Buch lesen: «From This Day Forward»
From This Day Forward
Irene Hannon
MILLS & BOON
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To Tom
My very own heartland hero!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Sam, it’s Liz. I need to speak with you right away. Call me on my cell.”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through Sam Martin as he set his black medical bag on the kitchen counter and reached for the pad and pen next to the answering machine. He hadn’t seen Liz Warren, his wife’s best friend, since the night Cara left him, and he’d only spoken with her once after that. If she was calling, something was up. And a sick feeling of dread told him it wasn’t good.
Jotting down the number as she recited it, Sam checked his watch. If his house call deep in rural Missouri hadn’t taken two hours, he would have arrived back in Oak Hill early enough to return the call without guilt. But it was almost eleven on the east coast, and Liz hadn’t used the emergency cell phone number he provided on his home and office answering machines. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about couldn’t be urgent. But there was no way he could wait until tomorrow to find out the reason for her call. Better to risk waking her than spend a sleepless night counting the hours until morning.
As he punched in Liz’s number, it occurred to him that she might have gone out for the evening. It was Saturday, after all. But if she had, he’d leave a message to call him back when she returned, no matter the hour. He’d be awake anyway.
To his relief, a live voice answered. “Hello.”
“Liz, it’s Sam. I just got your message.”
There was a slight hesitation before she responded. “I’ve been having some second thoughts about calling you.”
Sam heard the coolness—and caution—in her voice. No surprise there. She’d been Cara’s best friend far longer than he’d known his wife. And she’d witnessed his ultimate betrayal. He understood—and respected—her loyalty. But he wasn’t about to hang up without finding out why she’d called. It was too late for that.
“I assume it concerns Cara.”
Another brief silence.
“Look, Sam, to be honest, you’re the last person I wanted to call,” Liz finally said. “If Cara’s parents weren’t on a missionary trip in Africa for a year, and if her sister wasn’t eight months pregnant and in the middle of preparing to move, I’d have called them. But they are and she is, so I didn’t know who else to contact.”
“About what, Liz?” Sam’s grip on the phone tightened. It took every ounce of his restraint to remain calm when his mind was racing with terrifying scenarios.
“I…I think Cara needs some help. I’ve tried to talk with her about it, but she shuts me out and says she’s fine. Except she isn’t. Not even close. And I don’t know what else to do.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“Okay, Liz, you’re going to have to back up. What’s wrong with Cara? Is she sick?” Sam couldn’t stop the quiver that ran through his voice. Liz was the most in-control woman he’d ever met. If she was upset enough to let her emotions show, there was a major problem.
“Not physically.” The sound of a deep breath being drawn came over the line. When she continued, she sounded more like herself. “A month ago, Cara and another chef named Tony were leaving the restaurant after hours, and they were accosted in the parking lot by a robber. When Tony tried to resist, the guy shot him. He died before the ambulance got there.”
A muscle in Sam’s jaw clenched. Cara had witnessed a murder—and possibly faced death herself. If he hadn’t made a mess of their marriage, he’d have been there for her through this trauma. Instead, she’d had to deal with it—and the aftermath—alone.
“Tell me…” He stopped and cleared his throat, then tried again. “Tell me about Cara.”
“She tried to go back to work a few days after the shooting, but when she had a panic attack in the kitchen the owner suggested she take a little time off. The thing is, though, she’s not getting any better. She rarely leaves her apartment, and never at night. She’s anxious in the dark and can’t sleep when she’s by herself. She has persistent nightmares. I found that out when she stayed with us at the beginning. But now she thinks she’s wearing out her welcome…as if that was possible! Anyway, I know she’s still not sleeping.”
Post-traumatic stress disorder. It was an easy diagnosis, but a difficult condition to treat. Sam had learned enough about it in the past couple of years to write a book. “Does her family know about any of this?”
“No. She said they all have enough on their plates, and since she wasn’t hurt there was no need to upset them.”
That sounded like Cara. She’d always put other people’s needs above her own. The best example of that was when she’d stood by him after his own trauma, despite the verbal abuse he’d heaped on her. Perhaps now he could return the favor by being there for her as she had been for him. If she’d let him.
