The relationship between Cash, Hal, and Margo was special. She envied people who did not allow longtime ties to be broken by distance.
Christie had lost touch with most of her childhood friends. She had grown up in Seattle, and moving to San Jose in her junior year of high school had not been easy. Cliques had already been formed among classmates and she was excluded. After high-school graduation, her one close friend went to college in Colorado, fell in love, married, and never returned. The extent of their friendship now was a Christmas card with a year’s worth of news condensed into a few lines scribbled across the bottom. Each year the greeting became shorter, and Christie would not be surprised if the next one simply said, “Best wishes, Theresa.”
Her only close gal friend in the city was a buyer for an upscale clothing boutique. They’d met a couple of years ago when Christie was modeling evening wear from Kathleen’s store at a breast cancer charity event. She enjoyed Kathleen’s quirky sense of humor and admired her community activism. They occasionally got together for a jog in the park, coffee at Starbucks, or a leisurely lunch on the weekend. She enjoyed their girl talk exchanges: updates on a new guy, new styles, vacations, and life’s ups and downs.
A sharp bark shook her out of her reverie. A Jack Russell terrier pranced in front of a middle-aged woman, the dog’s leash tangling around her legs. Christie smiled as she watched the interaction. The dog owner tried to manage the terrier, but it, too, was hopelessly wound up in the long leash. Finally, the owner dropped the leash, and let the dog run itself out of the tangle. Now she had to trot to catch up with the freed terrier. Her purse bounced against her thigh as she lunged forward, but it seemed a losing effort.
The appearance of a golden retriever stopped the terrier in its tracks, giving the woman a chance to grab the leash. She yanked on it and sternly told the dog to heel. Christie smiled as she watched the terrier ignore its owner and dance on tiptoes to explore the new creature that loomed ahead. The other dog outweighed the Jack Russell by a good forty pounds, but that did not thwart the courageous little dog. The retriever’s owner gave the yapping terrier a wide berth, and finally the Jack Russell and its now-disheveled mistress moved on. Christie stood up and began the walk back to the car.
At her apartment she stir-fried vegetables for a solitary dinner. Before she met Cash, she had been content to eat alone and spend evenings with only her cat for company. Now, without a partner, dinner was unappetizing, and the living room seemed lonely, lifeless. The only sound breaking the silence was a television voice and Tosha’s purring.
She sighed. Love could be unsettling. Love? Where had that thought come from? Love: a strong word, fraught with commitment and anxiety, yet also hope and promise. Falling in love with Cash was a definite possibility. She felt as though she was standing on a precipice, ready to fall at any moment, and she hoped he would be there to catch her.
Walking into her office the following morning, Christie knew that she would pay dearly for yesterday afternoon’s escape. A wad of “while you were gone” messages was lumped against her phone, and a note from Tom Gates indicated that he had a new case for her.
One message caught her interest. It was from Scott Cooper. On the coming weekend, the Big Sur River Gallery was showing his work, followed by an informal reception.
She did not have to look at her calendar to know there was an absence of engagements. Another drive to Big Sur would be scenic, relaxing, and she wanted to lend support to her teacher’s endeavors. Of course, it would be more enjoyable if Cash went along. Should she call him? Indecision niggled at her. She banged her fist on her desk.
Tom Gates poked his head in the doorway. “Everything all right, Christie?”
“Sorry, Tom. Just a bit of desk rage.”
“Oh. Better here than on the road.” He smiled and retreated.
Maybe rage was an exaggeration. Frustration was more like it, she thought. Take a step forward, she told herself. Call and leave a message on his voice mail. Why not?
She dialed Cash’s number and was put through to his voice mail. When she hung up, she put her hand on her chest and felt her heart beating unevenly. Why was she so anxious? It was a simple invitation. What had made her hesitant? Their night out in Big Sur had been romantic, intimate, and held out the possibility of a more serious relationship. At least that was how it had seemed at the time. Now she was unsure. Maybe the answer lay in her acknowledgment that Cash was more than a casual entry into her life. With other men a dinner or theater date now and then implied nothing more than a casual arrangement. She had nothing to lose. Now, too much was on the line.
Later, in her apartment, she changed into baggy sweats and a T-shirt. Plans for the evening were simple: a pepperoni pizza from the freezer and a video. She peeked into the oven: the cheese and sauce were bubbling in readiness. She juggled the pizza onto a plate just as the phone rang. Balancing dinner and a soft drink to carry them to the coffee table, she put them down and reached for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Christie!” Cash’s voice thundered across the line. “I’ve penciled in Big Sur for this weekend.” She was amused by his directness: no prelude, simply a straightforward acceptance.
“I’m glad you can make it.”
“Let’s get together before that. The weekend is too far away.”
Words she had longed to hear; he was eager to see her.
“Tomorrow? Dinner?” he prodded. “I can pick you up at your office or at home.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, which? Home or office?”
There was a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Home.”
“Great, I’ll be there around seven.”
Christie said good-bye and put the phone down. Her pizza was cold, but after hearing Cash’s voice, she hardly tasted what she was eating. Her hopes soared. Cash wanted to see her, and he was too impatient to wait until the weekend. Of course, it might simply mean that he was used to having a full date book; going out with her filled the empty spaces. Where did that thought come from? she asked herself. She had been absent from the dating scene for so long, she was obviously feeling a touch of insecurity. She would push away negative thoughts by concentrating on the romantic moments: Big Sur, Cash’s touch, his kiss, and his tender words.
The following day, Tom Gates brought an elderly woman, accompanied by a man who looked to be in his late twenties, into Christie’s office. The woman looked familiar.
“Christie,” Tom said, “I’d like you to meet Gladys Farley and her son, Drew. I hope you have some time to talk to them.”
“Of course. Won’t you sit down?” Christie nodded toward a pair of straight-backed chairs.
Tom leaned against the doorway. “Mrs. Farley’s daughter, Danielle, has been missing for thirty years.” He extended a hand, palm up, toward the couple. “I’ll let them tell you the rest,” he said, then excused himself and left.
Christie was intrigued by Gates’s lead-in. What could the Farleys possibly want from her? “Won’t you sit down? Tell me why you think I can help you.”
“My daughter, Danielle, was kidnapped by her father in 1982,” Gladys Farley said. She dabbed at her eyes, as though the child had been snatched from her arms just today.
“My husband George and I couldn’t have children, so we adopted. Danielle became our own the minute she was born.” She smiled at the memory. “She was the answer to our prayers, a sweet baby, a sweet child. Life was good.
“Then George lost his job during the aerospace layoffs. He tried hard to get work, but there was nothing available in his field. He couldn’t get a lower-paying job, either, because he was overqualified, and no one would hire him. He became morose and started drinking. Our home environment became chaotic, and I was concerned about our daughter’s well-being. The only solution was a divorce.