Miracle

by Deborah Smith

  “Amy, that’s the greatest compliment you could give me.”

  “You didn’t have to drive all the way to Athens and take me out to eat just to say good-bye. But you did, because you’re terrific. I can’t scarf down my chow mein and act nonchalant. I feel like I’ll never see you again.” She jabbed her fork into the food and looked at Jeff despondently.

  He reached across the table and took both of her hands. His fingers stroked her palms. “Did it ever occur to you that I hate to leave you?”

  Her withering emotions took a little life from his remark. She knew that he cared about her. Not much was certain in the world, but Jeff’s friendship was a sure bet. Right now she needed his support in every way he could give it. “What’s really wrong?” he asked.

  “Sebastien is seeing some woman.” She told him about Mr. Beaucaire’s visit.

  Jeff’s expression went from amazed to thoughtful. “Better a woman than a man.” He squeezed her hands gently. His gaze held hers with compelling sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweets. I really am.”

  “Thank you for not gloating.”

  “Why would I gloat? I don’t like to see you hurt.”

  Emotion filled her throat. Jeff. Good old Jeff. “Could we get out of here? I can’t eat. I’m suffocating.”

  “You’re just hyperventilating.”

  “I know, I know. But I’d rather do it in fresh air.”

  He paid their bill and they left. On the sidewalk of one of Athens’s quiet, small-town streets Jeff put his arm around her and she leaned against him. They walked through the spring night.

  “I’ve got a great idea,” he told her. “I’ll get a room at one of Athens’s finest motels. I’ll hang around town for a couple of days, and we’ll live it up.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “What say I get a room now, and you come with me? We’ll order some pizza and watch cable TV.”

  “That sounds okay. Sure.”

  Inside Jeff’s new Mercedes sports coupe she put her head back on the passenger seat and shut her eyes. She now owned a small blue Ford, cheap but friendly. She missed the Ferrari because it had made her feel close to Sebastien. The day she had sold it she spent an hour sitting quietly in the driver’s side, her senses tuned to the memories of a fast night on a dark road with him.

  Sometimes she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and every moment played on her emotions with sharp awareness; but at other times a soothing blankness washed away all thoughts but those of the present. She wasn’t fooled by it. She knew that the memories hid just behind a wall of fatigue, but she appreciated the respite. She felt blank right now.

  As he drove, Jeff reached over and took her hand. “You’re learning a valuable lesson sweets,” he said softly. “I know it hurts, but in the long run you’ll be smarter because of it.”

  “I love him. I always will.”

  “You may always love Sebastien, but you won’t hurt when you think about him. The mind has a wonderful way of losing touch with painful stimuli. Trust me.”

  She decided not to tell him that she’d be visiting France in late summer, to find Sebastien. Deep down she feared that everyone was right, that she was being foolish. Her determination seemed more hopeless than ever before. “Dr. Freud, I may be naive, but sometimes I think you don’t know diddly squat about how to love—really love—somebody.”

  He chuckled with fiendish intent. “Ah, but I know the mind. The psyche. The intellect. The dark little corners where only the bravest mice go.”

  “My mice are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

  “What a charming analogy. I’ll have to remember it.”

  He drove to one of the motels on the highway outside of town. It was the kind of place that catered to business people and well-heeled football alumni. Amy was impressed by the cable TV selections. Jeff sprawled on the king-size bed and picked up the phone. “A giant pizza and a six-pack, all right, sweets?”

  “All right.” She sat at the foot of the bed and studied his prone body with dismay. Jeff seemed threatening this way; she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason. She frowned and got up, then prowled around the room. She put her big cloth purse on the dresser and pretended to look for something inside, while she darted glances at Jeff in the dresser mirror as he placed their food order.

  His jogging shoes, soft, faded jeans, and rumpled red T-shirt made him look less like a thirty-one-year-old doctor and more like a graduate student close to her own age. His blondish hair was marching back from his forehead, but the disheveled look of it flattered him, gave him a mad-scientist appeal that suited his personality.

  Cupping the phone to one ear, he tucked a pillow under his head and flopped one foot over the other. His position accented the impressive mound that lay at the base of his belly. Amy lowered her gaze to her purse, uncomfortable with scrutinizing him that way. She stared at her cold, pale hands and wondered why being here with Jeff should upset her.

  They ate pizza and watched television in companionable silence. She stayed on the far side of the bed, her legs curled under her. He made clucking sounds of disapproval because she wouldn’t drink more than one beer. “I’ll have to drink the other five,” he said and moaned.

  “Better not. You’ve gotta give me a ride back to the house.”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin, studied her in silence, then said softly, “You don’t really want to go, do you?”

  She dropped a half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and sat very still, frowning at Jeff. “I don’t love you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. But you like me. And I’m crazy about you.” His eyes were intense, but he smiled. “Crazy. An appropriate choice of words.”

  A cry of confusion and torment rose inside her. She pressed her hands to her mouth to suppress it. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Having sex doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? It’s as ordinary as brushing your teeth.”

