His Sleeping Beauty

by Carol Grace

  “Maybe,” she said. In this case, that “maybe” sure sounded like a no.

  He shrugged and told himself to forget it. Forget her. Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear she did not want any part of his party?

  An hour later, the hot appetizers were sizzling, thanks to Sarah’s oven. The three-piece band was playing mariachi music and the bartender was making margaritas. His guests were tanned and reeking of ambition and money. Many were desperately seeking someone new to share their lives with, despite their past failures, but they all seemed to be having a good time. Sometimes Max worried about that desperation he saw on their faces.

  He almost wanted to say, Slow down, take it easy. Give it a rest. There are worse things than being alone. Being single has its advantages. And if you do get married again, don’t rush into anything.

  But would they listen to him, their divorce lawyer? What did he know about wedded bliss? He knew plenty about the pain of divorce. Their divorces. Was he such a sterling example of single happiness? He thought so. They probably didn’t.

  He worked his way through the crowd, keeping his counsel to himself, making small talk and occasionally casting a glance across the fence. Wondering if the music penetrated the walls of her house or if she’d tuned everything out to concentrate.

  He told himself to forget about her. Sure, she looked like something out of a fairy tale in the middle of the night. But by day, she was prickly and studious. She wasn’t his type and she wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t even his neighbor. He would have had better luck inviting her outgoing and sociable aunt. He didn’t mind escorting the niece back to bed if she came onto his property in the middle of the night, but a daytime party was a different matter.

  He knew she really didn’t want to come, and he also knew if she did, she’d feel out of place. He’d done his duty last night and today he’d invited her over. Her aunt hinted she needed a social life, but he couldn’t force it on her. What did her aunt expect, that he’d drag her niece out of her house, force her to drink some tequila and do a Mexican hat dance? If she were here, her aunt would say, as any normal person would, “Good job, Max. The ball is in her court now. You’ve done everything you could and more. Don’t worry about her.”

  He wasn’t worried about her. He’d almost forgotten about her. But when Sarah finally appeared, he almost dropped his drink, he was so surprised. He set his glass down, waved and beckoned to her, afraid she’d change her mind when she saw the kind of people who were there. He shook his head slightly at the sight of her in a buttoned-up-to the neck, simple blue dress and low-heeled shoes. She always surprised him.

  She couldn’t be any more different from the rest of the crowd. She looked like she was on her way to the office. Or to an afternoon tea. She should have just kept on her shorts and T-shirt. She would have fit in better. As it was, she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. The other women were wearing strapless stretch tops with bare midriffs showing above short shorts or cropped pants and tiny T-shirts whether they had the figure for it or not.

  She looked so apprehensive she might have been facing the lion’s den. And when she saw that he’d seen her, she had a trapped look in her eyes that said she knew she couldn’t escape. He couldn’t remember when he’d had that effect on a woman before. Why had she taken an instant dislike to him?

  Did she wake up last night and realize what had happened? If she did, and she knew what had happened, she wasn’t letting on, and she was a good actress. Or was it just the tree trimming that had turned her off? Had her aunt said something about him to discourage her? He’d like to know what it was.

  He opened the gate in the fence between their houses and called to her. She forced a smile.

  “I have to thank you for the use of your oven. I don’t know what we would have done without it.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  “Come on in,” he said. “They won’t bite.”

  “These are your friends?” she asked, stepping onto his patio. He caught a whiff of some floral fragrance. So she cared enough to put some perfume on. And she’d brushed her brown hair so that it hung straight and shiny to her shoulders. She wasn’t even wearing her glasses. She resembled the mysterious Sleeping Beauty a little more than she had this morning. He didn’t know her at all, but he sensed that coming to a party with a lot of strangers was a big effort for her. Her aunt would be pleased. Too bad she couldn’t have a good time while she was at it.

  “Mostly business acquaintances.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a divorce lawyer.”

  “How sad. So everyone here is divorced?”

  “Some have remarried since I represented them.”

  She looked around the patio. “It must be depressing, dealing in human misery.”

  He bristled at the remark because there was a grain of truth in it. But he was proud of his success. “I don’t think of it that way,” he said evenly. He personally didn’t wreck anyone’s home or break up anyone’s marriage. He deliberately stayed away from any commitment. He did his best for his clients and he didn’t like her thinking he took advantage of other people’s misery. “The way I look at it, I’m the one who gets them out of their misery. Have you every been married?”

  She shook her head. “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “I can see why.”

  “Because of my thinning hair, my bloodshot eyes, my bowed legs?” he teased.

  She blushed and let her gaze slide from his face then down to his Top-Siders, as if she was trying to decide what really had prevented him for getting married. “No, I mean you must get discouraged dealing with divorces all day. No wonder you haven’t taken the plunge yourself. All those bitter people out there. If I were you, I’d avoid marriage also.”

  “Why have you?” he asked.

  “I…I…I haven’t met the right person,” she said, shifting her gaze to the guests.

