Come Morning

by Pat Warren

  “Didn’t you tell her how you’d searched everywhere for her daughter?” Briana saw a muscle in his jaw twitch as he fought for control.

  “Yeah, but she kept screaming over and over that she’d told me Megan was in the closet, why didn’t I find her? She got so agitated that the EMS guys asked me to leave.” Even in the hallway, I could hear her. You let my baby die.”

  “Oh, but you didn’t, Slade.” Briana scooted so she was directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “You did everything you could. The walls collapsed. You couldn’t go in there. You did your best. It wasn’t your fault.”

  But he was shaking his head. “I followed the sound, the cry, and it was the cat not Megan. I should have immediately gone to Rachel’s closet and checked. But I was so sure Megan wouldn’t be there.”

  “Have you considered getting some counseling about this?”

  “The battalion captain debriefed me, took me off active duty, and ordered me into counseling. I went on and off for two months, but I don’t feel any differently about what happened.” He met her eyes, his face weary. “It was my fault, Briana, plain and simple. I have to live with that the rest of my life. Now do you see why I don’t want to be a firefighter ever again?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t believe Megan’s death was your fault. It was an accident, Slade. Weren’t you the one who told me that bad things happen to good people?”

  It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “Do you know what Rachel’s like these days? I went to see her again about a week before I came here. She’s moved in with her mother, who also blames me. Rachel sits staring off into space, rocking in an old chair, rarely speaking. Scarcely living. She’s on my conscience, too.”

  Briana had listened carefully, but still didn’t think he should shoulder all this blame. Rachel, after all, had been the one who’d been smoking in bed, fallen asleep, and caused the fire that killed her daughter. How can she blame the firefighters, most especially one she’d cared for once and who obviously loved Megan?

  She searched her mind for words of comfort. “Slade, when we’re hurting, we want to blame someone, anyone, to lift the burden of guilt from ourselves. It’s only human.”

  “You didn’t do that in Bobby’s death.”

  “Because there was no one tangible to blame. If the police had caught the person in the car that had driven by and shot my son, I’d be at that courthouse, at his trial, wanting to see him punished. Rachel doesn’t sound very strong to me. She doesn’t accept responsibility for causing the fire in the first place, but rather blames you for not finding her child. That’s not right.”

  Slade shrugged. “Right or wrong, the fact is that even if she forgave me, I’d still blame myself. I loved that child, Briana, and I couldn’t save her. I made a bad decision, looked in the wrong closet. Rachel trusted me to get Megan out and I failed her.”

  “No! You didn’t fail anyone. You did your best. No one can ask more of another human being. If a policeman’s called to a house to settle a domestic squabble and the husband pulls out a gun and shoots his wife, is it that officer’s fault that he didn’t prevent that from happening? Absolutely not. You’re human, not superhuman. You can’t protect everyone or prevent everything bad from happening. You’re not to blame.”

  He studied her face a long moment, so serious, so intent. How had he come to deserve someone like this championing him? And here he’d tagged her as the needy one. “I appreciate your faith in me. I wish I had a small measure of it.”

  Briana set both their mugs aside, then moved closer to him, straddling his lap so they were torso to torso. “You have to find a way to forgive yourself. You can’t carry around this burden.” She framed his face with her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. Maybe if she could ease his pain, she could ease her own. “I believe you’re a good, honorable man. You need to believe it, too.”

  Gently, Briana touched her mouth to his, her lips soft on his, slowly brushing, coaxing. Her hands slipped to his shoulders as she rained small, healing kisses on his chin, his cheeks, up to his closed eyes, then back to his mouth.He wasn’t indifferent, but he wasn’t responding. Yet. She’d run out of words to convince him; perhaps she could let him know in another way that she cared, that she saw only good in him.

  She kept up the onslaught, circling his face again, pausing to plant warm, wet kisses at his ears, then pressing her mouth to the pulse point now throbbing at the base of his throat. She felt his arms slide around her, slowly drawing her nearer, and became bolder. “Kiss me back, Slade. Let me help.”

