“I won’t move. I’m going to sleep, too.”
“Okay.”
It was a lie, albeit a little one. As if he could sleep. Always the last one out of the gate, Bishop. She belongs to someone else, so don’t get carried away. How right it had all felt. How right it still felt. What had he just said to her? Oh yeah—it was what it was. Oh yeah, well, fuck you, Keith whatever-your-name-is. You don’t deserve this girl. I hope your damn dick falls off. You weren’t faithful to this girl. I know that as sure as I know the sun is going to rise in the morning. She knows it, too—she just won’t admit it.
Marcus stared at the fire, his eyes full of pain and sadness. Tomorrow she’d be gone. He’d never see her again. He’d go on with his life, with his therapy, his job, his next operation. It would be just him and Murphy.
It was four o’clock when Marcus motioned for the retriever to take his place under the robe. The dog would keep her warm while he showered and got ready for the day. He rolled over, grabbed the arm of the sofa and struggled to his feet. Pain ripped up and down his legs as he made his way to the bathroom with the aid of the two canes he kept under the sofa cushions. This was his daily walk, the walk the therapists said was mandatory. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth. Inside the shower, he lowered himself to the tile seat, turned on the water and let it beat at his legs and body. He stayed there until the water turned cool.
It took him twenty minutes to dress. He was stepping into his loafers when he heard the snowplow. He struggled, with his canes, out to the living room and his chair. His lips were white with the effort. It took every bit of fifteen minutes for the pain to subside. He bent over, picked up the coffeepot, and carried it to the kitchen where he rinsed it and made fresh coffee. While he waited for it to perk he stared out the window. Mr. Drizzoli and his two sons were maneuvering the plows so he could get his van out of the driveway. The younger boy was shoveling out his van. He turned on the outside lights, opened the door, and motioned to the youngster to come closer. He asked about road conditions, the road leading to the main house, and the weather in general. He explained about the Cherokee. The boy promised to speak with his father. They’d search it out and if it was driveable, they’d bring it to the cottage. “There’s a five gallon tank of gas in the garage,” Marcus said. From the leather pouch attached to his chair, he withdrew a square white envelope: Mr. Drizzoli’s Christmas present. Cash.
“The phones are back on, Mr. Bishop,” the boy volunteered.
Marcus felt his heart thump in his chest. He could unplug it. If he did that, he’d be no better than Keith what’s-his-name. Then he thought about Morgan’s anxious parents. Two cups of coffee on his little pull-out tray, Marcus maneuvered the chair into the living room. “Morgan, wake up. Wake her up, Murphy.”
She looked so pretty, her hair tousled and curling about her face. He watched as she stretched luxuriously beneath his robe, watched the realization strike her that she was naked. He watched as she stared around her.
“Good morning. It will be daylight in a few minutes. My road is being plowed as we speak and I’m told the phone is working. You might want to get up and call your parents. Your clothes are in the dryer. My maintenance man is checking on your Jeep. If it’s driveable, he’ll bring it here. If not, they’ll tow it to a garage.”
Mo wrapped the robe around her and got to her feet. Talk about the bum’s rush. She swallowed hard. Well, what had she expected? One-night stands usually ended like this. Why had she expected anything different? She needed to say something. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower and get dressed. Is it all right if I use the phone in the bedroom?”
“Of course.” He’d hoped against hope that she’d call from the living room so he could hear the conversation. He watched as she made her way to the laundry room, coffee cup in hand. Watched as she juggled cup, clothing, and the robe. Murphy sat back on his haunches and howled. Marcus felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Murphy hadn’t howled like this since the day of Marcey’s funeral. He had to know Morgan was going away. He felt like howling himself.
Marcus watched the clock, watched the progress of the men outside the window. Thirty minutes passed and then thirty-five and forty.
Murphy barked wildly when he saw Drizzoli come to what he thought was too close to his master’s property.
