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“Which means?” His eyes narrowed.
“Which means I have to be back tonight by midnight, in case there’s an emergency.”
Standing, Philip tossed his paper plate in the garbage can. Carla dumped the remainder of her lunch away and followed Philip to a large oak tree, where he stood, staring at the ground.
“It was hardly worth your while to make the trip. I’m surprised you came.”
“I’m glad I did. I enjoyed meeting your friends, especially Sylvia and Jeff.”
He pursed his lips, and Carla studied him suspiciously. He looked as if he wanted to argue, and she couldn’t understand why. Planting herself in front of him, her legs braced slightly apart, she stared at him until he met her gaze. “It’s not going to work, you know.”
He frowned. “What’s not going to work?”
“Starting an argument. I refuse to react to your anger. I wish I could stay. If it was up to me, I would. But circumstances being what they are, I’ve got to leave this afternoon.” She paused and drew a long breath. “Now. Will you walk me to the tent and spend the next few minutes saying good-bye to me properly, or are you going to stand here and pout?”
Philip bristled. “I never pout.”
“Good.” She smiled and reached for his hand. “Then let’s escape for a few minutes of privacy before someone comes looking for us.”
—
The sun was setting, whisking back the splashes of warm, golden rays, by the time Carla pulled into her apartment parking space. After emerging from the car, she stretched, raising her arms high above her head and yawning. The trip back had been leisurely and had taken the better part of three hours. Philip had promised to connect as soon as he was back in Spokane. That brooding, troubled look had returned when he’d kissed her good-bye. Carla didn’t know what was bothering him, but she guessed that it had nothing to do with her. Already he was acting like her father, afraid to tell her something he knew could upset her. If she was going to consider being his wife, she didn’t want him treading lightly around information she had a right to know. She’d ask him about it Monday night.
—
Sunday afternoon, while on call at the hospital, Carla drove to her parents’ house.
“Hi, Mom,” she said as she let herself in the front door. Rachel Walker was sitting on the worn sofa, knitting a sweater.
“Who’s this one for?” Carla asked, as she sat across from her mother, admiring the collage of colored yarn. Rachel was constantly doing something—idle hands led to boredom, she had always said. She was a perfectionist housekeeper, and now that Carla and her brother had left home, she busied herself with craft projects.
“Julianne,” her mother replied without a pause between stitches, her fingers moving with a skill that was amazing. “She’ll need a warm sweater this fall for first grade. She’s six now, you know.”
“Yes.” Both her nieces had always been special to Carla, and she’d missed them terribly since her brother and his wife had moved to Oregon.
“Where’s Dad?”
Briefly, a hurt look rushed across her mother’s face. “He’s playing on the men’s softball team again this year.” The Seattle Police Department had several teams, and Carla’s father loved to participate, but her mother had never gone to watch him play, preferring to stay at home. What Joe did outside the house was his business, because it involved the police force—and Rachel had never had anything to do with the force.
“Actually, I’m glad Dad isn’t here, because I’d like to talk to you alone.”
“To me?” Momentarily, Rachel glanced up from her handiwork.
“I’m in love with Philip Garrison,” Carla announced, and closed her eyes, preparing for the backlash that was sure to follow.
“I think I already knew that,” her mother replied calmly. “In fact, your father and I were just talking about the two of you.”
“And?”
“We agreed that you and Philip will do fine. What I said to you the other night isn’t altogether valid. We are alike, Carla, in many ways, but in others we’re completely different.”
Carla marveled at the way her mother could talk so frankly with her and at the same time keep perfect pace with her knitting.
“Joe pointed out that your personality is stronger than I’ve given you credit for. You’re not afraid to say what you feel or to speak out against injustice. Your work at the hospital proves that…” Rachel paused, and after taking a shuddering breath, she bit her bottom lip.
Carla moved out of the chair and kneeled at her mother’s side. Rachel tossed her yarn aside and leaned forward to hug her daughter as she hadn’t since Carla was a child. “I would have chosen another man for you, Princess. But I can’t hold against Philip the very things that make me love your father. Be happy, baby. Be happy.”
“I love you, Mom,” Carla murmured. She’d never thought she’d feel this close to her mother. Philip had done that for her. He had given her the parent she had never thought she’d understand—the closeness every daughter yearns to share with her mother.
