by Joan Hohl
“Dr. Cassidy.” Helen’s voice was overcool with trying to cover her guilty nervousness.
“What’s wrong, Helen?” Marsh’s tone was sharp with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course I’m all right,” she answered a little less coolly. “I’m just tired and a little harried with the packing.”
“You? Harried?” His tone held real astonishment. “You really are tired. Did I catch you right in the middle of it?”
“Yes, and I would really like to get it finished, Marsh.” Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth, fighting down the urge to tell him the truth.
“Okay.” He laughed softly. “I can take a hint. I’ll call you in the morning, early, to make sure you haven’t overslept.”
Helen stood with her hand on the receiver long moments after she’d replaced it. Without halfway trying, she could imagine Marsh’s reaction in the morning when her service informed him that Dr. Cassidy was out of town and no, they didn’t know where she’d gone.
The flight, late that night was quiet and uneventful, and although she didn’t think she’d be able to, Helen slept through most of it. Her father, tall, slim, was waiting for her, a smile of eager expectancy on his sun-weathered face.
With a feeling of coming home, being safe, Helen walked into his outstretched arms, closed her eyes against the sudden hot sting of tears-
“What’s this?” Robert Cassidy felt the shiver that rippled through his daughter’s slim frame, and grasping her shoulders, he held her away from him, studied her face carefully. Noting the brightness of her eyes, his brows rose slowly.
“A man, Helen?”
Helen didn’t even consider pretense. He was the one person she could never fool with her cool exterior. In fact there were times while Helen was growing up that he seemed to know what she was going to do before she did. And now, her feelings raw and she more vulnerable than she’d ever been before in her life, she didn’t even try.
“Yes.”
That one softly murmured word spoke volumes to him, and his eyes sharpened while his tone softened.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” Helen gave a quick shake of her head, then smiled ruefully. “At least not tonight.” She paused before adding, “I have to think it through for myself first, dad. Right now I’m uncertain as to how to handle this and I don’t like the feeling, it’s not me.”
“That’s for sure.” One arm draped over her shoulders, Robert paced his long stride to hers as they went to pick up her suitcase. In tune mentally, as they had always been, they dropped the subject, Robert knowing that when she was ready Helen would tell him, if not everything, enough to put him in the picture.
Her mother was waiting at the door of the small ranch-style home her parents had bought on the outskirts of Phoenix, her still-lovely face mirroring her happiness at seeing her firstborn. For the second time in less than an hour Helen was enfolded within loving arms and again felt the quick rush of tears.
No less shrewd than her husband Laura Cassidy was quick to notice the change in her daughter.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Are you ill?”
The words, so similar to the ones Marsh had said to her just a few hours ago, brought a fresh surge of moisture. What was wrong with her anyway? Helen thought irritably. She hadn’t been this quick to tears during adolescence. With a determined effort she controlled her features, steadied her voice.
“No, Mother, I’m not ill,” she answered firmly. “The last couple of weeks have been hectic, I’m very tired. It’s nothing more serious than that.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Laura sighed deeply, her sentiments reflected on her face. “Come sit down. I have a pot of herb tea ready for you, and as soon as you’ve had a cup, it’s bed for you.”
Helen’s laughter was a warm, natural reaction to her mother’s dictate. Not since her fifteenth year had she heard that note of firmness in her mother’s voice.
“Oh, Mother.” Helen bestowed a brief hug on her parent. “It’s so good to see you.”
Surrounded by parental love, cocooned within the silence of her father’s tacit patience, Helen slept deeply and refreshingly, undisturbed by uneasy thoughts of a handsome young man bent on possession.
Rob’s welcome was no less enthusiastic than their parents’ had been, as was his pretty, somewhat flighty wife and their two fresh-faced boys. But as their mother and father had done the previous evening, he saw at once that all was not well with her.
“What’s the problem, big sister?” Rob asked bluntly the first time they were alone for a minute.
“Mind your own business, Sonny,” Helen quipped gently, returning the grin he threw her at her deliberate use of his childhood nickname.
‘The subject not open for discussion, Helen?”
“Not just yet, Rob,” she answered softly. They were standing together at the barbecue grill at the end of the large patio outside the kitchen of Rob’s much larger ranch-style home a few miles from her parents’. In between brushing globs of sauce on the chicken sizzling on the grill, Rob slanted her a sharp-eyed glance.
“Will you answer one question?” He turned to face her fully, his gaze level.
“Depends on the question,” Helen hedged.
“Daddy.” The voice of Rob’s eldest filtered through the kitchen screen door.
“In a minute, Chuck,” Rob tossed over his shoulder, his eyes locked on hers. Then, his tone lower, he asked, “Is there a man involved?”
“Yes, but that’s all I’m saying.”
“Daddy, Mommy said you should come in for the salad things,” Chuck’s young voice was a shade louder.
“Paint your chicken, Sonny,” Helen gibed, grinning as she turned toward the house. “I’ll help Chuck with the salad.”
