The Game Is Played

by Joan Hohl

  Finished now, Helen stood before him, waiting for his reaction. Finally, when she was beginning to think he would not reply at all, he said softly, “In other words you don’t need me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Helen’s throat closed painfully, but telling herself she had to say it, she lifted her head, pushed the word out.

  “Yes.”

  His face went pale and for one flashing instant seemed to contort with pain. In that instant Helen thought she saw raw agony in his eyes, then his head snapped up arrogantly, his jaw hardened, and his eyes went dead.

  “Well, that’s clear enough.” His tone was devoid of expression. “I won’t bother you again, Helen.”

  Fingers curled into her hand, nails digging into her palm, Helen stared into the empty space where he’d stood. Eyes hot with a sudden sting, she heard him stamp into his boots, open the door. Teeth biting down hard on her lip, she kept herself from crying out to him to stop.

  Let him go, she silently wept. Now the game is played.

  For the following two weeks Helen worked at a grueling pace. When she wasn’t at the hospital or in the office, she attended every lecture offered—on her own subject of OB-GYN as well as others. She spent as little time as possible in her apartment and saw nothing at all of her friends. Telling herself that the empty, dead feeling inside would pass more quickly if she kept herself busy, she kept busy for all she was worth.

  She had just returned home from the hospital on Monday night, two weeks after she had sent Marsh away, when she answered her doorbell and found Kris in the hall.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late, Helen,” she apologized after Helen had asked her to come in, “but I’ve been here several times in the last couple of days and you’ve always been out.”

  “I’ve been rather busy,” Helen said warily. “What did you want to see me about?” Helen knew, of course. She hoped she was wrong, but she wasn’t

  “Marsh,” Kris answered bluntly.

  “Kris, I don’t—” Helen began.

  “Helen, I don’t know what happened between you two and I have no intention of asking. But I love him and I’m worried about him and there’s something I think you should know.”

  Helen had continued to stand after asking Kris to sit down, but now, fear whispering through her mind, her legs suddenly weak, she sank onto a chair.

  “Worried about him? Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know if anything is,” Kris answered distractedly. “Oh, let me explain. Two weeks ago today I took the baby over to Mother’s and went shopping. When I returned, I heard voices from the library, and as the door was partially open, I thought Mother was probably in there with Dad, so I walked toward it. Just before I reached the door, the voices became louder and I stopped.” Kris wet her lips. “I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I was so shocked by what I heard, I couldn’t seem to move.”

  “Kris,” Helen inserted quickly, “if you overheard a private family conversation, I don’t think you should be repeating it.”

  “I have to, Helen,” Kris pleaded, “so you’ll understand why I’m here.” Helen started to shake her head, but Kris rushed on. “I heard my father say to Marsh, ‘What do you intend? Good Lord, Son, this woman has an excellent reputation. Are you going to marry her?’ I would have moved on then, Helen, really I would. But the odd sound of Marsh’s voice kept me motionless. ‘She doesn’t want me’ was all he answered then, but he sounded so strange.”

  “Kris, please.” Helen stood up again, moved around restlessly.

  “Then Dad asked him what he was going to do, or something like that.” Kris went on relentlessly. “And Marsh almost shouted at him.” Kris bit her lip. “Helen, I’ve never heard Marsh raise his voice to my father before. Still in that odd tone he said, ‘I don’t know. Right now I’m bleeding to death inside and I simply don’t care.’ He walked out of the room then and right by me, as if I weren’t there. When he got to the door, I called to him, asked him where he was going. He turned and looked through me. Then he smiled very gently and said, ‘Very probably to hell.’”

  Helen felt as if something had given way inside, and she sat down again very quickly.

  “That was the last any of us saw of him. We haven’t heard a word from him and have no idea where he is. I know Mother is very upset, and although he doesn’t say anything, Dad’s beginning to worry too. But there is one person who may know where he is.”

  Cullen. The name flashed into Helen’s mind at the same moment Kris said, “My grandfather. I’ve been to see him, but all he’ll tell me is Marsh can take care of himself and I’m not to worry.”

