Glittering strands of Christmas ornaments decorated the exterior of the whimsically named In a Pickle shopping center—which occupied the site of a former pickle-packing plant—and weekend buyers jammed the parking spaces. Derek almost regretted suggesting the mini-mall for their outing.
When he’d arrived at the center, he’d noticed the way Marta’s shoulders sagged as she sat tidying stacks of books. Hoping to lighten her mood, he’d proposed the Caffeine Connection, a tea-and-coffee shop in the central court of the remodeled factory, and she’d consented. Her low energy, however, reawakened his concern for her well-being.
On the short drive, she’d perked up as she described how Elise had faced down Vince and received an apology. Elise’s subsequent willingness to forgive surprised Derek. “She’s always acted hard-nosed.”
“Must be Mike’s influence.” Marta broke off as they arrived at the Pickle. After several turns through the parking lot, Derek nabbed a spot when a vehicle exited in front of them.
Worth the hassle, he concluded once they reached the interior, which reminded him of a small village. Kiosks and boutiques featuring crafts and novelty items opened onto wandering lanes. Soaps and scented candles perfumed the air.
When two children ran by, Derek rested one hand on Marta’s back protectively. He employed his greater bulk to ease through the knots of shoppers.
They passed Pickle Curios, one of Connie’s shops. Marta paused to examine jars and cans of imported delicacies.
“Rosa picks most of her own merchandise,” she explained. “Connie gives us both a lot of leeway as managers. Anything we select that sells well gets featured on the website, and we receive a small commission.”
Derek lifted a container that, judging by the picture on the front, contained peppers. Labeled in Spanish, it bore the English words Product of Peru. “Rosa must hunt pretty far afield.”
“She sure does.” Marta indicated a llama-shaped piñata. “You can’t find that at the big discount stores!”
A couple of shoppers were chatting in Spanish with Rosa Mercato, a sturdily built woman in her early forties. Apparently in response to their queries, she produced a brightly garbed doll that met with instant approval.
While ringing up the purchase, she waved to Marta. “Just the person I wanted to see! I’d like your opinion on a personal matter. Yours, too, Sergeant.”
“Of course.” He wondered why.
He found out when Rosa joined the two of them. “I need to ask about Mark Rohan,” she explained.
She’d purchased a date with the traffic sergeant at the auction, Derek recalled. “What about him?”
She glanced toward the entrance. “I better talk fast before I get another customer.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“We’ve been seeing each other almost every night, and he’s eager to get married. It’s like a wild romantic fantasy, plus we’d both like kids, and if I don’t have them soon—like tomorrow—I’ll miss my chance.” Rosa spoke at a lightning pace, the words tumbling over each other. “But I’m afraid we’ll wake up one morning and discover we made a horrible mistake.”
Plenty of officers’ marriages collapsed under the strain of rotating shifts and cynicism, a by-product of observing the worst side of human nature day after day. “Police in general have a high divorce rate. Enjoy the fun while it lasts.”
“Typical male!” Rosa’s smile softened her scoff. “Marta?”
“Date for a couple more months and if you’re still crazy about each other, get premarital counseling,” was her response. “Then I’ll dance at your wedding.”
Rosa wavered. “He’s six years younger than me.”
“Nobody thinks twice if the guy’s that much older.”
“Oh, yeah?” Derek teased. “I’m only four and a half years your senior and you consider me an antique.”
Marta didn’t crack a smile. What was wrong with her?
Several shoppers entered. “Thanks, you two. I’ll consider what you said.” Rosa broke off to assist the new arrivals.
Derek guided his companion out of the store and through the throngs to the Caffeine Connection. Shiny green-and-red packages of coffee beans rimmed the counter, flanking a sign that touted them as stocking stuffers. Derek and Marta placed their orders and carried their drinks to a secluded table.
The clamor of voices and the tinkling of holiday music faded. “Must be an acoustical dead spot.” Grateful for the break, Derek held a chair for Marta, although in Southern California guys rarely performed such gallantries.
She sank down, forgetting to thank him. That wasn’t like her, either.
He barely managed to keep still as she stirred sweetener into her herbal tea and swallowed a sip. Finally, he blurted, “What exactly did the doctor say?”
