by Lois Richer
Blair waited a few minutes, then followed him. This wasn’t what she’d expected, but she’d promised to be there in good times or bad. Tonight was clearly the latter.
“Gabe?” She found him on the little white bridge that gave a view of the waterfall in the distance. Someone had installed a floodlight, and the sight was breathtaking. Blair decided to check it out another night. She faced him. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I’ll help if I can.”
He snorted, but his voice sounded less harsh. “You can’t help. No one can. It’s in the past, but I can’t let it go.” When she didn’t say anything, he turned to her, fury darkening his eyes to emerald chips. “I thought I could prove that I was more than what he said, that I didn’t botch everything. I thought, Blair swims. She even likes it. I can do that. I’ll get a pool and I’ll learn to swim. I’ll swim in it every day. That’ll prove I’m not a wimp, a loser.”
Blair almost laughed at his words, then realized he was deathly serious. This was a situation that needed defusing. Now.
“A wimp?” She made herself laugh. “You? How ridiculous! Clearly whoever said that didn’t know you at all.”
The words seemed to draw him out of his rage, calm him. He turned to her with a question in his eyes.
“Well, think about it. There aren’t too many wimps who build a company out of nothing, take on the competitor and buy them out, let their father fleece them out of hundreds of thousands of dollars and still come out on top.” She rolled her eyes at his frown. “I read about it. So sue me.” She veered back to the subject of this contretemps. “Something is wrong with your picture, Gabe.”
She stood beside him in the night, oblivious to the croaking frogs all around them, hearing nothing except the tortured note in his voice.
“How does your not being able to swim fit into this picture, Gabe?” She leaned her elbows on the rail and cupped her chin in her palms while she waited for him to open up. How had she never suspected he had such scars? Why had she never seen them buried under his quiet dignity?
Because you weren’t looking for his good side. You only wanted to see his faults.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me,” she informed him when long minutes passed without any words.
“Sometimes you are so…bossy. Stay out of it, Blair.”
His teeth were clenched. She could see his hand fisting on the wood right next to hers. And suddenly she realized that this wasn’t just about the past, it affected the present, too.
“I’m not out of it. I’m married to you. We have a son. This concerns all of us. I want to know why it’s so important to be able to swim.”
“No.” His foot scraped across the wood, signaling that he intended to leave.
“Yes.” She stood erect, facing him in the gloomy light. “We’re in this together. No secrets, no lies. No pretending. Just honesty. That is what you said today, isn’t it?”
He huffed and puffed, but finally sighed his agreement. “Some day you’re going to have to learn to back off.”
She nodded. “Okay. Some day I will. But not tonight.” She took his hand and led him to a patio chair near the pool. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”
Blair held her breath. Gabe sat, but his mouth tightened to a grim, thin line. His fingers bit deeply into the cushions of the chair. His face grew tortured.
“I’m scared of the water.” The words burst out of him like a dam spilling a lake held too long in abeyance. “I’m a chicken, a coward. I can’t stand the thought of it closing over my head.” His eyes blazed into hers. “So you see, he was right. I am a wimp.”
“Wait a minute. Who is he?” There was no point in backing off. She knew that instinctively.
“My father.” The cold hate in those words cast a chill on the lovely evening.
“And how did he manage to equate being afraid of water with a person’s worth? Doesn’t that seem a little skewed to you?”
Gabe’s head jerked up, his brows joined in a frown. “What?”
“I mean it. The guy obviously has problems or he wouldn’t have stolen from you. But since when do you measure yourself against that kind of standard?”
“Since I panic every time I get near the stuff.”
Blair tried to pray as she listened, tried to ask for heavenly direction to this very earthly problem. She knew there was something more, something he wasn’t saying. Gabe hadn’t explained why he was afraid of water. But right now, that didn’t matter.
“And you don’t want Daniel to see you panicked, is that it?”
His head jerked once in an affirmative.