  Wanting to let go of the hurtful memories and move into her healing touch, he made a sound deep in his throat and took her mouth. She was so soft, so warm, so giving. She opened to him, inviting his tongue inside, letting it spar with hers. Her arms encircled his neck as she pressed against him, and Slade felt engulfed in her generosity.

  Her body was so very close, her movements as she wiggled making him ache as he grew hard with needs too long suppressed. He swallowed the soft sounds she made as he angled his head, taking her deeper.

  This was what he needed, this mindless sensation, the seeking and the finding, the ageless mating dance. He wanted her desperately even though he knew she’d initiated this out of a desire to help him, not out of physical desire. He would take what she offered and make sure she wouldn’t regret sharing her special gifts.

  Breaking the kiss momentarily, he rolled to his side, taking her with him onto the thick, padded carpeting. Stretching out, he reached out to align her body more perfectly with his, then went back to devour her mouth. She smelled so sweetly feminine, she tasted so wonderful, like something sinfully rich. And tonight he needed her so badly.

  The kiss went on and on as Slade’s hands began to explore, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. As anxious as he, Briana shifted to help him. The top button came free just as the phone in the kitchen rang.

  Startled, pulling back, her breath huffed out as she tried to clear her hazy mind. So seldom did anyone call that she dared not let it go. Shifting, she sat up. “I have to get that.”

  Slade dropped his hands and flopped onto his back, listening to his heart pound. Of all the rotten timing.

  Briana picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Honey, is that you?” Martha Gifford asked hesitantly.

  “Yes, Mom. Is something wrong?” It was only ten in the evening, but still late for a phone call from her parents.

  “You sound out of breath. Are you okay?” Martha’s voice was shaky.

  Briana drew in what she hoped was a calming gulp of air. “Yes, of course. Just surprised by your call. Is everything all right?”

  “No, honey. It’s Gramp. They just called from the nursing home. He passed away an hour ago.”

  Briana sat in the dining room alcove of her parents’ town house on Beacon Hill and accepted the cup of tea from her mother.

  “Lemon, dear?” Martha Gifford asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Briana took a slice as she slipped off her shoes. It had been a long day.

  “It was a lovely service, didn’t you think?” her mother asked as she stirred sugar into her own steaming tea.

  “Yes.” It was the evening of the second day after she’d received her mother’s call informing her that Gramp had died. She’d flown out the next morning. The funeral had been this afternoon, followed by a small reception attended mostly by her parents’ friends. All of her grandparents’ friends were either already gone or lived on Nantucket. No one had flown over for the short service.

  Martha reached over and placed her hand over her daughter’s. “I know it was upsetting, going to another funeral such a short time after… after the last one. I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

  “I’m all right, Mom.” She squeezed her mother’s hand briefly. Martha Gifford was a small woman, delicately built with lovely skin and dark hair lightly sprinkled with gray that she refused to color. Briana’s older sister, Toni, took after t
heir mother, while Briana had inherited her father’s coloring and height.

  “At least you showed up.” Martha’s voice turned disapproving. “I still don’t understand why Toni couldn’t make the time to say good-bye. Gramp had always been good to her.”

  Yes, but her sister had been aware as far back as childhood that the Gifford grandparents had favored Briana. “Florida’s a long way and there wasn’t much time. Don’t be so hard on Toni, Mom. She’s got a demanding job, one she can’t just leave at a moment’s notice. Newspaper work is very competitive.”

  “If you ask me, it’s that new man she’s moved into her place that she didn’t want to leave.”

  When had her mother become so judgmental? Briana wondered. Toni had always been a handful, a born rebel, one escapade after another as a teenager. She’d totaled a car, run with a wild crowd, and dropped out of school, then moved out at nineteen.

  “Mom hounds me constantly,” she’d told Brie, “and Dad, when he’s home, is too strict. I can’t handle either of them, Brie.”