Large, frightened eyes met his gaze. “She…” The words seemed to get stuck. “This is awkward.”
A new possibility occurred to him. “If you gave me a deadly disease, for heaven’s sake, out with it!”
To Derek’s astonishment, Marta burst into laughter. “What an idea! I mean, that isn’t funny, only…What I have definitely isn’t contagious.”
“Good.” How bad could her condition be if she managed to chuckle about it? Then it hit him: she’d indicated she did have something.
Derek swallowed a sip of coffee, which turned out to be burning hot. He jerked instinctively and then, to his dismay, his right hand began to shake.
He prayed for the trembling to stop before it became obvious. Instead, the damn thing intensified until he knocked first his spoon and then the whole ceramic mug off the table.
It shattered, spewing hot liquid across the floor and his shoes. With a curse, Derek shoved his chair back from the table. At the jolt, Marta’s cup skipped to the rim, where she barely rescued it from the same fate as his.
An employee hurried over. Marta apologized while shooting anxious looks in Derek’s direction. He grabbed his wrist and tried to still the thing.
The palsy quit, finally. Too late to undo the damage, though. He’d created a scene, blown his composure and wrecked their afternoon. That instant of humiliation had transformed the coffee shop and the mini-mall into a trap. Like a wounded animal, Derek required solitude.
“I have to drive you home,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you okay?” Marta asked.
“Yeah. Fine. First-rate.” After trying to pay for the damage—the employee declined the offer—Derek escorted Marta to the car.
He wondered how much she’d observed. Suppose she described the incident to her friends? He ought to swear her to secrecy, but he couldn’t do that without explaining.
The prospect provoked further irritation. He didn’t even look at her as he steered toward her home. Mercifully, she didn’t prod him or chatter. Her silence soothed his agitation slightly.
She’d revealed earlier that she’d walked to Villa Corazon, so he didn’t have to drop her off at her car. Instead, he pulled in front of Marta’s apartment building, bumping the curb in his distraction. As if his front-end alignment mattered, when his entire life had gone awry.
It might be about to spin off course completely. Because he saw no choice but to reveal the truth.
*
Marta was puzzled by what had happened. One minute Derek was calmly inquiring about the doctor and then he’d started shaking. She’d been powerless to stem the resulting rage and couldn’t figure out what, if anything, she’d done to provoke it.
Connie’s joking accusation from years earlier rang in Marta’s ears: “You assume that whatever goes wrong is your fault. You’ve elevated guilt to an art form.” This time, search for clues as she might, she didn’t see any way in which she’d caused the problem.
The muscles in Derek’s neck and jaw rippled with tension as he yanked on the parking brake. Afraid to speak, she opened the sedan door.
Although she’d expected him to leave her on the sidewalk, he joined her. They walked to her apartment without speaking.
The irony of the situation struck Marta: that after she’d overcome her reluctance to confide about the pregnancy, the meeting had dissolved for reasons beyond her control. And, at present, beyond her comprehension.
When they entered, her cherished little home felt too confined for the restless man who paced in behind her. Ordinarily, Marta might have attempted to soothe him. Today, she simply sank onto the couch and waited.
Derek stood facing her, arms folded. She noticed the stark masculine impact of the navy polo shirt stretched across his chest and the jeans sculpted to his long legs. She longed to touch him, but he was clearly in no temper to be soothed.
“I guess you saw my embarrassing exhibition,” he said tautly.
“Your hand shook.” That had been the starting point, although it was his infuriated reaction that had created most of the awkwardness.
He plunged ahead. “I have Parkinson’s disease, diagnosed about a year ago. That’s why the department transferred me to public information. I’d rather no one else learned about this, please.”
Stunned, Marta blurted, “I thought only old people…” She stopped, and wished she’d bitten her tongue before uttering those cruel words.
“That’s what most people believe.” Angrily, Derek began pacing. “In case you’re curious, the cause is a mystery. And the course is unstoppable, which makes my future a big zero. Interesting life I’ve been leading, isn’t it?”
She didn’t have to ask why he’d kept this secret. Distress blazed from every movement. “That’s why the auction worried you. You didn’t want a crowd to see your symptoms.”
Marta knew little about the disease. TV and newspaper images of sufferers flashed into her mind, except she wasn’t certain which of many much-publicized afflictions she was picturing.