  “Tell me,” he said, “do these people look bitter to you?” They might be bitter, but he thought they put up a pretty good front.

  People were laughing, men were tossing a beach ball back and forth across the pool, a few women were dangling their legs in the shallow end of the pool, while others were tossing down exotic drinks, and some couples were even nuzzling on colorful chaise lounges.

  “I guess not. They actually look pretty happy. I’m sure that’s thanks to you. You got them out of a bad situation into something better.”

  “That’s how I look at it, otherwise…”

  She looked at him as if waiting expectantly for him to finish his sentence. As if she really wanted to know. Otherwise, what would he do? He was a divorce lawyer, one of the best. He was in demand. And he would be as long as he did his job and got his clients large settlements. What would he do if he didn’t think he’d improved his clients’ situation? He met her gaze, looked into her clear blue eyes and answered her as firmly as he could. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night,” he said.

  She looked away and a tiny frown line appeared between her fine eyebrows. When he mentioned sleep, did it trigger some memory of last night? Did she wonder if she’d had an episode? Did she remember anything?

  “Well,” she said, brushing her hands together as if to dismiss any worries, either his or hers. “Don’t let me keep you from your schmoozing.”

  When she said that, he realized he’d been talking to her exclusively for a long time and hadn’t noticed what was going on behind him at the party. Not that anyone else had missed him. Just a glance told him that his guests were milling and mixing and generally amusing themselves. They didn’t even miss him.

  “I’d better get back to the guests. Come on, let me introduce you…”

  “I can introduce myself.”

  He shot her a quick look. “Okay.” But he thought it wasn’t likely she’d go up to strangers. More likely she’d stand around and sneak back to her house when he wasn’t looking.

  Before he could
make the rounds, his cell phone rang and he went inside to give directions to someone who couldn’t find the house. He stood by the open French doors looking out at the party scene, his eyes glued to Sarah. She was standing at the edge of the pool, talking to an old college buddy of his whose divorce had been finalized last month.

  He had to say, in her dress and pale skin, she stood out like an English rose in the middle of a tropical garden. Of all the women there, she was refreshingly different. Frisbees sailed through the air, couples danced on the patio to the live music and a beach ball bounced off the diving board and into the deep end.

  Suddenly there was a scream and a splash and he went running out to the pool. There was Sarah flailing about in the deep end, her head sinking under the water, her hair trailing behind her.

  “Call 911,” he yelled. Then Max jumped into the water to save her.

  Chapter Three

  They say your whole life passes in front of you when you think you’re going to die, but all Sarah could think of as the water closed over her head and she began sinking to the bottom of the pool, was that she should have worn nicer underwear, instead of those white cotton granny underpants and sports bra. Which was stupid, because the coroner wasn’t going to notice, but the man next door might.

  And then she thought of her parents, who’d say, What were you doing even close to a swimming pool! You know what could happen.

  Then everything went black.

  The next thing she knew she was lifted out of the water and propped up on cool blue tiles. She gasped for breath, coughing and spitting out water. She reached for her inhalator, but it wasn’t there. She’d left it at home. Max was leaning towards her, his face blurred, his eyebrows drawn together.

  People were shouting.

  “What happened?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Where are the paramedics?”

  “Is she alive?”

  “Does anyone know CPR?”

  “Give her mouth-to-mouth.”

  Her heart pounded. Until she realized it wasn’t an asthma attack. Even though she was choking and scared, she had enough presence of mind to know she didn’t need an inhalator and resuscitation wasn’t necessary. All she needed was a few minutes to expel the water out of her lungs and she’d be fine. She was proud of herself. She didn’t panic.

  Someone patted her on the back and she coughed water into Max’s face. He didn’t flinch. Blurry-eyed, she looked around at a dozen faces staring down at her, who were all looking scared, and some downright terrified. She wished she could reassure them, but she couldn’t speak. Even more she wanted to sink down into oblivion. She wished she’d never come to this party. She hated being the center of attention. Memories of schoolmates staring at her during an asthma attack, of being sent to the school nurse came flooding back. She was conscious of her dress plastered to her body, her hair hanging in wet strands. The humiliation was almost worse than drowning.

  “What happened?” she gasped.

  “You got knocked into the pool,” a man’s voice came from somewhere behind her. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see you standing there when I jumped in. How are you?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. I think I’ll just…” Just nothing. She tried to get up, but couldn’t, so she put her head between her knees and her eyes filled with tears. Tears of relief, and of mortification. She couldn’t move or speak. She wished everyone would go away and let her recover on her own.

  It was Max who pulled her up by her arms and lifted her to her wobbly feet. “I’ll take her home. She lives next door. Send the paramedics over there.”

  “I really don’t need…” She really didn’t need anything, no paramedics, no mouth-to-mouth, just a few minutes to pull herself together. God, she hated it when people made a fuss over her. She wanted to seem cool, calm and collected but a long series of racking coughs spoiled the effect.