  “Yes, but you should see how well I floss.” He set the pizza box and beer on a nightstand, then rolled toward her and propped his head on one hand. The other hand snaked across the bed’s coverlet and rested on her knee. His fingers stroked her lightly through her jeans. “Give yourself permission to be happy. There’s no reason to feel guilty. You’ve been faithful for so long. Sebastien never expected you to live like a nun. My God, sweets, adults don’t make those kinds of demands on each other.”

  When she put her head in her hands and groaned with frustration, he continued, speaking in his low, cajoling tone. “You’re finished with Sebastien. Let go, Amy. Be an adult and let go.”

  She caught a sob. Crying silently, she didn’t protest when he sat up and pulled her into his arms. He brushed his lips across her hands then nuzzled her ear, whispering, “It’s like riding a horse. If you fall off, you have to get right back on.”

  She wiped her eyes. “But on a new horse?”

  “Whatever it takes to get you back in the saddle.” His nimble fingers went to the buttons on her pale cotton shirt. “Sebastien would understand. He’d approve. He wouldn’t care.”

  He wouldn’t care. Amy numbly watched Jeff’s fingers part her shirt and stroke the inner curves of her breasts above her bra. He dipped his head and kissed her there, his mouth firm and sure. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. There aren’t any lies in what I’m telling you. I really believe that I know what’s best for you. Trust me, Amy, trust me. You can start to feel better. I can make you feel better. It’s as simple as this.”

  He slid a finger inside her bra and rubbed a nipple until it hardened. Desire slid through her. She felt breathless and sad, aroused but detached. It was good to be touched, to be wanted by a man. Sebastien had taught her the power and beauty of satisfaction, then left her hungering for it, alone.

  She raised her hands to Jeff’s shoulders and explored the smooth movement of muscle over his lanky frame. Her head swam with guilt, confusion, sorrow, desire. Shutting her eyes, she accepted reality.

  Th
is night was not going as planned. Usually following sex Jeff dozed—relaxed, gloating, victorious. Usually his partner curled herself to his side and sighed with happiness.

  His partners did not stare at him unblinking while he was in the midst of a magnificent performance. They didn’t fake their excitement with little humming sounds that reminded him of a sewing machine at low speed. And when he finished, smiling, waiting for a compliment, they did not just thank him brusquely, roll over, and pretend to fall asleep.

  “It won’t work,” he said grimly. “I can feel your vibes. You hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Her voice was hoarse with misery. “You did just fine.”

  “Why, thank you.” Troubled about the depth of his concern for her, he cursed silently but pulled the sheet aside and moved close to her. Tucking the cover around them both, he curved himself against her back and buttocks. She was cold and trembling. Jeff put his arm around her waist. He cupped his hips so that his penis wouldn’t bump her. “I’ll keep that dastardly villain away from you, fair damsel,” he teased, his throat tight. “Now stop regretting what you and I did.”

  “It was fine. Just fine.”

  “ ‘Fine’ seems to be the word of choice tonight. What happened? At first, I could swear that you wanted this.”

  “I did. I thought it’d be a good substitute for the real thing.”

  “Ouch. I see.” His sense of rejection climbed higher. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to please her. Determined, he stroked her face with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes remained shut, but tears crept from under the lids. “It may take time for you to relax,” he told her. “It’s all right to feel ambivalent about me right now.”

  “You sure are good-natured and patient.” She turned onto her back and gazed up at him. Distress made dark smudges under her eyes. “And I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’re so nice.”

  He cupped her chin. “Listen to me. The next time will be great. I promise.”

  Her eyes clouded. “I don’t think—”

  “Sssh.” He kissed her. God damn you, Sebastien. Get out of her mind. There. See how she opened her mouth for me? All I need is patience.

  “Jeff, don’t,” she said, and turned her head away. “I’m trying, but it doesn’t work. This isn’t right for me.”

  Wounded and growing angry, he scowled at her. His patience began to fray, but he spoke calmly. “How would you like to live in California?”

  “What?”

  “Come with me. Live with me. Enroll in college out there. We’d have a great time, sweets. You’d love California. Especially San Francisco. I’m going to buy a house near the bay.” He tried to intrigue her by describing the state’s attractions. He told her about Hollywood, Los Angeles, Malibu, Disneyland. He mentioned that some of his patients would be television and film people. He’d make contacts in the entertainment business. She might get to meet some of her favorites.

  His speech raised no shred of interest in her. “I can’t leave here,” she said gently. “This is where I told Sebastien I’d be.”

  Jeff felt a muscle ticking in his cheek. “What difference does that make? He doesn’t care where you go to school.”

  “I told him I’d be in school here.”

  “I thought we settled all this.” He wanted to shake her. His voice rose. “You were making progress. You can’t backslide now. You are never going to see him again.”

  She began to squirm under the clamp of his arm. Her eyes flashed defiance. “I might! At any rate, I won’t run off where he can’t find me!”

  “And if you do see him again, and he hasn’t forgotten you, are you going to explain why you fucked his best friend?”

  They both froze, those words hanging like a knife between them. Her chest rose with short, strangled breaths. “He wouldn’t look at it that way.”

