Love Me or Leave Me

by Gwynne Forster

  He touched her nose with his right forefinger as if he didn’t dare venture further. “Really? You’ve got a lot to learn.”

  Whatever he meant by that would remain obscure unless he volunteered to explain it, for she didn’t dare risk more of his candidness. If, after that rare moment of complete meeting of hearts and minds, he could tell her he had the discipline to walk away from her in spite of what he felt, she did not want to know it. She slipped her arm through his in an unspoken suggestion that they circulate among the guests. He didn’t like polite banter and useless small talk, and she didn’t feel comfortable with it, but a garden full of people was not the place for serious discussion of their relationship. A waiter offered them drinks from a tray that contained assorted colors of martinis, but she declined, as did he, and accepted a broiled shrimp kebab from a waitress.

  “I’m not bored, but I think we should leave before you spoil your appetite. I made dinner reservations for us at The Silver Candle.”

  “Wonderful. But not with this hat!”

  He pulled on her left ear. “The trunk of my car is scrupulously clean, the perfect place for a beautiful hat.” Before she knew what she did, both of her arms went around him, and she hugged him to her body. He grinned down at her. “I want a warning before you do that again in public. Woman, you’re lethal.”

  She had wanted to drive to Eagle Park, but he insisted that they travel together in his car, and he was glad. To his mind, Route 70 didn’t offer a picturesque drive, but he cherished the minutes that they could spend together.

  “Would you mind a little detour?” he asked her. “I love picnicking by the river, especially by the Patapsco. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I think I’d like that, too, but we don’t have anything to eat, do we?”

  He parked beside a grove of pine trees and opened the trunk of his car. “I can serve you potato salad, sliced tomatoes, smoked turkey breast, whole-wheat bread and lemonade. If we sit here long enough, we’ll be starving by the time we get home.”

  He covered the grass on a slope near the river with a white plastic tablecloth, set out the food, paper plates, forks and plastic glasses, looked at her and bowed from the waist. “At your service, ma’am.”

  From her facial expression, one would have thought she was seeing him for the first time. Before he could digest that, she stepped over to him, wrapped her arms around him and—with her face buried in his chest—whispered, “I could love you. Oh, I could love you.”

  Stunned, he tilted up her face, forcing her to look at him, until he could see her eyes. “I thought you loved me now.”

  She didn’t look at him, but settled her gaze on objects beyond his shoulder. “Yes, but not like I could. Not the way it would be if I could let myself go.”

  He drew her closer. “You can’t let yourself go with me? Are you saying you didn’t do that when we made love? Don’t you know I love you?”

  She nodded. “I know, but a minute ago, when I saw one more indication of your thoughtfulness, I wanted to fling my arms wide and shout to the world what I feel for you, but I didn’t because I felt as if I couldn’t.”

  He knew that his face bore a worried expression, and he didn’t try to hide it. “If you have any more to give than you’ve already given, I…” He’d almost said, I want it, but instead, he said, “I can’t imagine what it is or what it would be like. You please me in bed and out, but if there’s more in store for me, tell me what I have to do to help you release it.”

  Her gaze seemed to focus on the river and its silent movement. “I don’t think it’s anything that I can communicate. I just know it’s bottled up inside of me and that I won’t be truly happy till I can let it out. I’m not unhappy, mind you. It’s just that something in me wants to be free.”

  “How long have you felt this way?”

  “Just a minute ago.”

  “And you’re certain it’s related to me specifically.”

  “As certain as I am of my name.”

  He loosened his tie, sat down and served their meal, and though he didn’t understand why, he felt closer to her than he had in their most intimate moments. After their meal, he cleared away the remains. “Ready to go?”

  “Could we stay a little longer? It’s so peaceful here.”