  “Then don’t,” Helen advised, now more than a little concerned herself.

  “Oh, Helen,” Kris sighed. “How does one not worry about the welfare of someone they love? I can’t help but worry. This is just not like Marsh,” She hesitated, then suggested tentatively, “If you went to Grandfather, I think he might tell you.”

  “I can’t do that, Kris.” Helen was out of her chair again. “I—I have no right to question your grandfather about Marsh.”

  “Just think about it, please.” Kris stood up and walked to the door. “I must go. Mike is waiting in the car.” Before she walked out of the door, she urged, “At least think about it, Helen.”

  “I can’t, Kris,” was all Helen could find to say.

  Three days later Helen stood in front of the large door of the imposing edifice Cullen Hannlon called home. Kris had called her at the office that afternoon to inform her that there had still been no word from Marsh. Unable to bear her own fears and uncertainties any longer, Helen had come to the house directly from the office.

  The door was opened by a pleasant-faced woman close to Cullen’s own age. Helen asked to see Mr. Hannlon, then gave her name and was ushered inside and along a wide beautifully paneled hall so swiftly that she almost felt she had been expected. The woman stopped at a door midway down the hall, tapped lightly, then pushed the door open and motioned Helen inside.

  Cullen Hannlon stood beside a long narrow window, a smile on his still-handsome face.

  “Ah, Helen, come in, come in,” he urged. “I’ve been standing here enjoying the sunshine. This more spring-like weather feels so good after that snow a few weeks ago. But come, sit down. Can I get you some coffee or a drink?”

  “No, nothing, thank you,” Helen murmured, wondering where to begin. “Mr. Hannlon, I—I—”

  “Kris has been talking to you, hasn’t she?” He smiled knowingly. “I was afraid she would.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Helen asked bluntly.

  “Yes.” He was equally blunt. “But I can’t tell you. I gave him my word.”

  “But—”

  “No, Helen, I’m sorry.” He really did sound sorry; he also sounded adamant. “I don’t know what the problem is, but I do know my grandson’s hurting. He went away on my suggestion and with my word that I’d tell no one where he is. I don’t think you would ask me to break my word to him.”

  “No,” Helen whispered. “Of course not.”

  “But I can tell you this,” he said gently. “He will be back within two weeks. Should I tell him you were here?” This last was added hopefully.

  Helen rose quickly. “No, please don’t, I need some time myself.” She paused, then admitted, to herself as well as him, “To reorganize my thinking.”

  I love him. Nothing has changed that; nothing ever will.

  Helen lost count of the times she faced that fact during the next two weeks. With a suddenness that was shattering, she realized that without him her work, her independence, everything she had counted as precious, had very little meaning to her. She longed to see him, feel his strong arms draw her close against his hard body. It was spring and she wanted to walk in the park with him. She didn’t hear a word from, or about, him.

  Toward the end of that week Helen had a rough delivery. Rough in two ways. The breech birth in itself was difficult. The fact that her patient wa
s her oldest and closest friend made it doubly so.

  She had first met Estelle while in her first year of premed. Being the daughter of Helen’s favorite professor, Estelle had been at home the first time Helen had been invited to his house. They had very few similar interests, and yet they became fast friends. The friendship had endured the years.

  Estelle, scatterbrained and happy-go-lucky, surprised everyone, except possibly Helen, by marrying a serious-minded English professor ten years her senior. Everyone said the union could not possibly work. Everyone was wrong. Estelle and John balanced each other perfectly. There was only one unhappy note in their marriage: Estelle’s inability to carry a child full term. After her third miscarriage, at the age of thirty-one, Estelle was strongly advised by Helen not to get pregnant again.

  Estelle, being Estelle, disregarded Helen’s advice and came to her two years later to confirm her pregnancy. And Helen, being Helen, was determined to see this child born. And now, after a pregnancy spent almost entirely in bed, a very long, hard labor, and an extremely difficult delivery, Helen smiled with joy at both mother and son.

