“Well, then,” Mrs. Hathaway answered, her brown eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, “what I’d like, Leigh, if it’s all right with you, is to come when you have the baby and you need some help.”
“I’d love that,” Leigh answered warmly. Nevertheless, she thought uneasily of having to share a room with Brian for the duration of his mother’s visit. At least she could make sure they had separate beds.
After church they drove to Gerald’s in the station wagon, the backseat laden with packages. The doors to the big frame farmhouse opened at their arrival, and a host of welcoming children and adults poured out. A horde of dogs seemed to descend on Leigh as she got out of the car, barely letting her pass as they crowded around her legs. Her arms were as full of presents as Brian’s and his mother’s.
The presents were pounced on first, because the children simply couldn’t wait, regardless of all the mothers clucking behind them. Mrs. Hathaway chuckled as the area under the tree became cluttered with piles of wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons. “I like a big spread under the tree,” she admitted frankly. “I used to individually wrap practically every crayon, just so they’d all have dozens of things to open!”
The mothers scolded Leigh for going to so much trouble over the children’s presents, but the children were delighted with these unexpected packages to open—and delighted with their new aunt, who didn’t hesitate to sit in the middle of the mess with them, who didn’t mind if her soft angora sweater was fingered even if the fingers were slightly sticky. She was not opposed to ribbons being stuck in her hair, and she knew enough to throw a bit of zinc from Barry Junior’s new chemistry set on the fire to magically turn the flames green and blue.
Finally, after the children’s packages were opened, examined, discussed and played with, Brian distributed the adult’s presents. Leigh had exchanged hugs and kisses with Brian’s three brothers and sisters-in-law, had responded to and handed back compliments on dress, and had been teased about the ease with which she was fitting in with the children. Yet through it all her awareness was intensely focused on Brian, as if he were the only one in the room.
She had already seen him forbiddingly distant, occasionally humorous, elegant and charming when it suited him, many times impatient, exasperatingly arrogant and domineering—and he was a blend of all of that with his family—but now she was beginning to see that even with them he could not be completely himself. In two short hours, Leigh had heard snatches of conversation directed at Brian: Richard, explaining why he didn’t want an expensive medical practice and the troubles he was having with Julie about it; Barry, seeking approval for a job change he had made; Gerald, with money troubles on the farm and an expansion he wasn’t sure of; and even Jane asked if one o’clock would suit Brian for the family dinner.
She felt proud that his family so obviously respected and needed him. But she could also see, too clearly, what was behind his resistance to the image of home, family and clinging ties. She could even see why he might have sold his soul for a marriage of convenience. His business was draining enough; his bachelor social life had put another series of demands on him; and his mother and brothers made others. To look at him, one would never know he minded, but Leigh could sense his resentment. He gave and gave and gave; why couldn’t anyone just ask him how he was, whether he had any problems he needed to talk over?
Ruth settled in the chair behind Leigh and bent over to whisper in her ear. “Stop staring, darling. Though he is the handsomest of the four, isn’t he?”
Embarrassed to be caught staring at her own husband, Leigh gave her mother-in-law a bashful smile.
“I worried about him a long time,” Ruth continued in a half whisper. “He isn’t an easy man to love, because he fights it so. It’s always been easy for him to take responsibility, but he has trouble dealing with the softer emotions. He had it hard, when his father died, and it was up to him.”
Leigh glanced at her mother-in-law and then away. It was true that he resisted any attention coming his way. It was all right for Brian to dose out consideration when it suited him, but all Leigh had to do was reveal the slightest bit of concern for his welfare and he clammed up, granite-faced. She had assumed he simply didn’t feel the “softer” emotions; they were two of a kind, he had said.
“Come on, Red, open up.” Presents replaced the wriggling child in her lap, and Brian slid down next to her, his long legs struggling to find space between the jumble of toys strewn everywhere. Even inches apart, she could feel the electricity between them, an unwilling current that refused to shut itself off. She was beginning to feel as vulnerable as dew whenever he was close—hopeless, helpless and strangely intoxicated. She blinked back the sensations.
