by Peggy Webb
“Goodbye, Jake.”
That’s all she said. Just goodbye. Was it the end, then? Or was she leaving the door open for him?
He couldn’t bear to shut it. He couldn’t stand to leave without some understanding between them.
“Em?” He put his hands on her cheeks and gently forced her to look at him. “I’ll call you. Okay?”
For a moment she softened, but when she stepped out of his reach, there was nothing about her demeanor to encourage him.
“Whatever you wish,” she said, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Back stiff. Head high.
Jake stood looking at the door long after she’d disappeared, then he went upstairs and packed his things. Afterward he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about anything except the long journey home.
Instead, he thought of Emily and all that he’d lost. A woman like her came along only once in a lifetime. How had he let it all go so wrong?
He should have paid attention to his own rules. No involvement. He’d known better. Women and mountain climbing simply didn’t mix. The breakup with Emily was inevitable. Even if Michael hadn’t been caught in that avalanche, sooner or later something would have happened to drive them apart. If not on Everest, then on some other mountain.
Mountains were the most demanding mistresses in the world. They demanded total devotion, but most of all they demanded sacrifice.
This time the sacrifice had been too great. A very fine man lay in a coma, and an awesome woman lay in her bed down the hall, alone. Not asking for his company and not wanting it.
Jake kicked the twisted covers and looked at the bedside clock. It was after midnight.
He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. He might as well just get out of bed and hit the road. If the turmoil of his own thoughts didn’t keep him awake, coffee would. Besides, he enjoyed night driving.
Chapter Twenty-Three
July 14, 2001
I’m afraid to close my eyes. Afraid that if I’m not vigilant, something awful will happen to Michael.
When I first saw the chest tube they’d put in him this morning, I nearly burst out crying. Maybe I should have. Maybe outrage would plow its way through all that darkness that holds my husband captive. Maybe it would wake him up.
I must have dozed a moment ago, because when I jerked myself upright again I shouted, “Wake up!” The nurse came running and asked was anything wrong, and I told her, no, I’d just been talking to myself, that I didn’t want to sleep after this morning’s crisis.
She believed me, but I didn’t believe myself. I was shouting at Michael. Mad. I wanted to shake him and say, “Get up out of that bed and come home where you belong.”
I would never do such a thing, of course. How could I even think such a thing when he’s lying there so helpless?
I’ve tried to focus on good things. Memories that make me smile. That’s how I got through today’s crisis.
After Dr. Crane said we could come back into this prison/room and I saw Michael, I started talking to the children about tomatoes. “Do you remember that time your father decided to have the earliest tomatoes in the neighborhood?” I asked them, and to their credit not a single one of my children looked at me as if I’d gone crazy.
Hannah said she remembered it vividly, but Daniel, who always seems to know exactly what a person needs, said, “Tell us about it, Mom.”
I pulled a chair close to the bed and took Michael’s hand, because I wanted him to hear it too. I was hoping he might even interrupt if I left out a vital part of the story, the way he sometimes does. Over the years we’ve developed a sort of Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin routine where it takes both of us to tell a story.
“He bought one of the early varieties of seeds. He could tell you the name. I can’t.”
I glanced at the bed to see if he were going to jump up and call out the name. He just lay there with his hair falling down into his eyes.
I brushed it back and continued my story.
“Remember how the seedlings sprouted in the windowsill and how he hovered over them like a mother hen until they were big enough to move outside? Still, they were much too young for fruit.”
Hannah and Emily were smiling, and Daniel was chuckling outright. I’m so glad I could make my children smile. It’s important to bring that kind of joy to others, especially your own children. I wonder why more people don’t know that?
“‘They’ll bear tomatoes in no time,’ I told him. ‘A little sunshine is exactly what they need.’
“‘I know what they need,’ he said, then he hied himself off to the nearest grocery store and returned with four of the prettiest, ripest tomatoes I’d ever seen.
“He was whistling that snappy little tune he loves. I can’t remember the name. What’s it called, Michael?”
“Mom…” Hannah started to correct me, but Daniel gave her that look he has, and she didn’t say anything else.
At that point I don’t think I could have borne any more hard truths. Daniel understood. So did Emily. Hannah did, too, of course, but she’s never been one to sit back and leave a situation alone if she thinks she can make it better.
“It’s all right,” I told her, in spite of the fact that nothing in my life will be all right again as long as Michael lies in this deep sleep.
“What’s the rest of the story, Mom?” Emily asked, as if she hadn’t heard it a million times, as if it were not the treasured story we trotted out at family gatherings for years afterward.
It was always good for a laugh, and God knows, all of us need laughter right now.
“Well,” I said, “the next morning when I walked onto the verandah with my coffee, there were four of the biggest, ripest tomatoes I ever saw on that plant. ‘Michael, come out here and see,’ I yelled. ‘It’s a miracle.’”
“‘Yep. It sure is,’ he said.
