Bittersweet Passion

by Peggy Webb

  And I swear I saw Michael’s hand quiver as if he were trying desperately to toot the horn. Once, I’m sure. Michael always put me first. As I did with him.

  I believe that’s why our marriage stayed as fresh as if we’d become husband and wife only yesterday.

  Clarice was right. I know that’s what Michael would have told Daniel.

  I’ll have to remember to tell him myself. I’ll probably see him this weekend. He asked for three days at Belle Rose, but I told him to take a week. I stay here with Michael every night anyhow, and Clarice says she’s happy for my company at lunch every day. I think she’s enjoying Hannah’s company, too. Clarice has been rather lonely since her daughter moved to California, though she’d stick pins under her fingernails before she’d ever admit it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Skylar decided she wanted to cook dinner, but Daniel found so many things in the kitchen made for frolic that she finally banned him.

  “At this rate you’ll never have anything to eat,” she told him, and after nuzzling her neck he said, “You’re the only thing I need. Low-calorie, too.”

  “Oh, you.” She swatted him with the dish towel. “Out.”

  He pretended a pout till she kissed it away and told him the ban was only temporary. After he left she turned her attention to the caramel-glazed custard, New Orleans style. It was a recipe she’d found in one of Anne’s cookbooks.

  Skylar had never thought of herself as the domestic sort. She hadn’t been the kind of little girl who tagged after her mother begging to make cookies. Over the years she’d done a fair amount of meal preparation for herself, but mostly she’d eaten in fast-food places or had take-out food right out of the box.

  Her urge to cook surprised her as much as it did her husband. Not that she planned to make a career of it. And she certainly didn’t plan to turn into a conventional wife. But she’d always prided herself on doing things well, and the idea of preparing a gourmet meal for the husband she loved beyond imagining held great appeal for her.

  She checked the trout amandine then began to prepare the Caesar salad. Daniel stuck his head around the door frame.

  “It smells wonderful. May I come back in? I promise to be good.”

  “You’re always good, Daniel, and no, you can’t come in.”

  “What if I promise to behave?”

  “Don’t spread that boyish charm on me. If you want to be helpful, go set the table.”

  “I already did that…it’s lonely out here in the hall all by myself.”

  “All right. I lift the ban.” Laughing, he came in and began to lift the lid on the soup pot. “Don’t stick your finger in. It’s hot.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her until she forgot cooking. She forgot everything except him. They kissed until the soup bubbled over, but by then neither of them cared.

  Daniel reached over and turned off the burner, then turned his attention back to the matter of kissing.

  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Sky,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

  She felt herself expanding inside and filling with light. Taking her husband by the hand she led him to the kitchen table and removed his clothes until he stood before her naked and glorious, then she knelt and said, “Thank you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, too.” Said it without words. Said it with her entire being.

  And finally Daniel lifted her up and spread her across the kitchen table and showed her how it was with them—desire that always shimmered beneath the surface, passion that took every opportunity to spill over its bounds until it finds release. Then afterward they gathered the remains of the soup, the half-finished salad and the cold trout amandine and carried them to the dining room where Daniel had set china plates and silver on linen napkins that glowed snowy white in the candlelight.

  He pulled out her chair and sat at the head of the table, then lifted his wineglass and said, “To us. Daniel and Skylar Westmoreland, lovers forever.”

  “To us.”

  They drank their wine, a good Italian pinot grigio he’d brought up from the wine cellar. When they started on the salad he said, “You’re too far away,” then moved his place setting around the table and pulled up a chair so close to hers that they sat with their legs touching, naked skin still gleaming from their earlier exertions on the kitchen table.

  They fed each other tidbits of salad, stopping often to kiss deeply and make soft murmurings of pleasure, and Skylar sighed.

  “What is it, Sky?”

  “I wish it could always be this way.”

  “It will. We’ll keep our romance alive just as Mom and Dad have.”

  “Can we, Daniel? Even after we leave Belle Rose?”

  “Of course.”

  Skylar wanted to believe him, and so she didn’t remind him that Belle Rose was a beautiful cocoon, that high on their bluff overlooking two rivers they were cut off from the rest of the world, protected from the opinions of others. And the judgment.

  Instead she lingered over dinner, savoring every delightful, hedonistic moment, telling herself that she and Daniel could make time stand still. When the phone rang she was jarred back to the real world. Don’t answer it, she wanted to say.

  But of course Daniel did. How could he not? It could be Anne calling with news of Michael. Or Hannah. Or Emily.

  “I’ll be right back.” He kissed her softly, then went into the library and picked up the receiver. “Hello…”

  Skylar tried not to listen. She even clanked silverware against china in an effort to shut out his words. “I’ll drive over tomorrow,” she heard Daniel say, and although she didn’t know what was being said at the other end of the line, she knew it meant the end of their romantic idyll.

  After he’d finished taking the call Daniel stood in the doorway not saying a word, simply looking at her. Skylar read his silence and she was afraid. Not for herself. But for them. For all the wonderful things they were together in the protection of Daniel’s ancestral home.

