He looked at her, and his eyes were bright, but he didn’t speak.
“All my old fears flew up in my head again. I wanted to go.” She threw up her hands. “It sucks having anxiety. It’s not you. It’s me.” She felt tears threaten and knew she had to finish quickly. “Please don’t be frustrated, and try to understand. If you’ll be patient with me, and maybe even ask again someday . . .” Her voice cracked and she took a deep breath, then looked up at him.
Bo turned his head from the wheel and she saw in his eyes the same glow that she witnessed in the sunrise—fiery, ablaze with hope. He reached across the seat and grabbed her hand from her lap and held it.
“I’ll ask you every night, if you like,” Bo said. “Till you say yes.”
She felt dangerously emotional, afraid of tears. “Okay.”
He squeezed her hand.
As Bo turned the truck into the entrance of the Center for Birds of Prey, Heather felt a tremendous relief. The pelican wasn’t the only creature being saved that day, she thought.
Chapter Thirteen
THE FOG ROLLED in, thick as a wet blanket. Even though it was late afternoon, the sun was blocked by clouds. The behemoth cargo ship coming into Charleston Harbor bellowed out its mournful foghorn again and again as it made its slow journey to port.
Cara sat on her sofa staring blankly at the television set, unaware and uncaring of whatever midday court drama was playing out on the small screen. She felt frozen with fear after her visits with her lawyer and accountant. Unable to think beyond the fact that she was, for the first time in her life, feeling utterly helpless. She didn’t know what to do.
This feeling was foreign to Cara. She was accustomed to confrontation, even enjoyed going toe-to-toe with adversaries. She’d learned from the best, after all. Her father had been a mean son of a bitch who tolerated no disobedience, especially from what he considered the weaker sex. Theirs had always been a turbulent relationship of glares and threats, shouts, and a volleying, circular pattern of his demands and her refusals. It had been only a matter of time until their headstrong relationship came to a crisis. Cara had persevered. Her motto was that what didn’t kill her only made her stronger. She’d moved to Chicago and landed a low-paying starting position in an advertising agency. It was the perfect fit for the creative, bright, and hungry young woman. While her colleagues on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder went out for drinks after work, Cara had gone to night school. She was like a dog with a bone, not letting go of her goals. For seven long years she’d persisted, finally getting her college degree in communications as she slowly rose up several rungs on that ladder. She’d impressed her seniors with her drive and intelligence. When she was finally offered the job of junior marketing executive, she’d been ready to soar.
She’d moved up fast after that, taking no prisoners. She had the reputation of being tough but fair. She’d tolerated few errors and no fools. If anyone confronted her, she chopped them off at the knees.
And then came the mass layoffs. It was a hard time for a lot of people—Cara among them. She and the other high-level execs were unceremoniously walked out of the offices of Leo Burnett by an armed guard. A humiliating experience that had sparked a midlife crisis. At forty years of age, Cara felt her life come to a screeching halt. She’d given up everything for her career, mainlining work, and the abrupt collapse sent her running home to her mother—back to Charleston.
That was when she’d discovered her mother was dying, and Cara had dug deep and found the strength and courage not only to start again, but also to help her mother. In retrospect, she could see that thinking of another person had made her open up and heal herself. She had been happier that summer than she’d ever dreamed possible. That summer Cara had found her softer, sensitive side, and wasn’t afraid to let go of her control and fall in love. Brett had come to her like a ray of sunshine to a piece of ice. He’d melted her resistance, and she’d blossomed under his warmth.
Now he was gone, and with him all that they’d worked for together for the past ten years. Cara didn’t know if she had the strength to rally a third time in her life. She felt empty. Nothing left to give. So she sat, staring vacantly at the television hour after hour, not even registering what program was on. Her mind was blank.
When the doorbell rang, she winced. Why did people persist in bothering her? She ducked so no one could see her from the window. “Go away, go away,” she mumbled with clenched fists. It rang again.
After several moments, the knocker on the door banged insistently.
“Go away!” Cara shouted.
More knocking.
“Please!” she shouted louder, then put her face in her hands.
“I hear you say please, sister mine. But I’m still not going away. You gave me a key, remember? The knocking was just a courtesy.”
Cara moved her arm from her head and lifted her head toward the door. “Palmer?”
She heard a key clicking in the lock, and the door opened. Her brother stood holding the door handle, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Can I come in?”
Cara looked at him in surprise. She knew she must look a fright. Her mouth was dry; she was probably dehydrated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten—could it have been since those pastries?—and she certainly hadn’t expected Palmer to walk into her house today. But seeing him, his face scrunched up in worry, made her glad he’d come. He’d been around a lot in the days immediately following the funeral, but had seemed uncertain how to help his sister through her grief, and had appeared almost relieved to leave her to the careful, tender ministrations of Flo and Emmi.
Until now.
“Of course,” she said in a hoarse voice, pushing herself up to her feet. “I-I wasn’t expecting to see anybody today.”
“Good. Because I’m not anybody. I’m your brother!” He stormed in then in his usual blustery manner. “Why the hell is it so dark in here?” He strode to the windows and with brash movements pushed open the curtains and flipped open the shutters.
“Oh, don’t do that,” Cara said, squinting in the flood of light drenching the room. “And don’t look at me. I’m a mess.” Self-consciously, her hand went to her hair.
“You asked me to come by.”
She paused, hearing a voice behind him, and groaned inwardly. “Is that Julia?” Julia had also hung around in the days after the funeral, but her presence had always made Cara feel ill at ease, as if she had to put on a mask of competency in the face of her put-together, well-heeled sister-in-law. Cara had heaved a sigh of gratitude when Julia had left to get back to her day-to-day routine. Not that she didn’t like Julia. In doses. But every hair was always in place with her. She didn’t feel like being judged this morning.