by Irene Hannon
She leaned her head back against the chair and transferred her gaze to the ceiling. “Joe had an associate’s degree in data processing, which made him well educated for Jersey, and he had great dreams. So we moved to St. Louis, with not much more than hope to sustain us. As it turned out, the competition here was a lot more fierce than Joe expected, and he just couldn’t compete with four-year degrees and MBAs. He finally got a low-paying job, as a data entry clerk, and I worked in a department store to help make ends meet.
“As time went on, Joe began to lose heart. It was clear that his only hope of advancing was to get more education, but he had no interest in going back to school. I finally realized that if we were ever going to have a better life, it was up to me. So I went instead. I’d worked every summer in a greenhouse at home, so I got a job at a nursery and began to take classes in landscape design. I discovered I had a knack for it, and decided to go on for my degree.”
Her voice grew quieter. “I don’t exactly remember when it started to get really bad. It happened so gradually. I think Joe resented my ambition, for one thing. And I know he was frustrated. Anyway, he started to drink—heavily—and a side of him emerged that I’d never seen before. He’d get belligerent when he was drunk, and push me around physically. And he would belittle my efforts to get an education. Then he started making fun of the way I looked, especially my weight, which was dropping steadily. He…he even laughed at my faith. He began to lose jobs, one after another, and finally he just quit working. Our life grew more and more isolated, and I felt so cut off and alone. If I hadn’t had school, and Sam, and my church, I doubt I would have made it. Those were the only normal things in my life—those, and my family,” she said with a catch in her voice. She paused and took a deep breath.
“I told myself that he was sick, that what was happening wasn’t my fault,” she continued. “But the guilt was there, anyway. I tried to convince him to get help, but whenever I brought it up he got angry. The last time I suggested it was the night I left. Believe it or not, it was our fourth anniversary.”
Nick didn’t know when the tears had started. He just knew that suddenly they were there, twin rivers of grief running silently down her cheeks. The unnatural lack of sound unnerved him, and he sat there helplessly, silently cursing the man who had done this to Laura. He longed to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her that he’d never let anyone hurt her again. But he held back, knowing there was more, knowing that she needed to finish what she’d started. “What did he do to you that night, Laura?” he asked gently.
Her head swung around, and her startled eyes met his. It was almost as if she’d forgotten he was there. She swallowed with difficulty, and her eyes flitted away again. When she spoke, her words were choppy. “It was late. I was asleep. A crash from the living room woke me up, and I ran in to see what had happened. There was a broken whiskey bottle on the floor, and I went over to help Joe clean it up. But he…he slapped me, and he started saying…terrible things.” Her voice quavered, and she paused, struggling for control. “I got scared and I backed away, pleading with him to get help, but he was yelling… I started to turn away, so I didn’t even see it coming until it was too late.”
“See what, Laura?” Nick prodded gently.
“The bottle. He threw the broken bottle at me. I had on a nightgown…my shoulders were bare… It hit me here.” Her voice caught and she gestured toward her right breast.
Laura was close to losing it, she knew. Only superhuman control and the Lord’s help had let her get this far without breaking down. That was why she’d physically removed herself from Nick. One touch from him, and she knew her fragile control would shatter.
Nick watched the struggle taking place on Laura’s face. There was no way he could make this any easier for her. All he could do was let her finish and then be there to hold her, to stroke her, to love her.
“I guess I finally admitted then that things were probably over between us,” she said unevenly. “So I left. Sam took me in, bless her heart. Joe kept calling, begging me to come back. Sam told me I’d be a fool to give him another chance. So did my minister, in a more diplomatic way. But I still felt an obligation to try everything I could to straighten out our marriage. I was raised to believe that it was a sacred trust and something to be preserved at all costs. Except maybe physical danger,” she admitted. “I finally realized that the next time Joe got drunk I might not get off with only a three-inch scar. My safety was literally at stake. Besides, the love I’d once felt for Joe had just about died. All that was left was fear. So I finally made the decision that I wasn’t going back unless he got some real help and we went into counseling together. I told him he had to truly change before I’d come back. He was so angry and upset the night I called to tell him…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and he saw her swallow convulsively. “A few days later, he was killed in a drunk-driving accident.” She paused and blinked rapidly. “You want to hear something funny?” she said, choking out a mirthless laugh. “He wasn’t the one who was drunk. All those nights I’d lain awake, terrified that he’d run down some innocent person…” She fell silent, her mind clearly far away, but after a few seconds she resumed her story.
“After I pulled myself together, I got an apartment, applied for a grant, went to school full-time and worked a forty-hour week. Eighteen-hour days were the norm. Money was tight, and I lived on peanut-butter sandwiches and macaroni-and-cheese for years. But I made it. I finished school and I got a job with a landscaper. I had Joe’s insurance money, which I’d saved, and that gave me the seed money to open my own place after I’d accumulated a little experience. That was six years ago, and I’ve poured every cent back into the business since then. Now, thanks to the Arts Center job, I think we’ve finally turned the corner.” She paused and expelled a long breath, then turned to face Nick. “So there you have my life story,” she said, trying for a light tone and failing miserably, fighting to hold in the sobs that begged for release.