“Go get your bathing suit on, Gabe.”
“What?” He stared at her in worried disbelief.
Blair stayed calm. “Look, you’ve let this rule you for far too long. Fears can be overcome. Everyone has them. It’s time to get working on yours.” She undid her shirt and slipped off her jeans until she was standing in her swimsuit. “I’ll teach you how to swim, Gabe. Go get your suit on.”
Some of the tension eased, though his shoulders stayed taut. “You’d do that?”
“Why not? You built this monstrosity. Seems a shame not to get some joy out of it.”
His voice barely broke the quiet of the evening. “I was going to force myself, you see. That’s why the pool was included in the plans. I was going to acclimatize myself to it, teach myself to take it one step at a time.”
“Only you couldn’t do it. Of course you couldn’t, not by yourself. I’ll help you. I love swimming.” She sat on the chair. “Go get your suit,” she said patiently.
He took his own sweet time, but finally Gabe emerged on the patio in a pair of dark blue swimming trunks.
“I switched on the lights,” he told her, his voice losing some of its innate authority as he stared at the glassy-smooth water.
“I saw.” Blair got up and walked to the pool’s steps. She waited, holding out one hand. “Come on. Let’s go in. It’s a beautiful night for a swim. Look at those stars.”
He didn’t look up, he just stared at her. Finally, with effort, he managed to put one foot in front of the other and walk slowly to her side.
“I hate this,” he muttered, his eyes blazing as he stepped into the water.
“I love it.” She kept walking steadily forward, letting the water slide up her body. “It makes me think of God’s love, covering me like a second skin, protecting me.”
Gabe searched her eyes, waiting as she walked him deeper into the water. When the water came up to his shoulders, he stopped. “That’s enough.” His voice was hoarse.
“Okay.” She led him back a little way, wincing as she flexed her tightly held fingers. “Gabriel, you are in control here. If you want your head to go under, it will. If you don’t want it to, it won’t. It’s your choice. No one is going to force you.”
Blair dipped under the water, then slowly stood, letting it stream down off her head and face. Gabriel stared at her, then, before she could react, dipped himself completely under the water. He came up thrashing wildly, his eyes full of terror, coughing the water from his lungs.
Blair waited until he’d recovered, then smiled. “You have to close your mouth,” she whispered tenderly. “You’re not going to drown. I won’t let you. It’s only water. It can’t hurt you.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Try again,” she encouraged. “But this time take a deep breath and don’t let it out until your head is out of the water.”
“This is stupid.” He turned as if to leave.
“What’s stupid is letting fear rule your life. It only makes everything worse.” She made no attempt to stop him.
When he got to the steps Gabe halted, then turned back. “It’s been there a long time,” he told her quietly. “It won’t die easily.”
“You wouldn’t be suffering so much if it were easy.” She stood silent, waiting.
Gabe returned, but his mouth was set in a grim line. He gasped a huge breath, ducked his head under and pop
ped up a nanosecond later. “There,” he spluttered.
“There what? Are you over the fear? Can you swim here with Daniel now?” She waited.
Gabe muttered something then resolutely forced his head under the water several more times. Each time Blair watched but said nothing.
“When will it be enough for you?” he asked angrily after the last attempt. “I can get my head under. I can stand it. Isn’t that enough?”
She shook her head. “While you’re under there, your mind screams to get out. You can’t swim when you feel like that. You have to relax in the water.” Blair took his hand and led him toward the steps. “Sit down here. On this step.” When he was up to his neck in water she sat on the step above. “How does it feel?”
“Wet.” He let go of the railing long enough to wave a hand through the pattern of light that shone from the bottom. “I should have put in more lights.”
“Why? Is there something hiding in the corner? Some monster that will jump out and drown us?” He glared at her in silent anger, but Blair wouldn’t give up. “The monsters are here, Gabe.” She tapped his head. “It’s time to toss them out.”