“He wasn’t surprised a bit, and that’s what roused my suspicions. I raced over there and bent down for a closer look. He’d tied the tomatoes on with twine.”
My children laughed as if they were hearing the story for the first time. Which was what I intended all along. To make them laugh. To make Michael want to join them.
We left those tomatoes tied to that vine for three days, and when Clark Gibbens saw them, he nearly died of jealousy. Our neighbor prides himself on being the best gardener in Vicksburg, and Michael was always trying to outdo him.
Every time he saw either of us after the tomato incident, he’d scratch his head and say, “I don’t know how you did that.” Neither Michael nor I ever told him the truth. To this good day he thinks Michael possesses some secret knowledge that he doesn’t share.
I wonder what secrets Michael is keeping now. I wonder if he will tell me when he comes out of his coma.
If he comes out.
No, I can’t let myself think like that. I won’t. I will sit in this chair with my eyes wide open and remember another wonderful story.
A story to keep me vigilant. A story to make me smile.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jake had his bags packed and was getting his car keys when his door creaked open. Emily stood silhouetted in the moonlight.
“Jake? May I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask. Ever. Don’t you know that, Em?”
She hovered near the doorway, arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold.
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore, Jake.”
“These last few weeks have been hard. Maybe we expected too much of each other.”
“And ourselves.” She glanced at his suitcase. “You’re leaving now?”
“I thought it best.”
What did she want? Why was she here?
Jake tried to take his cue from her. He didn’t want to say or do anything else that would bring her pain, and so he kept his grip on his desire, as well as his suitcase.
The moon was impossibly bright. The space between them impossibly wide. They stared at each ot
her across that vast gulf, filled with longing and regret, and neither of them knew how to build a bridge.
“I should be going, then,” she said.
She turned away, and Jake knew with absolute certainty that if he let her go like that, he would never see her again.
“Em. Wait.” He dropped his suitcase and crossed the room in three long strides. “I don’t want you to go.”
With his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around.
“Oh, Jake.” She leaned into him, hugging him hard. “All I know is that I can’t let you go with nothing more than a friendly hug. You…mean too much to me.”
He rested his chin on her hair and closed his eyes. Once more he held the world, and he was so full he could hardly speak.
“You mean a lot to me, too, Em.”
“I want us to say goodbye properly.”
“Not goodbye. A kiss till I see you again.”
“Yes. A kiss. And more. Please.”
That was all the invitation Jake needed. He carried her to the bed and stripped away the simple white cotton night-shirt that separated them. Then with the moon shining through the window like a benediction, he explored her soft curves and sweet, secret places and rediscovered the terrains of the heart.
Coming to Jake in the middle of the night had been madness, but it was a madness Emily gladly embraced. They were not the kind of lovers who fanned the flames of passion gradually with sweet kisses and slow caresses. No lengthy foreplay for them.
They came together like two storm fronts. Bodies heaving. Blood boiling. Hearts hammering. Passion sizzling.
It was what Emily needed, what she wanted, this mind-bending forgetfulness, this banquet of the flesh, this heady erotic ride to oblivion.
Jake knew every inch of her, knew the magic places, knew the hot spots. Knew and ignited them all.
With him, Emily had discovered she was not a silent lover. Urgent murmurings tumbled from her, and she was hardly aware of speaking.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she said when his mouth closed over a nipple.
She pressed her hands against the mounds of her breasts, offering them up to him like chalices. Her nipples were diamond hard and aching, aching for the touch of him. Only him.
Hot, liquid sensations flooded her, and she laced her hands through his hair, holding him close, not wanting him to leave, not ever wanting him to leave.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured, and his passion-drugged voice was a deep, rich bell that resonated through her.
“I want…God, I’m so greedy. I want everything.”
She arched high, and his fingers slid into her slick hot folds, searching, searing, satisfying.
“If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me,” she whispered, and then, quite suddenly, she was incapable of talk, incapable of thought. There was nothing at all except Jake’s hands, his mouth, pressing, probing, and the fires that licked through her.
She cried out his name, and he lifted himself over her, caught her hips high and thrust home.
She owned the world. She was queen of the universe. Of all women, she was the most beloved.
A part of her stood back and marveled. How could it be? After all they’d been through, after the doubts and fears, the small separations, the unintentional hurts…how could their mating still be magic?
The magic engulfed her, and as he drove deep she tangled the sheet in her fists and gave an incoherent cry. She was burning, burning. Lust. Passion. Love. They were so intertwined she couldn’t tell one from the other.
Nor did she want to. All she wanted was the deep, dark night and the never-ending magic of a man who defied mountains.
Forever. She wanted the night to go on forever.
Sweat slicked his back and dripped from his cheeks. She could taste his salt, and when he bent down to kiss her, her lips burned.