  Two years younger, Briana hadn’t known what to say or do, so she’d more or less sat back and watched. She loved her sister, but she’d never understood her. Then, somewhere along the line, Toni had straightened out, graduated from college, and gotten a good job, working her way up on a Miami newspaper chain. Apparently, though, she was still going from man to man.

  “It’s her life, Mom,” Briana said, feeling the need to defend her sister. “Maybe this one’s a great guy.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a nice change?” Putting aside her troubled thoughts of Toni, Martha fixed her gaze on her youngest. “How are you doing, dear? And how’s the house redecorating going?”

  “I’m doing all right and the house is really coming along.” Something cheery to talk about. She explained what had been done and the rest of the renovation she had planned. “You won’t recognize the place in another month.”

  “Then what? Are you going to sell it?”

  “Oh, no. I could never do that.”

  “Keep it for summer visits, then. I see.”

  No, she didn’t see, but Briana didn’t feel like going into more just now. It had been a trying day, saying good-bye to an old, gentle man she’d loved since birth. She took a sip of tea and leaned back as she remembered something. “Did you tell me earlier that I had a message from some attorney?” Things had been so hectic during the reception, then cleaning up after everyone left, that she’d almost forgotten.

  “Yes, just a minute, I have his name and number written down.” Martha went to the kitchen phone and brought back the note she’d written. “His name is Charles Brewster and he said he was an attorney from Robert’s bank. He said he’d been calling your home phone number for some time, trying to reach you.”

  Briana studied the message, frowning. “Did he say what he wanted to talk with me about?”

  “No, just told me to ask you to call.”

  “All right, I will tomorrow morning.” She folded the paper and pocketed it. “Where was it that Dad said he had to go tonight?” Her father had taken off even before the last guests had left. She’d hardly spoken more than a dozen words to him since arriving.

  “To his club. They have card games every Thursday evening.”

  He’d just buried his father and then rushed off to play cards? Briana sighed. She loved her father, but. But he wasn’t exactly sensitive or sentimental, or even thoughtful or considerate much of the time. But then, he never had been, always more interested in his career, his contacts, his friends than in anything involving his family. Since his behavior didn’t seem to bother her mother, Briana wondered why it bothered her.

  “You are planning to stay for a while, aren’t you?” Martha wanted to know. “I mean, it’s not as if you have to finish redecorating for a particular deadline. Now that your kitchen’s finished, the painting’s done, and the carpeting’s in, it’s mostly just choosing new furniture, isn’t that right?”

  A picture flashed into Briana’s mind’s eye unbidden, of rolling around on her new carpeting locked in Slade’s arms, passion about to explode between them, just two nights ago. What had begun as comfort had soon escalated into much more. She’d wanted him so badly she’d been trembling, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Feeling heat move into her face, she stared down into her teacup. He’d overheard her end of the phone conversation and come to her immediately, holding her yet again while she’d wept for Gramp.

  No, she didn’t have to hurry back to buy furniture, but perhaps for a more personal reason.

  “Well, there’s still a lot to be done,” she told her mother. “I want to get Grandma’s garden prepared for winter, make sure the daffodil bulbs are okay for next year. I’ve ordered new shutters but they haven’t arrived yet. The roofing man’s coming next week.” Briana brushed back her hair, wondering if she could squeeze in a haircut at her favorite shop before returning. She was also wondering if her mother saw through her lame excuses and would ask why she really wanted to go back to Nantucket so soon.

  “You want to spend some time with Dad yet, though, don’t you? And maybe have lunch with some of your friends. Annette and Mary Ann phoned just last week, asking about you. And of course, Craig. He’s a persistent one, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know about lunching with friends right now, Mom, but of course I’ll spend time with Dad. Tomorrow.” After she talked to the lawyer. Provided her father saw fit to stay home and spend time with her, which he could have done tonight Would missing his precious card game one evening have been so terrible? “As for Craig, I’m not interested in seeing him. You knew he came to visit me in Nantucket didn’t you?”

  “He said he was going to. He dropped in here one day and asked all about how you were doing, what you were up to, were you well, and so on.” Martha’s eyes narrowed. “Is he just a friend or is he more to you, Brie?”