Rob’s hand caught her arm, held her still a moment “If you need me, want someone to tell your troubles to, I’m here, big sister,”
Something lodged, painfully, in Helen’s throat at his gentle tone. Her slim hand covered his, tightened briefly in thanks. Turning quickly, she hurried toward the house, a tiny break in her voice as she called, “Daddy’s busy, Chuck. I’ll help you.”
In the general confusion of fixing a salad with Chuck, fussing over her youngest nephew, Mike, when he woke from his nap, and receiving a rundown from her sister-in-law of both boys’ activities since she’d last seen them, Helen was able to bring her shaky emotions under control.
The week passed pleasantly and much too fast. As her tension eased and her usual confidence reasserted itself, Helen lost the urge to confide in her family.
In the afternoon of the day before Helen’s scheduled return to Philly, she had a few minutes alone with her father in the tiny room everyone teasingly referred to as “Dad’s study.” Feeling she owed her father some sort of an explanation, yet not sure how to begin, Helen sighed with relief when her father ended the short uncomfortable silence.
“Feeling better, Helen?”
“Yes, Dad, I—” Helen hesitated, searching for words. His astuteness made it unnecessary.
“You look better too.” Robert studied her carefully, warmly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, Helen, then don’t. But just remember, I’m here for you if you need me.”
Not for the first time, Helen gave a silent thanks for the family she’d been blessed with. Her mother had fussed over her all week, coaxing her to eat, to rest, but though her eyes mirrored her concern, she had not questioned her once. And now her father’s words had echoed Rob’s. “If you need me, I’m here.” They would not pry or in any way presume to infringe on her privacy, but quietly, lovingly, they let her know they were there for her. It helped.
“Thanks, Dad.” Helen smiled her gratitude. “I’d really rather not talk about it. Right now I’m feeling a little unsure of myself with this man, who, if you don’t mind, will remain nameless.” Robert nodded his head briefly. “Please don’t worry and don’t let Mother and Rob worry ei
ther.” Her voice firmed with determination. “I’ll resolve it.”
“Of course you will.” Robert’s tone was equally firm. “We all need breathing space at times, Helen, when things seem to crowd in, threaten to overwhelm us. You have a good head on your shoulders. I doubt there’s little you can’t handle.”
But then, Helen thought wryly, you don’t know Marshall Kirk.
* * * *
Her flight home was every bit as uneventful as the one west had been. She boarded the plane feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks, but tension began building as the big jet drew ever nearer to the East Coast,
There was Marsh’s justifiable anger to be faced. What had been his reaction to her disappearance? Perhaps, after his initial irritation cooled, he had put her from his mind and gone about the business of finding a more accommodating companion. The mere thought of him with another woman brought a mixture of pain and self-derision. Do you know, she asked herself bitingly, what exactly you do want? Flipping open the magazine her father had bought for her, she flipped through the pages, not yet ready to face a truthful answer to her own question.
It was early evening when Helen entered her apartment. After depositing her suitcase in the bedroom, she went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea, then called her service for messages left while she was gone. The crisp voice at the other end of the line rattled on for several minutes and ended with, “And a Mr. Kirk has called twice a day, morning and evening, every day. He was very put-out the first morning, insisted I tell him where you were. I had some difficulty convincing him I had no idea where you’d gone.”
“Yes ... well, I’ll take care of it,” Helen said softly. “Thank you.”
Her finger pressed the disconnect button, then moved to press Marsh’s number. While his phone rang, she drew a deep breath, steeling herself for his anger.
“Hello.” The voice was so harsh, so ragged sounding, Helen was not sure it was him.
“Marsh?”
There was silence for a full ten seconds before Helen heard his breath being expelled very slowly.
“Where were you?” His very softness threw her off balance, robbed her of speech. “Helen, I’ve been damned near out of my mind. Where were you?” The tone was rough now, demanding an answer.
“With my family.” Helen found her voice, even managed to keep it steady. “In Arizona. I was tired, Marsh, and I just couldn’t face that skiing trip. I’m sorry but—”
“Who cares about the stupid skiing trip?” he cut in roughly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“No buts,” Marsh again cut in. “If you had to get away for a while, then you did. I told you no strings, Helen, I meant it.” His voice went low, held a hint of amusement. “I’ve got you running scared, don’t I?”
“Scared?” she scoffed, a little shakily. “Of you? You flatter yourself.”
His soft laughter hummed along the wire to tickle her ear, tinge her cheeks pink. “Do I? I don’t think so,” he drawled. “Why don’t you give up? You’re going to lose, Helen.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she snapped. “I must hang up now, I have some more calls to make.”
“Okay, coward.” Helen shivered as he laughed again. “One more thing and I’ll let you go.” His tone softened. “Do you feel rested now?”
Suspicious of his tone but not sure why, Helen hesitated a second before admitting, “Yes.”
“Good, then you’ll be up to having dinner with Cullen tomorrow night” Before she could object, refuse, he whispered, “Good night, love,” and hung up.
