by Modean Moon
“I won’t,” Debby promised. “Now let me tell Ron. He’s convinced that he’s going to have to wait the whole Christmas vacation for me to finish this thing.”
“Miz K?” Neil asked as they stood at the front door watching the two young people scuffling through the snow on their way down the driveway.
“Yes.” Ginnie grinned sheepishly. The idiotic name the kids had attached to her had always pleased her, until now, but it sounded strangely unfamiliar on Neil’s lips.
“I like it,” he said, and his voice carried a trace of a smile. “Just the right amount of formality for someone as venerable and respected as your teacher, and yet admired and enjoyed as a friend.”
“You understand,” she said thankfully. “They try not to come out with that name too often around other faculty members, but every once in a while it slips out. I hope you didn’t mind this intrusion, Neil.” She felt it necessary to warn him. “There may be more. A lot of the kids have adopted this place almost as a second home.”
“Do you mind the intrusions, Ginnie?”
“No. Usually I don’t. Usually I enjoy them.”
“I know,” he told her. “Ron filled me in on the story of the annual tree-cutting and tree-trimming parties and the Thanksgiving dinner you have each year for the students who can’t get home for the holiday. You’ve built quite a family for yourself, haven’t you?”
She tried to smile but couldn’t quite make her facial muscles work. “I’ve tried.”
Neil draped his arm over her shoulder. With only the slightest amount of pressure, he started to pull her close. But he released her. “I think you always tried, Ginnie.”
By afternoon the sun had melted most of the snow. A few patches clung tenaciously to the dead grass in Ginnie’s yard, but on the streets, what remained bore no resemblance to the pristine whiteness of the day before.
Cassie called that afternoon to report that her road was impassable and to ask how Ginnie was. How was she? Ginnie wondered. “Fine,” she assured her friend, almost choking on the words. “Just fine.”
Late that afternoon, a high cloud cover began moving into the valley, hanging threateningly over it and dropping the temperatures.
That night she lay alone and sleepless in her bed, listening to the wind howling around the house, listening to the branch, forgotten again until that moment, scraping against the window.
Her eyes were heavy with the pressure of unshed tears, and her throat ached from that same pressure. From the talking they had done, she convinced herself. That had to be the reason for this renewal of a grief she could no longer deal with. Not a dissection, no. They hadn’t again reached the honesty they had that morning, but they had talked their way through the years of their marriage—a chronological narrative, bordering on the brink of confession, bordering on the brink of honesty, but not quite reaching either.
Ginnie told herself that she hadn’t been more open with Neil because she didn’t want to cause him any more pain than he already felt. But deep within her, she knew that wasn’t completely true.
In those moments just before sleep, the real reason shimmered through her thoughts as clearly as the sun had glinted on fresh snow. She whimpered and pulled the other pillow close to her, burrowing her face against it.
Todd, she thought. Alone in still another freezing night. Oh, God, where was he tonight? Lost? Yes, of course, but where? And when? Was he all right? Please let him be found. Please let him be safe. Please let us know that nothing worse had happened to him.
And why was she holding this pillow? Neil was alone, too. Maybe more alone than any of them. She ought to be in his arms, taking comfort from him, giving comfort to him....
Chapter 11
Another breakfast. Quiet. Restrained. This time, Neil did open the newspaper and hide behind it. This time, Ginnie took part of the paper and hid behind it herself.
Neil had not brought her coffee this morning. Ginnie recognized the wisdom of his not having done so, just as she recognized her irrationality in wishing that he had.
Almost as if by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned the past. Perhaps, Ginnie thought, because they had both said so much the day before and yet hadn’t really said anything of importance after the kids had arrived.
The blare of Neil’s car horn penetrated their silence. They both glanced up, alarmed.
“Is your telephone out again?” he asked bluntly.
Ginnie lifted the receiver. The dial tone hummed steadily.
“No.”
“Damn!” he muttered. “We’re going to have the whole neighborhood over here because of that thing.”
He took off on a run for the front door. When he returned several minutes later, his expression gave her no clue as to the substance of the conversation.
“Was that— ”
“No.” Just that. No. “I disconnected the telephone from the horn while I was out there. At least we won’t have your neighbors calling over wanting to know what’s happening every time the phone rings now.”
“But— ”
He poured another cup of coffee and stood at the counter, head thrown back, easing the tightness in his neck with one hand.
“That was Carole Flannagan,” he said finally: “I gave her your number in case she needs to reach me again. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not.” Of course not? Why would Carole need it?
“You remember Carole, don’t you?” he asked. “It was her brother Mickey—”
“Who was killed?” Ginnie asked.
“Yes. This has hit her pretty hard.” Neil gripped his cup with both hands, drumming his fingers idly along the side of it. “I guess we all have to work through these things in different ways. I guess Carole can’t help drawing parallels between Todd and Mickey, can’t help reliving her own guilt.”