“I’ll help in any way I can, Liz. What did you have in mind?” If he followed his instincts, he’d jump on the next plane to Philadelphia and show up at her door. Except she’d probably slam it in his face.
“I do have an idea. But it may not be convenient for you.”
Based on his history, Liz’s comment was fair. Sam knew he’d been selfish and self-absorbed and far too egotistical in the past. But things had changed. “That won’t be an issue.”
She mulled that over for a few seconds. “Okay. But it all hinges on whether or not you’re…involved…with anyone.”
The comment was like a slap. “I’m still married to Cara, Liz.”
“Yeah. I know.”
But that didn’t stop you before.
She didn’t have to say the words. Sam heard them anyway. His neck grew warm, and his mouth settled into a grim line. “There isn’t anyone else, Liz. There never really was.”
“Right.” Without giving him a chance to respond to her sarcasm, she continued. “So what kind of living arrangement do you have there?”
“What do you mean?”
“House, apartment, condo?”
“House.”
“Good. Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Cara needs somewhere safe to stay for a while, far away from the city. If you have room for her—and I mean that literally, as in a private room of her own—I think a small-town atmosphere in the heartland would be a perfect place for her to recover. But the last thing she needs is for someone to make her feel that she’s imposing. Nor could she handle anger—for any reason. She needs understanding and security and safety.”
Turning toward the window, Sam stared out into the darkness. Twelve years ago, when he and Cara married, he’d planned to give her all those things. But the image of her white, shocked face and shattered expression on that fateful night sixteen months ago reminded him how badly he’d failed. It was seared into his brain, the memory still powerful enough to clench his gut. To leave the bitter tang of regret on his tongue. To compel him to find a way to fix the damage and start anew, just as his skilled hands had once given his patients new life through surgery.
Maybe this was his chance.
“I can give her those things, Liz. And more.”
His quiet, intense response seemed to surprise his wife’s best friend. “Okay. I’m already going to be in the doghouse for calling you. I can live with that if my idea helps her. But not if I end up sending her to a situation worse than the one she’s in.”
Although he knew Liz had a poor opinion of him, that comment rankled. “I’m not a monster. And despite what you might believe, I still love Cara. Yes, I made some mistakes. Bad ones—which I’ll regret as long as I live. But people do change. I promise you that while Cara is here, I’ll do everything I can to help her recover. No one wants that more than me. I have three bedrooms, and one of them is empty. She’s welcome to stay as long as she wants to.”
“If you can convince her to come. And that’s a big if.”
“I’ll find a way.”
His conviction seemed to impress Liz. A slight, almost imperceptible warmth crept into her voice. “I hope you do, Sam. Good luck.”
With a troubled expression, Sam hung up the phone and pushed through the screen door to his back porch. The warmth of the early June evening was pleasant, with none of the mugginess that characterized typical Missouri nights later in the summer. A clear sky promised a fair tomorrow, the stars bright overhead, the moon full. The scent of honeysuckle wafted through the still night air, sweet and fresh. At the back of the property, a slight breeze whispered in the woods, and the faint echo of a steady whistle sounded as a distant train moved purposefully toward its destination.
The peaceful setting did little to calm Sam’s roiling emotions, however. An hour ago, as he’d driven home through the dense night, he’d been no closer to a solution to his dilemma with Cara than he had been more than a year before, when she’d left him. Now an opportunity had been dropped in his lap.
But at Cara’s expense.
Closing his eyes, Sam forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath as he tried to sort out his feelings. He could identify anger in the volatile mix. Directed at the perpetrator of a crime that had cost one man his life and scarred his wife psychologically. Guilt was jumbled in there, too. If he hadn’t messed things up, he would have been there for Cara during this crisis. And there was also a healthy dose of compassion. No one understood the horror and trauma of the situation Cara had experienced better than him. He’d been there. He could empathize, and he wanted to help.
But the main reason he wanted her to come to Missouri was far simpler than that. He still loved her. As far as he was concerned, that alone justified her visit.
