Where Dolphins Go

by Webb, Peggy

"Yes. But can Susan Riley?"

  o0o

  They had the best seats in the house, six together in the center section downstairs.

  Susan's face felt stiff from holding on to her false smile. Paul seemed to be handling the situation well. He held her hand tightly and smiled at her.

  Or maybe he was smiling at his wife, sitting on the other side of Bill. She was the most stunning woman in the room. Elegant, classy. Beside her, Susan felt overdressed, unsophisticated, and un-everything else.

  It didn't help matters that Maggie lifted an eyebrow every time she looked at Susan. Did she disapprove of Susan's dress, her manners, her station in life . . . or merely of the fact that Susan was with another woman's husband? Never mind that Paul’s wife was with another man. What a royal mess.

  She couldn't have told whether the orchestra was playing the music to Swan Lake or her personal swan song. Miserable, she waited for intermission and her chance to hide in the ladies' room.

  Chapter Ninetten

  They stood on her front porch. Paul held both her hands.

  "I'm sorry about tonight, Susan. I didn't know Jean and Curt would be there, and neither did Bill."

  "It's all right."

  "No, it isn't. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you."

  She'd told him it was all right, but it wasn't. It had been awful. She'd been miserable and jealous and scared. She'd vacillated between wanting to run and wanting to face Jean Tyler and shout, He's mine, now. You can't have him back. You had your chance, and now he's mine.

  "Susan . . ." He caught her face between his hands. "Look at me . . ."

  "It was horrible, Paul. I knew ... I knew it would be like this . . . going out in public with another woman's husband . . ."

  "God, Susan, I'm sorry." He held her close, rubbed her stiff back with his hands. "I'm so sorry."

  She fought the urge to sag against him. Darned if she was going to turn into a helpless woman who can’t handle a single thing, who has to run to a big strong man to take care of her.

  Besides all that, Paul was not another woman’s husband. Not really. By refusing to sign divorce papers, Jean was being stubborn and manipulative and selfish… Susan ran out of adjectives bad enough to describe a woman who wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. She was not only furious at Jean, but furious at herself at letting this evening reduce her to the kind of woman who thinks in trite adages.

  "I had no right, Susan, no right to put you through this."

  "You couldn't have known she'd be there."

  The naked bulb shone down on their heads as they swayed together on her front porch, hurting. But even so, she wanted him. Passion rose through the pain, desire so hot and bright, she burned with it, was near screaming with it.

  "I'll try to make it all right," he said, caressing her hair. "I'll continue to help Jeffy if you want me to, but I won't put you through this kind of torture." He kissed her cheek, then released her. "Good-bye, Susan."

  His footsteps sounded hollow on the old wooden porch as he walked away from her, tall, dignified, and resolute.

  Never to be touched by him, never to be held by him. She'd die.

  "Don't go." He turned slowly, his eyes sparking fire. Desire such as she'd never known with Brett caught her high under the breastbone so that she could hardly breathe. She marveled at the intensity of it, the unexpectedness. Need was a sneak thief and desire a taskmaster. It didn't seem right, somehow, that such feelings should come to full flower after spending an evening in the company of Jean and her date.

  And yet she couldn't deny them, didn’t want to, didn’t intend to.

  "Make love to me, Paul."

  Light from the porch bulb cast a halo on his dark hair, but Susan was not naïve enough to believe he some sort of saint, to idolize him because he was a skilled surgeon, because he’d found a way to make Jeffy walk and talk.

  "Susan, you don't know what you're asking.”

  “Paul Tyler, don’t you dare try to make decisions for me. I know what I want, and I fully understand the consequences.”

  “You're worth more than an affair."

  "If I knew this very minute that tonight was all I'd ever have with you, I'd still ask you to stay." Besides, she’d never heard of any woman who held onto to divorce papers and never signed. Eventually, Jean would have to sign.

  As Paul stood on the porch steps watching her, Susan was aware of her own breathing, of the way her heart had stepped up its rhythm. Say something, she wanted to scream. His stance was tense. Hunger was there on his face, raw and fierce, and something else, some dark emotion that she didn't dare guess.

  She could have said Please. She knew her blond hair and pale skin, not to mention her slenderness, made her appear fragile. But she was not. And she didn’t intend to play the role. If Paul Tyler wanted her, he’d have to make that decision for himself.

  He came to her, then, crossing the great gulf that separated them. Softly, ever so softly, they slipped into a world beyond time, a world of bursting color and vivid smells, a world where senses were heightened until there was nothing left except raw emotion and the body, hungry and electric.

  He took her hands and laced them around his neck; then bent over her, his lips touching hers. The kiss started as a tender joining. Her sweetness matched his need, and his gentleness matched hers.

  It will be enough. Just this one night.

  She'd lied to herself. When his tongue slid across the moist inner lining of her lip, she knew one night with this man would never be enough.

  o0o

  Paul lifted Susan into his arms and carried her inside. The moon made shadows on the wall, and the deep quiet of the house cocooned them.

  "Tell me no," he said. "You can still tell me no."

  "Yes." Her arms tightened around him.

  "God, I need you."

