by P. G. Forte
“Oh, so I have to be happy all the time now, too?” Her smile turned even more bitter than before. “Well, now, that might be asking a bit much.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, I get sad sometimes, Ryan. Sure. Sometimes, when I think about them, I even cry. Is that really so awful? You think I don’t know that no one wants to hear me talk about it? Well, I know it! But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about them. Or missing them.”
She hugged herself tightly, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes wide, and endlessly dark as she stared off into the distance. “Sometimes... sometimes I think it’s the not talking about it that makes me so crazy.”
He stared at her as she sat there, lost in thought. Looking lovely and tragic. Like a queen from some old Irish fairy tale, facing down her doom with a dignity that was completely unconscious. She wasn’t asking for his help. She wasn’t asking him for anything, in fact. Which made the offering all the easier.
“So, talk, if you want to,” he said softly, smiling at the surprise that registered on her face as her gaze swung back to lock with his. “Go ahead. I’ll listen.”
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* * * *
Chapter Ten
* * * *
Siobhan pushed the door of the dojo open and breathed in the melange of familiar odors. A heady blend of sweat and Nag Champa incense almost overpowered the fainter smells of floor wax and glass cleaner. And all but obliterated the even fainter scent given off by the cotton uniforms – freshly laundered or recently worn, all slightly toasty smelling from repeated ironing.
The exercise room was starkly bright. Light poured from fixtures recessed in the high ceiling. It gleamed on the bare wood floor and reflected in the mirrors that lined one long wall.
With only a few minutes to go before her martial arts class started, Siobhan changed quickly into her gi and sat down on the floor to stretch out her too-tight muscles. Usually she found peace in the gentle motions. Usually she found her thoughts melting right along with her tension, found her worries dissolving as she breathed deep and eased into the stretches. But not tonight.
“You still haven’t given me an answer,” Ryan had said earlier that evening, pausing in the doorway on his way home. Standing right where the light above the door couldn’t help but shine like starlight on his blond hair.
“About what?” she’d asked as she smiled at him. Her heart and mind were still reeling from the relief of having escaped, if only for a few precious hours, from the silence and the loneliness. She didn’t really care what they were talking about now. She’d talk about anything he wanted.
“About going to the dinner with me.”
Okay, maybe not quite anything. She felt her smile falter. “Oh.”
There was so much brightness inside him, so much light. A part of her couldn’t help but be drawn to that. But she couldn’t help remembering those pails she’d found that morning on her front steps. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened to her. It wouldn’t be the last. As much as she craved what he was offering – as much as she needed it, to warm away a little of the darkness in her soul – she was afraid of it, too. She knew what that much warmth would cost her and the price was more than she was willing to pay.
“Look, Ryan, I was already going to the dinner, anyway,” she hedged. “And now you’re going, too. So we’ll both be there. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “That depends. Are we going to be seated anywhere near each other?”
She nodded. “Well, yeah. I figured you’d want to sit with Nick and Scout, right? And, as it turns out, I’ll be sitting at the same table, because of my sister. So—”
“So you’ll sit with me, but you don’t trust me to get you there safely? Or is it getting home you’re worried about? Are you afraid I might drink too much? Or maybe—”
“Or maybe we should just forget the whole thing,” she’d said, quickly, but he raised his hands in surrender.
“No, no, this is good. I just wanted to get things straight, that’s all. Just figuring out where we stand.” He’d turned then, and snapped the leash back on his dog’s collar. “Good night, Siobhan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
A rustle of movement all around her brought her back to the present. Class was starting. Good. She stood with the rest of the students and bowed to the sensei. For the next forty minutes she worked hard at not thinking about anything but the katas the class was doing. Not thinking about the heat in Ryan’s eyes whenever he glanced in her direction. Or the smile in his voice when he teased her. She kicked and punched with more than her usual vigor in an effort to forget how it felt to be wrapped in his arms. How it felt to kiss him.
When she was finished, her muscles were sore and tender, her body was achy and drenched with sweat. But though she had managed to exhaust herself and win a nod of approval from her teacher, she had not been able to quell the desire that had been smoldering in her blood for days. The aching need that tugged at her insides was only getting worse.
* * * *
Dan stood at his office window. His arms braced against the frame above his head, he watched as darkness crept over the nursery grounds. In the western sky the dove gray clouds were stained with crimson. He knew he should be headed home but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. His mind ran round in circles looking for a way out of the trap he’d stumbled into, but it could find no escape.
He had to talk to her. He couldn’t possibly talk to her. But somehow— He’d have to find a way. He’d have to at least try... something. Bitter coldness assailed him when he thought about how she’d likely react and there was nothing he could cling to for reassurance. His world was a cold and empty place tonight, as it had been for months.
Charcoal had replaced the dove in the sky now. Charcoal and slate, and the room at his back had gone dark as well. A cold, empty darkness, illuminated by nothing but the green and red buttons of his phone.
