An Irresistible Impulse

by Barbara Delinsky

  “You don’t seem at all disturbed at the idea of being locked away for three weeks,” he began directly. “Why not? And don’t tell me it’s your duty!”

  Abby laughed knowingly. “You’ve heard that one today, too?”

  “More than once,” he drawled, then grew more serious, “but tell me your reasons.”

  Of the many she’d analyzed in the course of the day, she chose the least personal and shrugged at its simplicity. “It’s…an exciting opportunity. Something new and different, not to mention important.” She blushed. “But even that sounds pompous.”

  “Perhaps,” Ben acknowledged, “but I agree with you. This case will be a controversial one. To serve on its jury has to be a challenge.”

  A sudden thought returned Abby’s attention to those in the room. “Is it complete…the jury? I was number twelve.”

  “I’m thirteen. Bad omen?”

  To the contrary, she mused, but gave a shrug of coy innocence. “Who knows…and number fourteen?”

  Ben put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to the right. Then he leaned forward, his mouth close by her ear again. “There. The gentleman in the green jacket.”

  Her eye easily found its target. “Oh, dear, how could I have missed him? I’ve never seen a blazer quite that…shade before!” she reflected diplomatically.

  “It’s called wake-up green. Charming, isn’t it?” he quipped.

  “Absolutely.” It had to be the loudest thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Reading her mind, Ben straightened. “I think I could use a drink. Come on. Let’s go in.”

  The hesitancy Abby had felt when she’d first arrived downstairs seemed to have vanished. Taking confidence from Ben, she let him guide her between watchful groups of twos, threes, and fours toward the bar at the far end of the room.

  “Bourbon and water,” she prompted the bartender. Ben ordered his straight, then turned to study the jurors silently. Abby studied him.

  His profile had a chiseled quality about it, his features strong, not quite perfect. His hair had a natural wave, with lighter streaks woven through cocoa to hint where one day there might be gray to match his eyes. Tonight he wore tan slacks and a brown tweed blazer, with a crisp white shirt that played up the last of the summer’s tan.

  “Here you go, folks.” The bartender handed them their drinks. Abby accepted hers gracefully before following Ben’s direction to a nearby window seat.

  “What do you do in real life?” he asked, safely installing her in a corner of the bay and sliding down within arm’s reach.

  “ ‘Real life?’ ” She chuckled. “I like that.” Then she spoke more quietly. “I’m a nurse.”

  “A hospital-type nurse?”

  “An office-type nurse. I work with a pediatric practice.”

  “Nurse practitioner?”

  Her eyes brightened. “You’ve heard the term?”

  It was Ben’s turn to chuckle. “I have a close friend who’s a pediatrician. He swears by his nurse practitioners, depends on them to handle the less serious problems while he tackles the major ones. He’s the first to sing their praises.”

  “Thank heavens for that!” Abby exclaimed. “We need all the help we can get when it comes to our image.”

  “You mean your doctors don’t appreciate you?”

  Abby’s cheeks flamed as a picture of Sean flashed through her mind. “Oh, they do! And our patients do, too. But other people…well…it seems that I’m constantly having to explain that my job is different from that of a bedpan lady.” She thought back to the morning’s explanation. “Come to think of it, the judge was more solicitous than most. After I described my responsibilities as falling midway between those of a traditional nurse and a doctor, he wanted to be sure I could be spared.”

  “And you can?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” she rejoined with a smile, looking up to find herself drawn into his gaze. It seemed a fine place to be lost just then.

  “I’ll drink to that,” he declared as though sensing her thoughts again.

  Abby joined him, sipping her drink absently. “But what about you?” she asked at last. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I teach.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you really?”

  “Uh-huh.” His lips twitched just enough to suggest that there was more to the story. She bit readily.

  “Children-type teach?” she asked, borrowing his style, imagining him propped on a desk before thirty seven-year-olds.

  Despite the look of indulgence on his face, he crushed that image summarily. “Young adult-type teach.”

  “College level?”

  “That’s right. I’m on the faculty at…” Feigning caution, he lowered his voice. “…uh, at the college across the river.”

  Loving his theatrics, Abby beamed. “You teach at Dart—”

  “Shhhhhhh. More than once I’ve been accused of treason.” He glanced furtively at the others. “And I don’t particularly care to alienate these good citizens so early on in our association.”

  Unconsciously, she’d lowered her voice to match his. “But it’s an Ivy League school!” she argued. “They should be proud of your association with it, regardless of whether it’s in New Hampshire or Vermont. And besides, it’s less than thirty minutes away!”

  “Make that fifteen from where I live. And you’re right. It’s a fine school. But still,” he sighed, “it’s not in Vermont. These people have a unique sense of loyalty.”

  She shot a glance toward the citizens in question. It seemed none had moved beyond a shuffle to the right or the left. Her voice remained low. “In this case, I’d say it was martyrdom. Why do they look so disgruntled?”