  She sat with her back to one of the pine trees, and he got the plastic tablecloth, folded it several times and put it between her shoulders and the bark of the tree. Then, without giving it a second thought, he lay down beside her, put his head in her lap and closed his eyes. Her hand stroked his brow, and then her fingers twisted and mussed his hair, crawling through the strands, separating them and then smoothing them. When she began to caress the side of his face, he turned on his side, put his arms around her and kissed her belly.

  Would she love and cherish him that way when he was old, potbellied and had lost his hair? The thought startled him, and he sat up.

  “You keep this up,” he said, “and I’ll put you in that car and head back to Baltimore. You can pick the most inopportune times to make love to me.”

  “I was not making love to you.”

  “Were too.” In her attempt to move away from him, she fell over on her back, and in a split second, he was on her, holding her, stroking her cheek, and when her eyes blazed with desire, he plunged into her open mouth, darting into its every crevice, dueling with her restless tongue and then plunging and withdrawing in a simulation of the act of love, promising what he longed to give her. She began to shift from side to side, and he told himself to stop, that he would never make love to her in the open where any traveler could see them, but her hand went to her breast, rubbing and fondling it until he eased up her shirt, pushed up her bra and sucked her erect nipple into his mouth.

  Her moans returned his senses to him, and he straightened her clothes, stood and looked down at her. “Right now, I’d give anything for some privacy with you. Don’t be shocked if I walk in my sleep tonight.” He helped her to her feet.

  “You wouldn’t do that. We’d be the talk of Harrington House, though I suspect Henry will be disappointed if you don’t walk in your sleep.”

  “Henry? What about me, woman? And are you telling me you wouldn’t want me to come to you?”

  She brushed his lips with her own, took his hand and started toward the car. “I have very mixed feelings about it. I would and I wouldn’t.”

  He fastened her seat belt, turned and headed back for Route 70. She’d given him as much assurance as he needed. “Want to stop at Monocacy Battlefield?”

  “Could we do it some other time?” she asked him. “Those clouds over there are threatening to open with a vengeance, and let me tell you now that the only time I am evil is when I get wet with my clothes on.”

  He tried to imagine it, and the picture of Pamela fending off the world like an irritated wet hen brought a guffaw from him that he didn’t succeed in controlling. “All right, I don’t believe in tempting fate, and I wouldn’t like you to chew me out. We’re going home.” He looked over at her and grinned. “But don’t sleep too soundly tonight.”

  She turned fully to face him, and he glanced at her to determine whether he had annoyed her. If he had, she wasn’t revealing it. “You would do that? Knock on my bedroom door, I mean?” she asked him.

  He turned onto Route 70, put the car in cruise control and shifted to the center lane. “Uh-huh. I definitely would.”

  When he reached Harrington House, he took out his key, but before he could use it, Henry opened the door and looked from one to the other. “I see you learned that that Jag’s got room enough for two people. The idea of both of you coming here from the same place in separate cars never did make sense to me.”

  Drake gave Henry an affectionate pat on the shoulder, and the man’s frailness didn’t escape him. “I hope you haven’t spent any time thinking about that. How are you?” He didn’t know what prompted the question, other than his sudden realization that Henry was no longer the robust man he’d known
as a child.

  “I’m me same self, and I hope to stay that way.”

  Seeing an opportunity to say what might at another time appear threatening to Henry, he said, “We’re acting as if Harrington House is a hotel. I think you need some full-time help, and I’m going to mention that to Telford.”

  An expression of horror spread over Henry’s face. “For goodness’ sake, don’t say that. If you mention household help to Tel, all he can think of is Beanie, and she ain’t worth spit. Ain’t never done a decent day’s work in her life. Spare me.”

  “If you say so. Where’s everybody?”

  “All over the place, but most of ’em’s at the church practicing how to say ‘I do.’ As if it was a whole paragraph instead of two one-syllable words you have to say.” He looked at Pamela. “Alexis said you should come on to the church as soon as you got here.”

  Drake took Pamela’s bag to her room and put it inside the door. “I’ll be ready in five minutes. It’s a good thing we had our picnic, or I’d be ready to eat.”