“You open first,” she insisted. She had found it almost impossible to come up with an appropriate gift for Brian. He had everything practical, and anything sentimental might have been awkward. The dress watch she’d finally selected told time with two diamonds for hands, and was as masculine as it was unusual. She looked anxiously for his approval.
“How beautiful, Leigh,” he said softly, and set it on his wrist to admire it. Lazily, his eyes flicked over her as well, as if the compliment applied even more to her. “Come on, open up! There’s one here, and I’ll bring the other in a minute.”
She opened the small, flat package carefully. Inside was a necklace with a large black opal on a delicate chain. It was simple in design, yet stunning. She looked at him, not bothering to hide the glow in her eyes. “I love it, Brian. I didn’t expect…” She reached up to kiss him swiftly. Very swiftly. Yet long enough to taste the soft, warm pressure and flavor of his mouth, which gave beneath hers. She drew back, and just as softly, just as swiftly, his finger traced the curl of her bottom lip. The flair of desire in his eyes startled her, but instantly it was gone. “I have to go out to get your other present, Red. Don’t move.”
The others were watching her now, their presents already opened. There was a special interest in what Brian said and did, and then there was the special interest that any newlyweds evoked. Moments later, Brian returned and stopped at the doorway. “I couldn’t wrap this one. Will it offend your dignity if I ask you to close your eyes for five seconds, Red?” he asked teasingly.
Laughing and a little embarrassed, she agreed. It was only moments later that she felt a squirming weight on her lap and the sensation of wet silk lapping her palm. She opened her eyes, startled. A soft, curly-haired black puppy wriggled on the white angora of her skirt, its huge eyes staring into hers.
Slowly, gently, she bent to cuddle the animal, lifting it to the curve of her neck, her eyes lowered to blink back the glisten of tears. A gift of life was a gift of love, and she was suddenly conscious that it was Brian who had offered her both in the child growing within her. Overwhelmed, she could only stare mutely at the soft bundle of fur on her lap.
“Now, I know a pup’s trouble, Red,” Brian said, strangely tentative in her continued silence. “But he’s one of Gerry’s Newfoundlands—he’ll grow into a good-sized watchdog, and the breed loves kids. I know I never asked if you liked animals, but I’d feel easier on the nights I work late…”
He stopped talking when she looked up at him. The amber of flame met charcoal, ignited, took hold. He was still standing, and between holding the pup and her skirts it was awkward to rise gracefully, and her shoes were gone. None of it was easy, to share from the heart she’d sheltered so fiercely. But it was necessary—that kind of honesty, that kind of acknowledgment for what his gifts had meant to her. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt as she reached up on tiptoe, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, her lashes shuttered down as her mouth blended with his, her arms slipping around his waist to hold him.
His mouth deepened on hers, arching her throat back. It was Brian who pulled back, his eyes telling her he had only done so because of their audience, his face softer than she had ever seen it, as he kept his arms loosely around her.
“I think she
likes the puppy better than the necklace,” Barry teased lightly.
“Hey, Leigh, I’ve got a horse I’d be willing to give you right now, if you want to take a little trip out to the barn,” Gerald suggested with a playful wink.
“Boys!” Mrs. Hathaway admonished, and they all started laughing, the children clamoring at Leigh’s side, proud that they had kept the secret, demanding to play with the puppy.
The mood was broken as Jane called for help in the kitchen. The rest of the day sped by in a blur of activity: a large turkey dinner and a sleigh ride afterward; then a snowmobile ride and a snowball fight with children and adults alike. It was dark before Brian insisted they get ready to go back to his mother’s house; there was a plane to Chicago to catch in the morning. Confusion accelerated promptly: presents were gathered, goodbyes and thank-yous expressed yet again. An impromptu round of turkey sandwiches was made and munched on, and an occasional child cried over broken toys or shrieked in play. Mrs. Hathaway obviously loved every minute of it, and added to the chaos by trying to finish any number of conversations she had previously started, all at the same time.
