by Amii Lorin
"I'm not going to disappear into a puff of smoke, Jennifer," Adam laughed softly. "I don't expect you to face them with this alone. Don't say anything until I can get here tomorrow."
"Adam!" Jen twisted around to him fearfully. "You won't tell them what happened between us? They have-certain ideas—rigid ones—and—and—" Jen floundered, her mouth going dry at the thought of her parents' reaction to that kind of news.
"I'm not a complete bastard, Jennifer," Adam ground out fiercely. "I don't make love—and tell."
Jen stared at him wide-eyed. Oh, Lord, how could they hope to make a life together when they became bogged down with misunderstanding at the first hurdle? She had been afraid that, in his honesty, he would be a little too frank with her parents. While he thought—what? That she believed him capable of viciousness? The very idea shocked her into stuttered speech.
"Adam, I—I didn't mean—"
The hard, unrelenting set of his features told her her plea wasn't reaching him.
"I know exactly what you meant." Then, his tone crushing, he turned and grasped the wheel. "Good night, Jennifer."
Feeling casually dismissed, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Jen got out of the car, closing the door carefully.
Forcing herself to maintain a normal pace, she walked to the front door, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and slipping inside, stood shaking like a leaf as she listened to the sound of Adam's car fade as he drove away.
Over an hour later, unable to sleep, Jen finally gave up her fitful tossing—and the effort not to think. After fighting her way out of the tangle of covers, she pushed her feet into furry mules and went slapping along the hallway to the kitchen.
She was pouring herself a glass of milk she didn't really want when her mother entered the kitchen. Wondering vaguely if a feather could fall to the floor without her mother hearing it, Jen sat down at the table and stared broodingly into the white liquid.
"What's the matter, honey?" Ella asked quietly. "Couldn't you sleep?"
"No." Jen shook her head briefly before glancing up. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
"Oh, Jen," Ella sighed, "you've disturbed me all week. Your lack of appetite, your listlessness, your sleeplessness. Oh, yes"—she looked squarely into Jen's widened eyes— "I've known all week that you haven't been sleeping well." Her voice went low, coaxing. "Can't you tell me what's bothering you?"
Jen stared into her mother's concerned face for a long time, then, shifting her gaze back to her glass, she whispered, "There's this man."
"Ahhh—" Ella expelled her breath slowly. "I was somehow sure that there was. You met him while you were away?"
"Yes."
"He was a passenger on the bus?"
"No."
"Jen, will you look at me?" her mother ordered impatiently. "I do not like being cast in the role of interrogator. Now, if you want to talk about it, then talk. If not, say so, and I'll go back to bed."
Immediately contrite, Jen grasped her mother's hand. "I'm sorry, Mom," she apologized. Then, coming to a swift decision, blurted, "He's asked me to marry him."
"And are you going to?"
Stunned by her mother's calmly voiced question, Jen gaped at her in astonishment.
"Well?" Ella prompted softly. "Are you?"
"Yes, but—" Jen's expression betrayed her bewilderment. "Is that all you have to say?"
"Hardly," Ella laughed. "But I wanted a definite answer before I bombarded you with questions."
They talked for nearly an hour over steaming cups of tea her mother insisted on making after pouring the untouched milk down the drain. Thankfully her mother's questions did not probe too deeply, and with a sigh of relief, Jen willingly answered all of them.
By the time they bade each other a whispered "Good night," her mother knew what Adam looked like, what he did for a living, where he lived, and that Jen loved him very much. What she did not know was how impetuously Jen had responded to him, or any of the intimate, hurtful details that followed.
It was not until Jen was back in bed and beginning to drift into sleep that two thoughts—springing into her mind back to back—made her shift position restlessly. The first thought was what she would do if, after the way they'd parted, Adam did not call her. The second was much more irrelevant. Did he still have her chain? Not having the answer to either question, and by now dead tired, Jen closed her eyes tightly and fell asleep.
