Love’s Encore

by Sandra Brown

  “Be my guest, Camille. And I happen to know that pecan is Zack’s favorite.” She rolled her dark eyes and threw Camille a goading look.

  “Well, I hope that everyone will enjoy it,” Camille remarked noncommittally.

  Later in the afternoon she was tiredly going up the stairs when Zack’s voice stopped her. “Camille.” She turned toward him in surprise. He had not initiated a conversation with her for the past week, and she couldn’t imagine what he wanted with her now. He mounted a few of the steps until he stood just below her. When he reached his hand up toward her face, she flinched and drew back quickly. The lines around his mouth hardened and the planes of his jaw went rigid.

  “I was only going to brush away a spot of flour on your cheek,” he said very low. “Actually it looks quite charming.” He stared at her pensively for a few moments before he continued. “I know you and Dearly have been working all day in the kitchen, and she’s tired. Dad suggested that we go out to dinner and give her the night off. I’m going to fix him something before we leave. Is that all right with you? We haven’t been to Under-the-Hill yet, so I thought we’d go there and eat catfish.”

  It didn’t mater to him that she was tired, too. He hadn’t wanted to take her out to dinner. Rayburn had suggested it. She had a momentary flair of resentment and started to tell him “no, thank you,” but he looked so handsome standing on the stair below her, staring up at her with those azure eyes that never failed to stir her. She was going to leave soon, and this might be one of the few times that she and Zack would be alone together. Her decision was made. “Yes, that sounds nice,” she said calmly, though her heart was racing. She wasn’t going to let him see how the prospect of being alone with him for an evening affected her.

  “It’s okay to go casual. Where we’re going, jeans are fine. Besides, the weather isn’t conducive to dressing up.”

  She glanced over his shoulder to the windows beside the front door and saw that the rain hadn’t abated.

  “Fine. What time?”

  “How long does it take to wash the flour off your face?” She was too flustered to answer right away, and, when he saw her confusion, he reached up and took possession of one of her hands. The touch of his fingers seared her skin, and she felt the tingle all the way up her arm. “Hey, I was only joking! Let’s say seven o’clock and make it an early evening. Okay?”

  He no doubt had a late date with Erica. “Okay,” she replied dispiritedly, and, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his, retreated upstairs.

  * * *

  Natchez-Under-the-Hill was rich in history. At one time the settlement under the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River had boasted five streets. It had been the site of numerous bawdy houses, taverns, gambling establishments, and any number of less than circumspect businesses. As if in judgment for all the iniquitous deeds that happened in this unsavory part of the city, God used the river to eat away at the banks and reduced Natchez-Under-the-Hill to only one street and a smattering of buildings. Most of these antique structures had been converted into fashionable boutiques, drinking establishments, and antique stores. The area was a main tourist attraction.

  Zack explained all of this as he negotiated his Lincoln down Silver Street, which was the only road that led down the steep incline to Under-the-Hill. Camille was nervous at the thought of coming up this same way when they planned to leave. The road was already treacherously slick with heavy rainfall and mud that had washed from the bluffs.

  “They even used Under-the-Hill for Civil War Atlanta one time when they filmed a movie here. They put stacks of old tires behind some of the vacant buildings and lit them to represent General Sherman’s burning of your city. They had covered the pavement with dirt so it would look authentic and brought in about forty horse-drawn vehicles. It was quite a show and very effective. The movie companies use our antebellum houses frequently for sets, but that was the first time I remember them using Under-the-Hill in a film.”

  He maneuvered the car into one of the few parking spaces allotted along the sidewalk. It lined the front of the buildings facing the river. “If it weren’t raining, we’d have parked at the top of the bluff and walked down. The parking situation down here leaves a lot to be desired,” Zack complained before stepping out of the car and dashing around to her door, holding an umbrella over his head.

