by Joan Hohl
The officer loped behind Jonas as he strode to the front door. A frown touched Jonas’s brow when he found the door unlocked. How many times had he cautioned Val about…? Jonas’s thought splintered with the derisive laughter that lodged in his throat. Feeling suddenly light-headed, he turned the knob and pushed. The door noiselessly swung open on well-oiled hinges. Shaking and inexplicably scared, Jonas walked into the house. The sound of weeping drew him to the living-room archway. The scene that met his clouding vision was one of grief. Jonas absently noted the presence of his daughter and son-in-law, even that of the baby lying on a blue blanket on the floor. But his hungry gaze was riveted on the lovely, tear-streaked face of the small woman seated on the floor opposite his daughter, on the other side of the infant. Jonas felt odd, as if his head was floating. He had to work his throat several times before a sound emerged. And when it came, the droll sound of his voice amazed him.
“Is this a private wake, or can anybody cry along?”
The instant the words were out of his mouth, he knew he was losing it. But as the darkness closed in on his mind, he heard the sweetest sound imaginable, the sound that had fueled the inner urgency, driving him on for thousands of miles—the sound of Val calling his name.
“Jonas!”
Epilogue
Val sat by the bed in the quiet room, her eyes devouring the gaunt, hollow face of her husband. Jonas had slept through most of the nearly twenty-four hours that had passed since he’d fainted in the living-room archway. Except for checking periodically on the baby, who was in Grace’s excellent care, Val had kept vigil by the bed throughout every one of those hours. She wasn’t tired. Joyful energy hummed through her body, defeating weariness.
Her mind raced with images and impressions and Val knew that, should she live another hundred and thirty years, she would never forget a single detail of the scene in the living room and the hectic activity following it.
As they had seemed fated to do, Val and Mary Beth had once again been weeping over the uncanny resemblance of little Jonas to his father. Almost as if her unceasing grief had conjured it from the grave, the clear, dry sound of Jonas’s voice had gone through Val like an electric shock.
Whipping her head around, Val had seen a wildly bearded, shabbily dressed specter standing in the archway. And though her intellect tried to deny it, Val had known at once who he was. Val was on her feet, running toward him before he hit the floor.
“Jonas!” Val’s scream had shattered the sudden silence and the confusion in the minds of others. “My, God! Mary Beth, Jean-Paul, help me! It’s Jonas!”
As she dropped to her knees beside Jonas, Val noticed another man stepping into the foyer. She was too distracted to see that he was uniformed. Before she could question his presence in her home, the man stepped forward to identify himself.
“Officer Switzer, ma’am, state police,” he said respectfully. “Can you identify this man as Jonas Thorne?”
“What?” Val blinked, then nodded with distracted impatience. “Yes, yes, of course he’s Jonas Thorne. I’m his wife.” She moved her head to indicate the couple sinking to their knees on either side of her. “This is his daughter and son-in-law.” While she spoke, Val’s hands moved restlessly over Jonas, touching, searching, caressing his body, his face, his beard, his closed, sunken eyelids…Jonas.
The officer had proven to be of inestimable assistance. Not only did he volunteer to take care of the formalities by officially notifying the authorities about Jonas’s return, he also helped Jean-Paul carry Jonas to the bedroom, undress him and get him into bed.
Val’s right hand had made a more comprehensive examination of Jonas’s face and body several times since then. She had rested her fingertips against his pulse, his steady beating pulse, at least a dozen times. Her left hand was enclosed within the steel-like grip of his right hand.
The first time Jonas awoke, Mary Beth broke away from Jean-Paul’s supporting arm and flung herself onto the bed beside him, sobbing, “Daddy!” in a voice sounding like a young girl’s.
“I’m here, honey. Don’t cry. I’m all right. Everything’s all right now.”
Jonas’s voice was calm, comforting. Only Val noticed the betraying tremor in his thin hands as he moved one restlessly over the girl’s back, and the way the fingers of his other hand clenched in her hair, as if reassuring himself of his own reality by touching the flesh of his own flesh.
While holding his daughter close, Jonas’s eyes, glittering with a frantic light, shifted searchingly. The frantic light only dimmed to a glow of satisfaction when his eyes settled on Val’s soft violet gaze.
“Val.” Jonas fell back to sleep with her whispered name on his lips.
It was late when Jonas woke again. Val was alone in the room. Promising to return in the morning, Mary Beth had gone home to report the incredible news to Marge, Lynn and the company employees. The first words out of his mouth brought a smile to Val’s soft, trembling lips.
“I’m filthy. I need a bath and a shave.”
“You need food,” Val corrected him.