Cullen was the perfect host, charming and amusing. Helen knew, for she had seen at unguarded moments that everyone was speculating about the seriousness of her and Marsh’s relationship. Everyone, that was, except Cullen. In the relatively short amount of time they were with him, she was left in little doubt that the “old bear” was no longer speculating. He had reached the conclusion that the young “cub” had found a mate. He made no attempt to hide the fact that his conclusion pleased him.
Helen did not like deceiving anyone. But most especially she did not like deceiving Cullen. If he was an “old bear,” he was an extremely gentle one, at least with her. After that evening the game became not only nerve-racking but distasteful, and Helen told herself repeatedly to end it.
Curiosity kept her from following the dictates of her own common sense. How long, she wondered, would Marsh drag out the farce? As the weeks slipped by, Helen became certain that the game was losing its appeal for him, for he made no overt moves toward her. Since the night he gave her the gold chains and his promise of no pressure, he had not been in her apartment. When he brought her home, it was to the door, where, with a light, passionless kiss and a casual good night, he left her.
But still he made no indication that he was ready to either abandon or end the game, even though the challenge she had represented had apparently lost its allure. Helen, barely able to face her own accusing eyes in the mirror, doggedly followed his lead.
What did she think she was doing? The question repeated itself with monotonous regularity. He was becoming a habit, a habit, moreover, that was growing stronger with each passing day. Being with him was torment, being away from him was agony. She wanted him desperately and the intensity of that growing desperation confused and frightened her. At times she lost sight of what the game was all about and longed for the feel of his arms around her, his hard body pressed to hers. She had no basis of comparison for her feelings except the time she had spent with Carl, and even in that, the comparison was minute. At no time, either while they were dating or after they had become engaged, had her feelings for Carl ever made her lose sight of her goal. And so she worried. Worried about her own increasing need to be with him. Worried about the thoughts that tormented her late in the night, driving her out of her bed to pace the floor restlessly. Worried about the end that had to come soon if she was to retain a shred of her self-respect.
Marsh seemed in no way concerned with similar worries. And seemingly without being aware he was doing it, he was wearing down her resistance. He took it for granted that she would spend most of her free time with him and had taken to calling her at the office to inform her of the plans he’d made, the invitations he’d accepted for both of them.
Sundays they were together exclusively. Hour by hour, hand in hand, they walked. They explored Germantown, strolled on the cobblestone street by the brick houses in Elfreth’s Alley, a one-block-long street near the riverfront that is the oldest, houses continually occupied street in America. They spent hours in Independence Hall, in the small building that housed the Liberty Bell, the relatively new Constitution Building bannered by huge letters spelling out We The People and the National Historical Park. They seriously discussed the possibility of the first United States flag being made in the Betsy Ross House. Then they went back into Fairmont Park; this time Marsh succeeded in drawing her down to the river to watch the sculling crews working out. Sunday nights were the only nights Helen had no difficulty sleeping. With all the exercise and fresh air she was usually out cold within minutes after sliding between the sheets.
By mid-March Helen had a problem. On Saturday afternoon, after ushering her last patient out of her office, she sat staring at the square, white, gold-embossed invitation she held gingerly in one hand. A frown creasing her forehead, she read, then reread, the gold script. The invitation was for a retirement party the following Saturday to honor the much-respected and very well-liked head of OB-GYN. at the hospital. True, it gave very short notice of the affair, but as she knew the man’s decision to retire had been on the spur of the moment because of health reasons, this was not why Helen frowned.
Her problem was Marsh. As the invitation had been issued to Helen and guest, she was, of course, at liberty to ask him to escort her. But that was the fly in her particular ointment. Thus far she had deliberately avoided introducing him to any of her small circle of friends. At regular intervals
he had chided her about it, but she had dodged his sardonic barbs with the excuse that her friends, most with full family lives, were in an after-the-holidays entertaining slump. As it was now over two months since the holiday season, Helen knew there were large holes in the excuse and she had been searching her mind for a replacement.
Now, tucked in with the usual mundane Saturday mail, was an invitation she could not very well ignore. Helen’s friends, knowing her as well as possible, had thought little of her absence—except that she might be overworking. They knew that she was a very private person, that she preferred a quiet evening of conversation or a really good concert, to overcrowded parties, whether in private homes or the organized ones in large hotels or country clubs. But they also knew of the true affection she had for her eminent chief and would be surprised if she bypassed his party.
Tapping the card with a neatly trimmed, unpainted fingernail, Helen wondered what to do. She knew Marsh. She also knew that if she told him that she could not see him next Saturday night he would torment her subtly until she told him why. She could lie, of course, but somehow the thought of lying outright to him was repulsive to her. When her phone buzzed, Helen tossed the card onto her desk with relief. Lifting the receiver, she pressed the blinking button and said briskly, “Dr. Cassidy.”
Without preliminaries Marsh inquired, “Are you almost through there, Helen?”
“Yes, why?”
“No little mother about to increase the population? No meetings? No hairdresser appointment or shopping to do?”
“No,” Helen answered patiently. “Why, Marsh?”
“I’m stranded at a construction site and hoped I could coax you into picking me up.” Marsh hesitated, then bribed. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
“What do you mean you’re stranded? Where is your car?”