  "And I need you."

  He didn't ask where her bedroom was, didn't have to ask. Instinctively he knew. His footsteps were muffled by the carpet as he strode down the narrow hallway.

  Go back before it's too late, he told himself. But it was already too late. He had to have Susan Riley, no matter what the consequences.

  Her bed was brass and her sheets were crisp and smelled like flowers. He spread her upon the covers and buried his face in her hair.

  The fragrance of gardenias invaded his senses, and he was young once more, young and carefree, racing through a summer meadow, racing with pounding heart and singing spirit.

  She pulled him down to her. She was wonderfully made, with ripe curves that fit naturally into the hard planes of his body and seductive hollows that begged to be touched.

  Still, he held back. They'd named it need, called it a simple affair. But it was more, ever so much more. Her hair was special, and the way she tilted her head, and

  the tiny creases that appeared beside her eyes when she smiled. She was special. And if he took her casually, if he made love to her without thought or care or tenderness, he would not only destroy her; but he would destroy something in himself as well.

  "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Susan Riley."

  "And you're the best thing that ever happened to me, Paul Tyler."

  He undressed her then, unveiling her as slowly as he would a rare and priceless piece of art. When her dress lay in a heap on the carpet with his clothes piled on top, he swore to himself that he would never betray her trust. Never.

  "Come to me, Paul." She pulled him down to her again, fitting him close against her lush body. He felt the purr of satisfaction that built in her throat, and he kissed her there, where the sound thrummed beneath her silky skin. The taste of her was addictive, and he wanted everything at once.

  He'd meant to be slow and gentle and tender, but it had been too long since he'd made love.

  Bearing his weight on his elbows, he looked down at her face. It was flushed and lovely.

  "I didn't mean for it to be over so soon, Susan."

  "Shhh." She put her hand over his lip
s. "It's been a long time for me, too, Paul. Not since . . ."

  He covered her mouth with his hand. "Don't say his name."

  She nodded, her eyes bright. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Side by side, leg to leg, thigh to thigh, breast to chest, they studied each other.

  "I don't want you to go," she said, tracing the thick eyebrows that slashed above his eyes.

  "Jeffy?"

  "He's spending the night at Mother's ... I planned ahead."

  He loved that about her, that in a modern world where sex was a household word she still could blush. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her.

  She made one of those delicious humming sounds he loved so well, and he rolled her onto her back. With his arms braced on either side of her, he kissed the tip of her nose and the side of her chin and the love-damp skin below her earlobe where her heavy hair had made her sweat.

  "The next one’s for you.”

  "For us," she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rain slashing against the window awakened Susan. She stirred, her heart lifting at the feel of being wrapped in Paul’s arms. She watched him, loving the scratchy feel of his beard stubble against her shoulder and the way his eyelashes curved darkly upon his cheekbone and the early morning feel of him, as if he were thinking of the two of them together, even in his sleep.

  He came awake quickly, and she found herself staring into his eyes. They crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  "Good morning." She loved his early morning voice, deeper than normal, as if it hadn't awakened with the rest of him.

  "Hello." She framed his face with her hands and kissed him softly on the lips.

  The taste of her was still on his lips, and she even loved that about him, that he hadn't gone into the bathroom like Brett to brush his teeth and gargle after they made love. She moved closer to Paul, fitting her hips tightly against his. He kissed her so hard, she nearly lost her breath.

  Then he leaned back, concern darkening his eyes and etching lines around his mouth.

  "Susan, I don't want there to be any misunderstanding about this."

  "Shhh." She put her finger over his lips. "When we're together nothing else matters." A vision of Jean in her white dress came to Susan's mind. "Nothing," she whispered.

  Reaching for him, she blocked out everything except the moment, real and magnificent. She couldn't imagine how she had survived the days before he came nor how she would survive them after he was gone.

  o0o

  At precisely ten o'clock Jean's doorbell rang. A delivery boy stood on her front porch with an enormous bouquet of red roses.

  The card read, Curt, with apologies for last night and promises for tomorrow night.

  She got crystal vases and divided the flowers so she could enjoy their beauty and fragrance in her bedroom as well as her workroom.

  How like Curt to send two dozen roses when one would have sufficed.

  She was putting them in water when the bell rang once more.

  "I'm getting popular." Her voice echoed in the empty house.

  Paul stood on her porch wearing jeans and a white shirt that made his skin look tan. His nose was slightly sunburned and his hair was tousled, making him look as if he'd just come down from climbing a mountain.

  Jean's heart quickened. "Hello, Paul."

  "Jean." He nodded. So formal. "May I come in?"

  She held open the door. "Look, Paul, if it's about the ballet . . . Curt means nothing to me. He's just a friend."

  "It's not about the ballet."

  Paul sat in the chair next to the roses. If he noticed them he didn't say anything. Didn't he care that another man was sending her flowers?

  She sat opposite him, pleased that she was wearing yellow. It looked good with her hair. She was also pleased that in spite of all the weight she’d lost, her legs still looked good when she crossed them.

  "Jean . . ." He crossed his legs and folded his hands over his knee. The old Paul, so casual, so totally unaware of his gut-wrenching sex appeal. "We've been apart a long time."

