of the conversation as she dragged the suitcase behind her. “Is Grace adjusting?”

  “Honey, she’s alive. That’s about the best I can ask for.”

  “Are my kids alive?”

  Jo paused, gave Kate a pained look, and slung an arm around her neck. “Your kids are fine, kiddo. They’re healthy and looking forward to seeing you. Paul and your mother are still at the house. He knows you’re coming in tonight. He’s been taking my calls.”

  Kate brightened. “Then he’ll keep the kids awake for me!”

  “No, sugar, he won’t.”

  “He will, he will.” She bobbed her head, her limp ponytail flying. “He’s mad at me, but he won’t—”

  “This isn’t the place to talk about this.” Jo gestured to the porter and led them all toward the elevator for the parking garage. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this tonight,” she said over her shoulder, “because, Kate, you’re spending the night on my couch.”

  Kate stumbled. The skin of her throat began to blotch—the spots growing a more and more alarming shade of pink. She found her footing, then skittered to Jo’s side. Sarah heard the torrent of Kate’s desperate words.

  “I want to see my kids, I need to see my kids!”

  Jo was disturbingly firm and unbending. “You need to pull yourself together, Kate. You want your kids to see you like this? Honey, you’re practically unhinged. You’re in no condition to face them now. Get a night’s sleep. I’ve got a nice, comfortable couch—I know, I’ve been spending a lot of time on it. You need to brace yourself, because Paul’s not exactly in a good mood.”

  Sarah followed, listening to them with growing distress. Kate and Paul couldn’t be having real troubles. They were perfect for each other. Sarah had noticed it on their very first date. She’d always envied Kate for finding her soul mate—and keeping hold of him.

  Then, glancing up, Sarah came face-to-face with a monitor right next to the elevator. A monitor that showed plane arrivals and departures. Los Angeles blinked back at her.

  “Sarah, darling, can you stop dreaming of the third world already? There’s a double bacon-cheeseburger waiting for you at a cheap diner down the road, and, personally, I’m so hungry I could eat half a side of pork myself.”

  Colin’s voice in her head.

  If you decide to come, come soon.

  Kate, shaky and pale, tugged on Sarah’s arm. “Sarah, c’mon—the elevator.”

  The elevator doors yawned open. People filed onto it, filling it up with their luggage, muttering as they cursed their way around the three women and a porter standing smack in the path. Jo and Kate blinked at her, puzzled. Sarah knew if she went through that gaping doorway right now she’d never come back.

  Sarah blurted, “He told me to come to Los Angeles.”

  Kate stared, slowly ascending from her own misery into a dawning comprehension. “Oh, God,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. “What fresh hell is this?”

  Sarah’s gaze drifted to the monitor. “He told me to come soon.”

  Jo tugged the headset out of her ear, as if she hadn’t heard right, then directed the three of them and the porter away from the elevator doors, where they wouldn’t be in the direct line of traffic.

  “Sarah, I thought this was over.” Kate’s neck flexed tensely with each word. “You told me you’d made your decision.”

  “You saw him yesterday morning, Kate. He was there, in the lobby, at five a.m.” Looking unshaven and sleepless. Sarah plunged her hand into the hemp purse on her hip and rifled around until she felt the familiar hotel letterhead. She pulled it out, dirty with newsprint. “He gave me this paper. It’s his home address in Los Angeles. The address of his office, his cell-phone number, even the number of the hospital where he’s on call—”

  Jo glanced at it curiously. “Why didn’t he just give you a business card?”

  “It’s a new office, a new business. He says he’s in transition, so there’s a lot of phone numbers—”

  “That’s what people do, Sarah, when they break something off.” Kate hugged her midriff. “It doesn’t mean he really wants you to visit.”

  “But—”

  “Jo,” Kate said, squeezing her bloodshot eyes shut, “help me here, will you?”

  Jo eyed the piece of paper as if she were assessing the photo qualities of a new model. “I’d say, usually, that Kate is right. Handing you some contact information is a clean, if rather cold-blooded way to break it off. It leaves open the possibility of a reunion, but makes no messy promises. But he went to a heap of trouble to write all that down and to meet you in the lobby at an hour suitable only for larks.”

  Kate’s eyes flew open. She made a frantic cutting gesture at Jo.

  Jo ignored her. “He could have stayed warm in bed and avoided the situation altogether.”

  Sarah nodded. “That would have been more his style. That’s why this was such a surprise.”

  “Sarah,” Jo said, “tell me exactly what he said to you.”