Nick moved for the first time since she’d started speaking. He stood and walked swiftly over to her, reaching down to draw her to her feet. Then he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her soft hair, holding her as tightly as he dared. Her whole body was trembling, and she was breathing erratically. Without releasing her, he reversed their positions and sat down, pulling her into his lap and cradling her in his arms.
“It’s okay to cry, Laura,” he said softly, stroking her hair.
She had struggled valiantly for control, but she finally surrendered, giving in to the deep, gut-wrenching sobs she’d held inside for so long. Her ribs ached, but once released, the tide of tears could not be stopped. She cried for so many things—for the lost illusions of youth; for the guilt she still carried over Joe’s deterioration and death; for the lonely years with no hand to hold and no one with whom to share her life; and for her empty heart, and the fear that prevented her from giving love another chance.
Nick just held her, because there was nothing else he could do. His heart ached for the woman in his arms, and he was filled with a deep, seething anger at the injustice of the world.
When at last her sobs subsided, she spoke against his shirt. “How could I have been so wrong about someone I’d known all my life?” she asked in a small, sad voice.
“Not everyone reacts well to adversity and disappointment, Laura. You had no way of knowing what would happen when Joe was put to the test.”
“All these years I’ve felt guilty,” she admitted. “I keep wondering if there wasn’t something I could have done or said that would have made a difference. Maybe he’d still be alive if I’d stayed.”
“And maybe you’d be dead,” Nick said bluntly. Then his tone softened. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Laura. You stuck it out a lot longer than most people would have. Probably too long.”
She shifted in his arms and looked up at him. “Nick?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“After everything I’ve told you, do you sti
ll…I mean, I’d understand if you wanted to cut your losses and get as far away from me as you can.”
“Do you want me out of your life?”
“No,” she said softly. “But I’m still scared.”
Nick let his breath out slowly. Fear he could handle. Withdrawal was something else. But they’d just bridged that hurdle. “I know, sweetheart,” he said gently, running a finger down her tearstained cheek. “But we’ll work on it together, okay?”
Laura searched his eyes—tender, caring, filled with warmth and concern—and nodded, her throat constricting. “Okay,” she whispered. “But I still need to move slowly.”
“Slow is fine,” he said. “Just as long as we’re moving.”
Gradually, Laura began to forget what her life had been like before Nick. He became such an integral part of her existence that just as she once could not imagine life with him, now she could not imagine it without him. He became her wake-up call, making her smile as she sleepily reached for the phone each morning. His was her last call of the day, the deep timbre of his voice lingering in her mind long after the connection had been severed. And in between, he was there—pulling her away for impromptu picnics, dropping by at night to take her to Ted Drewes, clipping funny articles he thought she’d enjoy. She grew to love his dependability, his gentleness, his enthusiasm, his ability to make her laugh, and slowly the lines of tension in her face eased and the shadows under her eyes disappeared. She gained a little weight, and the angular contours of her face softened and took on a new beauty. As her bruises healed, so, too, did her heart.
Nick watched the transformation with gratitude and pleasure. As her skittishness eased, he began to weave small, undemanding physical intimacies into their relationship. A welcoming kiss whenever they met; an arm casually draped around her shoulders at the movie theater; his hand holding hers when they walked. If she grew accustomed to the small intimacies, he reasoned, the bigger ones would come naturally in their own time. And he could wait. He’d promised to let her set the pace, and he intended to honor that vow. But he planned to set the direction.
Though it was slow going, Nick was not unhappy with the progress of their relationship. Laura was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her, laughing more readily, touching more naturally and easily. Her touches—initially tentative, as if she was afraid that they would be rejected—gradually grew bolder under his welcoming encouragement. She was learning to love all over again, cautiously, but with a restrained eagerness that delighted him and did more for his libido than any of the amorous ploys of the more sophisticated women of his acquaintance. As her confidence grew and she became more secure in their relationship, gradually she began to initiate physical contact on her own.
Nick had known from the beginning that physical closeness frightened her. She hadn’t spoken about her intimate relationship with Joe, and Nick hadn’t asked, but he imagined that making love had probably become a nightmare for Laura as the relationship deteriorated and the love had disappeared. And, given her background and her strong faith and Christian values, he also knew that she didn’t take physical intimacy lightly. She was the kind of woman who equated making love with commitment, and she’d been avoiding that like the plague for years. He couldn’t expect her to change overnight.
But slowly he guided her toward change, finding ways to touch her that were not threatening but that brought a flash of desire to her eyes. In time she grew to not only allow these touches, but to welcome them. He’d learned to keep his desires on a tight leash, though, and at her slightest hesitation he pulled back. He had come to realize that Laura’s values were deeply entrenched and that she simply didn’t believe in intimacy outside of marriage. He admired her for her beliefs and intended to respect them. But keeping his desires under control was hard, and getting harder every day.
