by Donna Ball
Though he didn't stop his work to look up at her, the last part of the sentence seemed to be cut a little short, and Lyn could see his shoulders tense. She felt the tension seep into her own body as if by osmosis. July. Neither of them knew whether she would be here in July, and the future was one thing they avoided talking about with an almost deliberate resolve.
The future was a hazy fog on a distant horizon, and lurking within it were decisions, promises, resolutions, changes. None of it had anything to do with today, with Casey and her and the tenuous magic in which they enshrouded themselves. There were questions that needed to be answered, choices that needed to be made, and out of them a future would grow. Until then, they both would continue to live in limbo.
And Lyn felt again that haunting sense of uneasiness, of something not quite right. It was nothing more than a future that, sooner or later, would have to be faced.
But, apparently, it was not to be today.
Sheba, sensing her mood, began to fidget restlessly, and when Lyn tightened the leash Sheba snarled. Casey stood up, wiping his hands on a towel, and took the leash. "You look hot, and tired. There's not much more to do here, why don't I just meet you back at the hotel?"
"Are you sure?"
"It won't take me more than an hour."
She hesitated, but the thought of a nice, tepid shower, something cool to drink from room service, and a fluffy hotel robe compelled her. She said, "Well, okay. I need to call home and check the answering machine anyway. Pat will kill me if I let any jobs get away."
His lips brushed hers with a kiss, and his eyes sparked another one of those endless moments charged with promise. "An hour," he repeated.
The warmth of his touch lingered with her all the way back to the hotel. There was something nice about waiting for him. Something wonderful in knowing that, even in a strange hotel room in an unfamiliar city, she wasn't alone. There was always another part of her out there somewhere, waiting for her, just as she was waiting for him.
She showered, tousling her hair with her fingers and letting it air-dry in curls around her face as she changed into fresh shorts and a T-shirt. She did not have to wonder whether Casey would want to go out tonight; he would be tired, just as she was, and they'd order room service. She smiled as she realized how well she was learning to read him, and wondered where the old saying, "familiarity breeds contempt" had ever come from. The more she knew of Casey, the more she liked... or perhaps that was just because she was in love. And even she Was wise enough to know that that grand euphoria did not last forever.
She sat on the bed to dial Pat's home number. She didn't really expect anything important, but Pat might have called, and if any clients had left messages, Lyn would have to return their calls from here, before they found another sitter.
There was one message on the machine. It was from Lois Waters, Lyn's supervisor in Philadelphia. Lois said simply, "Call me back as soon as you get a chance. It's important, and I think we should talk about this."
Every muscle in Lyn's body tensed with dread. Memories as dark as winter alleyways crept through her, a stark and unwelcome contrast to the Florida sunshine that danced on the carpet. She did not want to return that call. She didn't want to be connected, by thought or deed, to the nightmare she had left behind. And another Lyn, the Lyn who, beaten and bruised, had sought shelter in her sister's home almost a month ago, would have ignored the message. She would have hung up the phone and felt not even a tug of guilt as she wandered away to take a nap or bask in the sun.
Lyn glanced at the door. If only Casey would come back now, distract her, give her an excuse not to call. She could put it off until tomorrow, maybe she'd forget. But Casey wasn't even due for another half hour, and she couldn't put it off forever. Squaring her shoulders, she dialed the Philadelphia telephone number.
Lois was in, and took her call immediately. She had never been one to waste words on the amenities, and she got right to the point.
"How much longer do you need, Lyn? This is beginning to look like less of a leave of absence than a sabbatical. We can't hold this position open forever."
Some of the tension seeped from Lyn's body as she realized the subject of the call was not going to be as dramatic as she feared. "I understand, and I never meant for you to be left shorthanded. I told you, if you need to fill the position—"
"Already done," Lois said crisply. "There are people out there dying on the streets, young lady, and they don't have time to wait for you to make up your mind."
The announcement struck Lyn with a jolt that surprised her. She should have been relieved; the decision about whether or not to return to the life she'd left behind had been made for tier. The position had been filled; she had no job. But instead of relief, she felt a stab of hurt, and jealousy. Of loss. She had been replaced, and until that moment she had not realized that she was not at all ready to let go.
She said, trying to force lightness into her tone, "I thought you said this was important."
"It is. As you very well know, there are dozens of eager-eyed young things lined up and ready to take over the job you left behind. I never expected you to come back to that. But I need to know what you're going to do, and I need to know soon. There's an opening in administration, and I've already recommended you for the position."
For a moment Lyn could not speak.
Lois went on, "It's where you belong, Lyn, you and I both know it. Making policy, making the decisions, making a difference. You've rotated through every department in the service and you've got the experience for it. God knows there's no one more qualified. But more importantly, there aren't too many people left who still have the vision you do, and that's what we need. So what do you say?"
"I..," Lyn cleared her throat. Her mind was racing and she tried to focus on something, to concentrate. What she ended up focusing on was the picture of a cartoon duck on the wall. "You've caught me off guard," she confessed. "I hadn't really thought..."
