The Road Home Read online

  Rose lifted her chin, only her eyes reflecting her hurt. “Because I never had time for you.”

  “Sure you did. After you retired from teaching ballet in London.” Melissa crossed her arms and looked away, knowing she looked defensive, but damn it, she felt defensive. “Look, thank you for all this, the cleaning and straightening up. But just because you got a bug to start acting like a mother to me doesn’t mean I have the same bug to act like your daughter.”

  “But you are my daughter,” Rose said softly, coming out from behind the desk. She put her hands on Melissa’s arms, even though Mel stood there stiff as a board. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I was a selfish, horrible person when you were young, but for years now I’ve regretted that and you haven’t let me in.”

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  “I know. I know you’re still not, but baby, I’ve decided to stop letting you waste what time we have left.”

  Melissa’s tummy dropped. “Are you…sick?”

  “No,” Rose said quickly, with a little squeeze of her hands, her eyes shining. “But I want to hug you for that spurt of panic you just felt.”

  Melissa took a step back. “That wasn’t panic. That was…me just being a healer.”

  Rose smiled. “Know what I think?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Rose held up the pink envelopes, every one of them, which Mel had rubber-banded and kept in her desk. “I think you’re going to like me.”

  “Don’t push your luck.” Feeling hounded, Mel went to the front door and held it open.

  Rose nodded and came close. “I can come back and sit at your front desk tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  “Don’t you have something more important to do? Fly around the world? Dance? Something?”

  “No. I only teach ballet on Saturdays.” Rose’s smile was as stubborn as…Mel’s.

  Gee, guess she knew where she’d gotten it from.

  “I have nothing more important than you,” Rose said softly. “Nothing.”

  “Now.”

  Rose’s smile faltered. “I was only eighteen when you were born. I—”

  “No. Please. I don’t want to do this.” Her chest had tightened, along with her throat, and behind her eyes was a horrifying sting of tears. “I can’t.”

  Rose stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded.

  “I’m fine without you,” Mel said thickly. “I am.”

  “Of course you are. It’s just that sometimes it’s easier to be fine if you’re not alone.”

  “I like alone.”

  Rose sighed, looked like she might say something else, but Mel opened the door wider in a not-too-subtle hint. “Good night,” Mel said.

  “Good night.” Rose’s voice reflected her sadness.

  Melissa turned away, no idea why she felt guilty. No idea at all.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Jason had just ordered himself a nice big cholesterol-filled breakfast at the Serendipity Café when Dr. Melissa Anders walked in, looking like her usual put-together, uptight self.

  Just the sight of her made him smile.

  She didn’t see him, mostly because she kept her eyes straight forward as she headed toward the counter, her sensible low heels clicking on the worn black-and-white checkered linoleum. He wondered if she saw the charm in the place that hadn’t been redecorated since sometime during John F. Kennedy’s era. This place with the jukebox and the red vinyl booths faded to a dark rose, the movie posters on the walls…it wasn’t some wannabe retro café, but the real deal.

  But she didn’t take the time to look around, instead set her hands on the counter and ordered coffee.

  The breakfast of champions.

  Or the breakfast of a vet always in a hurry.

  The waitress behind the counter smiled warmly at her, and thanked her again for fixing up her dog last week. Then the cook came out to ask her a question about his cat’s bowel movements. An older couple sitting at the counter told her a story about a kitten she’d delivered for them.

  All the while Melissa seemed to squirm.

  Jason’s smile widened just a bit. Poor baby. Give her a dying animal, or even one who just needed its shots, and she was in her element.

  Give her humans to deal with and she wiggled like a five-year-old who’d downed too much apple juice. He decided to rescue her. “Melissa.”

  Her short dark hair spun when she looked over at him. She remained cool, he’d give her that, but her eyes gave her away, going from quick surprise to a flash of awareness and excitement, to a wariness he wanted to kiss away.

  He’d concentrate on that awareness and excitement. “Come sit down and eat with me.”

  “I’m just having coffee.”

  “You can’t work on just coffee. Marge, add another special to my order.”

  Marge smiled. “Coming up.”

  Melissa sighed but walked over to him. Standing, he reached for her hand, urged her to sit. Before she could protest, he’d slid into the same side of the booth with her.

  When she shot him a look, he simply smiled. “I was thinking about you, and then in you walked. Fancy that.”

  “Fancy that.” She glanced at his arm and the healing scratches. She made a show of craning her neck to look at his ear and the bites there from the parrot. “You’re healing nicely.”

  “Is that your way of saying ‘how are you?”’

  “I guess it is.”

  “Well, then, I’m good,” he said, and stroked her cheek when she smiled.

  Marge showed up with two full plates of food, set them down, popping her gum. “Gotta say, Doc,” she said to Melissa. “I’m enjoying seeing you actually sit and enjoy. Don’t take this wrong now, but you’re usually so…stoic. This morning, you seem real. It’s a good look on you.” She winked at Jason. “Keep it up.”

  Melissa stared at him as she walked away. “What does that mean? I’m a real person all the time.”

  “Sure you are. It’s just that sometimes you forget to show it, that’s all. You’re doing a great job lately though.” Picking up his fork, he dug into his scrambled eggs. “This is far better than staring at a blank page.”

  “You’re having trouble with a book?”

  “Plot trouble. Character trouble. Hell, I’ve even got font trouble.”

  “What’s your story?”

  He never talked about a book before he turned it in to his editor. But she was looking at him, sweet and curious, so what the hell. “My hero has a recurring nightmare about not being able to get home. It’s hell all night long, then every morning he wakes up covered in sweat, terrified. Only, as it turns out, it’s not a nightmare at all. It’s real. He’s not home and he can’t get there. I just can’t figure out why.”

  They ate for a while in silence, and then Melissa said, “Maybe he doesn’t know how to get there.”

  “Yes, but—” He stared at her. Thought about it, and suddenly laughed. “Yes. He doesn’t know how to get there—not physically, of course. But getting home is complicated by his past, his issues, his…everything.” He scratched his jaw. “Yeah.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” She pushed her food around. “It’s always easier to solve someone else’s problems, you ever notice that?”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed. Tell me yours. Maybe I can solve one for you.”

  “I’m fine.” She took a few quick bites, avoiding his gaze, breaking his heart.

  “Melissa.” He put a hand over hers. “Come on, share.”

  She pulled her hand free.

  “I thought we were past the no-touching-allowed thing.”

  “This is going to take some getting used to.” She pointed at him. “You’re going to take some getting used to.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “I’ve been told.”

  She sighed, then looked at him, that spark of awareness and a whole host of other things in her eyes now. “I’m trying to get used to you. I…I want to get used to you.”

  His heart swelled