Then there had been the other way he’d eased his restlessness. Elise.
“Clay, turn that thing down!” Sloane stood and lowered the volume himself before Clay could even move a muscle. Sloane hit his fist lightly on the top of the television. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I think I just need some fresh air.”
“Did you want to go for a walk?”
Sloane nodded his head, and Clay stood, his eyes flickering back to the screen.
“You’re in the middle of your show. I’ll go by myself,” Sloane told him. Clay, without a change of expression, sat down again.
Outside, the air still held the day’s heat. Despite the recent drought, the humidity was high, and Sloane could feel it shimmer around him. He had grown used to the crisp, bracing air of New England, and this steam bath felt strange and unpleasant. As he walked, Sloane paid little attention to the direction his footsteps were taking him. He crisscrossed Faith, Hope and Charity, grimacing at the ridiculous street names.
Years before, Miracle Springs, to get its share of Florida’s billion dollar tourism business, had decided to go all out on a publicity campaign. Sloane remembered that he had been about eight years old when the city fathers had decided to change the street names to attract more attention. In addition to the three main streets downtown there was a Love Lane, and two others roads were called Grace and Mercy. Luckily, the town council had run out of inspiration at that point— or else they had run into opposition from citizens who wanted no part of the sham. The rest of the county had been spared from suffering the embarrassment of the people who lived in the center of town.
Back on Hope Avenue, Sloane began to head away from the springs. His steps slowed, and he paid careful attention to his surroundings. There was a house missing here, a new house there, but essentially Hope Avenue hadn’t changed much. Mayor Biggs’s house had just been painted, a real estate office had been opened in the home of a childhood friend. And then there was Elise’s place.
Sloane stopped pretending that he had been going anywhere else. He was standing exactly where he had meant to stand, standing where he had stood countless times before. For a minute he could almost pretend he was seventeen or eighteen, waiting on the sidewalk for Elise to come down the steps and join him. Now there were no parents to disapprove of his visit. Only Elise, who would probably disapprove just as much as her parents ever had. Sloane looked up at the two-story frame house and considered his next move. He could go home again, or he could walk up to the front door and hope she was home alone.
And then what would he say? Hello, I just dropped by for a chat? Hello, I thought we could catch up on seventeen years? Sloane felt a surge of disgust at his own ambivalence. He couldn’t remember a moment since leaving Miracle Springs when he’d felt so disoriented. He felt like a teenager; he was acting like a teenager. Sloane Tyson, a man who had no tolerance for weakness in himself or others, stood on the sidewalk and wondered exactly what had brought him to such a state.
There had been no parting kiss when Bob dropped her at her front door. He seemed to have taken Sloane’s presence at the inn as a personal insult, an insult for which he blamed Elise. Considering Bob’s mood for most of the evening, Elise hadn’t been surprised when he’d taken her key, unlocked her door and said a chilly good-night. Then he had got in his car and driven away.
Now, Elise undressed leisurely in her bedroom with the lights off and the windows and shades wide open to capture whatever breeze was stirring. It was too late to catch the beginning of anything on television, too early to go to bed. She knew if she tried to read, the words would blur in front of her.
She pulled on a long summer nightgown of cool white cotton and sat on the bed, taking the pins out of her hair. It fell almost to her waist, and she brushed it absentmindedly as she thought about the evening.
She had finally faced Sloane. It hadn’t been as hard as she had imagined; she had handled herself with aplomb. She was not a confused adolescent. She was Elise Ramsey, popular teacher. She could think of no other description that was flattering. Spinster. Old maid. Unclaimed treasure.
What was wrong with her? From what corner of her mind had the self-doubt emerged? She had nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever her life lacked in excitement, she could at least be proud of the respect with which she was held in Miracle Springs.
Somehow, tonight, respect seemed a poor substitute for something else.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a series of knocks on her front door. Elise stood, dropping her brush on the bed, and then reached for the robe that matched her gown. The cotton was sheer, but not sheer enough to be revealing, and she gathered it around her as she hurried down the steps.
Sloane was just turning to leave as she opened the door. For a moment they stared at each other, both surprised. Elise, who’d felt perfectly modest in the gown and robe, now felt unclothed. Sloane, who’d convinced himself he knew what he was doing, felt tongue-tied.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Elise said finally, pulling the robe a little tighter.
“I didn’t expect to be here,” he murmured, taking in the picture she made with her black hair falling over the delicate white fabric. His body’s reaction was unmistakable and he felt a surge of anger at its betrayal. He forced himself to speak calmly. “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”
“That’s one excuse that always holds water around here. Everything’s in the neighborhood.” She frantically searched her memory for the appropriate etiquette. There was none. Sloane seemed to be waiting for something, and finally, she shrugged. “Would you like to come in?”
“Yes.”
Elise stepped back and opened the door wider. Sloane brushed past her, and Elise felt crowded by his presence in the hallway. Sloane had always been big, and although her height was almost average, he’d always made her feel tiny and fragile. She wondered if he enjoyed having that effect on women.