  Later, as he loped up the steps, he had a persistent feeling that he was rehearsing one of his own life’s chronicles, that his course had already been charted. However, he shook it off, put a look of gaiety and happiness on his face and went to his room to check his tuxedo while he waited for Pamela.

  “What color is your dress?” he asked when they were on their way to the church.

  “Mauve pink. I didn’t think I could wear that color, but Velma’s dressmaker for the wedding proved me wrong.”

  En route to the church, he took a shortcut through a farm region and wished he hadn’t done it. A wedding was a happy event, and even the rehearsal was, for him, a time of happiness. But the sight of the run-down houses, tilted porches, barns in need of repair and useless old automobiles jacked up in neglected front yards depressed him.

  “It’s an ugly sight,” she said, articulating his thoughts. “Sometimes I forget how much poverty there is around us.” Then, as if deliberately to alter their mood, she began to sing, and “Memories” floated from her throat effortlessly.

  “I like your voice,” he said, and as if confirmation were needed, added, “I don’t know anything about you that I don’t like.”

  The rush of blood to her face, tinting it a soft rose, let him know that his compliment pleased her. As they walked up the steps of the First Presbyterian Church, he eased his arm around Pamela’s waist, and seconds later asked himself why he’d done it. He had noted a streak of possessiveness in him, possessiveness about her, and he didn’t know whether he liked it.

  It doesn’t matter whether I like it, it is a fact, he thought to himself, and hugged her to him just before they entered the sanctuary.

  Russ came to meet him, greeted Drake with a hug and kissed Pamela’s cheek. “Glad you could make it.”

  “How’s it going?” Drake asked.

  “So far, so good. Velma hasn’t gotten bride’s jitters yet, but I wish she would so they’ll be over by Saturday.”

  “She may not get them,” Pamela said. “She impressed me as being laid-back.”

  “I hope you’re tight. I think she may want you up there somewhere, Pamela.”

  She turned to Drake and squeezed his right hand. “See you later.”

  Alexis stood in for the bride during the rehearsal, and Pamela tried not to envy Velma as she sat in the cradle of Russ’s arms, as relaxed as if the occasion honored someone other than her. When she glanced toward Drake, she saw that he’d been watching her very intently, and though she had caught him in a moment of privacy, he didn’t shift his gaze. The rehearsal continued for two hours. One bridesmaid, Mary Lou, couldn’t seem to walk up the aisle without pausing between steps, and another, Dolly, had a crying jag when the usher looked down at her and smiled as they followed Alexis and the groom. When asked about it, Dolly told Velma, “As soon as the wedding is over, that usher is going back to California to his wife.”

  Velma rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Considering how much attention he’s paying to you, be glad you aren’t his wife or his anything else.” That comment dried Dolly’s eyes.

  After the practice session, Russ took them all to Mealy’s for a late supper, and it surprised her that everyone treated her as if she not only belonged with Drake but with them, as well. Maybe she did belong with him. If so, he’d better find a way of letting people know it and soon. Her patience was growing thin.

  “I remember that you have a beautiful soprano voice,” Telford, who sat at her right, said to her. “I had never heard ‘O Holy Night’ sung more beautifully. You and Drake could be famous singing together.”

  “I’ve heard him sing,” she replied, “and the beauty of his voice stunned me.”

  Telford’s long fingers stroked his chin. “He’s never treated that gift as if it was special, but both his speaking and his singing voice are very arresting, at least to me.”

  “Me, too,” she told him, surprised that she found it so easy to talk with Telford. She had been somewhat in awe of him, and she supposed it was because of his brothers’ deference to him. What a wonderful family, she thought, as Russ stood, pulled out a chair for Alexis and assisted her in seating herself. Each brother treated the others’ women as if they were blood sisters, and Tara as if she were a blessing sent from heaven. When her gaze fell on Alexis’s barely mounded belly, she blinked back the tears, closed her eyes and fought to steady herself.