Leigh could not remember a day when she had laughed so much. She named the pup Monster as it climbed back and forth between the three of them, claiming constant attention the entire ride home. Brian took care of settling him when they reached Mrs. Hathaway’s. Weariness overtook Leigh as she walked in the door, but it was a marvelously pleasant sensation. Mrs. Hathaway urged her into a warm tub, liberally sprinkled with scented bath salts. It was only nine-thirty when she emerged, clean and thoroughly at peace, sweet-smelling and snug in a soft velvet robe. Going to the living room she curled up on the couch by the Christmas tree, where Mrs. Hathaway was already settled in her rocker, knitting. “Brian’s taken a short walk to wind down,” she explained.
Leigh hugged her knees to her chest, staring mesmerized at the lights of the tree. Mrs. Hathaway seemed to be no more inclined to talk than she was. It had been a good day, and in spite of herself Leigh fought sleep, wanting to savor the memories.
She did not realize until Brian walked back in, stomping the snow from his boots, his features reddened with cold, that somewhere inside she’d been waiting for his return so that she could relax completely. Which made no sense—it even struck a chord of disquiet inside. Yet before he had finished the first shot of whiskey he poured to warm himself, her head had fallen against the pillow and she was fast asleep.
***
Leigh was seventeen in the dream. It was one in the morning and she’d been out with Bob, one of her more steady dates, celebrating his birthday present—a fancy, low-slung sports car. Leigh neither liked nor disliked Bob, but he suited—for the time being. His parents didn’t care what time he came in at night, and Leigh had her own reasons for staying out late.
When she came home, she found her stepfather waiting for her at the door. David’s shirt was only half-buttoned, and she could see that he’d been drinking. She was wary of him, as she had been wary of him for months now; that was the reason why she never came home nights until she had to. This night was worse, because her mother was in New York on a shopping trip and had left Leigh alone with David, except for Robert on the opposite side of the house.
He insisted she have a drink with him, and rather than cause a scene she agreed. The cards were still on the table in the study; his poker-playing friends couldn’t have been gone long. The room was smoky, and there was an empty liquor bottle on the table and another open at the bar. He’d lost at cards; she knew that. It bothered him to lose, but not to spend her mother’s money doing it, a fact Leigh was foolish enough to point out to him.
That was always the end of the floating sensation of the dream and the beginning of the nightmare. She cringed in sleep, seeing herself all too clearly in the dim smoky room, so foolishly, innocently arrogant, proud of her contempt. “Next to my father, you’re such a parasite… What my mother ever saw in you…” She was wrong to talk that way, but he should never have brought up her mother, should never have told Leigh that the only thing he’d ever seen in Andrea Sexton was money…and her daughter.
“I’ve just been biding my time, waiting to be alone with you, sweetie,” he told her in a voice thick with whiskey.
The world crashed—confusion and darkness and shock. Her blouse was ripped and she was frantically trying to get to her feet, to get away from him. A slap on the side of her head sent her reeling. Before she’d recovered he was on top of her. She was sobbing with nausea and horror and disgust. “Oh no, oh no!”
He was stronger than she was, and drunk and insane, yet she kept believing he would stop, that he would never do this to her. But there had come a point when she knew, she no longer had a chance of escaping from him, and the fear and horror were so great that her mind simply went blank. Responding to her instinct for survival, she lay still and closed her eyes, willing herself not to be sick, afraid he might kill her if she was. Her sudden lack of struggle saved her. The hands mauled her, intimately hurting, deliberately and viciously intent on rape. But he could not. She was not experienced enough in the ways of men to understand that her struggles had excited him, and her passivity unmanned him. She only knew that as long as she lay there and did absolutely nothing, he would not complete the final act of degradation.
Her stepfather raged, screamed, blaming her for his own failure. She opened her eyes, unable to hide the contempt and hatred she felt for him. He slapped one cheek and then the other, back and forth, back and forth. Instinct told her to remain still; even as her mind screamed with pain—a long, endless scream that no one ever heard.
“Oh, my God! No more! I can’t take any more!”
“Leigh!”