The phone started ringing then. He felt his jaw clench as the shrill sound cracked the silence. Felt panic tighten in his gut. He had a pretty good idea who might be calling him now. And that was one more conversation he wasn’t up to having tonight. He moved quickly away from the window, grabbing his jacket as he crossed the room, passing the phone on his desk without a second glance, slamming the door shut behind him.
Hanging around here would do him no good, he thought as he headed for his car. There were no answers to be found in the empty office. No answers in the night sky. Maybe there were no answers anywhere for him.
* * * *
“You never told me we get fan mail,” Ryan said on Wednesday morning. He stared at the note she’d handed him, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“Well, we do sometimes,” Siobhan cautioned, not wanting him to be disappointed when it didn’t happen every time.
“Let me see the rest.”
She had to smile at his eagerness. She’d found the envelope on the porch that morning; which had surprised her. Usually things like this were dropped off later in the day – after school. Most of the teachers she worked with didn’t have time to drop by in the morning before class. And the ones who did usually wouldn’t just leave things like this on her porch.
She watched Ryan leaf through the notes and drawings the class had sent them. Enjoying the smile that played on his face now and again, as much as she did the frown that creased his forehead as he deciphered the second grader’s attempts at spelling. Without warning his hands stilled. His face grew grim. He shot a quick, piercing glance her way as she moved around the table to peer over his shoulder.
“Oh.” She gasped in surprise, as she too stared at the drawing in his hands. Two little red-haired girls stood side by side on the beach, and waved. In their hands were pink and yellow pails. In the sand beside them stood a little black dog. A shudder ran through her. She tried to take the picture, but he held onto it.
“Does this kind of
thing happen often?”
She was tempted to pretend she didn’t know what he meant. “No, not too often.”
“Still, it must be tough when it does.” His eyes studied her closely as he let her take the paper from his hand. “What color was your daughters’ hair?”
“Red,” she answered, trying to smile. “Lighter than mine. Just like this picture, in fact.”
“Hmph. That’s kind of weird. Did they have matching blue bathing suits, too?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a coincidence, Ryan. It happens. Life is full of them.”
“Funny... I don’t remember any of the kids from this class having red hair?”
Her smile was for real this time. “That doesn’t mean a thing. Unless the world is populated mostly by liars, most people whose hair isn’t red apparently wish that it was. Believe me, I hear it all the time.”
He smiled, too. Reaching up to tug a piece of her hair loose from the braid she was wearing down her back and rubbing it between his fingers. “Sure. It’s real pretty. But I don’t like the idea that someone might be trying to make you lose some of it, by stressing you out with stuff like this.”
“Oh, please! Ryan, give me a break.” Laughing, she pulled her hair out of his hand. “Tell me, is it your job that makes you so paranoid? Or were you just born with way too much imagination?”
The smile slid away from his face, leaving an odd watchfulness in his eyes. “You think I’m imagining things?”
“Look... don’t get crazy on me Ryan. Okay?” Something about the look in his eyes made her nervous. “I really don’t think I could handle that. I’d probably have to fire you or something.”
“Sure, Boss.” He quietly gathered up the rest of the drawings and notes and slid them back into the envelope. “Whatever you say.”
* * * *
There were more needles than usual this time. Ryan was sure of it. He felt like a God damn pincushion as he lay on the padded table Thursday afternoon. Twice a week. He still couldn’t believe he’d let himself get talked into doing this that often. There were needles in his leg, in his ear, even his hands and feet had been stuck full of them. He couldn’t imagine how any of this could possibly help his leg, but it certainly seemed to be doing something. And as long as it did, he supposed he’d have to continue to put up with it.
He wondered if this was how a voodoo doll felt. For some reason, that image made him think of Siobhan. It had to be hell running up against reminders of her daughters every time she turned around. No matter what she said about it. He was willing to believe that she really didn’t mind talking about them, but that was as far as it went. He’d seen the shudder that had racked her when she’d seen the drawing they’d been sent. And that other morning when he’d surprised her on her porch, there’d been an almost panicked look in her eyes.
No, it bothered her a lot more than she’d admit to. Even after ten years, it bothered her.
He pondered that while the memories phased in and out of his conscious mind. The smell of gunpowder and the shock of the noise and the recoil the first time he’d fired a weapon. A scene from a movie from twenty years back – complete with the taste of popcorn. Making out with his high school girlfriend in the front seat of his car. Senior year. The morning after prom. While they waited to see the sun rise.
The mingled sense of frustration and anticipation he had felt back then was a lot like what he was feeling now. Shit, no wonder she’d been treating him like a kid. Denied any of the more adult forms of relating man to woman that he’d grown accustomed to over the years, that’s just how he’d been acting.
He thought about that some more. Thought about all the self-imposed tortures he’d been inflicting on himself lately; repeatedly seeing how close he could get – and how long he could stand to stay there –without giving in to the temptation to touch her.
He thought about all the smiles he’d coaxed out of her in the past week. And all the flashes of temper he’d teased her into, as well.
Juvenile, he thought. Pathetically juvenile. But damned if he hadn’t enjoyed it.