  “The hell he wouldn’t. European men are very possessive. If he cares about you at all—which I doubt—he’d be disgusted to know that you’re in bed with me. Take a sniff of the air, sweets. That’s sex you smell. There’s no way you can pretend that this didn’t happen.”

  Horror filled her eyes. He had struck a chord. “I’d explain … somehow,” she insisted, but her voice was hollow. She twisted away and pulled a pillow to her chest, hugging it, her body hunched.

  Jeff raised himself to a sitting position and glared at her. But a sense of shame stabbed him, and his head began to throb with tension. Repressed guilt, he admitted with a bitter smile. He rubbed his temples. “Don’t worry, sweets.” His voice was leaden. “Sebastien will never find out about this unless you tell him. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “But the damage is done,” she said brokenly. “And it was my fault.”

  Jeff flicked the light off. The darkness complimented his bleak mood. For the moment, he loved her, and he was sorry for hurting her. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m sure that Sebastien would understand.”

  But she no longer trusted him. He sat in the darkness giving useless comfort and listening to the soft sounds of her defeat.

  For the proper effect, it was vital to keep one’s voice pitched at the level of casual conversation. One could not reveal the satisfaction that had been spawned by a private investigator’s report. One could not hint that risks worth taking had paid off handsomely. Or that even a smart young man, such as Dr. Atwater, could play into a crafty old man’s plan. After Pio added a few half-truths and outright lies le comte’s plan would work out perfectly.

  When Pio heard Sebastien answer the telephone he gathered himself for a perfect show of nonchalance. “Sebastien, hello! How are you, my boy?”

  “Pio?” Sebastien’s deep voice conveyed wariness even over thousands of miles. “Is everything all right? Why are you calling?”

  “My boy, it’s not as if I never call you.”

  “Ah, but Pio, the reasons, the reasons.” Now Sebastien sounded more amused than suspicious. “What are you up to?”

  “All right, suspect a harmless old man, if you will.” Pio laughed. “I call with good news. The girl … Amy. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

  “Oh? How is that so?”

  “She’s sleeping with Dr. Atwater!” Pio spoke with Gallic earthiness. Affairs, after all, were nothing about which to be shy. “They have been lovers for a long time, I suspect!”

  “Where did you come by this information?”

  “From Dr. Atwater, of course. It is no secret. He’s asked her to go to California with him. I don’t know if she’ll do that or not. But she sold the Ferrari you gave her, so that must mean she expects to move.”

  “When is he leaving?”

  “Soon. In two days, actually.”

  “I will be there before he goes. You locate him for me.”

  “Sebastien, no. The girl has made her choice. You left her to her own devices, so what did you expect? She is young … she has no patience for waiting. It is beneath you, a grown man, an important man from an important family, to let your energies be diverted by her.”

  “Tell Dr. Atwater that I expect to see him.”

  Pio sighed. “All right, my boy, if you insist.”

  “I have plans to make. Good-bye.”

  He hung up without waiting for Pio’s response. Nodding, Pio slowly laid his receiver back on the cradle. He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his stomach. Sebastien would not get permission from his superiors to leave his duties, even for a few days. Le comte had already made certain of that. And Sebastien would soon have diversions to take his mind off the girl. Le comte had made certain of that, too.

  Pio sighed, relieved. It was good to see le comte’s world being put right, finally.

  The medicine woman knew that something about him had changed. She hiked up the shoulder drape of her dress, spit red kola-nut juice into a can, then sternly jabbed a finger at Sebastien’s shirtfront. Her bright cloth turban wobbled with each dismayed shake of her head.
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br />   “She is very surprised and displeased that you’re not wearing your gris-gris this time,” the interpreter explained. “She says without the magic charm your medicine won’t do the villagers any good.”

  Rather than frown at Madame Toka, Sebastien frowned at the woven mat on which he sat. He and she had enjoyed a pleasant professional relationship; he’d listened patiently as she’d offered her opinions on treating everything from bee stings to cancer. He wasn’t going to quarrel with her now over a ridiculous bit of metal he’d once worn around his neck.

  He’d seen a great deal of needless suffering and death during his time in the Ivory Coast; it had taken a toll. He had become tougher than ever, less gentle, less able to tolerate human frailties, including his own.

  “No compromise,” the interpreter whispered.

  Sebastien gestured toward the gifts that lay in front of her kneeling place. “I suppose this month she doesn’t need her supply of cigars and candy.”

  “She is strong-willed,” the interpreter said.

  Madame Toka eyed Sebastien with birdlike shrewdness. She clasped her heart and spoke in hushed tones.

  “Madame asks, ‘Why are you sad?’ ”

  “Sad? She is mistaken.”

  “Humor her. When she decides something, there’s no point in arguing.”

  “All right. Tell her that I’m sad because I’ve been disappointed by someone I love.”

  When the interpreter finished, Madame Toka gestured dramatically, then opened up her conjuring bag filled with small-animal skulls and shells, spread them on the floor, and consulted them. She began speaking with solemn assurance.

  Sebastien’s interpreter hitched his white bou-bou up a little and leaned forward, hands planted on crossed legs. “You are disappointed in yourself as well, she says.”