“Are you here to pass the time, Sloane? Or did you have a reason for coming?”
“I had a reason.” Sloane turned and without asking for an invitation, made his way into the living room. Elise had no choice except to follow. “Are you alone?”
“I always dress this way for company,” she chided him gently.
“Bob what’s-his-name left early,” he said with satisfaction.
Elise felt small flickers of anger beginning to kindle. “No concern of yours, is it?”
“Only that I don’t want to make small talk with him.”
“You never were much good at small talk.”
“I never wanted to be.”
Elise realized that Sloane was still standing. “Sit down,” she said as graciously as she could manage. “Would you like iced tea? I’d offer you coffee, but it’s too hot even to think about it.”
“Nothing, thank you.” Sloane sat on the sofa, and Elise chose an overstuffed chair across the room, arranging her gown and robe around her as she sat. She was suddenly conscious that her feet were bare. That small intimacy seemed like one too many.
“Did you have a nice dinner?” she asked, simply because it was the only thing she could think of to say.
“Does the Miracle Springs Inn serve nice dinners?”
“You have to know what to order.”
“Obviously I didn’t.”
Elise fidgeted in her seat. “How does Clay like living here so far?” she asked after a few moments of silence.
“We haven’t been here long enough for him to form an opinion.”
This time the silence stretched for a full minute; Elise realized she found it unbearable. Sloane was staring at her and even in her agitation, she couldn’t miss the cool, male appraisal. Finally she stood. “This is awful,” she said with heartfelt honesty. “Even if you don’t want tea, it’ll give me something to do while we talk or don’t talk.” Without another word she marched into the kitchen, and Sloane, with a slight smile, followed her.
“I didn’t come to make you uncomfortable,
” he said, standing in the doorway as she moved gracefully around the old-fashioned kitchen.
“Didn’t you?”
“Actually, I lied a little while ago. I don’t know why I came.”
“Sloane Tyson? Unsure of himself?” Elise heard the challenge in her voice, and it surprised her. All day she’d dwelt on the fact that Sloane had not forgiven her for her actions of seventeen years before. Now she realized that she had never forgiven him.
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I guess I’d like to put the past to rest. We’ll be seeing each other; this town is too small to hide in.”
Elise nodded. “All right. How do you propose we do that?”
“We could catch up on each other’s lives.”
What a deadly game that would be. Sloane would tell her of his fame, his success, his loves. And she would tell him of endless years of caring for a petulant mother and teaching English. Then Sloane would be vindicated, knowing that he’d been right when he’d told her that Miracle Springs would strangle her, cut off her life’s blood and her spirit’s sustenance.
And yet she wanted to know about him. She wanted to know what he’d done and who he’d become. She wanted to know exactly whom she would be dealing with for the next year.
“All right,” she conceded. “You go first.” She held out the glass of tea and Sloane took it politely. Elise leaned against the sink and Sloane leaned against the stove. They measured each other across the narrow space.
Sloane began. “Seventeen years is a long time to cover.”
“I know some of it. I heard you got married and divorced. I know about your success as an author.” She weighed her next words and decided to go ahead. “I’ve read all your books. You’re very good.”
“I’m surprised you’ve read them.”
“Why? Didn’t you think people in Miracle Springs might be interested in philosophy or sociology? I particularly liked the one you did comparing the problems of Vietnam veterans and those who resisted the draft. I find your viewpoints stimulating. But then, I always did.”
Sloane held out his glass in a mock salute. “Touché.”
“No one likes to be patronized, Sloane.”
“Was that what I was doing?”
“I think so, yes.”
Sloane sipped his tea. “What else do you know?”
Elise shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“When I left here I traveled out west.”
“I know that’s what you’d intended.” She knew because she’d intended to go with him. Even now she felt a pang at the lost opportunity. Especially with the real Sloane Tyson standing mere inches away, overwhelming her tiny kitchen.
“I hitchhiked for a while and then I ended up with a group of people in the Destiny Community. Have you ever heard about them?”
Elise drew designs on her foggy glass as she tried to remember. “Clay said something about a Destiny Ranch today when I was talking to him at the springs. It rang a bell but I can’t remember why.”
“Same group. But seventeen years ago they were a traveling commune. They sold food and provided medical care at rock festivals.”
“Sort of a hippie Red Cross. Now I remember. And you got involved with them?”
“It was a way to see the country. When we weren’t traveling we stayed at one of their five farms. I met lots of different people. All kinds. For a kid hungry for new experiences, it was wonderful.”
“And then?” Elise looked up.
“I got tired of the scene.” Sloane smiled at his own lapse into sixties vernacular. “Drugs were plentiful and I got tired of seeing people freaking out. There were always good, stable people with real ideals trying to keep Destiny on an even keel, but there were crazies, too. One day I realized I was having trouble telling the difference.”
Elise tried to imagine a life like the one he was describing. “It sounds… colorful.”