It took a long time, and she was beginning to wish she’d never started this, but finally Gabe sighed.
“All right!” His eyes met hers. “I wasn’t much older than Daniel. We’d gone to the lake one weekend. He pushed me out of the boat in the middle of the lake and ordered me to swim to shore. ‘Any little wimp can swim, you know.’ I had no idea how to stay afloat. I grabbed onto the rope from the anchor but that infuriated him. He grabbed my head and shoved me under. I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember is waking up cold and wet on the shore. He was nowhere around.”
The shockingly brutal words stripped away her pretense at nonchalance. Blair could only stare at him in grim commiseration.
“Now you know the truth. Are you happy?”
The biting sarcasm washed off her. He was hurting. And she hurt for him.
“Are you?” she asked softly. “It wasn’t the water’s fault, Gabe. It was his. Think of it like this—the water is like wings. It buoys us up, lets us travel in ways we never could have without it. It was given to us for our enjoyment. It’s one of God’s good gifts.” She slid one arm along his shoulders. “Lean back against my arm and look up at the sky.”
Hesitantly, slowly, Gabe let himself lean back, one hand clinging to the handrail.
“See those stars,” she whispered. “They look like thousands of diamonds strewn across God’s black velvet cloak. If you keep your eyes on the ground you miss them.”
She held him there for a long time, supporting his head, softly reminding him of all the glories God has provided for his children. When Gabe finally stood, she waited, wondering how far this could go.
Her heart ached for the poor little boy, denied worth by his own father. How could she resent him? How could she add to the misery and suffering he carried still?
“I’ve had enough. You can swim your lengths if you want. I’ll sit here and watch.”
Blair nodded and struck out for the deep end, sliding into a smooth, regular front crawl that stretched her muscles and soothed her mind. She’d missed this. The university pool was an extravagance she no longer had when she’d moved home. To be able to swim at night, in the open air, seemed decadent beyond belief.
When at last she could find no more breath, Blair stroked over to the steps and sat beside Gabe, letting the lapping water ease the sting in her chest.
“How did you learn to swim?” Gabe asked.
“Grandpa Mac. My parents died in a boating accident, but he was determined that it wouldn’t deprive me of the joy of water. I was about five when he first brought me to the creek. It was freezing cold but he made it all a game. I loved it.”
Silence, yawning and cavernous, accentuating the different histories, hung between them. Blair finally got up.
“Good night, Gabe.”
His hand on her arm stopped her. He towered over her in the gloom, his eyes glowing. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Blair nodded, her smile sincere. “Thank you for the pool. I love it.”
She made it to the patio door before his voice stopped her.
“Blair?”
“Yes?” She turned slowly, watched him climb the stairs, pad across the cement.
“I promised you earlier that I’d kiss you when there was plenty of time and no one around to interrupt.” He waved a hand. “There’s no one else here.”
Blair glanced over her shoulder, then nodded. “That’s true. They’ve all gone to bed. First night in their new home. I don’t think they’ll miss the old place, but we’ll leave it there in case one of us needs a hideaway.”
“And I’ve plenty of time.”
“So do I.” She wouldn’t back away, not now. This was not the Gabe she’d known. This man had pushed away her defenses and climbed right into her heart. Whether he knew it or not, he needed her. She wanted him to kiss her.
He stepped forward until there were only millimeters separating them. One hand lifted to cup her chin while the other wrapped itself around her waist. His eyes stared into hers, asking a question. She stared back, hoping he’d understand her answer.
His lips brushed hers in the gentlest of touches before they moved to graze against the tip of her nose and over her eyelashes. They caressed each cheek, then followed the line of her chin to her mouth.
When he finally moved away, he muttered, “It’s a good thing nobody saw that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time, Blair.”
“Me, too,” she whispered, before turning tail and dashing into the house to the security of her bathroom where the knowledge glared at her in the mirror, lit by the bright white lights behind her.