Inside the bedroom, with the door closed, Morgan sat down, fully dressed, on the bed. She dialed her parents’ number, nibbling on her thumbnail as she waited for the phone to be picked up. “Mom, it’s me.”
“Thank God. We were worried sick about you, honey. Good Lord, where are you?”
“Someplace in Cherry Hill. The Jeep gave out and I had to walk. You won’t believe this, but a dog found me. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. My host tells me the roads are cleared and they’re checking my car now. I should be ready to leave momentarily. Did you have a nice Christmas?” She wasn’t going to ask about Keith. She wasn’t going to ask because suddenly she no longer cared if he showed up in front of the tree or not.
“Yes and no. It wasn’t the same without you. Dad and I had our eggnog. We sang ‘Silent Night’, off-key of course, and then we just sat and stared at the tree and worried about you. It was a terrible storm. I don’t think I ever saw so much snow. Dad is whispering to me that he’ll come and get you if the Jeep isn’t working. How was your first Christmas away from home?”
“Actually, Mom, it was kind of nice. My host is a very nice man. He has this wonderful dog who found me. We had a turkey dinner that was pretty good. We even sang ‘Jingle Bells’.”
“Well, honey, we aren’t going anywhere so call us either way. I’m so relieved that you’re okay. We called the state troopers, the police, everyone we could think of.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have listened to you and stayed put until the snow let up. I was just so anxious to get home.” Now, now she’ll say if Keith was there.
“Keith was here. He came by around eleven. He said it took him seven hours to drive from Manhattan to his mother’s. He was terribly upset that you weren’t here. This is just my opinion, but I don’t think he was upset that you were stuck in the snow—it was more that he was here and where were you? I’m sorry, Morgan, I am just never going to like that young man. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Dad feels the same way. Drive carefully, honey. Call us, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.”
Morgan had to use her left hand to pry her right hand off the phone. She felt sick to her stomach suddenly. She dropped her head into her hands. What she had wanted for two long years, what she’d hoped and prayed for, had happened. She thought about the old adage: Be careful what you wish for because you might just get it. Now, she didn’t want what she had wished for.
It was light out now, the young sun creeping into the room. The silver-framed photograph twinkled as the sun hit it full force. Who was she? She should have asked Marcus. Did he still love the dark-haired woman? He must have loved her a lot to keep her things out in the open, a constant reminder.
She’d felt such strange things last night. Sex with Keith had never been like it was with Marcus. Still, there were other things that went into making a relationship work. Then there was Marcus in his wheelchair. It surprised her that the wheelchair didn’t bother her. What did surprise her was what she was feeling. And now it was time to leave. How was she supposed to handle that?
Her heart thumped again when she saw a flash of red go by the bedroom window. Her Jeep. It was running. She stood up, saluted the room, turned, and left.
Good-byes are hard, she thought. Especially this one. She felt shy, schoolgirlish, when she said, “Thanks for everything. I mean to keep my promise and send Murphy some steaks. Would you mind giving me your address? If you’re ever in Wilmington, stop . . . you know, stop and . . . we can have a . . . reunion . . . I’m not good at this.”
“I’m not, either. Here’s my card. My phone number is on it. Call me anytime if you . . . if you wan
t to talk. I listen real good.”
Mo handed over her own card. “Same goes for me.”
“You just needed some antifreeze. We put five gallons of gas in the tank. Drive carefully. I’m going to worry so call me when you get home.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks again, Marcus. If you ever want a building or a bridge designed, I’m yours for free. I mean that.”
“I know you do. I’ll remember.”
Mo cringed. How polite they were, how stiff and formal. She couldn’t walk away like this. She leaned over, her eyes meeting his, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget my visit.” Tell me now, before I leave, about the dark-haired, smiling woman in the picture. Tell me you want me to come back for a visit. Tell me not to go. I’ll stay. I swear to God, I’ll stay. I’ll never think about Keith, never mention his name. Say something.
“It was a nice Christmas. I enjoyed spending it with you. I know Murphy enjoyed having you here with us. Drive carefully, and remember to call when you get home.”