Jen's first thought on waking at ten thirty was an echo of the one held while falling asleep. Would he call? The very real fear that he would not lay on her mind heavily as she went to the kitchen for a bracing cup of coffee. She found her mother there watering the plants that lined the kitchen windowsill. There was no sign of her father anywhere. Emulating the breathless, happy tone that had colored her sister's voice for weeks before her wedding, Jen sang, "Good morning, Mom, where's Daddy?"
"He went to the hardware store," Ella answered placidly. "They're having a sale on electric hedge clippers."
"Did you tell him?" Jen asked tersely.
"No." Her watering finished, Ella turned to- smile at her. "It's your bomb; I'll let you drop it." After replacing the long-spouted watering can in the cabinet beneath the sink, she frowned at the cup in Jen's hand. "Is that all you're having?"
"Are there any English muffins?" Jen asked, hoping there weren't.
There were, and Jen was determinedly chewing away when her father came whistling through the back door, a long package under one arm.
"Good morning, honey," he greeted her cheerfully. "Did you have a good time last night?"
Taking his question as her cue, Ella breezed out of the kitchen after bestowing an encouraging smile on her daughter.
Catching his wife's parting look, and not being in the least obtuse, Ralph leveled his eyes on Jen and prompted, "What's up?"
"I'm getting married." Jen bit her lip hard the minute the last word was out of her mouth. Calling herself a blithering nitwit, she watched her father anxiously for a reaction. When it came it left her as stunned as her mother's had.
"Anyone I know?" Ralph asked blandly.
Jen should have realized his tone was just a little too bland, even coming from her even-tempered father. But in her surprise she didn't realize it, and his second question hit her like a shock of cold water.
"I want some answers, young lady," he barked angrily. "Who the hell is he?"
His face set, his eyes hard, he listened as Jen repeated, almost word for word, what she'd said to her mother only hours before. In a desperate bid to wipe the rigidity from his face, she finished on a soft, appealing whisper.
"I love him, Daddy."
Being a realistic man and loving his daughter very much, Ralph bowed to the inevitable.
"Okay, honey," he sighed. "When are we going to meet him?"
When, after exchanging hugs, kisses, and a few errant tears, Jen escaped to her room, it was with the conviction that if Adam failed to call she would leave home rather than try to explain.
The phone rang at exactly one minute after one.
CHAPTER 10
Adam presented himself at the Lengle residence at exactly six thirty, having arranged—with Jen acting as go-between—to take her parents out to dinner. His appearance when Jen opened the door was a small assault on nerves that were already drawn too tautly.
Although up until now his clothes had been obviously expensive, they had been casual sport clothes. Now, the sight of him in a fashionably cut suit, silk shirt and tie, and a fur-collared topcoat was just about enough to do her in entirely. Her reaction did not go unnoticed by Adam, although he did misinterpret it. Shrugging out of the topcoat as he stepped inside, he smiled wryly.
"It seems February is going to be every bit as bleak as January was. It is cold and it is windy."
In the process of handing his coat to her, the sleeves of both his suit and shirt inched up his arm, and Jen's glance was caught and held on the fine gold chain that encircled his narrow left wrist just below a slim gold watch.
> "May I have it back?" Jen inquired huskily, knowing full well she did not have to identify "it."
"No," Adam answered flatly and, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, "Where are your parents?"
"They'll be out in a minute." Glad for an excuse to avoid his eyes, Jen turned to drape his coat over the back of a chair. "They are being tactful by giving us some time alone together."
"That's very thoughtful of them."
Jen shuddered. She had not heard him move, yet he was right behind her—not touching, but very close. The shudder increased when he turned her to face him.
"You look like you're ready to fall apart," he said softly. "Was it very bad?" He knew she had told her parents about their plans to marry. But that was ail he knew, for all she'd said over the phone was, "I talked to my mother and father." When she didn't answer at once he insisted, "Jennifer, are they angry?—disappointed?—what?"