Laura locked the office and glanced at her watch. She was due to meet Nick at one-thirty, and it was already one-twenty. Fortunately, the client’s house was only a short distance from her office, she noted, consulting the address Nick had provided.
Laura rolled down the window as she drove, breathing deeply of the crisp October air. She loved fall, especially here in Webster, when the old, established maples put on their most colorful frocks. Her route took her through the heart of the small community, and she glanced admiringly at the wonderful turn-of-the-century houses.
When Laura reached her destination, she sat for a long moment in the car without moving, letting her eyes roam lovingly over the old frame Victorian. It was set far back from the street, on about an acre of ground, and was everything a Victorian should be. Painted a pale peach, it was embellished with white gingerbread accents, making it appear to be trimmed with lace. A wraparound porch hugged the house invitingly, and tall, stately maples stood on the front lawn. She saw Nick waiting for her on the front porch and waved as she climbed out of the car.
He watched her approach, his body stirring as it always did in her presence. She was dressed as she had been the day they’d met—jeans, work boots, a worn blue work shirt and sunglasses—and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But her greeting was certainly different. She ran lightly up the steps and reached on tiptoe, raising her face expectantly. Nick smiled and leaned down, grasping her shoulders and pulling her toward him hungrily for a lingering kiss.
“Mmm,” she said dreamily, closing her eyes.
He chuckled, and the deep, seductive sound of it made her feel warm despite the slight chill in the air. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, gesturing toward the house.
“It’s wonderful!” she said.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“I take it the new owner wants to make some changes?” she said, nodding toward the For Sale sign on the lawn.
“A few. I’ve already been over the inside, so we can skip that and just go around back. Unless, of course, you’d like to take a look?” He grinned and dangled the key enticingly in front of her.
“Are you kidding!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining. “I’ve been dying to get inside one of these houses ever since I moved to St. Louis.”
Nick fitted the key in the lock and then stepped aside. “After you.”
Laura stepped over the threshold—and into the house of her dreams. It was everything she had always imagined—tall ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, private nooks and crannies and alcoves, fireplaces, a wonderful L-shaped stairway in the foyer that hugged the wall, a gorgeous art glass window and plenty of light and space. She examined it all rapturously, reverently running her hand over the fine wood moldings and marble mantels. When she’d explored every inch, she turned to Nick. “I don’t know what the new owners have in mind, but I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s perfect.”
“If all my clients were that satisfied with the status quo, I’d be out of business,” he said with a grin.
“You aren’t going to do anything to change the character, are you?” she asked worriedly.
“Nope. Just some minor updating. Ready to take a look at the grounds?”
“I suppose so,” she said reluctantly, casting one more lingering, longing look at the foyer before stepping outside. “Can’t you just imagine this house at Christmastime, Nick?” she said softly. “Snow on the ground, golden light shining from the windows, smoke curling above the chimneys, a wreath on the door… It’s a perfect old-fashioned Christmas house. So warm and welcoming.” She sighed. “What a wonderful place to call home.”
“You make it sound very appealing,” Nick said, locking the door and taking her arm as they strolled around the back.
“I don’t have to try very hard. It’s a very romantic house.”
Laura pulled up short when they reached the backyard. It was heavily shrubbed on the edges, affording complete privacy, and several big trees were spaced over the lawn. Little had been done in the way of landscaping, but Laura could visualize the potential.
“Are your clients open to suggestions?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, my first thought is a gazebo—white lattice, of course. And a formal rose garden is a must. Somewhere there should be a trellis, overflowing with morning glories, that leads to a private area with a bench and a birdbath. And there’s plenty of room for an English woodland country garden, sort of wild, yet controlled, you know? That’s what gives them their charm. But we have to leave lots of open space for a croquet court. This is a perfect yard for that.” She paused, and Nick heard her soft sigh. “It could be so lovely here. I hope the client will let me do this right.”
There was a wistful note in her voice, and Nick squeezed her hand, then tugged her gently toward the back of the house. “Let’s sit for a minute, Laura.”
She followed, still scanning the grounds, visualizing the perfect backdrop for this house. It was the kind of home she’d always hoped to have, and even if that was never to be, perhaps she could create her dream for someone else to enjoy.
Nick pulled her down beside him on a small stone bench set under a tree near the house, and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Laura?”
“Hmm?” With an effort she pulled her eyes away from the yard and forced her attention back to Nick.
“Laura, I…” He stopped, as if he didn’t know what to say next, and drew in a deep breath. He seemed at a loss for words, which was completely unlike him, and Laura stared at him curiously. “About the client for this house…”
“Yes?” she prompted, when his voice trailed off.
“Well…it’s me.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“I’ve put an option on this house.”
“You? But, Nick—it’s a wonderful house, don’t get me wrong—it’s just so big for just one person.”
“I know. I was hoping that you might share it with me.”