He wasn’t sure how healthy it was, attempting to counter the random flow of emotions with thoughts of Siobhan. But the soft strains of island music was almost enough by itself to start an alluring fantasy running in his head. Combined with the memory of how it had felt to kiss her—
“Ah, that’s much better.” His therapist’s voice was laced with satisfaction. Ryan opened his eyes to find the other man observing him with a pleased expression on his leathery face. “Much less tense today. You’re finally learning to relax.”
Ryan glanced down along his body, grateful for the sheet draped over his hips. Relaxed? Oh, like hell he was. There were parts of him that ached with all the tension he was feeling right now. “Do you play this music all the time?”
Hoffman chuckled as he began removing the needles. “Yes. I find it very therapeutic. Especially in winter.” He leveled a sunny gaze at him. “Have you ever been to the islands, Mr. Henderson?”
“No,” Ryan said, noticing with satisfaction how very much better his leg was feeling today. It was getting better. Even though there was still the annoying weakness, the sense that he just couldn’t count on it to do what he needed it to do; it was improving. It had to be. “No, I’ve never been.”
“Ah, but you can imagine what it would be like, can’t you? When the music is playing? You can almost feel the sand under your feet and the warmth of the sun on your skin?”
“Yeah, sure I can.” He’d been imagining a whole lot more than that. But how much longer would he have to content himself with games and fantasies? His thoughts strayed back to Siobhan. She had gotten a lot more relaxed around him lately, but there was still a tension and a distance within her that he didn’t understand. And hadn’t come any closer to breaching.
Maybe she just didn’t want him, after all. The thought had been cropping up with annoying frequency all week. And with it, the desire to kiss her one more time and prove to himself that it wasn’t the case.
“Careful, you’re tensing up again,” Hoffman warned.
Ryan looked at the other man wearily. “It’s not tension, damn it. It’s frustration. How much longer is this process gonna take?”
The therapist shook his grizzled head. “It’s hard to tell. It’s different for every case. Just keep doing what you’re doing. And try to have patience.”
“Patience. Right.” Hell, he had patience. He had plenty of the stuff. He had the patience of a friggin’ saint. Unfortunately, he also had the love life of one. He thought again about how she felt, pressed against him. How her fingers had clutched at his waist. The taste of her mouth. Patience had to be the most overrated virtue there ever was, he thought bitterly. Other than chastity, of course. That one really sucked.
* * * *
He sat in his car and cranked the music up louder. Alanis Morisette’s voice filled the small space with sounds of rage and pain. “You, you, you oughta know...” he sang right along with her. “You oughta know, Siobhan.” He chuckled softly as he ran his hands lovingly over the control panel in his hands. “And, honey, you’d better believe I’m here to remind you!”
Outside the car, outside in the darkness, the storm was gathering strength. The rain sheeted down the windshield and the wind set the pine trees to swaying. Almost, he thought; his excitement rising as he watched the cottage and waited for the lights to go out. It was almost time. Any minute, any minute, any minute— “Ahh,” he breathed softly as the cottage melted into the shadows. “At last. It’s Show Time.”
Siobhan turned off the lights, one by one. Just like always. What wasn’t just like always, though, was the glass of whiskey in her hand. The glass she’d poured for herself earlier – right after she’d gotten finished crying.
She was still annoyed with herself for having given in to self-pity like that. Hadn’t she learned by now that there was no point in such a foolish show of emotions? Tears solved nothing, changed nothing.
The shedding of them only exhausted her, left her weaker and even more vulnerable to the tricks her mind could play. But there had been an arctic loneliness howling in her soul for such a long time now. Tonight it had caught her unprepared.
It wasn’t fair that she should be so alone. But knowing that changed nothing. It might not be fair, but it was the way things were now. The way they had to be. Maybe the way they’d always be for her.
She got into bed still clutching the whiskey. She settled herself against her pillows, took another tiny sip and tried to clear her mind. But the warmth and the drowsiness could not erase the longing. Or the fear. The wind had been rising for hours. Rain pounded against the roof. It was going to be one of those nights. She could feel it in her soul.
Still, she almost made it. She’d almost fallen asleep before the nightmare started.
As always, the sounds were buried in the wind, so that at first she had to strain to hear them. Voices. Familiar voices. Voices that rose and fell as though tied to the waves. Becoming clearer and more distinct the longer she listened to them. And she did listen. With love and loathing, hardly daring to breathe for fear their sound should diminish, she listened to the voices of her children as they called to her across the great divide.
It was only in her head. She knew that. She knew that she could only be imagining the words and the crying. Knew that they would fade away if she turned on the light, if she made herself get up and go back to work. Or if she drank enough. Or maybe...
She turned her head and looked longingly at the phone on her bedside table. She’d felt so much better the other day, after she’d talked about them. She’d felt calmer and more sane than she had in a very long time. Years, in fact. She’d had no problem getting to sleep that night.
But there was only one person who would let her talk like that, and she couldn’t call him now. It was too late and she could think of no excuse to make for why she would be calling. He would think it strange, and think her strange, too. And if there was one thing that she could not bear it was for him to think that.
