Faith suddenly rose up on her toes. She nodded, hard, cutting off his thoughts. “We’ll end on Saturday, then,” she said decisively. “You’re right. It will be more final. I like things to be crisp and clean-cut when they end.”
Her words brought him back to reality. She’d put a new twist on his suggestion. She wanted to make things more final. Well...so did he, didn’t he? Of course he did. Things would be so much better for both of them, for all of them, once he had cut the ties that bound than.
They had to be better. He couldn’t stand to see that pained look in Faith’s eyes again. He didn’t want to live with the fear that he had put it there. They needed to part, soon, before he really did hurt her.
~ ~ ~
Faith wandered through the house after Nathan left, picking up Cory’s books and toys. She hadn’t had the heart to make him pick up his things earlier. Not tonight when he was so close to losing Nathan.
Opening Cory’s door, she peeked in as she always did. His breathing was slow and even, his mouth relaxed and open.
The night-light near his bed cast shadows on the wall, sending a yellow puddle of visibility just as far as the dark corners that had once scared him so. Of course, those corners weren’t so scary any more. Nathan had chased away the monsters. Faith wondered if they would come back once the man who’d scared them away had gone.
She hoped not. She hoped Nathan’s solution was a permanent one, not dependent on the man. Because, heaven knew, she couldn’t contact him once he had gone. She and Cory couldn’t be near him, ever again. She’d known that for certain when he’d wrapped her in his arms. She could say goodbye once and be brave. More than that was asking too much of herself.
Moving to tuck the sheet higher around Cory, Faith saw the wadded up bit of paper in Cory’s clutched fist. His list. It was getting more pathetic looking every day, wrinkled and torn. But he was holding it as though he held pure gold, filled with the promise of something he wanted badly—so very badly.
Gently, she removed the paper from his grasp, found the fat, red crayon that had dropped and rolled up against his side.
She smoothed the edges of the paper, making it flat. The eraser marks she’d made just a few days ago were still visible, the missing words beneath still faintly readable. Only a few items remained. Not afraid of kids or monsters. Doesn’t have to be good at Cootie. But it was the last thing on the list that gave her pause and made swallowing difficult. Her eyes misted and she had to blink hard to keep the tears from falling. On the paper, written in her neat handwriting were the words Not a doctor. The word “Not’’ had been crossed out with a red crayon.
She remembered Cory asking her to point to the words, realizing now why he’d needed to know. A doctor. The words seemed to scream at her. A doctor. Cory wanted a doctor for his daddy.
No. Cory wanted Nathan. He wanted only Nathan.
And God help her, so did she.
She loved Nathan Murphy, in spite of all she knew; that she didn’t want love, that he didn’t want love. That he couldn’t love her or anyone as long as his past held him prisoner. But none of that made any difference to the way she was feeling right now. She loved him, like it or not.
Faith didn’t like it, not at all, but she knew it was true. Just as she knew that somehow she had to get through the next few days. Because only then could she begin learning how not to love Nathan.
Chapter Eight
Saturday had arrived in a split second it seemed, the week galloping away too quickly. Still, Faith was determined to be cheery, to handle the farewell to Nathan this evening as she would any other patient’s swan song. Firmly, she took herself in hand. She rose early, busied herself making a big breakfast, and planned activities for her and Cory. They would clean, they would go to the park, they would play games, read, draw, enjoy themselves.
It seemed like such a simple plan, easy to implement, bound to be effective. But by early afternoon, she and Cory had done all those things, some of them twice. Frantically and without fun. The day was dragging, and Faith was angry with herself for feeling that way, for wishing the hours would spin by so that Nathan—
“Mom?” Cory’s voice, loud and demanding, appeared out of left field, tearing her away from her thoughts.
“What, tiger?” she asked, turning to him. “You want to know the time again? It’s a whole two minutes since you asked me last. Maybe not even two minutes.” She smiled at her son who was sitting cross-legged next to the coffee table, wielding a green crayon and sliding his tongue along his lips as he worked on the picture he was drawing.
“No, mom. I know it’s gonna be a whole long time. You to’d me. I just want you to spell somepin’ for me. How do you spell big?”