“It was that.”
“Your books are so knowledgeable about the counterculture. Now I understand where you got a lot of your ideas. It wasn’t all impersonal research.”
“No.” Sloane finished his tea and set it on the stove. “When I turned twenty I decided to go back to school. Goddard College in Vermont had a program that was liberal enough to interest me. I was liberal enough to interest them, and they gave me a good-size scholarship. Then I went on to Boston University and finally Harvard where I was given a job as a professor of sociology.”
“You’re still there, aren’t you?”
“I’m on sabbatical for a year. Actually I don’t teach many classes. They give me lots of time to write and do the lecture circuits.”
“And you like Boston?” Elise wondered just how long she could make her final swallow of tea last. The glass was a useful device for keeping her hands busy.
“I live in Cambridge near the campus. Yes, I like it.”
“Where does Clay fit into all this?” Elise realized her glass was finally empty and set it down, folding her arms.
“Now that the conversation is rolling, do you think we could go back to the living room?”
Elise nodded and followed Sloane back through the house. They resumed their original seats, and suddenly they were both wary again.
“Clay,” Sloane began, “is my son by a woman in the Destiny community. We had a short… relationship, and when I moved on she didn’t see any point in letting me know she was pregnant with my child.” His voice had turned bitter.
“How could she do that to you?” Elise imagined that the anger she felt was nothing compared to what Sloane must have experienced when he discovered he had a son.
“She didn’t do it to me. You’d have to understand Destiny to understand how it happened. Pregnancy and childbearing were thought of as natural functions— impersonal natural functions. Everyone liked the idea of children, although how many people actually liked kids, I can’t say. Most of the women there got pregnant at one time or another. The children were raised by the community. Family ties weren’t forbidden, but they weren’t encouraged. As it happened, Willow, Clay’s mother, was a die-hard supporter of the Destiny concept. Since everyone was supposed to help raise the kids, no one thought to make a point of whose child Clay was. He never knew; I never knew. Only Willow knew.”
Elise sensed the emotion behind the clipped words. “And how did you find him?”
“Destiny’s time came and went. Their numbers dwindled. They sold one farm, then another. Eventually what was left of the community settled on their New Mexico ranch where, as near as I can tell, Clay has been since he was a toddler. Finally, even that property had to be sold several months ago. There was only a handful of people left at the end. Seven of them were kids under the age of sixteen.”
“And Willow contacted you?”
“Willow had been gone for years.” Sloane put his hands behind his neck as if to ease the tension there. “The authorities were called in, and the kids whose parents weren’t on the ranch were put in foster homes. Eventually they traced Willow to California. She’s married with a new baby. Her husband’s an accountant. He didn’t want Clay; Willow didn’t want Clay. She told the authorities to find me.”
Elise couldn’t think of one thing to say. Obviously, however, her eyes betrayed her feelings.
“Yes,” Sloane said softly, “it was the surprise of a lifetime.”
“I’m sorry. You’ve been cheated so badly.” Elise cast about for words to better console him, but found none.
“Clay’s the one who’s been cheated. A mother he never really knew, a father who doesn’t have the faintest idea how to be a parent.”
“Then you’re finding it difficult?”
“We’re getting by.”
“Clay seems like a nice boy. I think he’ll be a son to be proud of.”
“Your turn, Elise.”
Elise was jolted by the back-to-business sound of Sloane’s voice. She realized that her sympathy had made him cautious. Evidently the atmosphere had warmed up too mu
ch. She tried to sound matter-of-fact. Actually there was so little to say about her life that there was no other way to sound.
“After you left I commuted to the University of Florida and got a degree in English education. I’ve taught at the high school ever since.” She searched for details to make her existence sound less dull. “I like teaching, and that part of my life has been more than satisfying.” Damn, why had she said that? She might as well have announced that the rest of her life had been anything but.
“You never married.” Sloane’s face was carefully blank, but Elise could read his thoughts anyway. There was no point in trying to pretend.
“No. I lived here with my mother until she died last month.”
“This house hasn’t changed a bit. It’s exactly the way I remember it.”
“Mother got more and more rigid as she grew older. Change frightened her.” Elise tucked her feet under the folds of her gown and crossed her arms in an instinctive gesture of self-protection.
The gesture wasn’t lost to Sloane. He was torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to rage at her for sacrificing her life for the whining, peevish woman who had given birth to her. “Did she ever love you for it, Elise?” he asked finally. “Did your sacrifice ever make her love you?”
Elise could feel the blood drain from her face. How could he? How could he take her life and reduce it to a pathetic quest for maternal love? Seconds passed as she tried to force words past the lump in her throat. “I think you’d better go,” she said finally. Her voice was as cold as his words had been.
“Not until you answer me. I want to know if staying here was worth it for you. I’d like to think it was. I’d like to think your life hasn’t been a waste, that you got something important from remaining in Miracle Springs.”
Season of Miracles Page 5