She didn’t care. She wanted them to be bruised and puffy from his kisses. She wanted him to brand every inch of her body so that in the morning when she awoke and he was gone, at least she’d have that. Small reminders of him. A rawness that would distract her from the pain in her heart.
Emily lay curved against him, her skin rosy with the flush of love and the first pink rays of dawn. How was he ever going to leave her?
Quickly. Without goodbyes.
They’d said their goodbyes last night. Without words. With bodies and souls and hearts united in a marathon of lust and love.
He eased back the covers. Emily stirred, stretched, yawned. Then reached to the other side of the bed and found it empty.
“Jake?” She sat up, pulling the sheet with her.
“I didn’t want to wake you, Emily.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to be gone before you woke up.”
“You were going to leave without saying anything?”
He knelt on the bed and cupped her face. “We said everything we needed to say. Last night. Right here in this bed.”
“But, Jake—”
He put his fingers over her mouth, rubbed her full lower lip lightly. Then unable to resist, he bent to kiss her. Softly. Tenderly.
“What else is there to say, Em?”
“Well…”
She pushed her hair back from her face, and the sheet slid to her waist. Her breasts were reddened from his beard stubble. Her nipples, hot hard points.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t stop his mouth from tasting her.
She tangled her hands in his hair, pulled him close. Held him there, moaning. Both of them incoherent with desire and pain.
“This,” she whispered. “There’s always this.” She kicked the sheet aside and pulled him down to her. “One more time…before you go.”
How could he deny her? How could he deny himself?
When he entered her, time and place ceased to exist. Nothing mattered except the two of them, and desire so intense it stole reason.
Together they created a magic that swept them out to sea, a sea of swirling passion and shimmering pleasures. They rode the waves, crested slowly, ever so slowly, until at last they crashed onto the hard and sandy shore.
The light coming over the windowsill had changed from pink to a blinding gold. Tomorrow had finally come. Reality could no longer be denied.
“I have to go, Em.”
“I know.” She shoved at the tangled covers. “I’ll get dressed and see you off.”
“No. I want you to stay here.”
“Why?”
“I want to remember you this way. Flushed from our lovemaking. The sheets tangled around you.”
She reached for another pillow and propped herself up.
“You’ll call me?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ll call you.”
“Good. I want you to.”
“I’ll let you know what’s happening with Dad.”
The room was suddenly electric with tension.
“Yes, I’ll want to know.”
What else was there to say? Jake grabbed his pants and headed for the bathroom. When he came back Emily was still propped on the pillows. She watched silently while he dressed, then gathered his belongings.
He stood at the edge of the bed looking down at her. She was so beautiful she made his heart ache. He wanted to always remember her this way, dark hair fanned across the pillows, skin and eyes glowing.
“Jake…”
He bent swiftly and kissed her. “Till we meet again, Em,” he whispered, and then he was striding out the door. He didn’t stop until he got outside.
Don’t look back, he told himself, and got in his car. Then he turned the key in the ignition and drove away from Belle Rose, away from the place where for a short while he’d known magic.
Emily stared at the closed door, dry-eyed and hurting. She should get up and go to her room. What if Hannah came looking for her? Or Daniel? What if her mother called and needed her?
Jake is gone. We didn’t even make plans to see each other again.
She closed her eyes against the pain that engulfed her, and when she opened them again, Hannah was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“I went to your room, but you weren’t there. I figured I’d find you here.”
“You make it sound like an accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation, merely an observation. Obviously you’re old enough to make your own decisions in matters of the heart.”
Emily didn’t know what to say to her sister, so she said nothing.
“It is a matter of the heart, isn’t it, Em?”
“Yes.”
It was Hannah’s turn to remain silent. She went to the window and threw the curtains wide open.
“I like sunshine,” she said, then turning to Emily, she added, “Be careful that you don’t let him break it.”
“He’s not that kind.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, maybe not. But these are extraordinary circumstances.”
How well she knew. Hadn’t the mere mention of her father’s accident spread a chill she’d felt all the way to her bones?
Her face must have shown her dismay, for Hannah sat on the edge of the bed and put an arm around her.
“I’m sorry, kid. I wish things were different.”
Sympathy always made Emily cry, but she’d be darned if she was going to sit in bed and wail like a baby.
Jake was only going to Atlanta. She’d have to keep telling herself that.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Eleven.”
“Good grief. I have to get dressed. I have to get to the hospital.”
“Daniel left early this morning. I’m going right after lunch.”
“But I—”
“You don’t have to do it all now, Em. Your family is here. Remember that.”
Suddenly Emily realized how tired she was. And how very lucky she was. She wrapped her arms around her sister.
“Oh, God, Hannah. I’m so glad you’re home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
July 28, 2001
This hospital room is a prison, and if I keep staying here day in and day out, I’m going to go stark raving crazy. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed and wake up with sun coming through my window. I want to have breakfast on the porch and watch the cardinals playing in the fountain. I want to smell the gardenias.
