Malcolm stifled an eye-roll.
“Maren, she may be the baby of the family, but she is about the same age I was when my mother died. She’s an adult, and unless she faces this like an adult, she will be a case of arrested development.”
“I disagree.” An edge had entered her voice, and she braced a hand against his chest and leveled him with a frown. “She’s made it clear that she’s not ready to handle this and needs some distance. I don’t see any benefit to forcing her to witness all of the raw, gory details. And I don’t see why it matters to you.”
He gripped her upper arms gently and met her frown with his own intensity.
“It matters, my darling, because you need help. You shouldn’t be doing so much of this on your own. You are neglecting your school work and your teaching duties because of it, and I don’t want to see that hurt you.”
“I beg your pardon, but I am not ‘neglecting my studies.’” Maren mimicked his tone perfectly while brandishing air quotes. “As a matter of fact, I’ve stayed on top of all my reading, and I’ve written more of my thesis in the last three days than I managed in the last three weeks.”
Malcolm eyed her with skepticism, refusing to respond to her mocking. She may indeed have been writing during the emotional tumult of the last few days, but how much would she actually be able to use when she looked at it with clarity in a month’s time? Of course, he knew better than to suggest as much.
“And what about your students?” he asked, softening his voice as much as he was able so she would not feel accused. But he stiffened when he caught the roll of her eyes.
“Malcolm, I’ve missed one day.”
“What about tomorrow? Will you be there tomorrow?” He was less careful about the accusation this time, and he saw with regret its affect on her.
“I…I don’t know,” she said with a downcast look. He relaxed his grip on her arms and rubbed up and down to her shoulders, speaking slowly and gently again.
“Maren,…if you don’t go tomorrow and a student complains, you could get into trouble.”
She met his gaze again, and he could see the warmth returning to her eyes.
“You’re worried about me,” she said and leaned in to press her lips against his. They were supple and inviting, simultaneously filling him with peace and longing. She drew back. “I think it’s sweet that you’re worried, but I have to handle this myself.”
No, you don’t.
“It’s not sweet,” he said, almost pleading with her. “My motivations are completely selfish. Maren, I’m your T.A. observer. If a complaint is filed, I will have to investigate you….Do you know what that would do to me?”
The warmth in her eyes flamed, and she looked at him with understanding and a little awe. Could she see that he loved her? How much he loved her? This time, he commanded the kiss, crashing into her. He needed it. And the soft pressure of her lips was not enough. He opened her mouth with his tongue and let its caressing of hers speak for him.
Malcolm pressed against her, laying her down on the bed. He knew lovemaking was out of the question, but he had to feel her beneath him, show her that he wanted to cover her, shield her from harm with his very flesh.
She welcomed his ardor, running her hands down his back, opening her thighs, so he fit snugly against her. He planted kisses along her cheek, her jaw, down to the hollow behind her ear.
“I’d do anything for you…Do you know that?” he whispered, at once terrified and elated at his own admission.
“Malcolm,” she moaned. She kissed him once and drew back, looking up at him. “Yes, I know…because you already do….And I’m so lucky to have you.”
He gazed down at her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, and he hoped.
“Promise me you will go to school tomorrow.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked pained, but she said nothing.
“Ask for help. You’ve already given up so much. They should know what it’s cost y—”
“I’ve already told you they don’t need to know that!”
The pained look was gone. In its place was one of fierce insistence and a hint of what Malcolm decided was fear.
It was his turn to remain silent. On this point, he would not pretend agreement. They should know that she had given up a coveted spot in a superior program. She had lost significant ground in a field overcrowded with candidates all scrambling for the same positions. She had surely delayed tenure by several years. It was a sacrifice that he could not see the end to. And the fact that she stood poised to reduce herself further ate him alive.
She must have seen the bitterness in his eyes because she held up a hand as if to stop his next words.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now. I need to go back downstairs and make dinner.”
Make dinner?
Maren pressed against him so that he would move to let her up, but he grabbed her wrists instead.
“No,” he said.
She gave him an exasperated look.
“Malcolm, what the hell—”
“You are not going to make dinner.”
“Malcolm, everyone’s going to be here. We have to eat something.”
He sat up abruptly, still holding her in place.
“I didn’t say you weren’t going to have dinner. I said you weren’t going to make it,” he declared, not caring that he employed his most professorial tones again. “I will go downstairs, order pizza, and sit by your father until your mother gets home….And, in the meantime, you will rest.”
“No, you don’t need to do that, I—”
“Notice that I did not ask your permission.” The arrogance felt good, even if it risked her ire. He sensed that she would not resist him on this after resisting him on everything that mattered. “You need to rest.”
She scowled at him, but beneath it, he could see a trace of humor, and perhaps even a little admiration.
“Fine.” Even as she assented and he released her, she sat up, nearly colliding with him. “But I need a shower more than I need a nap. It will make me feel a lot better.”
“As you wish,” he said against her lips, and she accepted the kiss he offered. Malcolm stood before he gave himself the chance to push her down again.
“Oh, and you’re staying for dinner,” she declared, getting to her feet. “Don’t think that you can just order pizza and disappear.”