His smile was tired, but it was there. “I’ll make a deal with you,” Jonas said, shoving back the bed covers. “You get the food while I get a bath and a shave.”
“But Jonas!” she exclaimed anxiously. “Will you be all right on your own in there?”
His smile grew wry. “Sweetheart, I walked most of the way here from Central America,” he drawled chidingly. “I think I can make it to the bathroom and back.”
Val shuddered to even think of him walking that distance, then concentrated on getting together a light but nourishing meal for him, and worried about how he was doing in the bathroom.
As it turned out, Jonas did fine. He came out of the bathroom a few minutes after she returned to the bedroom. Her chest contracted at the sight of him, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in concern.
His bones stood out in stark relief in his thin, hollow face and on his tall, angular frame. In fact, stark naked, he looked all bones, with skin stretched tautly over them. But his face was free of the bushy growth, and even drawn and gaunt, the face was definitely Jonas’s.
He had barely wolfed down the meal before he fell asleep again, but before he did, he grasped her hand. Jonas had held on to her since then, his fingers tightly clasping hers even in slumber.
Grace had been in and out of the room countless times, bringing the baby to Val to nurse and supplying her with meals and coffee, fussing and generally checking on the condition of both of her employers. Earlier that morning, Val had asked Grace to call Jonas’s family to inform them of his progress and to suggest that they wait to visit until tomorrow, since it was becoming obvious that Jonas needed as much sleep as he could get.
Now it was dusk again, and Val sat beside him, her hand in his, her eyes adoring his terribly gaunt, terribly drawn, terribly beautiful face.
As if he felt the loving warmth of her gaze, Jonas opened his eyes and stared directly into hers. His smile was beautiful. His voice was low, sexy, an open invitation.
“Why are you sitting there when there’s so much empty space in this great big bed?” His hand tugged at hers.
Val blinked against a rush of happy tears. “I didn’t want to disturb your sleep,” she whispered.
“I’m not asleep now.” His hand tugged again. “Disturb me.”
Val didn’t need to be coaxed. Slipping her hand from his, she stood and began walking around the foot of the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in her wake. His warm gaze followed her every move. His hand groped for the edge of the covers, lifting them for her.
“Oh, Jonas. Oh, Jonas, you’re home!” Crying openly now, Val slipped into the bed and into his crushing embrace.
“Yes,” Jonas groaned, gliding his lips over her face and his hands over her trembling body. “Yes, I’m home,” he repeated, crushing her mouth with his own.
“Jonas, wait!” Val cried out, laughing, when he released her mouth and moved
his body over hers. “I have something exciting to tell you…show you!”
“It can wait,” he growled against her mouth. “I can’t. I remember, Val,” he said starkly, settling into the silky cradle of her thighs. “Oh, God, I remember at last.”
Val could hardly think for needing him, wanting him to be a part of her after so long. While her hands clasped his hips to draw him to her, she frowned and said, “Jonas, I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you remember?”
Jonas laughed; it had the pure sound of joy. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it later. But right now—” his mouth brushed hers “—I need to kiss you, touch you, be absorbed by you.”
Jonas and Val were one again, in unison, striving together for the ultimate perfection of ecstasy. When release sent them soaring, they joyously cried out each other’s names.
“Jonas!”
“Val!”
Surprisingly, Jonas didn’t go back to sleep. Exhausted, this time pleasantly so, he lay sprawled on his back and grinned at his wife.
“I want my present.”
Val frowned. “What present?”
He arched a brow. “Didn’t you say you had something exciting for me?”
Val’s eyes flew wide. Then she laughed. She flew from the bed. Pulling on a robe, she dashed from the room, calling, “I’ll be right back with your present. Don’t you dare fall asleep.”
When Val reentered the room a moment later, her arms cradling a sleeping infant, Jonas was yawning. His yawn melted into a soft smile as she approached the bed.
“My grandchild?” he asked softly, sitting up to get a look at the baby.
“No, Jonas,” Val murmured, handing the sleeping child to him. He shot her a confused look. “Your son,” she whispered. “Jonas Thorne, junior.”
“My son?” His hoarse voice held awe and wonder. For long moments Jonas gazed down at the baby. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet and tears ran unheeded and unashamedly down his face. “Our son,” he corrected her, almost choking.
“Yes, darling,” Val whispered, slipping onto the bed beside him. “Our son.”
Baby Jonas spent the remainder of that night sleeping peacefully in the big bed, between the protective bodies of his mother, Valerie, and his father, Jonas Thorne.
* * * * *
eISBN-13: 978-1-4603-4555-9
Thorne’s Wife
Copyright © 1988 by Joan M. Hohl
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