  “Is it your dad?”

  “No.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said, but she was feeling no relief.

  He held her gaze for a long time before he finally said her name. “Skylar, we have to g—” She jumped out of her chair and put her hand over his mouth.

  “Shhh, don’t say it, Daniel. Not yet.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her for a very long time. Over his shoulder and through the French doors she could see that the moon was full and that it bathed the garden in ethereal light. The garden looked unreal, fairy-tale-like, a place of magic and enchantment, a place where nothing bad could ever happen.

  “When do you have to go, Daniel?”

  “We. I’m taking you with me.” He leaned back so he could see her face. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “That gives us time,” she said, then led him into the garden where the fragrance of ancient Bourbon roses perfumed the air and the stars seemed so close they were caught in Daniel’s hair.

  They stood underneath a magnolia tree holding on to each other as if all the forces of nature were trying to rip them apart. Then Skylar picked roses and scattered the petals on a lush bed of still-green grass and pulled Daniel down to her.

  Blessed by moonlight and surrounded by the scent of roses, Skylar and Daniel loved each other, and when he suggested they go inside she said, “Can we stay here, Daniel?” for the place seemed sacred to her and she didn’t want to break the spell.

  He went inside and came back with quilts to ward off the evening chill and pillows to cushion their heads, and they slept in each other’s arms until the dew came on the grass. Then they watched as the moon paled in the west and the sun sent its splendor across the eastern skies.

  And their hearts were too full to speak.

  Since it was early they decided to pick up breakfast and take it to the nursing home so they could eat with Anne while they told her the news.
Daniel was glad for all the activity because it kept his mind off the business at hand: returning to Atlanta with a bride who would surely set his church on its ear.

  He found his mother standing beside Michael’s bed working with his feet and legs. “So he doesn’t forget how to walk,” she said when they went into the room.

  Then she hugged them both very close. “Goodness, I didn’t expect to see the two of you for days.”

  Daniel didn’t want to break the news right away, possibly because as long as he didn’t talk about it or think about it, it didn’t seem quite real.

  “I brought breakfast, Mom.”

  “Good. I woke up starving this morning.” Anne tore the cover off a sausage and biscuit then passed it under Michael’s nose. “Smell that, darling. Isn’t that yummy? Why don’t you wake up and have breakfast with me?”

  Skylar reached for Daniel’s hand, and he squeezed it gently, communicating without words their fear as well as their hope—fear that this could happen to them and the hope that they would have the kind of relationship Anne and Michael did. In love forever, no matter what their fate.

  Daniel pulled three chairs close to the window and they ate together in the sunshine while he told his mother that he and Skylar were leaving.

  “There was an unexpected death in my congregation.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Brian Castles, chairman of my administrative board. It’s not the best of times to take Skylar, but we don’t have a choice.”

  “I think it’ll be better this way,” Skylar said. “I can blend in with the woodwork.”

  Daniel and Anne both laughed at the idea of Skylar blending in with anything. One of the things he loved most about his wife was her larger-than-life presence. He’d planned to call ahead and prepare his congregation for a new pastor’s wife, give them a chance to plan some sort of reception for her. Skylar would shine at such an event, then, once they all got to know her…

  Daniel stopped that line of thinking. No use borrowing trouble. Wasn’t that what he always told everybody else? Faith and worry don’t belong together.

  “I hate to leave you in the lurch, Mom.”

  “Nonsense. Hannah’s here. And besides that, I don’t really need anyone with me all the time. Tranquility Manor is a second home for Michael and me. We feel sort of cozy here, kind of like being roommates at a boarding house.”

  Daniel saw through Anne’s false cheer. There were lines on her face that had not been there before Michael vanished into his coma, and more gray hair than she’d ever had. Her easy grace was gone, and in its place was a forced optimism that dulled the familiar light in her eyes.

  It would be so easy to fall back into the trap of shouting questions to the heavens. Why? Why me?

  “You’ll call me if you need me?” he asked.

  “I will.”

  “Then Skylar and I will be going.” He caught his mother’s hand. “Let us pray,” he said, and saying it felt natural and good. Joined in a circle of love he offered his thanks to a God who had never gone away.

  “Thank you, Daniel. Will you do one more thing for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Before you take my daughter-in-law away, I wonder if she’d sing for Michael.”

  Daniel glanced at his wife. “Sky?”

  “Of course I will, Anne. Any song in particular?”

  “Do you know ‘Amazing Grace’?”

  As Skylar began to sing, Daniel was not surprised that she knew the old hymn. The thing that knocked his socks off was the way she sang it…with such passion that he saw angels bending ’round his father’s bed. A radiance filled the room, and when Skylar finished singing a hushed quiet fell upon them. Nobody spoke for fear of breaking the spell.

