Linda O. Johnston - Not a Moment Too Soon

Surely Shauna would have gone home, or to her business, by now. Yet when he strode up the familiar walkway to Elayne Strahm’s tan stucco hacienda, he figured it wouldn’t necessarily be his mother who answered the door.

He rang the bell, reluctant to use his key after not being here for so long.

He heard footsteps inside. Light, quick ones.

And when the door opened, he found himself staring into soft brown eyes that were wide but not with surprise, the way her call had startled him. With…what? Uneasiness?

Pleasure?

No way.

She hadn’t changed at all, except to become prettier. Her blond hair was a little longer, a little lighter. She was slim in her T-shirt and shorts, with shapely, endless legs.

Steeling himself for what was to come, he took a step toward her. Parroting the initial, friendly greeting she’d given him over the phone earlier—before she had dropped her bombshell—he said simply, “Hello, Shauna.”

He looked so tall, standing there.

That was the first thing Shauna thought. She hadn’t forgotten Hunter’s imposing height. Though she was above average stature for a woman, he had always towered above her. Before, it had seemed exciting and masculine and very, very sexy.

Now his daunting size seemed magnified by his anger. Those flashing green eyes she remembered so well glared, as if she were to blame. But she was just the messenger.

“Hello, Hunter,” she said softly. She consciously pulled her gaze from his, hoping to relieve some of the tension building between them.

His blue sport shirt, tucked into khaki trousers, wasn’t tight, but she could tell that the young cop she’d fallen for all those years ago was now even more muscular. With his prominent, straight brows, his wide jaw, he still was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Maturity would have looked good on him, if it hadn’t been combined with the other emotions spewing from him like water from a broken sprinkler.

Like the emotions of the nonfiction characters in her latest story…

Daddy!

Needing to break the building silence—and escape her own heartrending thoughts—she said, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“This is my mother’s house.” His voice was even deeper in person than on the phone. Perhaps it was also amplified by his obvious fury. “Did you have to worry her, too? But of course you did. You wouldn’t keep such a feat of realistic storytelling to yourself, now, would you?”

She reeled back as if he had struck her. In a way, he had.

Malice spewed from lips that had once kissed hers sometimes sweetly, sometimes passionately, but always caringly.

Years ago. But she had loved him. And lost him. And he had married another woman.

Elayne spoke from behind her, reiterating Shauna’s earlier question. “Hunter? What are you doing here?”

Staying silent, Shauna retreated a few steps. Elayne burst by her, and in a moment mother and son were locked in a tight, emotional embrace. Even though Elayne, too, was so much smaller than Hunter, she seemed to be the one comforting him. Reaching up, she stroked his head, his back.

If only Shauna had the right to try to ease his pain that way…

No. Not now.

She had to escape the emotional involvement that would swamp her if she stayed here.

Elayne was the first to back away. The pale, drawn skin of her face contrasted with her short mop of curly hair that was probably too dark to be natural for a woman in her late fifties. It had looked the same from the time Shauna had met her eight years ago. In fact, little had changed about Elayne’s appearance during the time they’d been friends, except for the multiplication of tiny lines radiating from the edges of her eyelids and the deepening of the creases framing her mouth.

“You belong in California, son,” she said, “looking for Andee.” She held his arms and looked up, studying him.

“I’m here just for a couple of hours, Mom, on a stopover between planes.” His sweeping gaze seemed equally concerned about his mother. “Meantime, I called my best operative, and he’s started our search for her. He’s already talked to Margo and the cops. I’ll jump in soon, but for now I came to see how you’re holding up.”

Maybe. But though he might not admit it, Shauna figured he was also there to see if she had information that could help him.

“I’ll survive,” Elayne said. “Shauna promised to stay with me until I heard again from you. I guess you don’t have any news.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She undoubtedly could read it in his stark expression as easily as Shauna could. “As long as you’re here, come in.” She turned her back and motioned for him to follow her toward the kitchen. “I’ve got steaks in the freezer. It won’t take me—”

“No need to feed me,” Hunter said. “A cup of coffee would be great.” He put one arm on his mother’s shoulder as he accompanied her down the hall.

Shauna remained in the entry, feeling so alone that tears welled in her eyes. She had once been close enough to both of them that she would have tagged along and gotten drinks for them in their own house. During that time in the past, Elayne had been like a mother to her, for Shauna had lost her own when she was very young.

Now, mother and son needed time together to deal with a situation that could have no happy ending. Shauna had suggested so in what she’d said to each of them.

Neither knew just how bad it was…

Help me, Daddy!

Damn. The tears she’d held back flowed down her cheeks. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and swiped them away, even as she pulled the front door open again. She had done what she had to. It was time to leave.

“Shauna?” Hunter’s voice stopped her. He filled the end of the hallway.

He still was such a good-looking man…

“Join us.” It wasn’t an invitation, but a command. “We need to talk.”

She owed him that, at least. Not that she could describe what had happened, at least not coherently. And she absolutely didn’t want to provide any details about the ending of the story she had written.

But she was a psychologist. Her practice was very limited, of course. She made her living from Fantasy Fare. But she had gotten her license, become a therapist, to help people in crisis.

To help a select group of patients. Patients selected for her, by her stories. Though she had been sought out by former school colleagues to join their practices, she never took them up on it.

She maintained her license for the counseling she did intensely, but as infrequently as possible, when her writing called for it—mostly to work with strangers whose stories had swept through her without warning.

She had craved that kind of help when Hunter had left seven years ago, and when, soon after, another story had spewed from her fingertips, a tale as unbidden as the ones that had driven him away. As unbidden as the one she had written today. As unbidden as so many of them…

In that one, her father had died of cancer.

She hadn’t been able to help Hunter before. Or her dad. Not even herself.

Now she had the resources to at least try to make it a little less agonizing for Hunter.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk.”

He stood still until she had passed him. After all this time, she was finally so close to Hunter that she could have touched him. Wanted to…but didn’t. He followed her down the hall. For an instant, panic throbbed through her. She felt trapped. She couldn’t get out.

But then they reached Elayne’s cheerful, bright kitchen. She had remodeled it since Shauna had last visited her. The painted cabinets along the wall had been replaced by light pine ones that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. Along their tops was a collection of antique pans. The new kitchen table was pine, too, with matching chairs on wheels pushed under it. The refrigerator was the same as before—a gold side-by-side.