  They managed to dodge puddles and negotiate the uneven sidewalk till they reached the entrance of the restaurant. The Cock of the Walk restaurant lived up to its reputation. The delicious fried catfish accompanied by a variety of side dishes and the warm friendly ambience of the dining room relaxed Camille, and she enjoyed the meal with Zack. He, too, seemed relaxed and eager to talk, to share. Their conversation centered mainly around the plantation and particularly the horse-breeding enterprise. Zack became excited over the prospects of his new undertaking, and Camille was able for a few minutes to forget that she wouldn’t be here to see the success she was sure he would achieve.

  Her eyes were swimming with tears as she looked at her husband over the candlelit table. Her voice was constricted, and she averted her head so that he might not see how highly strung her emotions were as she mumbled, “I’m sure you’ll realize much success from it, Zack.”

  “Success?” His voice was soft but harsh. “Yes, I guess monetary gain is one measure of success, but, in the important areas of my life, I have failed miserably.”

  Camille risked a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was studying the wall behind her. His words wounded her deeply. No, he didn’t have everything he wanted, did he? He wasn’t living with the woman he truly loved. He was stuck with a wife whom he barely tolerated. How Zack must resent her presence in his life! Camille longed to reach out and take the long, strong hand that lay on the table, press it to her cheek, and assure him that she would no longer be an unwelcome element in his life. She would leave the day after Thanksgiving. That would fulfill her promise to Rayburn and at the same time hasten their inevitable separation. She would slip quietly out of his life—as quietly as she had slipped into it two years ago at Snow Bird. This time when she left him, he would feel only relief and not the bitterness that he had before. This time his male ego would be intact, and he would have Erica’s willing arms to find solace in.

  “Are you finished?” Zack’s question interrupted her reverie.

  “Yes,” she answered shakily. He came around to her chair and held it for her. When he had settled the bill and they were standing at the front door, he held her coat for her. She felt the strong hands rest briefly on her shoulders before he withdrew them. How she longed to lean against his strength! If he would hold her once more, create a memory to carry her through a lifetime of loneliness, maybe leaving wouldn’t be so painful. But wouldn’t such an embrace only make it harder to leave him?

  It was still raining hard when they emerged from the coziness of the restaurant. Zack opened the umbrella and held it over them as they started making their way back to the parked car. The river was almost invisible through the sheets of rain even this close. The rain obscured nearly everything, making the night black, ominous.

  They walked past one of the taverns, and as Camille looked through the large plate-glass windows, she noticed that it was almost deserted. There were no more than a dozen people seeking recreation by playing electronic games or backgammon and sipping drinks at small tables lit by soft lamps. Faint strains of music from a jukebox could be heard through the old brick walls, and Camille recognized a popular ballad. Later, for years afterward, whenever she heard that song, she would tremble in recollection of what happened seconds later.

  It was the strange noise that first caught her attention. It was a combination of crunching and sucking sounds that was discordant, out of sync, awesome. Of one accord, she and Zack paused on the sidewalk listening to that puzzling, horrendous racket.

  Looking through the window of the tavern she stood mesmerized as she saw the back wall of the building seem to move forward several in
ches before it began to crumble. The electric clock with an animated advertisement for a brand of beer on its face flew off the wall and shattered on the floor. Old movie posters hung in decorative frames swung precariously on their hooks before falling to the floor and being covered by falling bricks and mortar.

  What was it? What was happening? Tornado? No, there was no wind. Earthquake? No, the ground wasn’t vibrating through Camille was certain that the fearful rumble-crash sound she heard was much like the sounds of one.

  The few people in the bar stopped their easy chatter, their game-playing, their drinking, and stared as she did at the collapsing wall. Then fright spurred them into action. En masse they ran for the door, terror written on their faces, screams coming from the throats of even the brawniest men.

  “God! It’s a mud slide!” shouted Zack into her ear and began tugging on her elbow in an effort to snap her out of her hypnotized state. She had matched his running steps for only a few feet before the entire front of the building came crashing onto the sidewalk in front of them. Lumber, bricks, and glass were forced shatteringly together, propelled forward by the oozing, sucking mud. As one portion of the building fell, relinquishing its support, another section began to give way in a domino reaction under the weight of the mud that continued to slide down from the bluffs above. The ones who had been trapped in the building fought their way through broken windows, doors, and walls trying to gain freedom from the mud, which would spell instant suffocation for a victim if he weren’t killed by falling debris. They were in a panic bred of self-preservation.