“Big, huh?” Faith raised one brow in surprise. Cory had always balked when she’d worked on his letters with him before, and he’d certainly never asked her how to spell anything in the past. “All right, well, let’s see. That’s b, then an i, and then a g. You know, the circle with the tail on it.”
“B,” Cory said as Faith carefully repeated the letters several more times. Finally, satisfied, he breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay, now yellow. How do you spell yellow?”
Once again Faith named the letters slowly.
“Cory, what are you writing, anyway?” she asked, trying to lean over and see.
“Nothin’, Mom, just one more word. Okay? One more?”
Shrugging, she nodded. “One more or as many more as you need, Cory. Just tell me what the word is.”
“It’s hair.”
Faith’s eyes met Cory’s determined ones. She saw now that he had put his drawing aside, saw what he was actually working on, the word Big scrawled in green beneath her own neat handwriting. When she realized that the next line would say Yellow hair when Cory had finished his painful printing, her first inclination was to explain the way things were to him again. Instead, she carefully spelled the word. It would do no good to protest. She’d already told him Nathan couldn’t be his father, the man on that list. He knew it was so, and still it didn’t matter. Nothing she could say would dissuade him right now. Only time and Nathan’s absence would do the trick.
Time away from Nathan was what they both needed. But there was still today.
And her own heart was just as stubborn as Cory’s. She still wanted this day with Nathan, one day to hold close. One more day to store up memories that would have to last a lifetime.
~ ~ ~
Nathan came with roses, big bunches of them. They were blush pink, the color of Faith’s cheeks when she got up a good steam. It had been his first thought when he’d seen them at the florist, and he brought them because he’d promised her he would, because they reminded him of her...because a woman like Faith should have flowers...often. Not because he was trying to win her or tell her anything special. He wouldn’t do that, but still...
“They’re for remembrance,” he told her, placing them in her arms when she opened up the door. “And, of course, for gratitude.” He managed to work up a half-smile. “Maybe just for putting up with me, for not spitting in my eye and slapping my face when you should have.”
That’s it, Nathan, he reminded himself. Keep it light. Keep it breezy and uncomplicated.
“I remember. They’re to celebrate the end,” she said, her words reminding him of what he’d told her so many times.
She was right, that was what they were supposed to be doing tonight. Celebrating the time they’d spent together, the fact that they would no longer be compelled to share any time at all. Because she had done her job so well. Because he’d worked so hard.
But standing out on the miniature golf course a scant hour later, surrounded by bright plaster animals, whirling windmills, and scads of families out to enjoy the warm weather, Nathan wondered why this didn’t feel anything at all like a celebration.
No, that wasn’t the truth, he admitted, turning to look at Faith as she watched her son gripping his golf club. He knew why this didn’t feel like a c
elebration. It was Faith. She was just too damn beautiful, standing there in the breeze, the wind lifting her hair from her neck, tossing it around her shoulders. The white shorts and bright jade blouse she wore snugged against her curves the way a man’s hands would—should. She was achingly alluring...and he was never going to see her this way again.
Forcing himself to look away, he turned to the little boy beside her. Cory’s scrawny little limbs thrust out of his blue T-shirt, his elbows two sharp points as he bent his arms and prepared to swing the golf club with complete abandon. Again.
“Whoa, partner,” Nathan said, stepping forward and stopping Cory’s motion. He bent over the tiny boy, curving his body close to guide him. “Like this. Nice and easy. Let’s put it right through the rabbit’s mouth. You can do it. Just take your time. That rabbit’s not going anywhere.”
Cory chewed on his lip. “But it’s almost the last hole,” he whispered. “I gotta do good this one, Nathan. I gotta show you that I can do better than sixes.” He turned to Nathan then, his eyes big and round and anxious.
Faith started to step forward, but Nathan waved her back. Gently he took the golf club from Cory’s clenched fists. He tapped one finger against the child’s nose.
“Hey buddy,” he said, going down on one knee. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re the Cootie champ. But even if you weren’t, even if you weren’t the champ of anything, you and I would still be pals. Wouldn’t we?”
At Cory’s solemn nod, Nathan gave him a wink. “Okay then, Cory, just give it your best shot. That’s all you have to do.”
Carefully, Cory took aim and swung. The ball racketed into the rabbit’s mouth, looped around the bright blue metal curves twice, then moved onto the green. Heading for the hole, it veered aside slowly, missing the cup by three inches.