Yet Liz was right. Convincing Cara of that wasn’t going to be easy. They’d had almost no direct communication since the night she’d left him, nor had he seen her. The sale of their condo had been handled by a real estate firm, business and financial matters by lawyers. When he’d tried to call her, he’d always gotten her answering machine. The flowers and cards he’d sent in the first few months had gone unacknowledged. It was clear that she wanted no contact with him.
And Sam didn’t have a clue how to change her mind. His surgical skill had been almost intuitive. He was far less able when it came to matters of the heart. As the months had slipped by, his hopes for a reconciliation had dimmed. Yet he’d clung to them as fiercely as a drowning man clasps a life preserver, unable to accept that his marriage was over.
He’d been desperate enough to even consider asking God for help. But whatever tenuous connection he’d once felt with the Almighty had been severed by the tragic events that had robbed him of the career he prized and the woman he loved. In the end, turning to God for assistance hadn’t been an option.
But now that an unexpected opportunity had been dropped into his lap, he wasn’t going to let it slip away. If he couldn’t convince Cara by phone to come, he’d fly to Philadelphia and camp on her doorstep. According to Liz, she needed help. And he intended to give it to her.
Nevertheless, he acknowledged the validity of Liz’s final comment. He would need a lot of luck to pull this off. And maybe something more.
Maybe he needed God after all.
It had been years since Sam had prayed with any real conviction or sincerity. When he and Cara had married, his faith had been a matter of going through the motions. He’d been arrogant enough in the old days to think he didn’t need the Almighty. Given his past conceit and lack of piousness, he doubted he was even on the Lord’s radar screen anymore.
But this might be the only chance he got to reconnect with his wife, and he was going to need all the help he could get—not only to convince Cara to come to Oak Hill, but to help restore a sense of normalcy to her life. He couldn’t blow it. Raising his gaze to the star-studded sky, he sent a silent plea heavenward.
Lord, if You’re listening, I want You to know that I’m not asking for Your help for me, but for Cara. Please show me how to reach her. Open her heart to my invitation so that I can help her overcome her fear and regain her trust. Much as I want to rebuild our relationship, it’s more important right now for her to heal. And if that’s all I can accomplish, Lord, then please…help me put aside my own selfish needs and accept that it’s enough. But if You can see Your way to let me win back her love, I would be forever grateful.
Chapter Two
“Cara, if you’re there, please pick up. It’s important.”
Shocked, Cara stared at her answering machine. Although Sam hadn’t identified himself, nor had he called in quite a while, years could go by—decades, even—and she’d recognize his mellow, resonant voice. She’d always liked the way it sounded first thing in the morning, husky from sleep and oh-so-appealing.
And it was definitely first thing in the morning in Missouri, she confirmed, checking the clock on her kitchen counter. Six o’clock, in fact. He must have rung her as soon as he got up. Not that the early hour mattered. Sleeping at night was next to impossible. Every little sound seemed magnified—and threatening—in the dark.
“Cara, are you there?”
With a start, she realized that he was still on the line, waiting to see if she’d pick up. Well, he’d find out soon enough she wasn’t going to. Let him leave a message if it was that important.
“Okay, I’m hanging up. But I plan to keep calling until we connect.”
As the line went dead, his last word echoed in her mind. Connect. How ironic that he would use that term, Cara mused, her shoulders collapsing in a weary slump as she leaned back against the countertop. They hadn’t connected in years. Not since their careers had taken off and their lives had gone in different directions.
And she was as much to blame for their drifting apart as he was, she acknowledged. She’d been just as ambitious as Sam, just as driven to excel at her profession. She’d worked until late at night. He’d been gone when she got up in the morning. Weekends, when he had a few spare minutes, were her busiest days. So he filled them with more work. And little by little he’d become more distracted as the demands of his surgical career mushroomed and his prestige grew. Busy with her own career as a chef, Cara hadn’t noticed the widening gulf between them—until the year he’d forgotten their anniversary. Worse, he hadn’t seemed to care.