  Daniel and Skylar kissed Anne then tiptoed toward the door. When he closed it behind him, he saw his mother lean down and kiss Michael and then reach for his diary.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  From the diary of Michael Westmoreland:

  December l0, l966

  I got home from the Dolomites today and found out Anne is seeing someone else. What did I expect? She’s the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met, and if I was fool enough to send her that stupid letter releasing her, then I deserve to live the rest of my life with the awful knowledge that I let the love of my life get away.

  I think it was Hester Lynch Piozzi who said, “Character never changes; the acorn becomes an oak, which is very little like an acorn to be sure, but it never becomes an ash.”

  I should have remembered that before I told Anne that I wanted to spare her the trauma and worry of being the wife of a high-altitude filmmaker. Anne is no shrinking violet, no clinging vine (I’m full of clichés today. Maybe that’s what heartbreak does to a man, sets him to thinking in tired circles.) She has courage and spunk and wit and warmth and charm and beauty….

  I won’t lose her. That’s all. I can’t, for to live my life without Anne at my side is to be half a man. I may as well go through my life missing an arm and a leg and the best part of my heart as to live without her.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back. Including beg.

  I have love on my side. True love. I hope that gives me an edge.

  What was it Emily Dickinson said about hope…?

  Hope is the thing with feathers—

  That perches in the soul—

  And sings the tune without the words—

  And never stops—at all—

  I have to believe that’s true. I have to believe that I can win my beloved Anne once more, for to live without her is unthinkable.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Don’t cry, Anne. I’m trying to reach out to you. I’m trying to let you know I’m still here.

  My arms are heavy, and my legs. Why won’t they move? What is this deep paralysis that has overcome me? Thank God it hasn’t overtaken my mind. Sometimes the fog closes in and I don’t know things, don’t quite hear, but not always.

  For some reason I’m very clear today. I know that Daniel is married and I know that his wife has a voice that slices my heart. A rich, powerful, evocative voice that makes me want to rise up out of this bed and whisk Anne off to the Hawaiian Islands for six weeks of non-stop sex.

  Why did I wait so long to take her there? Knowing how she’d always wanted to go? Did I think I was invincible? Did I believe that nothing bad could ever happen to me on that mountain?

  I feel you, Anne. Come closer. That’s right… Can you hear my thoughts? Remember how we used to try telepathy? It started as a game, sitting at the dining-room table after dinner, you trying to figure out which song title I was thinking of. You were very good at it. Remember?

  Then later we decided we could use it while I was in the Himalayas and you were back home in Mississippi. I remember coming home that Christmas of ’75 and asking you if you got the telepathic message I sent you. I remember how you blushed, and I knew without your saying a word that you had.

  “Not in front of the children,” you said. Later that night as we lay tangled together, worn out from making love as if we’d just returned to the home front and would both be leaving for war the next day, you said, “Michael, the next time you decide to have sex by telepathy, please wait until I’m home in bed.”

  “Why is that, my precious?” I said.

  “I made a fool of myself in the grocery store. There I was with a cantaloupe in my hand moaning and trying to keep from carrying on.”

  Remember how we laughed till we had to hold on to each other to keep from falling off the bed? Then you said, “I did start a run on cantaloupes, though.”

  God, how I miss you, Anne.

  Hang on. Just keep hanging on.

  I’m coming back to you. I promise.

  Chapter Thirty

  Skylar was sitting in the back of the church trying to listen to the choir, but all she could think of was what the young man with the tight black pants had said when she’d entered the sanctuary.

&n
bsp; “Wow, preacher! They said you’d married a woman named Skylar, but I never dreamed it would be her.” Then he’d looked her up and down as if he could see right through her clothes and given a wolf whistle. Loud. So everybody turned around to stare. And right in front of Daniel.

  Daniel had made light of it, of course. He’d said, “She is beautiful, isn’t she, Jim?” But she could tell by the way he stiffened that he was anything except lighthearted as they’d walked on by with their heads held high.

  “Where are we going?” she’d asked.

  “To the front of the church. I want everybody to see that I’ve married the most wonderful woman in the world.”

  The way people were staring, she figured that nobody else shared his opinion, so she’d asked if he would please just seat her discreetly in the back instead of parading her around.

  “Besides that makes more sense,” she’d told him. “Then you can whisk off to your office and get into your robes.”

  He’d seated her beside an ancient woman with a hearing aid who’d smiled the whole time Daniel had introduced them and kept calling her Tyler while necks craned all over the church. She was used to that but with a far different crowd. The kind that frequented bars and nightclubs and concert halls. An appreciative crowd.

  She was thankful when the service started and the gawkers turned their attention toward the front. The choir was singing some god-awful dirge-like number that could have used a lighter touch and a soloist who was in her comfortable range. If Skylar hadn’t been so nervous about being on display she’d have been amused by the look on Daniel’s face.

  Laughter was close to the surface, and he was trying valiantly to keep it at bay. The struggle gave him the look of a little boy who knows he’s being bad and is scared he’s going to get caught. Fortunately the song came to an end, and the organist crash-banged her way into the offertory.