  Ben, too, noted the predominance of sober faces. A drink in hand had done nothing to relax them. “They’re not used to change, I guess,” he remarked thoughtfully. “You have to admit that living up here is much more placid than life in the big city. We’ve both been there!”

  Puzzled, Abby frowned and looked slowly sideways. “How did you know?”

  When he looked back at her, he seemed startled, as though unaware at first of the assumption he’d made. His own brow furrowed beneath its casual thatch of hair. “Bourbon and water, I guess. It came so naturally to you.”

  She nodded, smiling her guilt. “That’ll do it every time. Not that I drink often, mind you, but a fellow I dated through college had this thing for bourbon. I guess I developed a taste for it out of necessity.”

  “How about the guy? Taste gone bad?”

  “A lonnnnnng time ago,” she drawled without regret, amazed at the extent of her own relaxation. Benjamin Wyeth was an easy person to open to. Benjamin Wyeth…saying his full name, albeit silently but for the first time, struck a familiar chord. She couldn’t quite place it.

  “Have you ever married?” he asked gently, momentarily diverting her attention.

  “No…. How about you?”

  For the first time, he seemed to withdraw into himself. His eyes darkened fleetingly, his brows drew together. His voice took on a distant quality when he spoke. “I was married once…a long time ago…. My wifedied.”

  “I’m sorry, Ben.” Reacting on instinct, Abby reached to put her hand on his arm. “It must have been very painful.”

  As quickly as he’d gone, he returned to her, his eyes softer now, searching. “It was. It still is sometimes. We were young and idealistic. She died in a fluke accident. I suppose half the pain was disillusionment—you know”—he forced a grin—“the it-can-happen-to-anyone-else-but-us type of thing.”

  “Like serving on a sequestered jury?” she asked softly, intent only on making him forget the past.

  He nodded and smiled more naturally. “Like serving on a sequestered jury.” Then he tipped his head to the side in pensive query. “Do you live alone?” Startled by the shift, she simply nodded. “Do you mind it?”

  She gave herself a minute to gather her thoughts. “No. I kind of like it. I’ve always had roo
mmates for one reason or another—until now. Even after three years, it’s still a novelty. Besides, there are friends and neighbors to keep me from getting lonely.” At work there was Janet, and even Sean when he wasn’t harping on the state of his heart. In her South Woodstock neighborhood there were the Alexanders—Cindy and Jay—who had opened their home, their hearts, and their minds to her when she’d first moved north from New York. Then there were people like Marta, whose hand-woven shawls had become the thing with which to warm one’s shoulders on a chilly Vermont night. And Ted, whose knowledge of Bach ran a close second to his expertise on the winter slopes. And Andre, in whose bookstore she’d spent many a Saturday afternoon and whose literary recommendations had brought her that many more Sunday afternoons of pleasure.

  “You’ve never wanted to live with…a man?”

  Momentarily taken aback by the more personal turn of the conversation, Abby took time to find the right words. There was nothing to be defensive about; she knew her mind where the opposite sex was concerned. “No,” she said gently, “I’ve never wanted to do that. And it hasn’t been simply a matter of principle. I never found anyone I care to spend twenty-four hours a day with.” She hesitated for a second. “I suppose it would be nice…with the right man….” Her lipsthinned as she thought of Sean. What was wrong with their relationship? Why couldn’t she get excited about him?

  “Ah-ah. There is someone,” Ben teased. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  As she shook her head, her hair waved darkly by her shoulders. “No, there’s no one.” It was, in a way, the truth.

  Far from convinced, her companion shifted on the window seat to stare at her thoughtfully. “It’s strange….”

  “What is?”

  “Your reaction to being here.” His gaze narrowed, and Abby felt suddenly self-conscious. The voice that went on was deep and intense, surprisingly so for a man she’d taken to be easygoing. “You’re looking forward to this just as I am. I could tell that the minute I saw you this morning. In that sense, we’re different from the others…you and I.” He paused to study her closely. “You live alone, so it’s not a roommate you’re trying to escape. And you have a job, a good job that interests you. So it’s not as if you’re dying for a vacation…. Am I right so far?”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, intrigued by the analytic nature of his mind. He seemed to be solving a riddle, and enjoying every clue.

  “Now…this business about a man. You’re attractive, intelligent, and single. And you have to have known that this wouldn’t be a ‘swinging’ time. So I ask myself why a woman like you would welcome an experience like this.”

  “I’ve already given you a reason.”

  “One,” he reminded her with a teasing smile. “But I have this nagging feeling that there’s another. You get a certain look in your eye every so often. Is it relief? I’d almost suspect that these three weeks are a kind of reprieve for you.” He paused. “Now you’re blushing. Am I close?”

  “It’s the bourbon,” she argued, trying to stifle a grin. “What did you say you taught?” It had to be psychology.