Carole Flannagan, Ginnie thought. Neil had only mentioned her once before, and that had been years ago. The parallels were there, she knew, but how had Carole known? Idiot! she ranted at herself. What had she expect him to do after the divorce? Go into limbo? She hadn’t. She had a life of her own. Hadn’t she expected him to have one, too? And yet the thought of his knowing people she didn’t know, doing things she knew nothing about, seeing women — You’re not married anymore! she told herself firmly. He had a right to a life of his own. Even if it meant there were other women in that life.
“I guess I just didn’t realize she was still in Little Rock,” Ginnie said calmly.
“She hasn’t been back long,” Neil told her. “She came back to help her mother with the business after her father passed away. I’m not sure it was a wise move. She’s never been certain that if she had acted differently, Mickey might still be alive. And living in Little Rock has dragged up all those memories. And now, with Todd missing—I’m not sure she’s going to be able to hold together. But,” he said, putting his cup on the counter, “she’s basically strong. She’s going to have to be with what we’re letting ourselves in for.”
Letting themselves in for? Oh, God. Was he... ? He couldn’t be thinking of marrying Carole. If he was, Ginnie didn’t want to know it. She didn’t want to face it. Not yet. Not now. Too much was going on for that to happen, too. And yet, she couldn’t leave the words hanging there between them.
“What... are you letting yourselves in for, Neil.”
“Kids,” he said. And a swift rush of nausea rose in her throat before he continued. “Disturbed kids. Angry kids. Hurt kids. And disturbed parents. Angry parents. Hurt parents.”
Ginnie forced back the nausea. Not his kids, that much she realized. But whose?
“I don’t understand. In your law practice?”
“No. I’m leaving that. At least for a while, until this gets off the ground. I’m sorry, Ginnie. I hadn’t said anything about it, had I?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You hadn’t. You still haven’t.”
“It’s something I’ve been working on for over a year, finding funding and personnel
. It’s like a parents’ -action group for those with disturbed children or children who’ve run into trouble with the law, not necessarily just with narcotics.
“Only we’ll be working with both the parents and their children, finding legal counsel and psychological or medical counseling when necessary, trying to stop things before they go as far as they did with Mickey or with Todd. We’ve put together a pretty good group of people, and we’ve gotten quite a bit of support from law enforcement and the courts.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Ginnie said, stunned. “But what about you? Can you put yourself through the—the—”
“The agony of seeing other people going through what we went through?” he finished for her. “If I can stop it from going as far as our situation went, yes.”
He saw the doubt in her eyes, doubt he had felt himself. Doubt he could no longer afford to let himself feel. “Damn it, I’ve got to do something, Ginnie. I’ve tried telling myself all along that what happened wasn’t my fault, that I did the best I could, and I guess I really did. I did all I was capable of doing—at the time. But it wasn’t enough. There’s no way I can ever make it enough. There’s also no way I can ever erase what happened. My only hope is that, somehow, I can stop it from happening to someone else.”
“You’re doing this because of guilt, Neil?” She had thought once it was his fault, thought the whole thing his fault. She’d moaned it time after time into her pillow, needing the solace of placing blame. But she knew even then that it hadn’t been.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough out of guilt in your life?” she asked him. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to put that behind you? Isn’t this just another example of trying to play God with other people’s lives? You don’t have to do that anymore, either. You’ve said so yourself.”
“It isn’t a guilt trip, Ginnie,” he told her. “And I’m not playing God. I’m using my knowledge and my experience in an area where I think it’s needed.”
Ginnie felt her throat closing and the ache behind her eyes growing in intensity. God, was she going to spend the rest of her life crying? “You act as though there’s no hope... for Todd. Ever.”
“Is there?” Neil asked, and she knew from the tone of his voice that he didn’t think there was. “Even if they find him this time and he’s all right, even if they take him back to the sanitarium and find new medication for him, even if at some time in the future he stabilized enough so that it’s safe to let him out with other people, is there really any hope for Todd?”
“There’s always hope,” she said, her words choking their way past her throat. “There’s got to be hope, Neil.”
The tears she could no longer control spilled forth. “Please,” she said, sobbing, “Please. There’s got to be hope.”
Neil dragged her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. “Of course there’s hope, Ginnie,” he murmured against her hair. “I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did. Shh. Of course there’s hope.”
At what point did his caress become more than comfort? More than reassurance? She never knew. One moment he was soothing her, calming her, and the next—it was not comfort she was aware of, but the lean hardness of his body against hers, the play of his fingers through her hair, the pressure of his hand across her back, the whisper of his breath across her forehead.
How long had it been since she’d been free to respond to the passion he never failed to bring to life in her? Too long, she knew. A lifetime.
Her breasts ached for the touch of his hand, her mouth for the hard pressure of his, her body for the completion it had been too long denied.
Her hands were caught between them, balled against his chest. She opened them, sliding them across his shirt, around to grip his back, as she turned her face to the opening at his throat—an unconscious movement, not planned—to the warm clean scent, to the taste of him that haunted her dreams. Her lips found his beating pulse as surely and as naturally as she found home each evening.
