Out of the Depths

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE EXCITEMENT OF CHANCE’S kiss stayed with Kyndal, giving her a rosy attitude throughout the exhausting afternoon. She’d never imagined so many people would want photos of their pets with Santa—or that anyone would expect a photo with all nine dachshund puppies looking directly at the camera—but the kiss helped her believe anything might be possible.

So when Charlie Short called and asked to meet at her home after work, she kept the sinking feeling in her stomach suspended with an optimistic smile.

One look at Charlie’s face confirmed her worst fear, but she invited him in and offered him a glass of tea before he broke the bad news.

“I’m sorry, Kyndal. Yours was the name I turned in as my choice, but the Tourism Bureau chose someone else.”

“I see.” But she didn’t. Inside, she was a roiling mass of hurt, struggling to get air back into her lungs, trying to wrap her head around this surreal situation. She was his first choice, so he thought she was the best. But being best wasn’t good enough? What did it take?

“…got wrestled out of my hands when politics got involved,” Charlie was saying when she focused back in.

“Politics?”

“Yeah. Senator Donovan called in a favor. Just goes to prove that old saying ‘It’s not what you know but who you know’ is true, I suppose.”

And I suppose that answers my question. “Unfortunately for me,” Kyndal said, not even trying to keep the anger out of her voice, “I don’t know anybody.”

Charlie leaned back and propped his arm on the back of the couch. “Now, that’s where you got it wrong, Kyndal. You know me—” he took a sip of tea and smacked his lips dramatically “—and I’ve got contacts. Plenty of ’em.” He pulled a business card from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

Kyndal read it, then looked back at him, confused. “A literary agent?”

“Guy and I went to high school together. He moved to New York and has done well…really well. He represents some big-name authors.”

“Why would he need a photographer?”

“He doesn’t. But I read the newspaper article about you and your ordeal, and I’ve seen your work. You have a great deal of talent. I think you need to consider writing a book about your experience and include your photos in it.”

“I—I couldn’t do that.” Kyndal’s throat constricted. Her best shots were of the ancient room, and she’d decided never to show those publicly. Although, if she had, the job probably would’ve been hers in spite of Senator Donovan. “I don’t think I’m ready to relive that experience yet.” She held the card out to Charlie, but he shook his head.

“Keep the card. You might decide to write the book someday.”

She laid the card on the coffee table and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Okay, thanks.”

Charlie fished around in his pocket and brought out several more cards. “Don’t know how desperate you are now for a job…”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Pretty desperate.” You can’t even imagine.

He handed her another card. This one was from Dill Thurber, a hospital administrator. “Dill’s in St. Louis at one of the big hospitals. He needs a pathology photographer. I mean, like yesterday. It’s good work. Pays well. Has benefits.”

Kyndal perked up. “You had me at ‘pays well.’ What’s involved in being a pathology photographer?”

“Well, it wouldn’t all just be pathology. He mentioned some of the job would include PR and marketing stuff—shots of new instruments, pictures of newborns…”

“That sounds fun.”

“But the bulk of the work would be for pathology reports. Measuring body parts and organs that’ve been removed. Taking shots of them. Cataloging. Photographing autopsies. Not an easy job, but interesting if you’ve got the stomach for it.”

Kyndal wasn’t sure she did. Hers was turning over right then. “Oh, I don’t know, Charlie.” Her enthusiasm had started to wane.

“Well, at least call him and talk to him about it, will you? I’ve already told him about you, and he’s interested. Said you could start as soon as you want.” He shuffled the cards and looked at another. “Photographer for a cruise line?”

Cruising for a living? Beaches? “Where?”

“Alaska.”

Kyndal shivered. “Not for me, but thanks.”

He flipped another card to the top of his pile. “Theme park? Taking shots of the tourists as they come down the water ride?”

How low are you willing to stoop? Kyndal shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well—” Charlie slapped his hands to his knees and pushed to his feet “—that’s all I got right now.”

Kyndal walked him to the door. “Thanks, Charlie.” She didn’t want to rush him out, but the devastating news had finally sunk in, and her emotions were rocketing toward the surface. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, and especially the extra help. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

Charlie’s chin buckled as he shook his head. “Sorry it didn’t work out differently, kiddo. With your talent, you should be working for National Geographic.” He gave a disgusted sigh that echoed Kyndal’s pain. “The little man just doesn’t stand a chance against the political machine.”

After Charlie left, Kyndal sank down on the couch, deflated. “Little man, indeed. I feel like I’ve been crushed into oblivion.” She eyed the two business cards he’d left with her. “Write a book. Wait for months to hear back. Starve in the meantime.” She tossed that one back on the coffee table. “Move to St. Louis. Photograph diseased body parts. Eat. Some choice.” She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and punched it with her fist. “It…just…isn’t…fair!” She tossed the pillow away. “But, then, life’s never been fair, has it?”