  Camille saw one last support beam of the building crumble under the incredible weight that ever increased. Zack! was her only thought. With strength garnered from an extra spurt of adrenaline, she extricated her elbow from his grasp and shoved him away from her and off the sidewalk. Her unexpected and amazingly strong shove unbalanced him. He slipped on the cracked, uneven concrete. Camille saw him fall off the sidewalk and roll out into the street to relative safety a few yards away. The umbrella was hopelessly broken as he fell on it. It lay discarded in the muddy street.

  Zack raised his head and shook the rain out of his eyes. With a detached part of her mind, Camille noted that his hair was plastered to his head from the rain. His clothes were covered with mud.

  “I love you!” she screamed above the cacophony.

  His eyes widened in a dawning of understanding then went blank with horror. She heard him shout her name before a blinding pain struck the back of her head. She fought the darkness descending over her consciousness; she felt her knees buckling and saw the sidewalk rushing up to meet her. I’m going to die, she thought calmly. Her last conscious thought was a prayer of thanksgiving that Zack was safe.

  * * *

  She could hear the rain. She could hear muffled voices. She smelled an acrid antiseptic lotion. She could feel that her clothes were damp and clinging.

  She wasn’t dead.

  She tried to open her eyes, but the slit of light that she allowed through her lids burst upon her brain like a searchlight, and she squeezed her eyes shut against it.

  Someone raised her arm, and she started in reaction.

  “Hey, don’t you even know who your friends are? I’m only taking your blood pressure, Camille.”

  “Dr.…” It was a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Dr. Daniels, is that you?”

  “None other. What other dumb bastard would come out on a night like this?”

  “Where?… Zack?… What happened?”

  “One question at a time please.” She was grateful for his strong reassuring hands on her arms. His voice was as brusque as always, but it was kind and familiar. “You’re in an ambulance. Do you remember the mud slide?” At her nod, he continued, “Well, you got quite a knock on the noggin from a falling brick, but you’ll be okay. You don’t have a concussion, just a bitch of a headache.”

  She smiled in spite of the pain and tried once again to open her eyes. This time she went about it more carefully and had more success. The doctor’s caricature of a face came into view, blurred and double-imaged at first, but then clearer as she blinked and opened her eyes wider.

  “Zack?”

  He patted her arm. “No one was killed. A few people were injured, but everyone was lucky to come out alive. It’s one hell of a mess out there, but the fire department is working on it. Seems with the continuous rain we’ve had, the bluffs became saturated and couldn’t hold any more. A big chunk of earth broke off and started an avalanche of mud.”

  Thank God no one had died! But Zack…?

  “I’m going to give you a shot now, and you won’t remember much after this. It’ll knock you on your can. Here it comes.” She felt the needle prick her upper arm. “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital, but if you have more than a dull headache tomorrow, call me.”

  Why wouldn’t he tell her anything about Zack? Was he seriously injured? She had seen him safe in the street. She remembered that now. But what if he had been injured after she had been struck down? Or killed! No, Dr. Daniels had said no one had been killed. But would he tell her the truth if it were Zack? Was he dead? He couldn’t be dead before she had a chance to tell him she loved him! Zack!

  Her mind was getting fuzzy, and her tongue felt thick and furry. The doctor’s injection was already affecting her. Her eyes were closing involuntarily, and her head was throbbing.

  “Zack? Zack? Where is Zack? He’s dead; I know it. Is he dead?” Her voice was shrill in the confines of the ambulance.