Relief at having been startled from the nightmare was accompanied by huge shudders racking her body. There were no tears. There hadn’t been any tears in a long time.
Brian’s hand reached for her shoulders to pull her closer, and she jerked away. “Oh, God, don’t touch me!” In a moment, she could feel his weight lifted from the bed and she was alone. She realized then that Brian must have carried her from the couch to the bedroom, but she didn’t dwell on the thought. She huddled into a ball, trying to feel warm again, waiting for the shaking to stop. She took deep breaths of air, her heart thudding so fast it was an active pain in her chest.
It startled her anew when he returned and switched on the bedside lamp.
“Please,” she whispered.
He switched it off again and crossed the room to raise the window shades instead. The glistening reflection of moonlight on snow turned the room from black to light charcoal. He approached the bed, lifting her up to a sitting position with no-nonsense firmness, then folding both her hands around a warm mug. “Drink it,” he ordered. “Now, Leigh.”
The hot milk was calming, soothing, and she drank it all. He took the mug from her hands and she covered her face with trembling fingers. She felt the weight of his body on the other side of the bed, and with her hands still over her eyes she was shifted into the cradle of his shoulder, her legs remaining tucked up to her chest. She was a mindless ball of shuddering, but gradually the warmth of his body infused a feeling of life into her, and the shuddering passed.
“That’s the nightmare, is it?” he asked quietly. “The one Robert referred to. At the time, I conjectured it had to do with the death of a lover, but it’s something else—worse—isn’t it?”
She nodded. The shadows of it still encroached on her consciousness.
“Tell me, Leigh,” he said gently.
She couldn’t. It was bad enough to relive the trauma in nightmares without having to think it through in reality. And she couldn’t tell Brian. Not Brian. Her voice was husky and bitter. “Telling isn’t going to make it go away.”
But he wasn’t going to let her go until she obeyed. He’d already gotten a hint from her frantic whimperings when she was still asleep. Even to her own ears, Leigh’s voice sounded ragged as she told him the story as if it had happe
ned to someone else; it had happened to someone else. She was no longer that innocent girl on that long-ago night, and she never could be again.
When she’d finally gotten away from her stepfather, she had pulled together a blanket and robe and hidden in Robert’s apartment, because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She hadn’t awakened him, just slept on the floor by the old man’s bed. But when he woke in the morning and saw her… “He tried to get me to go to a doctor, but I wouldn’t. What was the point?” she said to Brian. “They were just bruises, a few cuts.”
The words tumbled out, in almost incoherent whispers, an avalanche she could not stop. “The worst of it was that nothing changed. I made up a story for my mother when she got home, told her a purse-snatcher had scuffled with me. I couldn’t tell her the truth. He was her husband. And I couldn’t just run. Oh, I could have—but I wasn’t of age yet, and the trust fund and the house I had inherited from my father wouldn’t be mine until then. How could I live? And my mother might have guessed if I threw it all away, so I…managed. I was never again alone in the house with him; for that matter, I was rarely in the house at all.” She shook her head bitterly, laughter bubbling hysterically in her throat. “The gay socialite!”
The laughter died. “It wasn’t the same, going out. All the boys I’d always known and gone with before…now I would look at one and all I could see was whether or not he was stronger than I was, because whether or not he seemed nice didn’t seem to matter anymore. David had always seemed very nice—too nice, too charming—and my mother used to complain that I wasn’t grateful enough for his kindness.”
Brian was smoothing her hair back from her forehead, a hypnotically gentle motion that she was almost unaware of, but she was beginning to be aware of the way she was nestled against him, of his arm stretched across the front of her. He had pajama bottoms on, but no top, and his chest gleamed white in the moonlight, accenting the dark patches of curling hair. She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. “It was more than a year later that they were killed in a car crash. I dropped out from their kind of life. I made my own. I was angry with myself because I couldn’t seem to get over it, couldn’t stop the panic when any man but Robert touched me.” She took a breath. “And then, when I was a senior in college, I met Peter.” Haltingly, she described their relationship, and their break-up.
A Daring Proposition Page 12
