Within Reach

Angry tears burned at the back of her eyes. She didn’t understand why anyone would be so destructive. She was a stranger to the intruders, yet they had made a concerted effort to maliciously destroy her creative space.

Her phone rang. She pulled it from her bag. Michael’s number showed on the screen.

“Everything okay?” he asked the moment she took the call.

“Yes and no. They didn’t get into my safe, which would have pretty much been the end of my business. But they’ve absolutely trashed everything else they could get their hands on. Including my tools.”

“Shit. I’m really sorry, Angie.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Stupid assholes.”

“I take it you’re insured?”

“Yeah, but I think it’s mostly going to be cleaning up, not replacing stuff. Apart from what’s in the safe, most of the things I had here have value only for me, you know. They’re hardly worth claiming on insurance.”

“Anything I can do?”

Despite the situation, his offer warmed her. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so alone or overwhelmed.

“Thanks, but there’s nothing anyone can do at this stage. The police won’t let me touch anything until their fingerprint people have—” Her roaming gaze fell on a spray of dirt on the floor near the window.

The burn of tears intensified as she saw that her Japanese maple bonsai tree had been thrown to the floor and stomped on. The pottery base was shattered, and half the tree’s roots were exposed and broken.

“Angie? Are you okay?”

She sank to her knees and reached for the fragile tangle of leaves and tiny branches.

“They smashed my bonsai.”

There was a small silence. She knew Michael understood the significance of the loss. Billie had given her the tiny tree as a gift to brighten her workspace, even though Angie had what could only be described as a black thumb. At the time, Angie had given Billie her word that she’d keep it alive, and so far the bonsai had survived almost three years of benign neglect.

She lifted the tree gently. It was crushed, the main trunk almost completely severed. Utterly beyond saving.

“If you want, I can be there in half an hour. I’m sure Mrs. Linton could look after the kids for a few hours.”

She sniffed back her tears. “I’m okay. Just angry. It’s so destructive. And completely pointless.”

“You sure you don’t want some company?”

“I’ll be all right. But thanks for the offer.”

It wasn’t until they ended the call that it struck her that ten months ago, Billie would have been the one on the phone, insisting on helping. It was hard facing a crisis without her best support and cheerleader, but it was also nice to know that Michael cared enough to have made the call.

Of course he cares. He’s your friend. Just as you’re his friend.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and the policeman stopped in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but our team is here now. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Okay.”

She took one last look around her devastated studio. As she’d said to Michael, there was nothing she could do here till tomorrow.

Shoulders straight, she headed for home.

* * *

MICHAEL WORRIED ABOUT Angie all night until he went to bed and then started again first thing when he woke the next morning. She’d done so much for him and the kids and he hated the thought of her having to deal with the invasion of her creative space all on her own.

After he’d dropped Eva at school, he drove into the city. Charlie was asleep in his car seat by the time Michael found a parking spot. He unstrapped him and carried him the block to Angie’s building. Charlie began to wriggle in his arms as he approached the entrance and he set his son on his feet and took his hand.

“You happy now?”

Charlie nodded.

“Shall we go visit Angie, then?”

“Angie?” Charlie’s face was a study in delight.

The directory in the foyer told him A. Bartlett was in studio twenty-three on the fifth floor. He eyed the ancient cage elevator suspiciously before deciding to take the stairs. After the first flight, Charlie allowed himself to be carried again, a capitulation which shortened their upward trek by several minutes.

Glass crunched underfoot, and when they arrived at the fifth floor more piles of broken glass were stationed periodically along the corridor, clearly waiting to be collected and disposed of. Michael winced when he saw the damage to some of the studios he passed.

“Down. Down!” Charlie commanded as they neared Angie’s.

Michael set him on his feet but kept a tight grip on his son’s hand as he searched for number twenty-three. Belatedly it occurred to him that he probably should have called first—for all he knew, Angie might be out arranging repairs or talking to clients. Then he saw that the door to what he assumed was her studio was open and lifted a hand to knock on the doorframe to announce himself. His hand froze inches from the wood as he registered that Angie was inside and that she wasn’t alone.