"What's there to think about?" Lois demanded. "You've spent your whole career preparing for this. Now I know it's not the most glamorous job in the world and the pay isn't going to keep you in a new German-made coupe every year, but that's not what you got into social services for, is it?"
Lyn threaded her fingers through her hair, pushing back the damp curls. Her voice was soft, and more uncertain than she expected it to be as she replied, "I'm not sure I know why I got into social services anymore."
There was a brief silence. Then Lois said quietly, "I'll tell you why. Because you wanted to do something important. To make a small difference in a big way, to change lives. Well, here's your chance. Lyn..." For the first time since Lyn had known her, Lois's voice was actually gentle. "I know what happened to you was rough. And combat fatigue gets to all of us. But coming out of something like that all the stronger for it is what makes the difference between living and just surviving. You've got what it takes, Lyn. I've always known that, even if you've had your doubts. And we need you back."
Lyn hung up the phone feeling dazed and disturbed...and excited, disoriented, disbelieving. This was the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to do something important, something she believed in, to make a difference in a monumental way. She could do this. She had spent years working for it, she was ready, she was qualified. And she wasn't afraid.
Because of Casey, she wasn't afraid anymore.
Because of Casey, she was ready to go back. And to start living again would mean leaving him behind.
There was a hollowness in her stomach, and something very nearly akin to guilt leaped to her throat when she heard the turn of the key in the lock. Casey came in, his step easy and his hair sun tousled, bringing light into the room with no more than his presence. She realized that whenever she thought of paradise, she would think in terms of him... the green of his eyes, the gold of his hair, the warm sand color of his skin.
"I brought you a present," he announced, and produced from behind his back a hat shaped like a pair of mou
se ears.
She laughed as he settled the cap on her head. "Wait a minute, I'm not sure I like the implication. Does this mean I remind you of a mouse?''
"No," he said, and the sparkle in his eyes gentled as he caught a handful of curls on either side of her face and crumpled them playfully. "It means that whenever I think of fantasyland, I think of you. Being with you is like being on vacation all the time and..." His smile faded as he leaned forward, touching her lips lightly with his own. "A man could get very used to that, very quickly."
There was a catch in her throat as she lifted her arms to encircle him, needing suddenly to be held, to drown out the conflicting needs and emotions inside her with the simple certainty of his strength. But he caught her wrists lightly, and kissed her nose. "Let me get a shower, I'm filthy and covered with cat hair. Do you want to have room service tonight?"
She smiled as she watched him go into the bathroom. "Sounds great."
She opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside, leaning against the rail. The back of the hotel overlooked a distant highway and a swampy tangle of trees and vines, shadowed in twilight and the last orange rays of the sun. The faraway sound of traffic was hypnotic, the spray of the shower from inside the room soothing. She thought, How can I leave this place? How can I go back to two feet of snow and mud-splattered boots and under-heated tenement rooms? Why would anyone in her right mind want to?
How could she leave Casey, who, in a few short weeks, had brought her more happiness than she had ever known?
But the trouble with fantasyland was that, sooner or later, the illusion wore thin, and no one could stay on vacation forever.
Casey came out, wearing a white hotel robe that barely skimmed his knees, and nothing else. His hair was damp, his face clean-shaven and smooth. He stood behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, and the scent of spicy soap and shaving lotion drifted over her.
She leaned back against him, resting her shoulders against his chest, her thighs against his. Neither of them spoke for a long time, and measure by measure the tension and uncertainty within Lyn drifted away, drawn into his strength. Nothing seemed insurmountable with Casey, no problem was overwhelming when he was around. It was hard to concentrate on all that was wrong, and easy to just let go and revel in how right everything felt.
But it wasn't really right. She knew that. And sooner or later decisions had to be made.
It was almost as though he was following the course of her thoughts, or perhaps in their closeness, her mood was simply absorbed by him. He said quietly, "You know, it would be really easy to get attached to you. That scares me a little."
She didn't move, or turn her head to look at him, but everything within her was abruptly suspended in alertness, waiting. "Why?" she whispered. "Why does it frighten you?"
For a moment he didn't answer, but she could feel a slight tightening of his arms around her waist. "A long time ago," he answered at last, "I learned that nothing in life really belongs to me. I can borrow the good things for a while, and then it's time to let go. You're one of the good things, Lyn. Maybe the best. But you don't belong to me."
Lyn understood, too painfully, too well. Everyone he had loved he had lost. He was afraid, just as she had been when she first came here, and he was hiding, just as she had been. Yet he had been the one who taught her it was all right to care, he had been the one who had shown her the importance of becoming involved with life again. How could she give back to him what he had given to her? How could she make him see that loving did not always mean losing?
Because suddenly it was very clear, very simple. She did not want to leave Casey; she couldn't leave him. Before Casey, there had been no reason to get up in the morning, days were only filled with automatic motions, nights were endless and she was hollow inside. He had given her purpose, clarity, meaning. With Casey there was life; without him, only emptiness
It was so simple. She belonged here, with him. There was no choice. She felt weightless with relief.
She said, "I do belong to you, Casey. Remember—you save a person's life and you're responsible for her forever?"