“I would not dream of it.”
He left her to her shower and crept down the stairs, relieved to find her father still asleep and the house still otherwise empty. He passed through the living room into the kitchen and beyond that into a comfortable den. Malcolm ordered four pizzas, knowing full well that there would be leftovers for a lunch. But he wondered what would happen tomorrow night. Would Maren give up more of her time and her strength to cook for the family again? What if he took that burden from her? Just took it—without seeking permission or forgiveness. He quietly returned to the living room and sat across the space from the hospital bed, planning.
A gumbo in the slow cooker would be easy enough to start in the morning. He could bring it by right after school tomorrow afternoon—and perhaps stay while he made a pot of rice….
Malcolm realized with a smile that food was still his symbol. Feeding her was touching her. But instead of merely touching, he could lift her. Like a bridge.
And a gumbo would remind her of their first meal together. She would know that, even then, he had been hers.
Love has made you such a pussy.
The shadow-voice mocked him, and he knew it was true, but he did not care. Maren was the purest thing he had ever loved, and loving her carried him above himself. Loving her was changing him, and he was grateful.
Immersed in these thoughts, Malcolm did not hear Erin’s arrival until she entered the living room and startled at his presence.
“Malcolm! What a surprise!” Erin registered her sleeping husband and lowered her voice. Mark stirred, but did not wake. “When I saw the car, I exp
ected someone from Hospice….Where’s Maren?”
Malcolm rose and led her to the kitchen so they could speak without disturbing the dying man.
“She’s upstairs. She wanted a shower,” he said, hoping Erin could hear the implications. “I told her that I would sit with her dad so she could have a little time to herself.”
Erin blinked at him.
“Well…thank you…I’m guessing she told you it’s been a tough couple of days,” she said. Malcolm took in Erin’s creaseless charcoal dress pants and jacket, the crisp white blouse, and the bun that tamed her dark curls. Erin Gardner had clearly had time for a shower before going to work.
“Yes. It looks like it’s been very tough on her,” he said.
Malcolm had to admit to himself that despite her professional appearance, Maren’s mother looked quite tired. He stifled a sigh. He did not wish to be unkind to her, but he did want her to understand what the situation was doing to the girl they both loved.
For better or worse, Erin seemed to miss both his mood and the meaning of his words, but she nodded sadly.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and change. Maren was going to make dinner, but I’ll get it started for her.”
At this, his temper flared, but he kept it in check—just barely.
“Dinner is on its way, Erin,” he said. “I’ve taken care of that. That is, if pizza is alright.”
This surprised her, but he noted the look of relief in her eyes.
“Pizza is wonderful,” she said, beginning to smile, and looking in that moment so much like her daughter. “I can’t thank you enough….You didn’t have to, you know.”
Yes, I did.
“I wanted to. Believe me,” he said.
She gave him an appraising look before nodding and leaving the room. Malcolm took the opportunity to slip back upstairs and check on Maren. Perhaps she would let him dry her hair again….
The hallway was redolent with jasmine-scented steam, which had Malcolm smiling before he even approached the bedroom door. It was open just a crack, and although he hoped there would one day be a time when he would be welcome to simply enter, he protected the now by knocking softly.
When she did not answer, he chanced to open the door wider and was rewarded with a truly adorable sight. Wrapped in a lilac robe he recognized, Maren lay asleep on her belly, the bottoms of her feet and the back of her calves bare to him. The right side of her face was turned toward him, and her damp hair splayed over her back.
If the heavenly host had appeared at that moment and told him that it was his fate to simply stand sentry at her door and make sure no one disturbed her for the rest of eternity, he would not have complained. He would have stood and watched over her forever.
But time would not stop for either of them. He gave himself a moment to let the vision of her burn into his mind and then he crept back downstairs, hoping that she could rest at least another half-hour before dinner.
He reached the foyer just in time to see the delivery kid from Papa John’s approach the front door. Malcolm felt grateful that he did not have to fight Maren or anyone else in her family to pay for the meal. When he stepped into the living room holding the towering stack of pizzas, he found Maren’s parents were together, talking and holding hands. It did not pass his notice that the arm and leg restraints hung loose from the bed rails. The man looked too weak to put up any kind of fight, but, then again, weighing only 92 pounds at the end, his mother had flung a tray of meds clear across the room and shouted down her 19-year-old son until he’d almost wept.
“Evening, Mark,” Malcolm said, nodding to Maren’s father.
“Glad to see you, Malcolm….” The man’s voice was as thin as paper, and he looked weaker than a half-drowned child.
“You, too….Erin, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to put these in the oven to keep them warm until it’s time for dinner.”
“Of course, dear,” she said, smiling warmly.
Malcolm felt his cheeks color at the endearment, and as he set the oven to 200 degrees and tucked the pizzas inside, he tried to recall if J.J.’s mother, Sylvia, had ever treated him with such welcome. Outside of their first meeting at a family dinner and the wedding weekend itself, he and J.J. had visited them in Florida a total of three times, staying at a nearby hotel each visit.