She started to pace, venting her frustration aloud because she needed to be heard, even if it was only by herself. “I was the valedictorian, but Chance got into Harvard. I had a great job with the website, but Mike made bad choices. I took the best shots, but somebody called in a favor. I’m sick of running into roadblocks every time I think I’ve turned a corner.”

She was crying now, and she wasn’t sure why. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d worked hard, never asked for a handout, paid her own way. So why this…humiliation?

She sighed, and her breath became ragged at the admission.

She’d dared to hope maybe this time, someone would have a reason to be proud of her…proud enough to want her in his life.

How many times had she imagined Mason Rawlings pointing to her and saying, “That’s my daughter”? Or Mom turning down a chance to be with a man just to be with her.

But more than anything else, she’d wanted to be Chance’s equal—someone he wouldn’t be embarrassed to introduce, not just as the mother of his baby, but as the woman he loved. The woman he never wanted to leave. His wife.

She’d been foolish enough to believe there might be hope for the three of them to be a family. But nothing had changed. She and Chance still lived in two different worlds. “And when worlds collide, bad things happen.”

Her heart was breaking in two—a very bad thing.

The cell phone startled her out of her reverie. She glanced at the caller ID. Chance. She wasn’t prepared to talk to him yet, but maybe this was better. She wouldn’t have to see the pity in his eyes—or his disappointment in her. She pressed the button. “Hello?”

“Kyn? It’s Chance.”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“You sound funny.” Worry infused his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Bad news. I didn’t get the job.”

There was a long hesitation. “Oh, Kyn. I’m so sorry.” Pity? Check. “I know how badly you wanted it. Hell, I wanted it for you.” And disappointment brings up the rear. “You want company?”

“No!” Her vociferous tone brought a pang of guilt with it. “I mean, thanks, but I want to be alone to wallow in my self-pity.”

“So what’s the deal? I thought Charlie loved your stuff. What happened?”

“Politics.” Resentment weighed heavy in her word. “Somebody with friends much higher up.”

“Ah.”

Was it her imagination, or was guilt hanging in the silence on the line? How many times had the Brennans used the same kind of connections? It was a world she was banned from being any part of.

“Well.” The upbeat note in Chance’s voice sounded disingenuous. “Maybe the charity thing Wednesday night will cheer you up. What d’ya say?”

Images of introductions at the event hurled through Kyndal’s mind. “This is Kyndal Rawlings. She’s pregnant with my child.” “Hi, Kyndal. What do you do…besides get pregnant?” “Well, right now, I’m an elf, but only until tomorrow. Next week, I might take a position that will let me photograph toe fungus. But who knows, if I work really hard, I might move up to fatty tumors someday. Of course, that’s only if I decide to move. If I stay here, I can sponge off Chance until he decides he’s had enough.”

A prophetic shiver ran up her spine. “I’m going to have to say no, Chance. It sounds too much like a date, and I don’t think dating is the direction we need to take this relationship.”

“Because…?”

C’mon. You know you’ve got to do this. She breathed through the pain. “Because we’ve been there.”

“I see.” His voice flattened. “So the kiss this afternoon? All just a big mistake?”

“No, the kiss was a spontaneous reaction to our joy. It would only become a mistake if we let it.” She twisted the phone so that he couldn’t hear her labored breathing.

“Enough said.”

There was a long stretch of awkward silence.

“I’ll see you at the next doctor’s appointment, then.”

Kyndal lowered the phone long enough to croak out a couple of words into the mouthpiece. “Sounds good.”

“Goodbye, Kyndal. Take care of yourself and call me if you need me.”

I can’t let myself need you.

The phone went dead.

“Goodbye, Chance,” she whispered. “I love you.”

She let the tears flow freely then, not attempting to hold them in, needing to wash away the resentment and frustration for the blows the universe had dealt her.

She would give herself tonight to wallow.

Tomorrow she would face a new day with strength and confidence. And she would be a mother her child could be proud of.

* * *

“DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!”

Chance threw the tennis ball across his office with such force that it came hurtling back toward the lamp on his desk. He caught it just before impact, squeezing it in his hand.

Since the first day in the cave, she’d been telling him she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick skull? He’d always accused Kyndal of being pigheaded—and she was—but he made her look like an amateur.

Time after time she pushed him away, and every time he came bouncing back faster than that tennis ball.

Well, no more. This time he was finished. He might be stubborn, but he wouldn’t be stupid.

He would do whatever it took to be a good father to his child, but getting over Kyndal wasn’t going to be easy. Being around the baby would mean being around her a lot. He would have to find some way to keep his feelings from showing and, eventually, it would surely get easier. It had to.

The picture of Hank smiled at him from its frame. Missing him hadn’t gotten any easier. He’d just been able to control it.

He could do the same with Kyndal. Control it. He squeezed the ball harder.

Hell, the woman had given him an out—permission to move on and find somebody who could be a partner. Somebody whose ambition rivaled his own. Somebody who could help advance his career.

She’d done him a favor, damn it!

He threw the ball even harder, not caring if it broke something.

He should be relieved. So why did he feel like such a loser?