  The new father was gently adoring when he was allowed a few minutes with his exhausted wife, proud as a prancing stallion when he viewed his offspring, and full of praise when he rejoined Helen in the waiting lounge.

  “I want to buy you dinner.” He grinned as he crossed the room to her. “I want to buy you champagne.” Pulling her to him, he gave her a bear hug. “God, Helen, I want to buy you the moon.”

  “I’ll settle for dinner,” Helen told him solemnly, her eyes teasing.

  He picked the most expensive restaurant in one of the largest hotels. As they had no reservations, they were informed they could be served if they didn’t mind a short wait. His high spirits undaunted, John told the maitre d’ they’d be in the bar and led Helen to it Some forty-five minutes later they were called to their table. Told they should take their drinks with them, they left the bar drinks in hand. Crossing the threshold into the dining room, Helen came to a jarring stop.

  Coming toward her, a lovely, young brunet on his arm, was the man Helen had spent almost four weeks being sick over. In the few seconds it took for Marsh and the girl to come up to her, Helen noted detail. Marsh looked well, relaxed, and, as he was smiling, happy. The girl, chattering away, looked equally happy. And why not? Helen asked herself bitterly. The girl’s left hand rested on his forearm and on the ring finger rested a diamond solitaire big enough to choke a small horse.

  The advantage was Helen’s, as she had time to compose her features. Smiling down at the girl, Marsh didn’t see her until he was practically on top of her.

  “Good evening, Helen.”

  Nothing registered on his face. No emotion, nothing. Helen went him one better—she smiled. “Marsh.”

  Marsh’s cool blue eyes swept their glasses, then Helen’s and John’s smiling faces.

  “A celebration?” His tone was mildly curious.

  “Of the best kind,” John answered for her. “This beautiful woman has just made me the happiest man in the state.”

  Helen didn’t bother to correct the wrong impression John had given.

  “Congratulations,” Marsh said dryly, his eyes mocking Helen and the words she’d spoken against marriage just a few weeks before.

  “Thank you.” John grinned, accepting Marsh’s good wishes at face value.

  “Excuse me.” The brunet’s voice was soft but insistent. “Marsh, we have to go. I don’t want to be late for my own engagement party.”

  “Of course,” Marsh said at once, then with a brief nod at Helen and John, he led the girl from the room.

  Three hours later, pacing back and forth on her living room carpet, Helen was still amazed at the way she’d handled herself. Not only had she eaten her dinner, she had laughed and held up her end of the conversation.

  Now she wasn’t at all sure her dinner would stay down and she was a great deal closer to tears than laughter. In an effort to keep the tears from escaping, she whipped herself into a rage.

  You are not only a fool, she silently stormed, you’re an absolute nitwit. For weeks you’ve been dragging yourself from day to day, aching for the sight of him. Like an innocent child you talked yourself into believing every word he said. Convinced yourself your life was pointless without him. While he’s out getting engaged to a young girl.

  Hands clenched into fists, she paced. Never had she known such anger. Anger at Marsh? Anger at herself? Her mind tried to shy away from the questions, not quite ready to face the final, self-commitment. With no place left to hide, exposed to herself, her mind screamed, Dammit, he is mine.

  When the doorbell pealed, Helen swung blazing eyes to the door. It was Marsh. She knew it and she was tempted to ignore it. When it rang again, she strode across the room, flipped the lock, and yanked the door open. Without a word Marsh stormed by her, tossed his suit coat at a chair, then, eyes blazing as hotly as hers, turn to confront her.

  “Who the hell is he?” he rasped harshly.

  “None of your damned business,” Helen snapped.

  Biting off a curse, Marsh closed the space between them. Grasping her shoulders, he pulled her against his body with such force the air exploded from her lungs.

  “It is my damned business,” he snarled. “You are mine, Helen.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. “I made you mine in there. Now get on that phone and call what’s-his-name and tell him to run along. He can’t have you.”