Not by a long shot.

Instead, she was in what looked like a fervent embrace with a tall, muscular man with long dark hair. The other man’s hands were splayed possessively over the small of her back, his face nuzzled into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her arms banded around him, the muscles in her arms flexing as she held him close. Michael couldn’t see her face, but it was blindingly obvious that he was about to step into what was clearly a very private moment.

He would come back later. Maybe take Charlie for a walk around the block, then pop in again. Give Angie time to do…whatever with her friend. Or whoever the guy was.

He took a step backward, already pivoting on his heel.

Charlie resisted, straining against his grip. “Angie.” He pointed at the object of his affection.

Angie’s head came up, eyes wide.

“Charlie.” She stepped out of the other man’s arms as her gaze shifted to Michael. “Michael. What are you guys doing here?”

She looked and sounded so surprised he suddenly felt a little self-conscious. “We, um, wanted to make sure you’re okay. But we can come back later.” He tugged on Charlie’s arm again. “Come on, matey. You want to go get some chocolate?”

“Don’t be silly. You weren’t interrupting anything,” Angie said.

Long-haired guy frowned, not liking the sound of that.

“I can’t believe you came all the way into the city just to see me. How lucky am I?” Angie bent to scoop Charlie into her arms.

His son happily sat on her hip, despite the fact that he’d squirmed his way out of Michael’s arms barely minutes before.

“Angie,” Charlie said, reaching out to touch the sparkling earring dangling from her lobe.

“I thought we could help you clean up, sort things out,” Michael said.

Angie’s expression was soft with gratitude. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

Long-haired guy shifted his weight ostentatiously, drawing attention to himself.

Angie looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m being rude. Carlos, this is Michael and Charlie. Carlos has a studio on the fourth floor.”

“Good to meet you. I hope things didn’t go too badly for you last night.” Michael offered his hand.

“I was lucky for once, since they skipped me. But poor Angie was not so lucky.”

“No,” Michael said, very aware of the other man sizing him up.

Carlos stepped closer to Angie and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need to get back to my work, but we’re still on for lunch, yes?”

There was a faint lilt to his voice, indicating that English was not his first language.

“Can I call you? I really want to get as much of this sorted today as I can. I can’t afford to lose more time.” Her forehead was puckered with worry.

“You have to eat, beautiful,” Carlos said. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, maintaining the contact longer than was strictly necessary. Almost as though he was trying to make a point—although to whom, Michael had no idea. “Call me, okay?”

Carlos gave Michael a reserved nod before leaving. Angie jiggled Charlie on her hip, making him giggle.

“This is a nice surprise, isn’t it? A lovely surprise,” she said. Her cheeks were a little flushed, as though she was embarrassed about something.

Michael surveyed the room, taking in the graffiti and the pile of glass and other debris that had been swept into the corner. Pieces of a broken table and chairs lay beside it, and twin piles of books were stacked near the door. A mid-century sideboard in teak veneer lay facedown on the ground.

“They did a real number on the place, huh?”

“Pretty much. If it moved, they smashed it, and if it didn’t, they painted it.” Angie shook her head with disgust.

Michael crossed to the sideboard and crouched, getting a good grip on it before easing into an upright position. Once it was righted he saw it was still half-filled with books, which explained both why it was so heavy and why Angie hadn’t tackled it on her own. There was more broken glass underneath, as well as the smashed remains of what looked like a porcelain menagerie—a lion, a tiger, an elephant and a monkey.

“More casualties.” Angie’s face was taut with unhappiness.

“No be sad,” Charlie said, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You no be sad.”

She immediately smiled, rubbing her nose against his. “It’s okay, Charlie-boy. I’m okay.”

Michael pushed the sideboard against the wall and crouched to tidy the books on the shelves.