  "I know."

  "It's time to do something about that."

  "Paul . . . I'm not sure I’m ready.” Still, she felt a little wave of something akin to hope. “We hurt each other so that I don't know whether we can ever repair the damage."

  "I'm not suggesting we repair the damage, Jean. I'm suggesting that we get this divorce over with.”

  "Divorce?" She hoped her horror didn't show on her face. "You really want a divorce?"

  “Why do you think I filed papers?”

  “I thought you were just mad at me. About Sonny.”

  “This is not about, Sonny. Our marriage was already on shaky ground. His death just brought it to a head.”

  “I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this.” Tears streaked down her face, probably smearing her mascara and leaving ugly tracks through her makeup, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. “How can you do this to me?”

  “For God’s sake, Jean. This is not something I’m doing to you.”

  “If you going to take that attitude, I have nothing else to say to you.”

  She was proud of how she could rise from her chair, still elegant and self-contained in spite of the tears. She’d always been good at exits. God knows, during their years together, she’d had plenty of opportunity to perfect them. Still, in spite of his complaints that she threw too many parties and her frequent outrage that he kept such awful hours at the hospital, how dare he act as if the two of them had been falling apart.

  “Jean…don’t make another of your drama queen exits. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in limbo, and I don’t think you want to, either.

  The salty taste of tears was in her mouth and she knew without looking that her face was wrecked and she wanted desperately to run. To the bathroom, the kitchen, to hell. Anywhere but here in this room with a husband she had lost., whether she wanted to or not.

  But she’d be damned if she’d leave without the last word.

  ‘It's Susan Riley, isn't it?"

  Paul’s face reddened, and Jean felt a shiver of triumph. If she could still get to him, maybe all was not lost.

  “This is my decision and mine alone." There was no shred of compromise in the look he gave her, no hint that she moved him to anything except exasperation.

  If Jean could relive the last few minutes, she would still be sitting calmly in her chair, her makeup and her manners intact. Paul detested bad manners.

  But she was beyond that now. A total mess. A wreck. A woman spurned. She jumped up and began to pace. Divorce was so final. Like a death, a burial.

  She whirled to face him. "I can't do it, Paul."

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “How dare you!” She picked up the crystal vase and held it aloft. Every fiber in her body screamed with the need to throw it at his head. Jean Beaumont Tyler. A pillar of society, a perfectly reasonable woman…until tragedy unraveled her.

  “We’re not done with this conversation, Jean.”

  Paul strode to the door, but he even in his fury, he was too polite to slam it behind him.

  Jean flung the vase at his departing back. It crashed against the door in an explosion of crystal and water and roses. Red petals scattered across the polished floor like blood.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The emergency room on a Saturday night was always a madhouse.

  Teenagers having a last fling before the start of school came in with broken legs and arms and collarbones. Toddlers who stayed healthy enough during the week to lay the Alaskan pipeline in subzero weather were brought in with raging fevers and mysterious rashes. Every wino in Biloxi and half the ones in Gulf Port seemed bent on self-destruction. They came in with bloody bandages around their heads, ugly bruises on their faces, and enough symptoms to make even the most dedicated doctors feel battle weary.

  It was the first time he'd worked ER since he'd come back, and Paul was glad for the mayhem
. He didn't have time to remember approaching the gurney that bore a small child, then looking down into the face of his own son. He didn't have time to feel the tiny hand that clung to his in that last brief moment of consciousness nor to hear the one whispered word. Daddy.

  o0o

  Susan had left the front porch light burning for him. The sight of that bright beacon in the darkness restored Paul's spirit. The minute he stepped out of the car into the softly scented night he forgot about the hospital emergency room, forgot about the fight against pain and death, forgot about Jean’s refusal to sign divorce papers.

  His step was light as he hurried onto her porch. She was waiting for him inside the door, her hair glowing in the moonlight that streamed through the windows.

  He gathered her quickly into his arms, wanting all of her at once.

  "God, I've missed you."

  "I counted the minutes."

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Susan walked to the closet and opened the door. All Brett's things were still there. After he'd driven into the ocean, she couldn't bear to think of him as dead, let alone give away his clothes. Even after they'd found his body, she'd still find herself thinking that she really ought to have his good blue suit cleaned in case he came home unexpectedly and needed it for a job interview. And then she'd catch herself with a start and remember that he'd been at the bottom of the ocean staring at wonders he couldn't see, would never see again.

  She shut the door and started toward the kitchen. Jeffy was napping, and it gave her a chance for a quiet cup of tea. Halfway down the hall, she turned and went back into the bedroom. The closet door was ajar, and she could see the clothes, dark clothes, men's clothes, Brett's clothes.

  She sank onto the edge of the bed. The old mattress squeaked. When she and Paul made love it sometimes felt as if the bed would collapse and send them tumbling to the floor. The night before they'd laughed about it. He swore he'd try to break the bed the next time, and she'd asked him if that was a promise.

  Squaring her shoulders, Susan picked up the phone.

  "Jo Lisa . . . can you come over?"