She loved Gabriel Sloan, far beyond the silly schoolgirl infatuation she’d thought was true love back then. The emotion burning deep inside now consumed her. It was pain and pleasure. He didn’t love her, but that didn’t matter. She wanted only his happiness, his freedom from the fiendish memories that haunted him.
She would help him as much as she could, no matter what it cost her. And maybe someday, Gabe would see that he needed her, too.
Someday.
Blair walked into the massive, empty bedroom and sighed.
What a way to spend your wedding night—alone.
Again.
Chapter Seven
“Daddy? Can I help?”
A week after the wedding, Gabe glanced up from the complicated diagram, sparing a glance for the little boy before his attention was lured by the intricate work. “Uh, not right now, okay, Daniel? I’ve just got a little extra touch-up to do here, and I’ll have rebuilt that microprocessor.” He studied it more closely, checking and rechecking the alterations he’d made on the diagram.
“What’s a micropro—that thing?”
“It sorts through the information. Kind of like the brain.” Gabe checked to make sure, but Daniel still stood by his knee, his hands at his side. “Why don’t you go play with your blocks for a little while?”
“I want you to come, Daddy. You know how to build it better than me.”
“In a minute.” Gabe took a second look at his solder. Yes, that would hold. Now if he had thought this through properly… He turned back to the papers.
“I’ll hold it, Daddy.”
The shrill sound drew Gabe out of his introspection in time to see one small, chubby hand reaching up to touch the circuit board Gabe had just assembled.
“Don’t touch that!” Gabe grabbed for the board, but instead of hanging onto it, his fingers slipped and the assembly crashed to the floor, sending shards of electrical parts all over. Four days of work—gone. “Daniel!”
The boy backed away slowly, his eyes huge in his white face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. I just wanted to help. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to put it back together again, Daniel.” Gabe fought to control his frustration. Evidently he took to
o long because Daniel turned and fled, his little feet pounding up the stairs to the main floor.
Furious at the mess and the time and effort lost, Gabe went looking for the broom and dustpan. He found them and Mac in the kitchen.
“What’s biting your ankles? You look like a thundercloud about to dump on someone.” Mac sat in his favorite chair, tipping back on it so he could stare at Gabe. “Having some trouble?”
“I wasn’t until Daniel knocked an assembly onto the floor.” He pinched his lips together, frustration vying with anger, neither of which he intended to let out.
“Was the boy hurt?”
The comment struck Gabe to the quick. The dustpan fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. “I don’t think so,” he muttered, feeling the heat of shame burn his face.
“Didn’t you check?”
It was a question, that was all. There was no condemnation in Mac’s voice. But Gabe felt the guilt all the way to his heart. “He ran away so fast I didn’t get a chance.” It wasn’t an excuse, and Gabe knew it.
He let the broom hit the floor and flopped into the chair opposite Mac’s.
“I blew it. Again.” He raked a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I just got so involved in what I was doing. I forgot he wouldn’t understand how delicate everything is. I didn’t mean to yell. I just wanted to warn him. Now he’ll think I hate him or something.” Gabe sighed, then got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Mac held out his mug. “He’s probably feeling bad, all right,” he agreed quietly.
Gabe’s stomach plummeted to his shoes.
“But that’s not necessarily a negative. Next time he might think first and ask permission before he touches something.” Mac took his full cup, sipped it and then sighed his satisfaction.
“But I shouldn’t have yelled at him. He’s just a little kid. He wasn’t trying to steal a company secret.” Gabe wished he could wipe it out and start again. “Now he’ll hate me. I’m doing exactly what my father did.”
“Are you?” Mac swiveled his toothpick to the corner of his mouth, his lips smiling. “I don’t think so. Parents are people, too, Gabe. They make mistakes. They yell when they shouldn’t. Life happens. There’s nothing wrong with a child learning that everyone makes mistakes. It’s how we handle them that matters.”