His indifference had hurt. And it had served as a wake-up call for her. After praying about it and considering a number of options, Cara had waited for a night when Sam came home early. Once she’d had his attention, she’d laid her proposal on the table: She would take a job with more reasonable hours in a lesser-known restaurant if he would reduce his patient caseload to allow them to spend more time together. While such a radical change would require sacrifices, she’d been convinced that it would be worth it to save their marriage.
Not only had he refused to consider her suggestion, he’d plunged more deeply into his work.
That was when she’d known they were in big trouble.
In time, perhaps she would have found another way to salvage their relationship, Cara reflected. But then tragedy had struck, leaving Sam crippled in both body and spirit. Told he would never operate again, he’d made her the target of his bitterness. Sustained by prayer, she could have endured even that, clinging to the hope that a brighter day would dawn. But when confronted by the evidence of his ultimate betrayal, that hope had died. Devastated, she’d tucked the fragments of love that remained for him deep in her heart and moved on with her life. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d coped.
Until a month ago.
Closing her eyes, Cara drew an unsteady breath. Thank God, she’d had Liz! Every time fear had started to choke her, Liz had helped her breathe. Every time the world began to crumble beneath her feet and she lost her balance, Liz had held out a steadying hand. Every time a panic attack gripped her, Liz had talked her through it. In the past month, her friend had changed her plans for Cara’s sake more often than prices fluctuated at the gas pump.
Yet despite Liz’s support, and much to Cara’s surprise, it was often Sam who crept uninvited—and unwanted—into her thoughts. For the past month, the memories of their early days together had been vivid in her mind, days when a mere touch of his hand or one of his warm smiles could chase away her problems. And despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to squelch a powerful yearning for the secure, sheltering haven of his arms.
How odd that he would call now, when she felt more fragile and vulnerable than ever before. It was also dangerous, she warned herself. Sam wasn’t the answer to her problems. He’d been the problem in the past. Rekindling the ashes of their long-dead relationship was not an option.
Pushing thoughts of the past aside, she reached for a mug from a hook above the counter. But as she grasped the cool ceramic handle, the sudden ringing of the phone startled her and her hand jerked. The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the unforgiving tile at her feet.
“Cara, it’s Sam again. I’m going to keep calling until you answer. I need to talk with you. Please pick up.”
Glancing from the jagged shards strewn across the floor to the clock, Cara struggled to regulate her breathing. He’d only waited ten minutes before calling back. Did he plan to keep this up all day? Please, God, no! Her nerves couldn’t take it.
When the line went dead at last, Cara knelt and began to pick up the remnants of her favorite mug. As she collected the pieces, sudden tears stung her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. She wasn’t going to cry about a stupid mug. She wasn’t! She’d never been a weepy person. Even during the final difficult months with Sam, she’d never cried. Yet for the past four weeks, the smallest thing could trigger a flood of tears—further evidence of her unsettled emotional state. And she was tired of it! Tired of jumping at the slightest noise. Tired of feeling out of control.
But she didn’t know how to break the cycle of fear. Even prayer, once such a steadying influence, hadn’t been able to calm her. Still, she clung to the belief that things would return to normal. That, at some point, she’d be able to deal with the aftereffects of the trauma, go back to work, move on with her life. She had to believe that. Because she couldn’t continue like this.
As she deposited the broken mug in the trash, the phone rang again. Once more Sam’s voice echoed in the silent, empty room, leaving the same message.
Though her curiosity was piqued by his persistence, Cara steeled herself to his words. Eventually he’d tire of the game and leave a message. She could wait.
An hour later, after turning up the radio while she took a long, hot shower and blow-dried her hair, Cara returned to the kitchen to find the message light on her answering machine blinking, the number eight illuminated on the digital display. Meaning he’d called six times in the past sixty minutes. She replayed the messages, but they were all the same. None contained a clue about the purpose of his call.
After hitting the delete button, Cara was starting to turn away when the phone rang again. She was prepared to ignore it until Liz spoke.