  “Where are you?” Drake asked her. “You must have been miles away. Do I have a rival for your affection?”

  All of a sudden, she wished he did have one, and that knowing it would make Drake uncomfortable. “Weddings make me sentimental.”

  That much was true but she didn’t have a need to cry over Velma, for the woman had everything she wanted or needed. Drake’s expression told her that he knew she longed to be the bride instead of a bridesmaid. He’d been leaning against the wall in the corner of the booth when he suddenly sat forward, the movement of his body communicating to her a sense of urgency.

  “How about going out early tomorrow morning when the air is fresh and just walking along the river? We could ride the horses, but I…” His voice lowered several registers. “There’s something special about walking when the dew’s still on the ground.”

  She reached for his hand and would have withdrawn hers, but he caught her hand and held it across the table. “Want to?”

  At that moment, she would have promised him anything. “Yes. I’d love that very much.” He pressed a kiss to the hand he held, sat back and let his gaze wash over her, oblivious to those around them.

  That night, she slept in a zone of twilight, her mind targeted on the moment when she would hear a knock on her bedroom door. “It’s your fault,” she told herself when she woke up the next morning sleepy and exhausted from turning and twisting in her restless state throughout the night. Why don’t I get that man figured out? I should have known he wouldn’t risk the embarrassment of being rejected after I indicated that he shouldn’t come.

  “Hi. I hope you rested well,” he said when she walked into the breakfast room. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “Miss Pamela,” Tara said. “Are you going to walk with Uncle Drake? My mommy told me not to ask if I could go along. She said sometimes adults want to be alone. Do you want to be alone with Uncle Drake?”

  She leaned down and kissed the precocious little girl on the cheek and stroked her shoulders. “I confess that I do, Tara.” She walked around to the head of the table, where Drake leaned back in his chair gazing at her, and kissed him on the mouth. “I definitely do,” she whispered and sat down before he could react.

  On his face was a knowing look, an expression that told her he knew all about her, and it unsettled her, for it reminded her of her loneliness the previous night. Then a grin began around his lips and spread over his face, developing into a smile that warmed her from her head to the bottom of her feet.

  “Next time,” he said, “maybe you won
’t be so mean.”

  Later, yellowing leaves dropped around them here and there as they walked hand in hand through the woods on their way to the riverbank. He couldn’t count the times he walked that route alone, always deep in thought, dealing with a special kind of aloneness, something he couldn’t pinpoint well enough to share with Telford—the person to whom he was closest. As he strolled contentedly with Pamela, it occurred to him for the first time that his brothers and he had always enjoyed the woods and loved walking in them, but that they had never strolled through them together. As children, they weren’t allowed to play alone in the woods, and Henry accompanied them when they developed a love of fishing.

  “This is the first time since Henry used to take my brothers and me fishing that I’ve walked in these woods with another person.”

  “I would think you loved walking among these trees. It’s an idyllic place.”

  “I do, but I’ve always come here alone. Since we formed Harrington, Inc., I haven’t had as much time to enjoy this place as I would like, but I walk here when I can. It’s peaceful, de-stressing, a place where I have no difficulty coming to terms with myself. I especially enjoy it in the late autumn. Thanks for coming with me.”

  “I couldn’t walk in the woods near our home in Waverly, because the chance of encountering a snake is so great.”

  “It’s possible here, too, but in the summer we use the paths.”

  They found a rock near the river’s edge and sat there arm in arm. He didn’t feel the need to talk, for which he was glad. Only the singing and chirping of birds broke the silence. Several squirrels scampered by, and he reached into his jogging jacket and threw them a handful of peanuts.

  Joy suffused him when a squirrel, holding a nut in his paw, gazed up at Pamela as if to ask why she didn’t give him anything. “That’s why we should treat animals with care,” he said. “They’re intelligent.” He held out his hand with more peanuts, and the little animal moved toward him cautiously, took the nuts from his hand and dashed off.