  “Believe me, I consider him only a friend. Anything more is all in Craig’s head. I’ve tried to discourage him, but he just keeps phoning, then popping up uninvited. Tiresome.”

  “He’s a nice young man, Brie. You’ve been divorced a long time, dear.” Martha’s motives weren’t exactly altruistic, which bothered her, but only a little. True, Martha wanted what was best for her daughter. But she also wanted Brie to come back to Boston and settle down nearby. This business of staying in Nantucket, which had been her husband’s suggestion, not Martha’s, was foolish. The poor child needed her family around her.

  Briana rubbed her forehead. The headaches she’d so often had before she’d left were back with a vengeance each day since her return. Maybe she was having a reaction to the air around the bay. Or to her mother’s incessant questions. “I know how long I’ve been divorced, Mom, but it isn’t relevant. I don’t feel anything for Craig and I never will.”

  “But sweetheart, he’s so clean-cut and he seems to genuinely care for you. He could help you get over things, perhaps.” Martha’s voice was hopeful.

  Impatience gnawed at Brie. Why were they having this stupid, useless conversation? “Mom, I’m a little allergic to pressure right now. Craig isn’t the answer. I appreciate your concern, but not everything can be solved with a man in your life, or with tea and sympathy. Not in the real world.”

  “Of course. I just hate to see you alone so much. You’re young. You need to find someone, to marry again, to be happy.”

  Brie’s headache was turning into a whopper. “Why, Mom? Because marriage guarantees happiness? I was married and it wasn’t even close to wonderful. And I was alone about as much as you are.” She paused, took a breath. “Happy? Are you happy, Mom, with a husband who, even now when he’s retired, when his daughter is visiting, is home so seldom it’s insulting?”

  Martha’s lips flattened as she searched for words. She hated disturbing discussions. “Your father has … has needs separate from mine. Men do, you know.”

  Staring at her mother, Brie began to see all Martha wasn’t saying. “Separate need
s? You mean, sex? Other women?”

  Toying with her teaspoon, Martha kept her eyes averted as color moved into her face. Her generation, her circle of friends, didn’t discuss this subject easily. “Occasionally. But I know he loves only me. Some men are more… lusty than others and…” Her voice trailed off.

  Shock changed to anger. “How do you put up with it? Why do you?”

  Finally, Martha looked at her daughter, feeling suddenly old. “Because he’s my life, Briana.” The subject, as far as she was concerned, was closed. She wouldn’t mink about it, not tonight, or the next With effort she put on a smile. “Now, let’s talk about something more pleasant. Would you like more tea?”

  Tea, for heaven’s sake! Martha was back to being an ostrich. Briana felt as if she were the older of the two of them. “No. Actually, I think I’m going to turn in. I’m tired.” She’d opted to stay with her parents these couple of days, but tomorrow, she planned to go check on her town house. She wasn’t looking forward to the visit.

  Gathering up the tea things, Martha’s smile faded. “Rest well, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  In the spare room, Briana set down her shoes feeling defeated, deflated. How could her mother live with a man like that all these years, putting up with countless infidelities.

  During their teen years, in their late-night sessions in the bedroom they shared, she and Toni had often probed the possibility of Dad’s other women during his many absences. Now, finally, Mom had admitted it He had separate needs. The hell you say!

  Unlike Jeremy, Martha just looked the other way, pretended nothing was wrong. Briana shook her head. Not her problem.

  She walked over to gaze out the window. In the distance, she could see patches of moonlight dancing on the Charles River, the leaves on the trees along the bank already turning colors under the old-fashioned lampposts. There was a definite bite to the air.

  Autumn seemed to show signs here sooner than on Nantucket, which was surrounded by the sea, but farther south. There the leaves were still green, the trees lush. She wondered how the geraniums she’d coaxed back to health in pots on the front porch were faring with no one to give them a little water, as she had daily. She wondered if the person who’d broken into her house had come back, noticing she was gone. Slade had said he’d keep an eye on things. She hoped he remembered.