“Don’t worry about those. I can do that later,” she said.

“We came to help.” He was aware of feeling off balance as he tidied the books. It took him a moment to understand that he was thrown by the discovery that Angie had a boyfriend.

She hadn’t mentioned anyone to him, not even in passing. The omission left him feeling oddly unsettled. As though something small but significant in his understanding of the world had shifted.

In the months since Billie had died Angie had laughed with him, cried with him, cooked for him, changed his son’s diapers and read bedtime stories to his daughter. Yet she hadn’t even so much as hinted that she was seeing someone.

Newsflash, buddy—you don’t own her. She doesn’t owe you anything.

He knew the voice in his head was right. He had no right to feel…possessive was the wrong word, but it was close…of Angie. She didn’t belong to him and the kids. She was her own person, with her own life and her own dreams and wants and desires. All of which she was entitled to keep to herself if she so chose.

“What does Carlos do?” So much for minding his own business.

“He’s a musician, plus he does a bit of sound-engineering work on the side.”

“Right.”

Shut up. Not another word.

“So how long have you two been…?” He kept his gaze on his task, very carefully not looking at her. He had no idea why he was asking, why he felt the burning need to know what was going on in her life.

Angie laughed, the sound reassuringly startled. “Me and Carlos? I don’t think so.”

He allowed himself to look at her. “Yeah? The way he was marking his territory just now, I figured you guys must have something going on.”

“I have no idea what that was about. We’ve had drinks after work a few times. But he’s not my type. Too brooding and artistic. I like a little less drama in my life.”

She might not have any idea what the other man’s ostentatious display had been about, but Michael did. For some reason, he’d seen Michael as a rival for Angie’s affections. Which went to show how good the other man’s instincts were.

Angie took up the broom and resumed sweeping the floor, Charlie clinging to her leg. It occurred to him that bringing a two-year-old to the site of a break-in hadn’t been his smartest move. But he hadn’t exactly been thinking rationally when he’d turned the car toward the city. He’d only wanted to make sure Angie was okay.

“Here, I’ll do that,” he said, holding a hand out for the broom.

“I’m almost done,” Angie said, smiling at Charlie, who was looking at her with bright eyes.

“Is there a bin where we can dump all this stuff?”

“I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.” She tucked a strand of long dark hair behind her ear. “There’s supposed to be a wheelie bin on each level, but half the time it disappears.”

“I’ll go see if I can find something.” He started for the door.

“Michael?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I meant what I said before. I really appreciate you coming in like this.”

“Not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” Her smile was a little wobbly.

He could suddenly see all her hurt and anger and frustration, all the emotions she’d stuffed deep inside in order to do what needed to be done to get her studio back in order.

“We’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. She tensed for a second and he thought she would push him away. Then her arms circled his waist and her body softened and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. For a long moment they were silent. He was aware of her knees touching his and the warmth of her body and the faint fruity scent of her shampoo. He rested his cheek against her hair, wishing there was some way he could make things right for her.

After a minute she lifted her head and he let her go.

“Thanks,” she said with a small, self-conscious smile as she stepped backward.

“I want cuddle, too,” Charlie demanded, both arms raised.

Angie laughed. “Of course you do.”

She stooped to pick him up and Charlie wrapped his arms around her neck and pressed a big, wet kiss to her cheek.

Michael smiled. “I’ll go find that bin.”

It wasn’t until he was turning the corner in the corridor that it occurred to him that hug had been his first adult human contact in months.

CHAPTER FOUR

“HEY, CHARLIE, COME away from there. You don’t want to touch all that nasty stuff,” Angie said, herding him away from the pile of debris in the corner.

Charlie complied readily, trotting off to inspect the safe instead. Angie watched him distractedly. She was still getting over the surprise of Michael’s spontaneous embrace.

They had hugged before, but not often, and usually only briefly, in greeting or thanks. And, of course, after Billie’s death there had been condolence and sympathy hugs.

Today’s hug had felt different, and she couldn’t understand why.

Charlie spun the dial, fascinated. Angie thought about the moment when Michael’s arms had come around her and she’d found herself pressed against the firm, warm wall of his chest. She’d been surprised at first. But then something inside her had relaxed as she’d understood that she was in a safe place and she’d allowed herself to take comfort from him.

Then he’d shifted slightly or she had and their knees had bumped and she’d become very aware of how well-matched their bodies were—knee to knee, hip to hip, breast to chest.

The realization had been enough to make her step away then, and it made her feel uneasy now, even though he’d been gone for more than ten minutes.

Because that moment had been about sexual awareness. The woman in her noticing the man in him.

But Michael wasn’t a man. At least, he wasn’t an ordinary man. He was Billie’s husband. He might as well be Angie’s brother.

And yet there’d been that funny little moment when he’d opened the door wearing his running gear yesterday and she’d seen him with fresh eyes and registered that he was a very attractive man….

There was a loud rumbling in the corridor and Michael appeared in the doorway, a large wheelie bin in tow. She forced herself to meet his eyes, almost as though she was testing herself, and was relieved to feel nothing. He was simply Michael.

Exactly, drama queen.

“Looks like you hit pay dirt,” she said.

“Yeah.” There was a flatness to the single word.

“What’s wrong?”

“I went to the bathroom.”

She grimaced. “Yeah. I should have warned you about that. The plumbing’s not great. Might want to wash your shoes when you get home if there was any ‘water’ on the floor.”

“I checked out the ladies’, too.”

He was so stern, so disapproving, that Angie had to suppress a smile.

“Not up to the Michael Robinson standard?” It was a rhetorical question, because she knew they weren’t. Many was the time she’d simply crossed her legs and waited until she went out for lunch to avoid having to set foot in the space.

“This building is a complete shit hole, Angie.” He glanced at Charlie to see if he’d registered the four-letter word, but his son was inspecting the wheels on the bin. “Half the lights are out, the roof leaks and I bet most of the windows are rusted shut. The bathrooms are possibly the worst I’ve ever seen. I’m including the developing world in that assessment, too, by the way.”

“It’s true, the old girl ain’t what she used to be, but that’s why the rent’s so reasonable. Beggars, by which I mean artists, can’t afford to be choosers.” She shrugged philosophically.

“Even if that means being exposed to deteriorating asbestos, lead paint and electrical wiring that can’t possibly be up to code?”

“Asbestos? What asbestos?” she asked, alarmed.

Michael pointed at the ceiling. “What do you think that is?”

She tilted her head to look at the textured stucco ceiling. “Plaster?”

He shook his head slowly. Grimly.

“I don’t like the idea of you working in this building, Angie.”

She sighed heavily. “Well, that makes two of us, but I’m afraid there aren’t a lot of options in the city. I looked around a couple of years ago, but it was a dead loss.”

“Then move farther out.”

“Right, and make my clients travel to find me.”

“They’ll make the trip. You’re worth it.”

She shook her head. “I need to be central. All my suppliers are in here—my valuer, my metallurgist, my gemsetter, the jewelers’ toolmakers…”

Michael’s frown deepened. She didn’t know whether to be amused or touched by his obvious concern.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve survived eight years in this place.”

He glanced pointedly at the debris in the corner and the four-letter word sprayed on her wall. “Just.”

She knew what he was saying made sense, but she had formed an attachment to the Stradbroke over the years, decrepit bathrooms and all.

“If it makes you happy, I’ll take a look around, see what’s out there.”

“Good.”

Charlie punctuated Michael’s words with a thump on the side of the bin.

“I think he’s seconding the motion,” Angie said.

“Good.” Michael moved to her workbench to inspect her tools. “I’ve never seen where you work before.”

“Really?” Billie had been a constant visitor, but there had never been a reason for Michael to come here. “No, I guess you haven’t.”

He walked over to where her crucibles and welding gear were located. “Is this where you make your alloys?”

“Yep.”

He turned and laid a hand on the scarred wood of her stump, a four-foot-high section of tree trunk that had served her well over the years. “And this is where you shape your rings?”

“Sometimes. But I’ve got a couple of different types of ring benders, too. It depends on what I’m working on.” She moved closer, picking up one of the many hammers that sat in the leather loops circling the stump.

“No wonder you have Obama arms,” he said.

“Don’t forget the calluses.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. She displayed her work-toughened palms to him.

“I’ve never noticed,” he said.

“I should hope not. A lady likes to have a few secrets.”

He smiled, glanced at his watch, then at Charlie. She checked her own watch and saw it was past twelve.

“Someone’s going to want lunch soon,” she said.

“Tell me about it. Probably needs his diaper changed, too, and I didn’t bring any with me.” He crossed the room and hoisted Charlie into his arms. “Time for us to go, Charlie-boy.”

Charlie immediately began fussing. Michael gave her an exasperated look over his son’s head.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, I’d cry, too, if I had to leave this palace.”

She walked them down the stairs and out the side entrance, kissing Charlie goodbye in the cobblestone laneway.

“Thanks for all your help, little man.”

He stared at her, bottom lip trembling, eyes awash with tears.

“I think that’s the saddest face in the whole wide world,” she said, unable to resist stroking his cheek with her finger.

“And yet nothing is actually wrong,” Michael said drily.

They exchanged smiles.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She watched as they walked away, Michael’s long stride easy despite the fact that Charlie was no lightweight. She was still smiling when she returned to her studio. Having them visit had somehow taken away the worst of her angst over the break-in. What had happened was shitty, but not insurmountable.

As for that awkward flash of sexual awareness… It had been nothing. A blip. An aberration. Thinking about it now, she felt a little stupid for having been so rattled. With the benefit of hindsight, the moment settled into its rightful place in the big scheme of things: unimportant and insignificant.

The way it should be.

* * *

THREE WEEKS LATER, MICHAEL rubbed the back of his neck as he waited at the lights. Life had been crazy lately, filled with interviews with prospective nannies—none of whom had been very impressive—as well as preparations for his first week at work. Today marked his third full day back in the saddle and he was feeling more than a little weary after two complicated client briefings and a series of phone calls that had prevented him from accomplishing anything substantial all afternoon. Just as well he’d arranged with his partners to work from home on Thursdays and Fridays—he was nowhere near match fit after so many months downtime. The lack of distraction in his home office would give him a chance to make up lost ground. Hopefully.

Despite his weariness and even though a part of him felt guilty for cutting short the year he’d intended to spend with the kids, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that returning to work was the best decision he’d made in a long time. It might have only been three days, but it was enough for him to know that Angie had been right—picking up the threads of his career had given him something to hold on to. It forced him to interact with the outside world, and it gave him things to occupy himself with that had nothing to do with Billie.

It gave him a chance to be a person again, and not simply a father and a grieving husband.

He hadn’t understood how much he’d needed that until today when he’d finished a phone call with a supplier and noticed that he’d gone a whole four hours without thinking of Billie once. Guilt had come hard on the heels of the realization, of course—but there had been relief, too.

It was exhausting living with the constant weight of grief on his shoulders.

The lights changed and he accelerated through the intersection, very aware of the need to relieve Mrs. Linton. He’d been fortunate enough to get Charlie into day care three days a week, but Mrs. Linton had saved his bacon, agreeing to pick up Eva from school and look after her until he could make a more permanent arrangement. Still, he didn’t want to abuse her generosity.

He swung by day care to collect Charlie, then headed home. A familiar green SUV was parked in front of his house when he pulled into the driveway. He smiled as he hit the button for the garage door. Angie had been busy putting her studio back together and they hadn’t seen much of her lately. It would be good to catch up with her. Good to assure himself that she was recovering okay from the break-in.