She might as well ask the tough questions. “How bad will it get? And how soon?”
“It’s progressive,” he responded. “Slow but inexorable. I’m taking medication to control the symptoms. Fate catches up with Sergeant Hit-and-Run, I suppose some people would say.”
“Only if they’re jerks!” she responded sharply. “I’m really sorry, Derek.”
For anyone, the diagnosis would come as a blow. For such a fiercely independent man, the prospect of disability must be intolerable.
“I don’t want your pity,” he ground out.
“That isn’t pity.” Marta sought a more accurate word. “It’s empathy. Don’t forget that I understand what it’s like to have the rug pulled out from beneath your feet. It happened to me.”
Derek wavered, perhaps tantalizingly close to accepting that they were on the same side. Then the protective wall slammed into place.
“I appreciate our similarities, but there’s one fundamental difference. You can reclaim your future, and I applaud you for it. Mine’s finished. This won’t get better and it won’t stay the same.” After nearly colliding with her TV, he glared at the thing before resuming his route. “I can hope for a medical breakthrough, but in the meantime, I have to live in the real world.”
A world of bitterness and resentment. Under other circumstances, Marta might have remained silent rather than provoke him. But this strong, desirable man had no business sinking into despair.
“In the real world, you’re still an incredible guy that any woman would value,” she retorted. “Maybe that doesn’t matter to you, but it ought to. As for your refusal to accept pity, what about self-pity? You’re wallowing in that.”
She stopped, shocked by her audacity. And by the fact that she’d just uttered the most scathing remarks of her life to the man she cherished.
Derek’s eyes glittered with anger. “I suppose I should ignore the whole thing. Count my blessings, perhaps?”
Marta would never be sure what possessed her, but the next statement out of her mouth was: “Well, you’d better pull your act together, because you’re about to become a father.”
He froze. Disbelief displaced his wrath.
“That’s why you visited the doctor?” he managed to say at last. “What about Thanksgiving Day?”
“I threw up,” Marta explained. “Yolanda’s pretty perceptive.”
He seemed to be struggling to assemble the puzzle pieces. “Did you already know?”
She shook her head. “I guess I was in denial.”
Derek stared at the floor, breathing hard, as if he’d run all the way here. “What do you intend to do?”
What did she intend to do? Infuriating! How naïve to have imagined that he might rise to the occasion by offering to support her.
“It’s yours as well as mine!” she snapped.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You implied that this is my problem and I should deal with it!” An inner voice warned that she had passed into the realm of unfairness. In her current cranky state, she didn’t care. “I’m sorry about your illness. That doesn’t excuse you from shouldering the consequences of your actions! We both made love that night and neither of us stopped to use protection.”
He stared as if she’d grown a second head. Marta doubted her friends would recognize her crabby self, either.
Derek responded at last with frustrating obliqueness. “What do you expect from me?”
She had no idea. Compassion and love weren’t his style. “Nothing,” she answered at last. “You’ve made it clear how you operate. Enjoy the moment and then throw out the baby with the bathwater. Literally, in this case.”
He tried again. “Of course, I’ll take responsibility.”
That simple statement hurt more than an insult. “Please, don’t spare a single second from your absorption in your own problems,” Marta said angrily. “I survived the car crash without my father’s assistance and I can survive this pregnancy without yours. I’m sure Connie and Rachel will be there for me, the way they always are.”
“Marta…” He stopped, at a loss for words.
Maybe he expected her to function as usual, delving beneath the surface and empathizing until she drew out his deeper meaning. But the agreeable Marta had vanished. Blame her hormones, or maybe her heartbreak. No use pretending she didn’t love the guy, for all his flaws. But this baby needed her more than he did.
“You’d better go.” Pushing up from the sofa, Marta marched to the door and held it open.
“This is getting to be a bad habit,” Derek said with a hint of irony. “Throwing me out, I mean.”
“I never did that before!”
“You tossed me out of your bed, didn’t you?” His expression perplexed, he trudged toward the exit. “This conversation isn’t over.”
Hope, that eternal traitor, poked its head from the ashes of her dreams. Marta gave it a mental thump. “If you say so.”
“We’ll work this out. I wish…I meant for us to have fun on our date.” Derek looked so lost, she nearly hugged him.