  “He just told me to come to L.A.” She ran a thumb across his name, written in his own hand. “He told me that he knew it was crazy to ask, but that he really wanted me to see his home.”

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  “Sarah!” Kate all but stamped her foot. “Twenty hours in the air, and you didn’t tell me any of this!”

  “I thought I’d made my decision. I spent those twenty hours rolling it around in my mind.”

  Jo gripped a fistful of Kate’s sweatshirt to keep her quiet. “Did you tell him you’d go, Sarah?”

  “No. No!” she insisted, as Kate rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know what to say. I thought I’d made it clear that I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be the other woman.”

  “Ah.” Jo fiddled with the Bluetooth in her hand. “And he still asked you to visit him in L.A.”

  “He did.” Sarah folded the paper and tucked it back in her purse. “You know, it’d be a lot easier if he’d just bring a cow and a couple of goats, and then the whole village could sing and dance and drink beer—”

  “Well, sugar, it’s good that I know the American customs.” Jo twisted her wrist so she could see her watch face. “And I’m thinking you’d better catch a flight to L.A., the sooner the better.”

  “No.” Kate slashed the air with her hands. “No way. Sarah has made her decision. Why should she trot across the country just because he can’t make one of his own?”

  “Because,” Jo drawled, “clearly that man has something he wants Sarah to see.”

  “What? His fiancée?”

  “Dr. O’Rourke never struck me as a fool. If I were placing bets in Vegas, I’d say he wants you to come to L.A. to see if you can be transplanted.”

  Kate pressed her temples. “You don’t know the whole situation, Jo. You don’t understand—”

  “Sugar, I might not know a thing about child-rearing, but I know a boatload more than both of you about men.” She laid her hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “But you have to listen to me very carefully, Sarah-belle. When you come back from L.A., I don’t want to hear any hero stories anymore. You know that a relationship with a man can’t be just passion and roses, or sex with tigers roaring outside the mud hut walls—you’ve got to put up with the tough stuff, too. I want to know if he snores, or if he leaves the bathroom towel on the floor. I want to know how he reacts after a root canal—”

  “Or,” Kate interjected, “how he reacts when faced with gunrunners and a trunkful of medical supplies.”

  Jo whistled. “Boy, I sure missed some fun.”

  Sarah hugged her arms. “Life would hav
e been so much easier if my father had just sold me off to those Bedouins when I was twelve.”

  “And I know just enough about your parents to be frightened by that story. Now, come on, let’s get you on a plane.”

  Sarah followed Jo blindly toward the ticket counters while Kate tipped the porter and then took the luggage herself. As they stood in line, Jo glanced at Sarah’s canvas backpack. “I’m assuming you’ve got the sum total of all your worldly possessions on your back there?”

  “Passport, clothing, a few rupees.”

  “Not enough, I suppose, for a plane ticket.”

  She hadn’t thought about that wrinkle. She’d used up most of her cash in Bangalore, and she’d blithely abused so many credit cards over the years that she no longer allowed herself to carry one. She mused on the problem for a moment, then said, “I can call—”

  “No one.” Jo plugged the Bluetooth back in her ear. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Jo, you’ve already—”

  “Don’t mention it.” She steered Sarah to a counter while Kate, muttering, struggled with her luggage trying to keep up. “Just remember this—at the wedding, make me the maid of honor.”

  “Hey!” Kate stopped short. “That’s my job!”

  “And promise me one more thing, Sarah-belle.” A strange expression passed over Jo’s face. “Promise me that when you get back—if you come back—you’ll let me know if the risk was worth it.”

  “Of course it’s worth it, Jo.” Sarah’s throat swelled, raw and dry. “I think, maybe… it’s worth any risk to love.”

  Sarah appreciated that Jo had thought of everything. She really did. Jo had arranged for a driver to meet Sarah at LAX, a sleek young man in a dark suit who drove her to a Best Western in a car that smelled like patchouli. Jo had even pre-paid for the room. Money always smoothed the path to what you wanted, but Sarah hadn’t appreciated the perk for herself until she’d spent over twenty-four hours traveling halfway across the world.

  I mean, geez, Sarah, by showing up you’re essentially telling him you’ll bear his babies. Don’t show up bleary-eyed and stinking like a cow.

  So Sarah felt a little guilty when she checked out of the hotel the next morning to hop into a battered twenty-year-old Volkswagen driven by an old friend from the Corps. He was spending a few months in a rental in Venice Beach with seven other buddies, taking some time off to surf. Sarah figured it was as good an opportunity as any to step off the grid for a few days. Look for answers within, without the influence of anyone else’s expectations.