She felt his sharp intake of breath and the flutter in the pulse beneath her seeking mouth. He tightened his hold on her, almost imperceptibly, and she felt his lips moving over her cheek, tentatively, questioningly.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, she knew. Impatiently, hungrily, she turned her face to his, holding him closer by the pressure of her hands on his back, searching blindly for what no one but Neil had ever given her, that no one but Neil would ever give her.
His mouth crushed down on hers, not questioning and gentle now, but hard and hungry. The pressure of his hands bore into her, pulling her to him, and she went willingly as she opened to the thrusting possession of his tongue.
It had been too long, she thought, if the disjointed impressions of her mind could really be called thought. So many years of denying this hunger.
Her aching breast welcomed his hand as he cupped it. Not since the divorce—
She couldn’t think about the divorce now, she wouldn’t think about the divorce now, not with his mouth moving over hers, not with her soul singing in response. What was a divorce but a piece of paper? It ended nothing. She was still his wife, would always be his wife. Paper could never destroy what she felt for him. Just paper.
Paper he had asked for, she remembered with chilling clarity.
What was she doing throwing herself at him? Of course he was responding to her. But why? Not from any undying love. His emotions had to be in the same fire storm hers were because of Todd and all the raking up of their past. He was a healthy, virile man. She knew how to please him. He’d remember that, as they had remembered so many other things since he’d arrived in the middle of the storm. The responses were all there, their pattern had been set a long time before.
Ginnie moaned, dragging her mouth from his. She turned her cheek to his chest and leaned against him limply, unable yet to end the embrace completely, listening to the pounding of his heart, feeling her breath crying in her lungs. Whimpering, she loosed her hold on him and pushed away, trying not to see the puzzled questions in his eyes.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said brokenly. “I never meant for that to happen.”
“Ginnie—” With a touch as soft as his voice, he reached out to trace one finger along her cheek.
“No,” she pleaded. “Don’t.” Oh, Lord, what had she almost done? She had to get away from him, get away from herself. She turned, stumbling as her legs almost refused to carry her away from him, and walked from the room.
He caught up with her at the front door as she fumbled with coat and purse and car keys. She faced him in embarrassed silence.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Just...out,” she said finally. “Maybe into town.”
“You don’t have to leave your own home to get away from me, Ginnie.”
“No!” she cried. “No. That isn’t it at all. I really do need to go—” She broke off, trapped in the quicksand of her own words.
“The streets are solid ice, Ginnie. You have no business being out there. It isn’t safe.”
“Not safe?” What was not safe for her was staying in this house with Neil one moment longer. “You forget,” she said, hiding her turmoil, “I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time.”
“No,” he told her. “That’s something I’ve never forgotten.”
Angrily, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “If you insist on going out today, then I suppose I have to insist on going with you. And driving. I have enough to worry about without adding anything else to the list. Wait here while I get my coat.”
Nothing remained of the beauty of Christmas Day, only frozen mounds of grime-smirched slush, as gray as the sky that lowered over them.
“Where to?” Neil asked as they approached the downtown area in his car, this time, not hers, and with him driving, this time, not her.
“Oh.” Ginnie remembered that she had to have a reason for being out of the house. “The grocery store,” she said. “Mr. Sims’s,
on the square.” And then, remembering her overstocked pantry and refrigerator, she added much too quickly, “We’re running low on a few things. Coffee and eggs and milk.”
“All right, Ginnie. You don’t have to explain why you want to go to the grocery store. Besides, I’m running low on a few things myself.”
Mr. Sims looked up from the first of the two cash registers as they walked in. He smiled pleasantly at Ginnie, but when his eyes registered recognition of Neil, his pleasant features broke into a smile that transformed his usually colorless face.
“Neil Kendrick,” he said with genuine and obvious delight. He wiped his hands on his spotless white butcher’s apron and walked from behind the counter, extending his hand as he advanced. “I’d heard you were in town. Gee, it’s good to see you. Are you going—” He glanced at Ginnie and back at Neil. “Good to have you back.”
Neil gripped the man’s hand. “Thanks. It’s good to be back.” But Ginnie noticed that he offered no explanation in spite of Mr. Sims’s obvious curiosity.
She ducked past the two of them, after smiling her greeting to the grocer, pulled out a shopping cart, and pushed it down the aisle. Heard he was back, indeed. Why hadn’t she thought about that? Everyone in town would have heard he was back by now.
“I thought you told me you needed milk and eggs,” Neil said close to her ear.
Her hands clenched on the shopping cart. “I do.”
“You’ve passed them.”
“Oh.” Ginnie wheeled around and returned to the dairy counter. Neil watched her silently. as she placed the items in the cart. “Eggs,” she said. “And milk.”
“And coffee,” he reminded her.
“And coffee.” Again she wheeled the cart around.
“Here. Let me push that for you. You don’t seem to be doing so well.”
“All right!” she whispered vehemently. “I don’t really need any groceries. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Yes. And I don’t really need anything, either. But we might as well pick up the things we said we were going to get while we’re here.”