“Hi, Cara. Sorry to call this early, but I figured you’d be up and—”
Lunging for the phone, Cara snatched it out of the cradle. “Liz? Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”
There was a momentary hesitation, and when Liz responded her tone was cautious. “Who?”
“You’re not going to believe this.” Cara perched on a stool by the counter. “Sam’s been calling. Every ten minutes, starting about an hour and a half ago.” When silence greeted her news, a puzzled frown creased Cara’s brow. “Liz? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Have you talked to him?”
“Of course not!”
“Did he leave a message?”
“Just that he needs to talk to me. And that he’ll keep calling until I answer.”
Silence again.
A tingle of suspicion began to niggle at the edges of Cara’s consciousness, and her grip on the phone tightened. “Liz? Do you know something about this?”
The heavy sigh that came over the line gave Cara her answer even before Liz spoke. “Look, Cara, I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried about you…I didn’t know who else to call, since your family was off-limits.”
It took a few seconds for Liz’s meaning to register. But only a heartbeat more for Cara’s disbelief to morph into anger—and accusation. “You called Sam?”
“I thought he could help. You need to get away from here, Cara. Sam lives in a small town in the heartland. He has an extra room in his house. You’d be safe there.”
“I can’t believe this! What did you tell him?” Cara’s voice rose, shrill and bordering on hysteria, as she vaulted to her feet.
“Just the basics of what happened. Cara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
There was a trace of tears in Liz’s words, but Cara ignored her friend’s distress, clamping her lips shut.
“You can’t go back to work, you don’t sleep, you have nightmares, you won’t go out at night.” Liz laid out her case in the stony silence that hung on the line. “I have to drag you out of the apartment even in the daylight. That’s not normal.”
The truth of Liz’s words did nothing to ease Cara’s anger. How could Liz do this to her? Of all people, Liz knew how Cara felt about her husband. Her friend had witnessed the incident that had delivered the fatal blow to their marriage. As far as Cara was concerned, the only difference between the two betrayals was that Liz’s intentions had been good. But as conventional wisdom was fond of pointing out, the road to a certain undesirable location was paved with those.
“I saw a murder.” Cara choked on the word, and her fingers clenched around the phone. “It takes time to recover from trauma like that.”
“Sometimes it also takes professional help. But you won’t consider that.”
That was true, Cara conceded. She’d always been a strong person, and she’d been convinced she could work through the aftermath of the attack on her own. But the depth and power of her trauma had overwhelmed her. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t making any progress.
“Since you won’t get professional help, a change of scene might be a good thing,” Liz pressed, when Cara didn’t reply. “What better place than small-town America, where people don’t even feel a need to lock their doors? Sam has a spare bedroom in his house that he’s willing to let you use. I think you should consider it.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, I am.”
“You want me to live under the same roof with the man who…” Cara stopped, too shocked by the absurdity of the suggestion to complete the thought.
“I know it’s kind of awkward, but…”
“Awkward? That doesn’t even come close to describing the scenario you’re proposing!” Once more, a touch of hysteria sharpened Cara’s voice.
“Okay, maybe this is weird. No, scratch that. It is weird,” Liz admitted. “But as far as I’m concerned, the situation is desperate. The thing is, Cara, Sam can offer you a safe place to stay until you feel stronger. Think of it this way. He owes you after all he put you through. No matter how you feel about him, at least he’ll be a warm body in the house at night so you can feel safe enough to sleep. And during the day, when he’s at work, you’ll have the place to yourself. It’s a good plan. And Sam is willing.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is he willing?”
“Who knows? Guilt, maybe?” In truth, Liz thought it was more than that. But she wasn’t about to share that intuition with Cara. Her friend would turn tail and run in the opposite direction if she suspected Sam had other—more personal—reasons for extending the invitation. “What does it matter? Just consider it a safe place to stay for a few weeks.”
Safe, Cara reflected. That depended on your definition of the word. In a physical sense, Liz might be right. But given her precarious emotional state, and the too-prominent role Sam had played in her wayward musings this past month, Cara wasn’t at all sure about the security of her heart. She’d have to constantly remind herself that she and Sam could never recapture the closeness they’d once shared. That there had been too many hurts, too much betrayal. If she went, she couldn’t harbor any illusions. Sam’s home would be a place to recuperate. Nothing more.