  “Dead! Hell no, he’s not dead. He’s a real pain in the ass! He’s acting just about as hysterical and crazy as you’re working yourself up to be. God, I pity the doctor who delivers your babies.” He turned to an ambulance attendant who had been giving oxygen to a man on another stretcher. “Go get her husband, will you? You can’t miss him. He’s the one with the maniacal eyes.”

  Zack shoved the paramedic out of the way as he rushed through the door of the ambulance. He looked deranged. He could have passed for a fugitive from Bedlam.

  He knelt beside the stretcher and searched Camille’s face for signs of injury. She smiled at him tremulously and wanted to speak, but her tongue couldn’t quite get the message to her befuddled brain. She longed to reach up and push back the curls lying limply on his forehead, to smooth the worry lines etched there, but her arms were too heavy, and she couldn’t lift them.

  Zack kissed her tenderly on the forehead and then on her closed eyelids. “You said you love me. I heard you, Camille. You love me.” Her surprise knew no limits when he buried his face against her stomach and clutched her to him. “God, Camille, I thought I’d lost you again.”

  What did he mean? When had he lost her before? She must already be unconscious and dreaming this. But she was sure she could feel his ragged breathing and a strange moisture coming from his eyes. His hands were moving over her arms, weren’t they? Weren’t his fingers gently tracing the planes of her face?

  His words echoed through her brain. God, Camille, I thought I’d lost you again. God, Camille, I thought I’d lost you… God, Camille, I thought…

  * * *

  She was having that wonderful dream again about Snow Bird. She didn’t want to wake up and have to leave the dream. She wanted to stay in it with Zack. She never wanted to leave him again. Please, God, let the dream last this time. It was so good.

  She woke up, but the dream continued. There was the fireplace across the room. Heavy drapes were pulled closed over the wide windows making the room dim. She and Zack were lying naked in the vast bed, her body curled against the long, hard curve of his. One possessive arm was flung across her hip. They were sharing the same pillow. She could feel his sweet breath fanning the back of her neck.

  This wasn’t a dream! This wasn’t the room in Snow Bird! This was Zack’s room at Bridal Wreath, and they lived here together as husband and wife. Her contented, grateful sigh must have awakened him, for he stirred behind her.

  She r
olled over slightly and looked up at him as he leaned over her and studied her closely for indications of pain. “My darling,” he whispered, “how do you feel?” His lips barely touched hers in a soft kiss.

  Had he called her “darling”? Was he kissing her tenderly? Maybe this was a dream. If so, she wished it would go on forever. She didn’t want to wake up. With fear that the figment would vanish, she said softly, “I’m wonderful, Zack. I’m here with you, and we’re both alive, and I’m wonderful.”

  “Camille,” he choked. “I love you so much.” He buried his face in the hollow of her throat and covered it with impassioned kisses. “My love, my sweet love—”

  His lips found hers. His kiss was tender and conveyed a meaning far too puissant for mere words. Her mouth responded in kind, opening under his and matching his ardor. When at last he drew away, he stroked back strands of unruly dark hair and curled a stray lock around his fingers. “This is how it should have been with us the next morning in Utah. I should have told you that night how much I loved you before we… I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. A girl as beautiful as you must have heard every clever line in the book, I thought. Would you have believe me if I had started expounding on my love for you?”

  She smiled and confidently explored his chest with her fingertips. “Probably not. I thought you were very sophisticated.”

  “Is that a tactful way of saying you thought I was old? I must have seemed ancient to you! Do I still?” His breath was coming in short gasps as she continued to touch him intimately.

  “Zack! Of course not! Your age intimidated me, though. I was frightened of you. That’s why I couldn’t tell you that I was falling in love with you. I was afraid you’d laugh at me. I was sure you’d look upon me as a one-night stand. I didn’t dare risk your ridicule, so I left.”

  “You mean that’s the reason you ran out on me?! Oh, Camille, how stupid and proud we’ve been. I thought I repelled you in some way. How much precious time we’ve wasted!” He kissed her again, wanting to make up for all that lost time. His mouth went to her ear, and his tongue traced its delicate lines as he whispered, “Then you do love me, Camille?”