  Max carried her home, her face pressed against his chest, her legs dangling over his arm. She wanted to tell him she could walk, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but she didn’t have the strength, so she just let herself go limp. He felt so big and so strong and she felt so small and ridiculously safe in his arms. For a person who prided herself on her hard-won independence, it was a troubling moment laced with conflicting emotions.

  Being taken care of was better than she cared to admit. On the other hand, she hated having to depend on anyone. To her surprise, without her instructions, he walked into the kitchen and up the stairs of her aunt’s house, as if he knew exactly where the bedroom was. Just inside the door, he tried to unbutton her wet dress while still holding her.

  “I can do it,” she mumbled, but her own fingers were clumsy and even shakier than his and she gave up. “It’s okay,” she said. “Leave it.”

  “Can’t leave you in a wet dress,” he muttered. So he didn’t. He set her on the edge of the bed and yanked at the buttons until they popped off, and pulled her wet dress over her head. Wearing only her wet underwear, she quickly slid under the covers to hide her too thin body and her too sensible underwear before he could see any more than he already had.

  It was all too awful. She closed her eyes hoping Max would go away. Of course he didn’t. He stood at the door with his arms crossed over his chest, dripping water on the carpet. Was he the one who’d pulled her out of the pool? Her mind was a blank.

  Before she could ask, a pair of burly emergency technicians stomped up the stairs, barged into the room and flipped back the quilt to check her out. She wanted to curl up and play dead. She didn’t know where Max was at that moment. Had he stepped out of the room out of consideration for her modesty? What did it matter? He’d already seen her in next to nothing.

  The men took her pulse, her blood pressure, looked in her mouth and listened to her lungs and her heart, while she assured them in no uncertain terms that she was fine. If they’d taken her temperature, they might have thought she had a fever, but in reality her body only burned with red-hot embarrassment.

  They asked her a lot of questions, and she answered them in a voice that was not really hers. The answers must have been satisfactory because they turned and spoke in low tones to someone else, probably Max, who apparently was still in the room.

  She hated to be treated like she was sick. It reminded her of her childhood, of the asthma attacks, the trips to the emergency room, being carried into the steam-filled bathroom in the middle of the night and her ever-present inhaler tucked into her backpack at school, just in case. She thought she was over that. As long as she didn’t overexert, she could lead a normal life. As long as she stuck to studying California’s history and didn’t venture into other people’s parties. She led a very satisfying life. Until now.

  Even worse than being treated like an invalid, she discovered, was being treated like she wasn’t there. The paramedic team in the room discussed her situation, debated whether to prescribe anything and in general carried on like she was in a coma. “Excuse me. I’m not unconscious,” she said. “I’m alive and well. I should tell you I have asthma, but it’s under control.”

  They turned to look at her as surprised as if a statue had spoken. They took notes, wrote on a chart and after an eternity, the paramedics left and she was propped up against her aunt’s small embroidered pillow shams. She’d quietly shed her underwear and hidden them under the sheets, and now she wore nothing but a comforter pulled up to her chin. She glared at the man who was standing at the foot of her bed. Why was he still there? She was fine. She’d been poked and prodded and lectured to and she was exhausted. But fine.

  “How are you feeling?” Max asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

  “Fine, thank you.” Now go.

  “I don’t know what happened, but…”

  “I got knocked in the water, that’s all. At least that’s what the man said. My fault. I wasn’t watching and I was standing too close to the edge. No big deal. I didn’t drown. Thanks to you. I don�
��t know how to thank you enough. You saved my life.”

  “It was nothing. But you’ll have to learn to swim.”

  “Or stay away from pools.”

  “I can teach you.”

  “That’s very nice, but…”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Max was still reeling from the close brush she’d had with disaster. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding, but that could have something to do with seeing Sarah in her underwear. He got the message when she closed her eyes indicating as clearly as possible that she’d had enough of him and being fussed over, and then pointed to the door. He backed out of the room before he had a chance to ask if she wanted him to find her nightgown, that same gauzy white nightgown he’d seen her in last night. He wouldn’t mind seeing her again in or out of it. But he knew when he wasn’t wanted.

  Maybe if she wore the nightgown again, she might remember what had happened last night. Maybe then they’d get it out in the open and he could ask her if she had a problem, or if she knew she had a problem.

  He also wanted to know why a California girl didn’t know how to swim. Was it just because she had asthma? Lots of athletes had it. Sure, it was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He wondered how she could think of an excuse for not learning to swim now that she lived next door to a pool, and most particularly he wanted to know why he shouldn’t teach her. One thing for sure. After today, he couldn’t have her living so close by when she couldn’t swim. Especially if she made any more unexpected visits to his house in the middle of the night. Despite the fence-enclosed pool with the locked gate, it was too dangerous and it was his responsibility to teach her, whether she wanted to learn or not.

  When he got back to the party, the atmosphere had changed. There was a pall hanging over the gathering. The music continued, but no one was dancing. The guests were no longer playing games around the pool. It was as if they’d been frozen in place until he returned and assured everyone that his neighbor was fine, that no one was to blame.