She thought she heard the hint of a smile in his voice. "That only applies to dogs. Besides, I didn't save your life."
"Yes, you did," she whispered, and closed her eyes. "Oh, yes you did."
He rested his chin atop her head, then turned his cheek to the texture of her chair. She could feel the deep expansion of his chest with his breath. "You feel so right in my arms, Lyn."
She said, "Casey, I want to tell you—"
But he did not want to hear what she had to say. He did not want to hear anything else that would pull at his heart, the way her last words had done, or make him want more than he could possibly have... the way almost everything she said did. So he pressed his lips against her neck and he whispered, "Let's make love."
He felt her relax against him, sink into him. "Don't you know?" she answered softly. "We are. Whenever we're together... we are."
And that was just it. Being with her, everything about her, was like a symphony of love, of chords that meshed and melodies that lingered. It took him from the heights of ecstasy to the depths of pathos, echoing through the chamber of his soul with longing... too perfect, too beautiful, to ever be his. Being with her was a constant tug of war with his emotions, pulling him toward her while he tried to hold himself back, desperately fighting to maintain control. And when he felt himself losing the battle, the easiest thing to do was to let himself go, to drown in the physical experience of making love to her, to blot out the dangerous questions, the aching need, with the simple, overwhelming magic their bodies created together.
His hands moved upward, lightly cupping her breasts through the fabric of the T-shirt. Lyn's flesh seemed to swell with slow, heavy pleasure into the warmth of his touch, the whisper of his fingers brushing across the material, defining her shape with feather-soft strokes. She sank into him, letting her pliant muscles take on the shape of his supporting body, his pelvis cradling her buttocks, her spine curving into his torso.
Her breath stopped as his hands moved down and unfastened the top button of her shorts, then the second, and the third. All sensation, all awareness, was concentrated on the slow thin line his fingertips traced down the center of her abdomen, from her navel to the elastic band of her low bikini panties, and then up again. Her flesh tightened, there was an ache between her thighs, and her very womb seemed to contract with anticipation and need.
"Casey," she whispered.
He turned her into his arms, pulling her inside the room. His face was flushed, his eyes were dark with intensity as they moved over her, drinking in every detail. "Sometimes," he said huskily, "I'm almost afraid to touch you, you are so fragile... and so precious."
Lyn tugged at the belt of his robe and pushed the material aside with unsteady fingers. She brought her lips to his chest, tasting him, feeling his sharp intake of breath as her tongue traced the outline of his flat brown nipple. Her hands caressed his back, and the smooth flow of his waist, the lean muscles of his thighs. Every part of him she knew by touch alone, and every time she touched him it was as though for the first time. He did belong to her, and she to him. Nothing could ever change that.
They lay together on the bed with arms and legs and fingers entwined. Time took on a new meaning, sunset lingered, and each breath was an eternity unto itself as they fitted themselves together. Casey's eyes were a mirror of lights and dark, reflecting the surge and leap of emotions that went through Lyn as he entered her, filling her with slow, exquisite care, drawing out the moment with agonizing sweetness. Lyn's fingers tightened on his until they ached and she felt the returned pressure of his as his lips brushed over her face, caressing her, drinking of her with light butterfly strokes of his tongue and whispered breaths of half-formed words. Their movements were slow and deep, a luxurious bonding that went beyond passion and touched its source, a merging of souls.
And when at last they lay wrapped tightl
y in each other's arms the day was gone, and the stillness that enfolded them was like a cradle. Casey said nothing, and neither did Lyn. For the moment their minds, and their hearts, were at peace. Safe in each other's arms, they drifted to sleep.
Lyn was trapped inside a small room, and it was hot. Hot and filthy, smelling of an overflowing garbage pail and the sweat of human fear. A single unshielded bulb dangled from the ceiling and the glare hurt her eyes. There was crying in the background, children crying, and the sound hurt her ears. She wanted to run away from the sound, from the harsh light of the overhead bulb, from the terror that smothered her breath and thundered in her chest, but she couldn't move. As hard as she tried, she couldn't move.
The shadow of a man was silhouetted in the center of the room, larger than life, enormous, stretching from ceiling to floor, looming over her. He was the danger. He held her destiny in his hands. He controlled her every move, her every thought, and if she tried to get away, he would know...
The shadow moved, turned toward her, started to close in on her. Step by step it drew closer and she tried to make herself smaller, tried to scream, tried to run. But she was paralyzed, helpless, he moved closer and closer and there was nothing she could do...
He was almost upon her now, and she knew suddenly, desperately, that she must not see his face. She tried to turn her head, tried to close her eyes, but then the light fell upon him and she screamed. It was Casey.
She awoke with a cry, flinging out her hand as she sat upright in bed. She was shaking, clammy with cold perspiration, and disoriented.
Casey sat behind her, holding her shoulders. "Hush," he said softly. "It's okay now. Bad dream?"
A shiver racked her body, and she gulped for breath. After a moment she managed to nod. "Yes." She suppressed another shudder. "Yes," she repeated, and took a breath to strengthen her voice. "I'm sorry I woke you."
He squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "That's what you get for going to bed without your supper."