"No," Jen denied. "At least, not any more. There were a few uncomfortable moments, but, well, I think they're reserving judgment until they've had a chance to get to know you."
"A commendable trait, reserving judgment until you have a base from which you can render a. fair judgment." Adam smiled sardonically. "One their daughter should have cultivated."
Was he going to start that again? Jen went stiff with swift anger that, while churning her emotions, clouded her common sense. Shrugging off the hands that still clasped her shoulders, Jen lashed out at him unthinkingly.
"Yes, I know—I am childish, stupid, narrow-minded, straitlaced, morally uptight, and"—she tossed her head back defiantly, setting her red curls to dancing like flames around a log—"worst defect of all—I make snap judgments." Suddenly aware that her voice was rising, she drew a deep breath.
"Jen—" Adam began.
"One might wonder," she went on as if he hadn't spoken, "exactly what it is you see in me." Jen glared at him silently, challenging him to answer. He met the challenge in a way that drained the color from her face.
"You're fantastic in bed."
Her parents' entrance into the living room prevented her imminent explosion. Gritting her teeth and forcing a smile, she managed to get through the introductions and the flurry of activity of donning coats and getting into the car.
By the time they were seated in the tastefully decorated restaurant Adam had chosen, Jen had her seething emotions enough under control to look at Adam without fighting the urge to hiss like a ruffled cat.
Adam's behavior was faultless. As they made their leisurely way through an excellently prepared dinner Jen barely tasted, he responded to her parents' sometimes probing questions with a charmingly open earnestness that had them smiling contentedly into their after-dinner coffee.
During the drive back to the house the final straw fell on Jen's delicate emotional state when her father invited Adam to play golf with him. Her father never invited anyone to play golf until he knew them inside out! Even her sister's husband, Ron, had not been invited to play until a few weeks before they'd gotten married, and Ron had practically been a fixture around the house for months by that time!
Back at the house, feeling as battered as an overworked tennis ball, Jen gave up all hope of retaliation against Adam that night. After being told to make himself comfortable by her mother and being given a drink by her father, Adam sat, his teasing eyes taunting her, happily joining in as her parents made wedding plans.
That evening set the pattern for the weeks that followed. When, on the following afternoon, Jen had finally gotten him alone long enough to attack him for what he'd said, he'd replied, unanswerably, "Why not say it, darling? You are fantastic in bed." Then with a grimace he'd launched his own attack. "And if I somehow manage to live through the next four months, I'm hoping the reward will be worth all the effort."
Jen would have dearly loved to argue with him. The only problem was, she wasn't quite sure she fully understood what he was talking about. And before she could marshal her thoughts, he had further confounded her by presenting her with a perfectly beautiful solitaire diamond set into an intricately wrought ring.
In the weeks that followed, Jen found they had more in common than a mutual physical attraction. She loved his town house on sight which, he admitted at once, was a relief to him as he loved it himself. Their preferences in furniture ran on parallel lines. Their taste in music was complementary, and they enjoyed the same sports. They had already discovered they liked the same foods while at the motel. Now Jen learned that liking extended to nearly everything edible down to the dark sweet chocolate that covered their favorite caramels.
The most delightful discovery came one night while they watched TV when her parents were out for an evening of cards at the home of friends. After roaring together at the offbeat sense of humor of a British comedy show, they had gone to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator for a snack. They reentered the living room just as the title of the late-night movie flashed onto the screen. The film was a classic from the forties and one of Jen's favorites. Studying her rapt expression as she read every one of the credits, Adam asked, "Do you want to watch it?"
"Would you mind?" Jen glanced at him quickly.
"Not at all," he grinned. "As a matter of fact, I love these old tear-jerkers."
