The Light Between Us (23 page)

Ruth shook her head.  “No.  I thought we've been over this.  That was just a matter of mixed signals, crossed lines.  Me with Sam, you with Sandra.”

“
I don't mean that.  I mean how I called you last night only to realize that you were with a man.”

“
You called me?”  Ruth's brow furrowed.  “Last night?”

“
Yes.  And some guy answered.”  Derek curled his lip in disgust.  “I admit, I find it hard to believe you are so conniving.  And yet the evidence speaks for itself.”

“
Evidence?” she exclaimed, stepping forward, the stony look softening for the first time since she'd walk into the office.  “How's this for evidence?  The other day, I lost my cell phone.  I dropped it somewhere, I guess, on my way to meet you at Rowes Wharf.”

Something inside him squirmed excitedly as he struggled to comprehend her words, and to maintain his grim-faced facade.  “You dropped your phone?”

“
Yes,” she said entreatingly, taking another step toward him.  “I lost it.  Don't you see?  Someone must have picked it up, and answered your call.”

“
I suppose . . .” he said.  Then he remembered something and shook his head.  “But no.  I won't buy that.  The guy who answered, he knew your name.”

“
He did?”  Ruth frowned.  “Could he have gotten it off the phone itself?”

“
I don't know, and I don't much care.”  Derek extended an arm toward the door.  “You have your explanation.  Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do.  You can show yourself out.”

“
No, wait, Derek,” Ruth pleaded.  “I would never do what you think I've done.  Do you think so little of me?”

“
I didn't,” he said with a shrug, finding himself desperately wishing,
needing
for her to be gone.  “But how can I think otherwise?”

“
Because you know me.”  The fire returned to her eyes, drawing him in.

“
I want to believe that I know you.  But how can I now?”  He pointed toward the door more firmly.  “Go, please.”  Derek felt as if his perfectly tailored suit was suddenly far too small for him.

“
You said it yourself,” Ruth continued, ignoring his request, “that you thought we really had something.  Something special.  I did, too.  I
still
do.  You're really willing to throw that away based on your flawed perception of what is merely another misunderstanding?”

“
It was a mistake to pursue something deeper with you,” he said, making his voice as cold as he possibly could.  “And now . . . go.  I'm finished with you.”  His voice rumbled as a low growl now.

Ruth stamped her foot, but nodded.  “Fine.  But I'm not finished with you.”  With that, she turned on her heel and strode from his office, leaving her vanilla scent behind her. 

Derek slumped into his chair, his earlier feelings of satisfaction and refreshment well and truly gone.  He buried his face in a hand.  Could Ruth have been telling the truth?  That she'd lost her phone, that someone unknown stranger had answered the phone?

Some part of him whispered that yes, yes she was telling the truth, that all was well between them.

But then why would whoever answered have known her name?
he thought.  The memory of the mysterious man on the other end of the line uttering her name flooded back to him, making up his mind.

Derek imagined taking all of the memories he had of Ruth, of her wild hair and delicious curves, of how his heart bounded when he saw her or heard her voice, and shutting them up into a box inside his brain, never to be opened again.

If only her scent didn't linger in his office so.

* * *

Ruth stomped from Derek's office to the elevator and mashed the “down” button, ignoring the secretary's glare.  She was too angry to think about anything else than what had just happened. 

The elevator pinged and the doors peeled open.  She barged on, and the swooping in her stomach had nothing to do with the elevator's descent. 

How could he be so unwilling to hear me out? 
she thought.
To trust me?
  Just a couple of days before he had been just about begging her to get married, and now he couldn't give her the benefit of the doubt? 

Ruth shook her head, rhythmically clenching her jaw.  It didn't make sense.  Well, it sort of made sense, given how he had gotten burned back in high school.  But that had happened a decade and more ago.               

“
Idiot,” she grumbled as she stalked off the elevator when it opened on the ground floor, beelining for the street.   She wasn't sure who she was calling an idiot – the apparently fiercely stubborn Derek, or herself for letting him get close to her. 

A silly misunderstanding had nearly ended their relationship before it began, and now it looked liked yet another was going to do the same for their engagement.  All because of a stupid phone call.

The phone call.  The one in which an unknown man had answered her cell.  Ruth's pace slowed, her eyes narrowing.  Who could have picked up her phone that would care enough to answer a call on it, who could have known her name?  She wasn't sure if her name was available somewhere in the depths of the phone itself, so she went with the assumption that whoever had the phone knew her somehow.  Or at least knew of her.

Could it be one of her students' parents, or someone else associated with school in some way?  Ruth rolled her eyes.  Considering her years of former students, there was no way to narrow it down by guessing, at least not that way.

Ruth remembered that she had promised to check in with Padme after confronting Derek.  She wondered what her friend would suggest doing. 
Aside from kicking Derek's ass
, she thought with a smirk.