Lane entered through the kitchen door just as Malcolm was admitting to himself that Maren’s family—despite their own faults—had far more in their favor than his ex in-laws and his own broken family. He nodded a greeting to Lane, inwardly smirking at the young man he had thought to envy only weeks before.
“Hey, man,” Lane said, smiling openly, looking over Malcolm’s shoulder. “Where’s Maren?”
Malcolm told himself that the question was simply because Lane had come upon him alone in the kitchen, but he couldn’t help but feel an irksome niggling at Lane’s seeming expectation to find his sister rooted on the spot, slaving over a family meal.
“She’s upstairs, resting,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.
Lane nodded, knowingly.
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired, too,” he said.
Malcolm froze. He felt his anger marshaling its forces. The boy hadn’t just compared his work-a-day fatigue to his sister’s exhaustion, had he? Exhaustion that threatened to crush her after four days and nights beside their dying father? Malcolm took a breath and allowed for the possibility that he had missed something.
“Oh?” he inquired, hoping that the sound wasn’t dripping with sarcasm. Lane opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to an Abita Amber. He held one out to Malcolm, who shook his head.
“Yeah, I was slammed with clients today,” Lane said, rifling through a drawer and coming up with a bottle opener. Clients? Lane popped the lid and took a long swallow while Malcolm talked himself out of punching the boy in the teeth.
Malcolm paced across the kitchen and stopped at the entrance to the den, feeling trapped. His usual practice at most social gatherings would be to wander off by himself and find a quiet corner to stew in. This would not work here; it would be more than weird, yet he did not wish to intrude on Maren’s parents in the living room. He considered going back upstairs and simply watching Maren as she slept, but her family would probably assume that more than sleeping was going on.
He thought about simply making his goodbyes and promising to return tomorrow when Laurel came in through the kitchen door.
“Hey, Bros,” she said, acknowledging both men with a head bob and dropping an overnight bag on the floor.
Bros?
The salutation was so unexpected and so familiar that Malcolm felt his eyebrows leap. Yet he wasn’t offended; he was…amused.
And his amusement only grew when Lane mimed offense, turning his palms up at his younger sister in wonder.
“Bros? As in plural? I’ve been in your life for—oh, yeah…you’re whole life. You’ve known him a few days and he’s your bro, now???” Lane dropped his hands and turned to Malcolm, mock whispering. “No offense, bro. Just keepin’ it real.”
At this he laughed, wanting to stay irritated with Maren’s brother and finding it a challenge.
“None taken.”
“I can’t help it,” Laurel defended, going on as if Malcolm weren’t there. “He’s the first guy Maren’s brought around since I was in middle school. Plus, he’s earned it. Two trips to the hospital and hanging out at the parents’ house? Not a lot of fun.”
She gave him a conspiratorial look.
“Besides, Malcolm, my sister is crazy about you.”
Malcolm caught his breath, and he tried to tamp down on the delight that surely showed on his face. Knowing that Maren had feelings for him fed him with pure bliss; the fact that others knew and confirmed it made him incomparably proud.
“Please. Stop.” Lane affected a shudder. Laurel rolled her eyes at her brother’s squeamishness, but said nothing.
The three stared at each other until the silence became undeniably awk
ward. When Laurel finally spoke, her voice was only just above a whisper.
“So…how are things in there?” She tilted her head toward the living room and eyed both men in turn.
“I haven’t been in yet,” Lane admitted, taking another sip of his beer and lowering his gaze.
Malcolm realized that they were both afraid. Afraid to look at death up close, to see it as it unraveled their father, to be reminded of their own mortality. It was easier to hide. Easier to stay in the kitchen and tease each other.
Who could blame them? Likewise, Malcolm had wanted to hide from it with his mother, but he had not had a choice. Maren had given Lane and Laurel a choice. She was absorbing the brunt of it for them.
Did they know that she was just as afraid? He thought about her hesitation to walk through the hospital doors that first night. She had been terrified. But she had done it.
Malcolm folded his arms across his chest to restrain his impatience. Maren’s brother and sister both needed to grow up.
“Your father’s awake, and he and your mother were talking a moment ago. Things seemed…rather calm,” he said, doing his best to keep the condescension out of his voice. He remembered the abandoned restraints, but thought it better not to mention them.
Laurel eyed him, frowning in confusion.
“Maren’s not in there?” Her voice betrayed her disbelief, and Malcolm clenched his teeth and inhaled slowly.
“No. She’s getting some much needed rest.”
Laurel had the good grace to bite her lip and look a little guilty. Lane took a few cautious steps toward the entrance to the living room. He seemed to study the scene for a moment.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, gently. “How ya doing tonight?”
Malcolm could not make out the sick man’s reply, but it must have been an invitation because Lane turned to him and Laurel, beckoning.
“Come one, guys. Let’s move this party to the living room.”
Erin still sat beside the hospital bed on the far side of the room that had been cleared for the special purpose, but there was still a cluster of furniture around a low, square coffee table. After greeting their father with gentle embraces, Lane and Laurel gravitated toward the couch close to their parents, so Malcolm took the loveseat perpendicular to them, his back to the foyer and front door.
Fall Semester Page 28
