Susan’s head was roiling with murky thoughts; she came to no conclusions. She didn’t want to go home right now, that was all. Coward, she told herself sadly, and found herself facing the small bookstore with its sign, The Unicorn, in a cheerful little window with a small light. She walked around to the back, the dark alley blocking out some of the ceaseless wind and rain, then ascended a small flight of wooden stairs and knocked quietly, then louder.
Lanna finally opened the door, clutching her robe to her throat, her blue eyes sleepy and her red hair in a disheveled halo around her head. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Susan.
“You shouldn’t open your door to anyone in the middle of the night,” Susan told her.
“Come in,” Lanna said, and all but pulled her inside, ignoring the spray of raindrops that sprinkled on her as she took Susan’s coat. “What on earth are you doing in the middle of the-”
“I seem to have run away from home,” Susan said absently. Was that what she was doing? Her fingers touched her temples, massaging the soft skin, as if she were rubbing away a headache she really didn’t have.
“When I ran away from home as a kid I always carried peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and a teddy bear,” Lanna remarked, watching her worriedly.
Susan dug her hands into her pockets. “I don’t seem to be that well prepared,” she admitted. “I was hoping you’d put up your landlady for the rest of the night.”
“Sit down, shut up and I’ll get you some tea.”
Lanna disappeared into the kitchen, and Susan sat down and looked around distractedly. She suddenly thought of something. “If you have someone here…”
“Contrary to what you like to believe,” Lanna called back, “I really don’t have overnight guests all that often. Naturally, men queue up outside my door, just waiting for the opportunity. After all, I’m not only smart and beautiful, but also extremely creative.” Lanna’s head whipped around the door frame. “I told you to lie down.”
“You told me to sit down,” Susan corrected. The apartment was small, but charming. Lanna’s favorite color was pale yellow, an unusual color for a couch, and canary, orange, and bright blue pillows abounded on it, leaving little room to sit. Bookshelves reached the ceiling, and candles stood in rainbow-colored groups; beyond the living room was a kitchen, then a bedroom and one other small room of indefinable use. Lanna sewed, so that must be her workroom.
“Here.” Lanna set a mug of steaming tea on the table in front of her, along with a napkin. “Now, what shall we talk about?” she inquired brightly. “Macramé? South America?”
Susan picked up the hot mug and promptly set it down again. Her hands were trembling. The hot liquid splashed on her fingers, and she suddenly swallowed, very hard. Something was stuck in her throat that swallowing failed to dislodge. Something thick and aching…
“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound-I just wanted to make you smile.” Lanna leaned over and hugged her hard. “You’ve always been an angel to work for, you know that? I love you like a sister, Susan. The teasing you put up with about my pretending to mother you… But you’ve always been the one to come through for me-the job and the apartment and a large dose of common sense when there was no one else to give me a swift kick in the butt. Whatever it is, you know damn well I’ll help you.”
“I just…” Lanna moved away, and Susan lowered her eyes, rapidly blinking away tears, her voice coming out increasingly shaky. “I just… Lately I just can’t seem to handle anything well. It’s…expectations. Expectations I had of myself, expectations Griff has of me…” Suddenly, she felt exhaustion flood through her as if she were a wind-up toy that had finally wound down. She threw back her head and folded her arms around her stomach. “The cheese incident this morning with Barbara, and the mess I made with Tom tonight. Griff doesn’t have time for me, but what the hell am I, a child? One minute I feel like a slave, and the next minute I feel so selfish. And when Griff and I do have some time alone, I’m so tired…”
“I understand,” Lanna said gently. She studied Susan for a long moment and then informed her, “I’m putting you to bed.”
Susan shook her head. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. I just thought that if I could lie down on your couch until it’s time for the store to open up…”
“Hmm,” Lanna commented, a trick she’d picked up from someone she was inordinately fond of. “You found out from the doctor that you were pregnant, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” For one short instant, Susan managed a wan smile. “I told you I wasn’t sick.”
“I guessed a long time ago. About the day you started shelving the fiction on the nonfiction shelves.” Lanna chattered until she had Susan safely tucked in bed, her jeans and red angora sweater replaced by a borrowed nightgown. “We’re not exactly of a size, but tomorrow you can borrow one of my sweaters…”
The suggestion fell on deaf ears. Susan was gone, her head nestled on the pillow and her eyes closed in exhaustion. Lanna pulled the bedcovers up to her chin and left the room, closing the door behind her.
She didn’t awaken until past ten, and then to a completely silent apartment and a lukewarm sun peering down at her through the long, narrow window of the bedroom. For a moment, Susan was disoriented and lay still, staring in sleepy confusion at the ceiling.
Twenty minutes later, she opened the door to her shop below, wearing a pale yellow sweater of Lanna’s that was a tad too small, and the jeans she’d worn the night before. She’d helped herself to toast and a quick cup of coffee, but there was no time for more than that. Regardless of what a mess she had made of her life, she had a responsibility to her business, which she had no intention of foisting off on Lanna. And in that frantic rush downstairs, she had realized that no clear-cut answers had appeared from thin air, that she was no more prepared to face her fears than she’d been the night before.
Lanna spotted her over the heads of six customers. She bit her lip, then was forced to direct her attention to the people who were bombarding her with questions. Saturday mornings were like that. Susan forced a cheerful smile and dug in, taking over as she had once been very, very good at taking over. It could only last so long, though, the forced brightness. As soon as the customers thinned out, she headed for the shelves. She had a good excuse to fuss over the shelves, of course. Saturday morning people picked up a thousand books and always put them back in the wrong spots; keeping order in this chaotic atmosphere was an endless job, but truthfully, she liked it. She liked the people, and she liked the work, and she liked the feel and smell of books…and this morning every single thing she did brought on an unexpected threat of tears.
She was on her knees, working on the bottom shelf in the back, when she saw a worn pair of tennis shoes next to her. The wearer was shifting his weight, first to one foot, then to the other. Her eyes rose slowly, to jeans with patched knees on skinny little legs, to a brand-new sweatshirt emblazoned with the slogan, “Put a Tiger in your tank,” to a pair of big brown eyes she knew very well.
“Like, where were you this morning?” Tiger asked. He crouched down, delighted to have finally caught eye-to-eye attention, and offered her an effortless grin. “I’ve made my own breakfast lots of times, you know. I like to make my own breakfast. But not this morning, Susan. This morning I had all this stuff to tell you…”
His look was faintly reproachful. It tore every single string in her heart. “Tiger,” she started unhappily.