All ass-kicking aside, though, she knew that her feisty friend always encouraged her to fight for those things she valued.  And, in spite of his refusal to listen to her, Ruth still loved him, loved how she was with him around. 

She knew they were worth fighting for.

But where to begin?
  She groaned, slumping against the side of a brownstone building in frustration, holding up her hand that the engagement ring adorned, gazing at its splendor.  She'd been unable to keep herself from slipping it on that morning.   

Ruth sighed.  It would be like searching for the proverbial needle in a hay stack, trying to figure out who had her phone. 

From the recesses of her memory, one of Cecelia’s chipper and oft-trilled phrases sprang into her consciousness. 
Need to find a needle in a haystack?  No better place to start than where the hay begins.
  Her way of suggesting to start at the beginning, it would always make Padme, Maddie, and Ruth groan extra loud when she whipped that one out. 

But now, Ruth stood up straight.  Starting at the beginning . . . it wasn't a bad idea.  And the most obvious beginning she could think of was the coffee shop, the one she'd been fleeing before she realized her phone was missing.  The one where she found herself uncomfortably face to face with Sam.

Sam
. 

Ruth gasped.  Sam could have been the one to find her phone.  She closed her eyes against the Boston traffic, remembering how she'd snagged her bag on the back of a chair in her haste to get away from the awkward confrontation with Sam.  It was completely plausible that the phone could have been jolted out of the bag then, and if Sam was the one to pick it up, then he would obviously know her name.  If Sam had her phone, that would explain everything.  Her heart began to beat harder at the possibility of having solved the mystery. 

Ruth pushed out from the wall and strode down the sidewalk, black-booted legs scissoring back and forth with power and purpose.  She didn't know where Sam lived or worked, and she didn't have his phone number, but she knew that he was a writer, and that writers have their favorite spots to write in. 

She hustled down the steps of the nearest T station, feeling the hot, belching breath of the underground station blasting against her cheeks as she descended.  Bounding onto the next train, she remained standing even though there were plenty of free seats to choose from.  She didn't even hold onto the handrails, but instead stood with her hands on her hips, feeling like a superhero about to save the day.

And she was determined to do exactly that.  She only hoped that Sam would be at the coffee shop.

* * *

The coffee shop was busy, filled with college students at tables spread with textbooks and notes and laptops, entrepreneurs and creatives for whom any place with an electrical outlet and wireless internet was their office, and a few pairs of people chatting happily with each other over steaming mugs of coffee. 

Ruth stepped slowly through the buzzing space, scanning the occupants of each table carefully, searching for Sam's tousled blonde hair and skinny frame.  Reaching the back of the coffee shop, she sighed.  He wasn't there. 

Damn
.

Turning on her heel, she meandered helplessly toward the coffee bar that was manned by –

Her stomach dropped. 
Sam
.  Sam, wearing a white half-apron and a creased forehead as he concentrated on pulling shots of espresso.  Another barista, a woman in her mid-thirties with glossy red hair, served pastries and worked the cash register farther down the counter.

Ruth blinked once, twice, as if he was a mirage that would dissipate if she could only urge her eyes into focus. 

But no, the closer she got to him, the more solid he seemed to become.  Falling into line behind the customers who waited to order their drinks, she couldn't help but stare at the lanky young man. 

Who she had slept with.  She shivered at the memory. 

And who she'd then hurt.

And who might have her phone.

I really do not want to talk to him
, Ruth thought. 
Really really.

But it seemed of the utmost importance that she not only get her phone back, but also get an explanation, if he had one to offer. 

Slowly, the line in front of her grew shorter and shorter, until at last there was no one left between her and her goal. 

With a deep breath, she stepped forward. 

Wiping the counter with a damp towel, Sam began, “What can I get . . .”  He looked up and their eyes met with a shock, his voice trailing away.

“
Hi,” she said, giving a wave that felt pathetic. 

“
Ruth,” said Sam flatly, smile dying. 

“
I didn't know you worked here,” she offered.

“
Yeah, well, life of the poet, you know?  Got to make ends meet, and this way I get free coffee when I'm here writing.” 

“
Look, I'm sorry to ambush you like this,” Ruth said with an apologetic shrug, talking as quickly as she could manage.  “But I think I might have left my phone here the other day, and I was just wondering –”

“
Yes,” Sam interrupted.  “I have it.  Hang on.”  He disappeared through a door way behind him, and reappeared a moment later, holding out her familiar pink-cased phone.

She heaved a sigh, limbs suddenly weakened by a flood of relief.  “Oh good.  Thank you so much.”

“
Yeah,” he said.  “Are you going to order anything?”

“
Well, no,” Ruth replied.  “But . . . okay, this might seem like a weird question but –“