If she went.
A shock wave rippled through Cara. When had she started to even consider the trip an option? She groped for the counter and eased back onto the stool, suddenly shaky.
“Cara?” An uncertain note crept into Liz’s voice. “Hey, I had your best interest at heart. I’m sorry if I made a mistake. You know how much our friendship means to me, and I was aware of the risk when I called Sam. But I couldn’t figure out any other way to help you. Please don’t hate me, okay?”
For fifteen years—since the day they’d met at a contemporary art exhibit both had been dragged to by their respective dates, only to find themselves laughing together in the ladies’ room at the abstract, over-the-top junk that was being passed off as fine art—Liz had been like a second sister to Cara. Their friendship had been cemented long before either had married. How could she hold Liz’s actions against her when she knew that her friend had been motivated by love?
“It’s okay, Liz.” Cara closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath as she struggled to sort through her emotions. “This whole thing is just bizarre. Kind of like my life of late. I have to admit that I’m starting to feel a little like Job. But I’ve lost so much…I don’t want to lose you, too. You saved my life this past month.”
“Then you’ll at least think about my idea?”
Propping her elbow on the counter, Cara pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her chin in her palm. She blinked, her eyes gritty with fatigue, as a shaft of bright morning light slanted through the window. Maybe a good night’s sleep was reason enough to visit Sam.
“I’ll pray about it, Liz.”
“Sounds like a plan. And the sooner the better. I’ll do the same.”
As they hung up, Cara hoped Liz would honor her parting promise. Because this decision wouldn’t be easy. And she was going to need all the guidance she could get.
Sam hit redial and checked his watch. He’d been at this phone game for three hours now, and Cara still wasn’t answering. According to Liz, she rarely left her apartment, so he figured she was there—unless she’d gone to church. A good possibility, he realized, since regular worship was part of her routine. He could count on one hand the number of Sunday services she’d missed during their marriage.
The call went through, and Sam counted the rings. One. If she had gone to church, she should be home by now. Two. That meant she was ignoring him. Three. It looked like he might have to implement Plan B—get on a plane to Philadelphia and show up on her doorstep. Four.
Expecting the answering machine to kick in, he started to take a breath to leave a message when a live greeting came over the line. “Hello?”
The air whooshed out of his lungs.
“Hello?” Cara repeated when the silence lengthened.
He gulped in some oxygen. “Cara? It’s Sam.”
“I figured it might be.” Her voice was as taut as a rubber band about to snap.
“Sorry about all the messages. It finally dawned on me that you must be at church.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose. “You never miss.”
“I’ve skipped the past few Sundays.”
He didn’t have to ask why. But if Cara was too nervous to go out even for services, Liz hadn’t exaggerated his wife’s trauma—or her need for help. Convincing her to let him provide it, however, was going to be a formidable challenge. He tried to think of some way to lead up to the purpose of his call, but in the end decided to plunge in. Why pretend that this was a normal conversation when they both knew it wasn’t?
“I talked to Liz,” he said without preamble.
“I know. She called me this morning.”
Unsure whether that was good or bad, Sam tested the waters. “She told you about our conversation?”
“Yes.”
When silence followed her single-word response, Sam realized that she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Cara.”
Soft and caring, his comment took her off guard. It reminded her of the way he’d talked to her early in their marriage. Perhaps he’d learned a thing or two about empathy since their parting, Cara mused. She hoped so. For his sake.
“I survived.” Her response came out a bit more curt than she intended, but maybe that was good. She didn’t want Sam to think her feelings toward him had softened one iota during the months they’d been apart. Nor did she want to prolong this painful conversation.
He got the message. And got to the point. “Based on what Liz told me about your experience, I think her plan has merit. A change of scene, and a move to a safe environment, could speed the emotional healing process. I have a three-bedroom house, and one of the bedrooms is empty. You’re welcome to use it for as long as you like.”
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