His voice was flat, cool. Last night was just what he’d said: it was what it was. Nothing more. She felt like wailing her despair, but she damn well wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I will,” Mo said cheerfully. She frolicked with Murphy for a few minutes, whispering in his ear, “You take care of him, you hear? I think he tends to be a little stubborn. I have my ribbon and I’ll keep it safe, always. I’ll send those steaks Fed Ex.” Because her tears were blinding her, Mo turned and didn’t look at Marcus again. A second later she was outside in the cold, bracing air.
The Cherokee was warm, purring like a kitten. She tapped the horn, two light taps, before she slipped the gear into four-wheel drive. She didn’t look back.
It was an interlude.
One of those rare happenings that occur once in a lifetime.
A moment in time.
In a little more than twenty-four hours, she’d managed to fall in love with a man in a wheelchair—and his dog.
She cried because she didn’t know what else to do.
Mo’s homecoming was everything she had imagined it would be. Her parents hugged her. Her mother wiped at her tears with the hem of an apron that smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. Her father acted gruff, but she could see the moistness in his eyes.
“How about some breakfast, honey?”
“Bacon and eggs sounds real good. Make sure the . . .”
“The yolk is soft and the white has brown lace around the edges. Snap-in-two bacon, three pieces of toast for dunking, and a small glass of juice. I know, Morgan. Lord, I’m just so glad you’re home safe and sound. Dad’s going to carry in your bags. Why don’t you run upstairs and take a nice hot bath and put on some clothes that don’t look like they belong in a thrift store.”
“Good idea, Mom.”
In the privacy of her room, she looked at the phone that had, as a teenager, been her lifeline to the outside world. All she had to do was pick it up, and she’d hear Marcus’s voice. Should she do it now or wait till after her bath when she was decked out in clean clothes and makeup? She decided to wait. Marcus didn’t seem the type to sit by the phone and wait for a call from a woman.
The only word she could think of to describe her bath was delicious. The silky feel of the water was full of Wild Jasmine bath oil, her favorite scent in the whole world. As she relaxed in the steamy wetness, she forced herself to think about Keith. She knew without asking that her mother had called Keith’s mother after the phone call. Right now, she was so happy to be safe, she would force herself to tolerate Keith. All those presents she’d wrapped so lovingly. All that money she’d spent. Well, she was taking it all back when she returned to Delaware.
Mo heard her father open the bedroom door, heard the sound of her suitcases being set down, heard the rustle of the shopping bags. The tenseness left her shoulders when the door closed softly. She was alone with her thoughts. She wished for a portable phone so she could call Marcus. The thought of talking to him while she was in the bathtub sent shivers up and down her spine.
A long time later, Mo climbed from the tub. She dressed, blow-dried her hair, and applied makeup, ever so sparingly, remembering that less is better. She pulled on a pair of Levi’s and a sweater that showed off her slim figure. She spritzed herself lightly with perfume, added pearl studs to her ears. She had to rummage in the drawer for thick wool socks. The closet yielded a pair of Nike Air sneakers she’d left behind on one of her visits.
In the kitchen her mother looked at her with dismay. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Is something wrong with my sweater?”
“Well, no. I just thought . . . I assumed . . . you’d want to spiff up for . . . Keith. I imagine he’ll be here pretty soon.”
“Well, it better be pretty quick because I have an errand to do when I finish this scrumptious breakfast. I guess you can tell him to wait or tell him to come back some other time. Let’s open our presents after supper tonight. Can we pretend it’s Christmas Eve?”
“That’s what Dad said we should do.”
“Then we’ll do it. Listen, don’t tell Keith. I want it to be just us.”
“If that’s what you want, honey. You be careful when you’re out. Just because the roads are plowed, it doesn’t mean there won’t be accidents. The weatherman said the highways were still treacherous.”
“I’ll be careful. Can I get anything for you when I’m out?”
“We stocked up on everything before the snow came. We’re okay. Bundle up—it’s real cold.”
