Spencer met her eyes and faintly smiled. “Can I come in?”
With a hot face, Sara opened the door wider. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
He ambled by and stopped in the kitchen, did a slow circle, and faced her. “Place looks the same,” he commented.
She closed the door and pulled at the hem of her shirt, eyes downcast.
“Clean,” he continued.
Sara glanced up and caught his grin. She looked away as she answered, “It keeps me busy.”
“Right.” He nodded. “So what’s new?”
Sara swept past him and began to fiddle around the kitchen. “Nothing. Would you like something to eat? Drink?” She had a carrot cake on the counter and coffee going before he had a chance to answer.
“Sure.”
Manners and small talk were not something one had to worry about by oneself and Sara found herself struggling to act human. “Um…sit,” she commanded and pointed at a chair. Spencer gave her a look of surprise and she modified her drill sergeant tone. “I mean, please sit.” She gestured toward the table.
Spencer pulled a chair out and slowly sat down. “How are you doing?”
The coffee stopped percolating and Sara kept a sigh inside as she turned her back to Spencer. It was easier to lie that way. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, recognized one as his, and put it back and chose a different one. She knew without looking Spencer was watching her and was glad when he made no comment.
“Are you doing any painting?”
Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto her hand. Sara yelped. Spencer was instantly by her side, pulling her toward the sink. He quickly ran cold water over the angry-colored flesh of her hand.
“Coffee‘s sneaky that way,” he murmured, still holding her hand. They both went still, studying the slim pale fingers of her hand within his larger, darker one. Sara snatched her hand away and moved to put distance between them.
Spencer acted like he didn’t notice and said, “Why don’t you sit and I’ll get the coffee? Still take it black?”
Sara nodded, realized he wasn’t looking at her, and answered, “Yes. Thank you.”
He set the coffee mugs on the table and slid one over to Sara.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“No need to thank me for your own coffee,” he told her, opening another cupboard and removing two plates.
“I don’t…” she began, but stopped at his lethal stare.
“Yes. You do. You’re skin and bones.”
Sara held the cup between her hands and looked into the black depths. “I’m fine.”
Spencer went about the task of getting them each a piece of cake, making no comment. He sat down, immediately digging into the cake with a fork. “Mmm, this is good. You make this?”
Sara nodded.
He squinted his eyes at her. “Yet you don’t eat it?”
She shook her head.
“Why do you make it?”
Sara rubbed her finger over a line in the wood of the table. “For something to do.”
“What do you do with it?”
With a shrug, Sara responded, “Give it away.”
“To whom?”
“Neighbors mostly.”
“Eat,” he said, pointing his fork at her untouched slice of cake.
Sara took a small bite to pacify him.
“I’ll have to move into the neighborhood. Or stop by more often,” he added.
Sara didn’t respond. She didn’t want or need someone checking up on her, least of all Spencer, regardless of his good intentions. She searched her mind for something to talk about. “How’s Gracie?”
Spencer paused with the mug of coffee close to his lips. He set the mug down without taking a drink. “Gracie and I broke up.” He finished the last bite of his cake and sat back in his chair.
Sara jerked, startled. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She was, in that place deep inside of her that still felt things like empathy.
He shrugged with a little smile on his lips. “It was months ago.”
She met his eyes, and then slid her gaze away. “You didn’t mention it the last time I saw you.”
“You were preoccupied.”
Sara hung her head, wanting to forget the last time he’d made an impromptu visit. She’d been in the throes of a binge of destruction and rage and pain; smashing and breaking anything she’d laid eyes on reminiscent of her husband. Spencer had shown up in the middle of it, calmed her down, and listened to her terrible sobbing. He’d held her in his arms and rocked her like a baby, and then he’d even helped her right the house. All of that before she’d thrown him out.
She was still mortified over the incident. Of her lack of control, of her weakness, of allowing him to hold her and offer comfort. Sara was especially remorseful over her rudeness. Spencer had only meant to help. At the same time, she wished he’d stayed away; she wished he wasn’t here now.
“It’s okay, Sara,” he said softly, with conviction.
Sara refused to raise her head. She knew what she’d see in his eyes; pity, sympathy. She blinked her eyes against the stinging in them. Sara took a deep breath, composed herself. Say something. Ask something. Don‘t just sit there and try not to cry.
“You went out a long time, right? You and Gracie?”
“Yeah. Five years.”
Five years. One more year than she’d had with her husband before the accident. “Why’d you break up?”
Spencer shrugged as he got up to refill his cup and plate. “She decided she didn’t like my career, even though I’d had the same one since I met her. Too dangerous. Want some?” He motioned to the coffee pot and cake pan.
Sara shook her head. “Gracie was nice.”
Spencer got a slightly wistful look on his face. “That she was.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
He sat down and took a bite of cake. Spencer met her eyes, looking sheepish. “I skipped lunch.”
Sara waved his comment away. “Eat as much as you want.”
“We still talk. I’m over it, she’s over it. We actually get along better as friends than we ever did dating.”
“That’s good then,” was the best reply she could think of.
A long silence ensued.
Spencer sipped his coffee, his eyes on her. “You done any hiking lately?”
Sara went still. “No. Why?”
“You haven’t been to Wyalusing?”
“That’s not what you asked,” she said stiffly.
“So you have been there?”
Sara got to her feet. “Why are you asking me this?”
Spencer sighed and stood. “Friend of mine was there, Sara.”
She backed away, toward the counter. “So?”
The sad look on Spencer’s face was too much. Sara looked down.
“So I know what happened.”
“No, you don’t.”
Spencer slammed his fingers through his hair, messing it up. “Really? Maybe you should explain it to me then. From what my friend said, a woman looked like she was ready to…to kill herself, jump off the damn cliff, for shit‘s sake.”
Sara flinched, but remained silent.
“He had me run the plates, Sara, and imagine my shock when I realized the car belonged to you.”
She couldn’t talk, because if she did, she would cry. So she stood there, silent and still and on the verge of weeping, and willed him to leave. Sara wanted him to go away and stay away and leave her alone.
“Tell me he was wrong. Tell me it wasn‘t you,” Spencer pleaded, his gaze locked on her.
Sara glanced up, surprised to find Spencer was so close, and that he looked so very earnest.
“Talk to me. I lost Co—”
“Don’t say his name!” she shrieked. Spencer flinched. “Don’t say his name,” she repeated, in a calmer tone.
“Why?” he demanded, hands on hips.
“Because,” Sara whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Because why?” Spencer asked, sweeping the wetness from her cheeks with his thumb.
Sara moved her head away from his touch. She hated anyone touching her. It seemed like a betrayal to him, even with the most innocent of intentions. She didn’t deserve to be comforted; she didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy.