Page 9 of Ignite My Heart

She’d instead pushed the whole subject aside and chalked it up as something that she just could not have in her life. Telling herself that whether or not a woman had a child did not determine her worth. There were many women who chose not to have children, like Lydia Hanlon, who’d been her mentor when she was studying at Harvard. She was one of the most wonderful people in the world.

Besides, it was wrong to wallow in self-pity when there were so many people in this world who would never get things they wanted in life.

Yet, here she was, walking faster and faster, fighting the tears that began streaming down her face again while all her failures streamed through her mind.

After losing her full-time position at the University of Chicago, then losing her marriage and her dream of having children of her own, she had come back to New York a wounded animal. But she had pushed forward, using the meager settlement from her divorce to rent an apartment in Manhattan, then landing part-time teaching work.

Determined to reframe how she imagined her future, Blake had focused on her teaching and on her research for a series of articles she would pitch to a major publication, and even toyed with the idea of doing some kind of training for a different career so she could get a more secure job. She’d also begun avoiding any men who came on to her. The one time she did agree to try a date with the brother of a fellow teacher she’d met, it had been so awkward, only proving her point, that she decided to stop dating altogether. Who needed a man, anyway?

Okay, so she was indulging in a big dose of self-pity today as she chugged along the beach. The youngest in her family, she’d always hated being the one who was having trouble or couldn’t keep up. Hated the “poor baby” moments when people felt sorry for her. That was why she had not told them how much she was hurting.

But she was. She started running. Her speed increasing as she raced down the beach, heaving sobs now. Running and running and running. She kept on crying out her sadness until it turned to frustration and anger. And that turned into hating colleges that dumped their teachers like yesterday’s trash, hating cruel men like her ex-husband, and even hating Morgan Raines for being a sexy hunk that looked at her like she was nuts when she did not jump at the chance to be a substitute mother for his child.

That was part of what irked her with Harper’s suggestion. Finding her a dog would have been a sweet gesture she could accept from her big brother. But assuming he knew best where she should live and what kind of job would be good for her was just so insulting. But then, he had no clue how much it would hurt her to be caring for a child when she could never have one of her own.

When her legs finally gave out, Blake dropped to her knees in the sand. Breathing hard and sweating, she sat there, her feet under her butt, her fingers sifting through the cool sand. She stared out at the seemingly endless water of the Sound until her tears subsided. She decided her pity party was over and she would pick herself up and move on.

Blake walked back to her car and headed down the road toward the tucked-away creepy cottage in the woods that was now her home.

* * *

The autumn sunhad set by the time Blake returned to the cottage after stopping at the drug store, and the grocery store, then the hardware store where she picked up a good strong flashlight. Her excursion on the beach had chewed up the clock, but that was okay. She was past everything now and was absolutely not going to act like a wuss tonight.

But as she unlocked the front door, the little girl who’d been teased by her two older sisters for being afraid of the dark came roaring back again.

Dammit. What good was all her running and thinking and processing if she let her stupid child fears take over anyway?

Once inside, she switched on the overhead light, tossed her bag on the kitchen table, and shuffled toward her bedroom. Then she froze. Did she hear water running? Was someone in the bathroom?

Grabbing a decorative wooden cane that was leaning in a corner of the living room, she tiptoed to the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom.

“Oh no.” When she flipped on another light, she saw that the toilet had overflowed and was still going from the looks of it. Why? She had not thrown anything in there that could clog it.

Next she noticed the water had drifted into the bedroom and was seeping into some of her shoes and books that were on the floor and a cardboard box she had not gotten around to unpacking.

She went to the living room and called Elena, telling her what was going on.

Her friend—or maybe she was not really a friend since they’d only met about a month ago at the art and technology institute where they were both working—said, “Oh, that. It happens sometimes.”

It happens sometimes?“It has ruined my shoes and some books.”

“Sorry. Listen, just call a plumber,” Elena said.

“It’s almost eight o’clock at night,” Blake said. “They will charge an emergency rate.”

“I know. These things always spring up at the worst time.” Elena tossed that out as if it was no big deal.

Blake was ready to scream but kept her voice steady when she asked, “Do you have your plumber’s number somewhere? I assume you have an account with one?”

“No, just look one up and you’ll get somebody to come out.”

“If they don’t know me they will want to be paid right away.”

“So use a credit card.”

Her voice rose an octave. “Are you saying you expect me to pay for this?”

“Well, you are staying there for free, Blake.”

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