  Sheer fury ripped through Helen. Of all the arrogant swine. Talk about wanting to have your cake and eat it all at the same time. He actually came from his own engagement party to tell her she belonged to him and couldn’t have another man.

  Twisting out of his arms, she spun away from him, then spun back, her voice icy.

  “You—you ... boy.” She flung at him. “Get out of here before I hit you.” Incensed, raging, no longer thinking, she cried, “To think I went to that old man.”

  “You went to Cullen? Why?”

  She was long past noticing how still he’d grown, how tight was his tone.

  “To find out where you were.” Helen was near to shouting. She didn’t care. Her laughter was not pretty. “I was ready to crawl on my knees to you. I must have been out of my—”

  She was pulled against him, her words drowning inside his mouth. It was heaven. It was hell. And though Helen didn’t want it to ever stop, she pushed him away.

  “I told you to get out of here.” Her voice was cold, flat, all signs of her fiery anger gone. “Go back to your party, your friends, your fiancée.”

  “My fiancée! I don’t—” Marsh went silent, his eyes incredulous. “You’re jealous?” The incredulity changed to wonder. “Helen, you’re jealous.”

  Helen stepped back warily, unsure of his awed tone, the light that leaped into his eyes.

  “Helen, love,” Marsh murmured, “that girl is Grant’s sister. She’s been another Kris to me. That engagement party tonight was for her and a young guy named Robert, who decided he couldn’t live another day without her. Just exactly as I decided the same about you in January.” He walked to her slowly, drew her gently into his arms. “Nothing’s changed that,” he whispered. “Nothing ever will.”

  Tiny fingers crawled up Helen’s scalp, and she experienced that eerie sensation he’d caused before.

  “Oh, Marsh.”

  “What’s-his-name has got to go,” he groaned. “Helen, love, haven’t you realized yet that we belong to each other, together? I won’t let you send me away again. I can’t and continue to function normally.”

  “What’s-his-name is the husband of my best friend,” Helen explained softly, her hand going to his face with the need to touch him. “She and I together successfully brought their first child into the world late this afternoon. He insisted on buying me dinner. That’s what we were celebrating.”

  “Oh, God.” His mouth moved over her face as if imprinting her likeness on his lips. “I don’t
ever want to live through a period like the last couple of hours again. Helen, I was so mad, I thought I’d blow apart. “The thought of you with another man—” He shuddered and brought his mouth back to hers to kiss her violently.

  “I know,” she whispered when she could breathe again. “I was going through the same thing.” Her voice went rough. “Marsh, where have you been these past weeks? I was sick with worry.” Before he could answer, she slid her fingers over his lips, shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. With commitments or without. With strings or without. That doesn’t matter either.” Then, very softly, she repeated his words of weeks ago. “The only thing that does matter is when you finally do come, from the office, or wherever, you’ll be coming to me.”

  * * * *

  The sunshine, streaming through the bedroom windows had a golden autumnal glow. Marsh, whistling softly, came through the bedroom door.

  “Coffee’s ready and the juice is poured, love. Are you going to laze away half the holiday in bed or are you going to get up and have breakfast with me?”

  At the mention of food Helen groaned and rolled onto her side away from him.

  A smile curving his lips, Marsh sauntered to Helen’s side of the bed, dropped onto his haunches, leaned forward, and tickled her ear with his tongue.

  “If you’re not up in thirty seconds, I’m going to crawl back in there with you, and I don’t care if we never make it to Mother’s for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  With a murmured “Good morning,” Helen slid one arm around his neck and sought the lips now teasing her cheek. When his wake-up kiss started to deepen, she pushed gently against his shoulders. “Go back to the kitchen,” Helen whispered breathlessly, evading his still-hungry mouth. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Marsh grinned, stole another quick kiss, then rose and strolled out of the room, again whistling softly.

  After rinsing her face and brushing her teeth, Helen followed him to the kitchen, impatient with the weariness of her body. As she entered the kitchen the room swirled before her eyes, and groaning a soft protest against the light-headedness, she grasped the back of a kitchen chair.