Up until that point Jen had kept Adam at arm's length as far as physical contact was concerned. And much to her surprise, he had shown remarkable patience. Not once had he even tried to deepen their usual passionless good-night kiss. But she was weakening. She had started out loving him, and as the weeks blended into months and their compatibility wove silken, enclosing threads over and around her senses, she discovered her love growing into frightening proportions. And undermining her determination to stick to her vow, she was gradually losing her fear of the future.
When the movie started they were seated over a foot apart on the sofa. By the time it came to a heart-wrenching end, Jen was wrapped in Adam's arms. The transition of being held close while sitting up, to being held closer while lying flat, was completed during the length of one mutually hungry kiss.
Partial sanity returned to Jen when Adam's trembling fingers began unbuttoning her shirt-style blouse. When the tips of his fingers brushed the exposed skin at the edge of her bra, she murmured an unconvincing protest.
"Oh, God, Jennifer," Adam groaned raggedly. "Being away from you again for two weeks is going to be hard enough as it is. Let me love you before I go, darling."
"Go!" Jen went stiff with shock. "Where are you going now?"
During the last months Adam had had to leave the country four times, and Jen had writhed with an uncertainty she couldn't control on each occasion. To add to her uneasiness he had looked more harried and tired after each successive trip. And although her mind was filled with a riot of questions about his activities while he was away, she bit them back, sure he would resent them. The fact that he became cold and withdrawn for several days following his return each time was an added barrier to any open discussion. After his last trip, two weeks previously, he had told her he most probably would not have to go away again before the wedding. In her overwhelming relief, Jen had conveniently forgotten his cautionary "most probably."
Now she added dully, "When?"
"I told you I might have to leave the country once more before June," Adam rasped. "I fly out tomorrow morning."
"You were going without telling me!"
"Of course not," he snapped. Swinging his legs to the floor, he stood up. "But being fairly sure of your reaction to my going, I decided to wait until the last minute to tell you."
Hating herself yet unable to keep the accusation from pouring from her mouth Jen cried, "And was that last-minute telling to come by way of a note claiming you had an emergency call?"
The moment the words were out Jen wished them back. Not once during the preceding months had she questioned him as to why he'd had to leave the motel so precipitously that morning—simply because it hadn't mattered. He had called her. He had asked her to marry
him. And as far as she was concerned, she had enough doubts in the present, worrying about the future, not to rake up the past. Why, she asked herself, had she brought it up now? Apparently he was asking the same question.
"Dammit, Jennifer, you—" Adam broke off to give her a hard stare, then, turning away abruptly, he ground out, "Oh, the hell with it." Striding across the room, he scooped up his jacket, growled "Good night," and without looking back, slammed out of the house.
Time after time, during the weeks that followed Adam's departure Jen berated herself for her foolish tongue. But always on the next thought she berated Adam for springing his news on her the way he had. And just when she was beginning to feel easy with him. His reaction to her charge, his abrupt departure, all seemed a little too suspicious to her. Mistrust of the necessity for his going reared its ugly head. The fact that she heard nothing from him did nothing to allay that mistrust.
Luckily her parents accepted Adam's absence with complacency, their attitude being, a man had a job to do and he did it.
As the wedding arrangements jelled and came together, Jen threw herself into the last-minute craziness with a frenzy that was mistaken for excitement. As the stated two weeks came and then passed, Jen felt she could show real excitement if she could be positive the bridegroom would show up.
In the short amount of time allotted, Ella Lengle had outdone herself. Two weeks to the day of being told her daughter was getting married she had hired the caterer and ordered the invitations.
The wedding and reception would be held in the large backyard, the food set out buffet style in the cool garage, along with a makeshift bar. Jen's only attendant would be her sister. Adam's best man was to be a close friend from his college days who Jen had met once. Ella's only fears were that the rose bushes would not bloom in time—and that it would rain.
Sixteen days from the day he left, Adam returned. Jen had had no word of any kind, and when the doorbell rang she ran to answer it, hoping against hope. When she opened the door there he stood, looking tired and a little drawn, a sardonic smile curving his lips.