  “It’s not the bourbon,” he went on, clearly enjoying the banter. “You’ve still got the better half of that drink in its glass. And I didn’t say what I taught…but it’s political science.”

  “No kidding! That’s a great field. Any specialty?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “I thought we were talking about each other.”

  “No, Abby. I was talking about you—”

  “Uh, excuse me, Dr. Wyeth, Miss Barnes.” Both heads flew up to find the bartender standing before them looking decidedly awkward. “If you’d like to bring your drinks into the other room, I believe Mrs. Abbott has dinner ready.”

  Ben was smoothly on his feet, his hand at Abby’s elbow drawing her up. “Thank you. I’m afraid we were…” he cleared his throat conspicuously, then looked back at Abby, “…wrapped up in ourselves.”

  It was only when the bartender turned to walk away that Abby realized the room was quiet…and empty. “How embarrassing!” she whispered, blushing more furiously. “I hadn’t even noticed they’d gone!”

  “That’s because they’re such a captivating group,” he quipped.

  “I don’t know,” she mused. “Maybe we’re not being fair. After all, this is only the first night. We haven’t given them much of a chance.”

  They’d reached the lobby and crossed through. At the entrance to the dining room, Ben spoke more quietly. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we ought to separate during dinner and concentrate on getting to know the others.”

  But Abby suddenly realized she’d been looking forward to having dinner with him. “On the other hand,” she hedged, lowering her voice to a stage whisper as they neared the tables, “I don’t see that there’s any rush. There’ll be plenty of time—”

  The thought was suspended in favor of a sheepish grin when three faces turned to regard her questioningly. Ben had made up his mind, she mused, and that, evidently, was that. There was nothing for her to do but accept disappointment graciously.

  “May I join you?” she asked softly, aware that her escort had already pulled out the only free chair for her. Three quiet nods met her inquiry. Dutifully, she sat down.

  All things considered, it could have been worse. The food was superb, a sole almondine that Abby found to be as good as any served in the finest restaurants at which she’d eaten. Vegetables and bread were fresh, and the chocolate truffle cake for dessert was more than she’d bargained for. Her quip about “needing that exercise after all,” though, went over like a lead balloon.

  It wasn’t that there was hostility, but rather a pervasive wariness that inhibited conversation as nothing else might have done. While the upcoming trial must have weighed heavily on every mind there, no one dared discuss it for fear of violating the directive given earlier.

  Nor was there significant talk of a personal nature, much as Abby tried to initiate it. She would have been interested to learn more about these people, their homes, their jobs, their families. But with each question came a simple and usually dead-ended response, offered in a tone that discouraged further inquiry. Had Abby not known better, she would have sworn the three had agreed upon a code whereby each chose to suffer in private.

  Acceptable topics of conversation, on the other hand, were the outlook for the winter’s ski-touring season, the oppressive price of home heating oil, and the ever-changing status of the American League pennant race. It wasn’t that Abby was bored; she could easily chat along with the rest on these subjects. But there was something deeper at stake here, and her mind began to wander.

  What would happen as the trial progressed? If the jurors were uncomfortable with each other as a group, how would they cope with the pressure that was bound to mount? Hours of intense concentration, days of sitting in the same chair listening to point after point of evidence, hearing first one side and then the other, with innumerable objections, overruleds, and sustaineds scattered about—for the first time Abby felt truly apprehensive. It was one thing to view the proceedings as a unique experience, quite another to acknowledge that the experience was apt to be grueling. Three weeks of service was a very long time. Would she hold up through it all?

  There was, of course, one bright light on the horizon. He sat two tables to the left and was flanked by the court officer named Ray, one other gentleman Abby hadn’t yet met, and Patricia, lucky Patricia, who seemed positively taken with Ben, if her rapt expression was an accurate index of enthusiasm. As a matter of pride, Abby refused to look for Ben’s reaction. It was enough that she envied Patricia the company.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel let down when he disappeared shortly after coffee was served. To her surprise, it was Patricia who moved to join her for a second cup when the others excused themselves as well.

  “I missed you this afternoon,” the younger woman bubbled quickly as she put her coffee cup down and slid into th
e free chair next to Abby. “I was hoping to catch you at some point. It’s Abby, isn’t it?”

  Abby smiled, petty jealousies quickly forgotten. After the hour she’d just been through, a breath of fresh air had just wafted into the room. “That’s right…. Patricia?”

  “Patsy,” the other nodded. “Did they get you home for everything you need?”

  “Oh, yes. Lorraine supervised it all. It was an odd experience.”

  “I know. But you’re lucky. I was sworn in yesterday and the waiting’s been awful. At least today brought you and Ben.” Her eyes lit up. “He’s something else! I saw you with him before dinner and didn’t want to bother you. You both seemed totally occupied with each other. Say…you’re not attached or anything, are you?”