Mo’s first stop was the butcher on Main Street. She ordered twelve porterhouse steaks and asked to have them sent Federal Express. She paid with her credit card. Her next stop was the mall in Menlo Park where she went directly to Gloria Jean’s Coffee Shop. She ordered twelve pounds of flavored coffees and a mug with a painted picture of a golden retriever on the side, asking to have her order shipped Federal Express and paying again with her credit card.
She spent the balance of the afternoon browsing through Nordstrom’s department store—it was so full of people she felt claustrophobic. Still, she didn’t leave.
At four o’clock she retraced her steps, stopped by Gloria Jean’s for a takeout coffee, and drank it sitting on a bench. She didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to face Keith. What she wanted to do was call Marcus. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m tired of doing what other people want me to do. I want to call him and I’m going to call him. She went in search of a phone the minute she finished her coffee.
Credit card in one hand, Marcus’s business card in the other, Mo placed her call. A wave of dizziness washed over her the minute she heard his voice. “It’s Morgan Ames, Marcus. I said I’d call you when I got home. Well, I’m home. Actually, I’m in a shopping mall. Ah . . . my mother sent me out to . . . to return some things . . . my dad was on the phone, I couldn’t call earlier.”
“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. It only takes a minute to make a phone call.”
He was worried and he was chastising her. Well, she deserved it. She liked the part that he was worried. “What are you doing?” she blurted.
“I’m thinking about dinner. Leftovers or Spam. Something simple. I’m sort of watching a football game. I think Murphy misses you. I had to go looking for him twice. He was back in my room lying in the pillows where you slept.”
“Ah, that’s nice. I Federal Expressed his steaks. They should get there tomorrow. I tied the red ribbon on the post of my bed. I’m taking it back to Wilmington with me. Will you tell him that?” Damn, how stupid could one person be?
“I’ll tell him. How were the roads?”
“Bad, but driveable. My dad taught me to drive defensively. It paid off.” This had to be the most inane conversation she’d ever had in her life. Why was her heart beating so fast? “Marcus, this is none of my business. I meant to ask you yesterday, but I forgot. Who is that lovely woman in the photograph in your room? If it’s somethi
ng you don’t care to talk about, it’s okay with me. It was just that she sort of looked like me a little. I was curious.” She was babbling again.
“Her name was Marcey. She died in the accident I was in. I was wearing my seat belt, she wasn’t. I’d rather not talk about it. You’re right, though—you do resemble her a little. Murph picked up on that right away. He pulled the towel off your head and kind of sniffed your hair. He wanted me to . . . to see the resemblance, I guess. He took her death real hard.”
She was sorry she’d asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m so sorry.” She was going to cry now, any second. “I have to go now. Thank you again. Take care of yourself.” The tears fell then, and she made no move to stop them. She was like a robot as she walked to the exit and the parking lot. Don’t think about the phone call. Don’t think about Marcus and his dog. Think about tomorrow when you’re going to leave here. Shift into neutral.
She saw his car and winced. Only a teenager would drive a canary yellow Camaro. She swerved into the driveway. Here it was, the day she’d dreamed of for two long years.
“I’m home!”
“Look who’s here, Mo,” her mother said. That said, she tactfully withdrew, her father following close behind.
“Keith, it’s nice to see you,” Mo said stiffly. Who was this person standing in front of her, wearing sunglasses and a houndstooth cap? He reeked of Polo.
“I was here—where were you? I thought we had a date in front of your Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Your parents were so worried. You look different, Mo,” he said, trying to take her into his arms. She deftly sidestepped him and sat down.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” she said flatly.
“Why would you think a thing like that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled at her question.
“Better yet,” Mo said, ignoring his question, “what have you been doing these past two years? I need to know, Keith?”
His face took on a wary expression. “A little of this, a little of that. Work, eat, sleep, play a little. Probably the same things you did. I thought about you a lot. Often. Every day.”
Jingle All the Way Page 28