She had to stand tough or she’d fall apart.
No sooner had he vanished down the walkway than doubts assailed her. How could she have treated him with such coldness after he’d confessed his agonizing secret? Tough as he appeared on the outside, his behavior at the café had demonstrated his vulnerability.
The man had to cope with an incurable illness. Marta remembered his confession last week that he felt he wasn’t contributing enough to the force. Guilt, depression and anger were all understandable responses.
Then she’d sprung the pregnancy on him. How unreasonable to expect him to counter with a romantic declaration!
Ashamed, she nearly dialed his cell to apologize. If she caught him before he reached home, he might turn around.
No. She wasn’t ready for a rematch.
In the kitchen, Marta fixed a cup of herbal tea. Good thing she planned to dine with her two dearest friends tonight for the first time since her birthday. Although Connie usually spent Saturday evenings with her husband, Hale had flown to Lake Tahoe to go fishing with his father. As for Rachel’s spouse, he’d volunteered to cover a hospital shift for the pediatric-emergency specialist.
Now that she’d told Derek about her condition, Marta felt free to enlighten Connie and Rachel. She longed for their comfort and uncritical companionship.
With an hour to spare, she logged on to the Internet and checked sites concerning Parkinson’s disease. She’d better learn more before she ran into Derek again.
Phrases leaped out. “Cause unknown…possible genetic component…toxins in the environment…progressive impairment of neurons…a lack of the chemical messenger dopamine…” Technical, and scary.
The symptoms included tremors, slow movements, stiffness and balance problems. “Patients struggle to understand and control the disease,” one author wrote. “Adapting is difficult.”
What accusation had she flung at Derek? Don’t spare a single second from your absorption in your own problems. She shuddered.
Marta switched off the computer, freshened her makeup and drove to the development where Connie lived. Her ranch-style home lay next door to Hale’s former dwelling. They still enjoyed his pool in good weather, and he and his pals played video games and drank beer in the den as in the old days, but Connie had mentioned that they planned to rent it soon.
When Marta rang the bell, childish giggles accompanied the thumping of little feet. Seven-year-old Skip admitted her, with five-year-old Lauren right behind.
“Hi, Marta!” the little boy greeted her. “We’re having pizza!”
How could she have forgotten they’d be sharing the meal with two children? Cute as they were, the squirming and kicking under the kitchen table quickly wore thin in Marta’s present frame of mind.
Connie kept too busy attending to the kids to register her cousin’s unusual reserve. A relaxed Rachel grinned at odd moments as if relishing a private joke.
“What’s up?” Marta asked after the kids finally dashed off to play with Legos in Skip’s room.
“Two pieces of good news,” the policewoman announced. “First, I made detective.”
“Bravo!” Connie cheered.
“I didn’t know you took the test!” Marta cried. “That’s wonderful.”
“Wasn’t sure I wanted to leave patrol,” Rachel conceded. “But Russ and I decided to add to our family. The second piece of news is, I’m pregnant!”
“Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!” Connie ran around and hugged her.
Marta stammered out congratulations. Rachel required no encouragement to fill in the details, including a due date a month before Marta’s.
Their babies would be almost the same age. They could grow up together. Or, she reflected with a pang, if she relinquished hers, she’d forever mark its stages of development by watching Rachel’s child.
“Russ is beside himself,” Rachel enthused. “He’s crazy about kids.”
“Hale suggested we provide Skip with a younger sibling one of these days,” Connie noted. “Not too soon, though. I’m too busy with the Con Amore line. It’s selling like crazy.”
Marta listened with genuine gladness for her friends. Much as she wished them well, however, she missed the old sense of riding—or sinking—in the same boat. Once, the three of them had shared everything. But since Rachel’s and Connie’s marriages, they’d entered a new stage of their lives.
She refused to dampen Rachel’s high spirits by citing her own dilemma. Instead, Marta smiled and reserved her problems for another day.
As her friends celebrated plans for the baby, how she yearned to join Rachel in shopping for a stroller and a crib, in deciding on color schemes and discussing names. To keep this infant and treasure the marvelous changes as it grew.
Despite the sacrifice and the risk of further alienating Derek, Marta clung to a tiny spark of hope. And felt it growing like the baby nestled inside.