“I missed,” Cory said glumly. “I missed again.”
“Shh, son, it was a great shot. You got closer to the hole than I did. Now just give it a little tap this time.”
Cory did as he was told and this time the ball went right in the cup.
Nathan held out one big hand and Cory slapped his palm against it.
“Cory, Cory, that was great,” Faith called. “You got a birdie. An honest to goodness birdie.”
She held out her arms for a hug and Cory moved closer, dark eyes shining. Just before he reached the shelter of her arms, he picked up one of her hands and gave it a hard slap.
“I did it, Mom,” he agreed. “I got a birdie. But,” he turned slowly, looking toward the next hole, the last hole, the end of the game. “But maybe I should do it again, try for a hole in one. Maybe we could play again. It’s still early.”
“It is still early,” she agreed, “but I have to tie up a few loose ends with Nathan before he goes. How about ice cream back at the house before we say goodbye?”
Nathan looked at Faith in surprise. He hadn’t realized they were going to the house, thinking they’d say their goodbyes in the parking lot. Here, where it was open, public. A place where he wouldn’t be tempted to think and do and say things that were unwise.
But Faith wasn’t looking at him. She wouldn’t look at him, just as she hadn’t since they’d left the house. And then, at last, Nathan understood. When Faith had said that she wanted things to be crisp and clean and final, she’d been thinking about him, worried that like other patients she’d probably had, he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye easily.
Faith had already written him out of her life. She was just worried that he would have difficulty doing the same.
As he came back from returning the clubs to the booth, Nathan studied Faith. Her back was to him, giving him a perfect view of shiny hair, a sweetly curved bottom, and the delicious length of her pale, bare legs. She was lovely, and any man who saw her would want to touch her. But it was a simple lift of one hand, the way she turned to her son and gently smoothed his hair, that made Nathan’s heart lurch, that told him she’d been right in her assumption.
He was going to have trouble saying goodbye to Faith Reynolds. She would be in his thoughts for a long, long time. Too long. Maybe forever.
~ ~ ~
Silence reigned in the car on the way home. Several times Faith thought she felt Nathan looking her way, but she kept her eyes on the scenery, knowing she would be lost if she caught his gaze. Her feelings were too near the surface. They would be readable no matter how hard she tried to hide them. She had to end this completely and not give herself away. She had to be all business from here on out.
Once they were home, Faith carefully dished out bowls of ice cream, then sat down to join Nathan and her son. Cory, she noticed, was listlessly pushing the vanilla ice cream around his bowl. He ignored the chocolate sprinkles he’d always loved.
She turned to Nathan. “All right, prepare yourself,” she said. “It’s time for the speech. The one that’s supposed to rev you up and keep you going on your own. Don’t think for one second that you can stop doing your exercises just because you don’t need a therapist anymore. You’ll still need to practice every day and night to maintain your flexibility until you’re back on the job one hundred percent. You understand that, Nathan? You can’t get lazy. And it’s up to you to police yourself, to discipline yourself to that regimen, to keep yourself from falling back into bad habits. Because I won’t be there to crack the whip over your head, and I don’t intend for you to backslide. I mean it, Nathan. I really do,” she said when he smiled at her no-nonsense tone.
He leaned across the table, pushing his own bowl out of the way. “So, this is why you brought me back here?” he asked, smiling straight into her eyes. “To lecture me?”
She looked back at him, solemn as she shrugged apologetically. “I couldn’t humiliate you in public, Nathan.”
His laugh was low, never sexier. The green of his eyes was dark, tempting her to lean closer.
“Oh Faith, I’m going to miss you. You and your prim schoolteacherish orders, your lion tamer tactics...”
He sat up straight, blowing out a breath and, finally, looking away, freeing her from his mesmerizing gaze. “I don’t know, Faith. Trying to keep you from losing that fiery temper of yours was a great incentive for working my hands. You alone kept me going at times.”
Faith rose from the table suddenly, crossing her arms as she frowned down at him. “Nathan Murphy, I’d better not hear of you slacking off or closing yourself up in that house again. Not once. If I do, I’ll—”
He moved silently, quickly, getting to his feet and stepping to her side, so close that she couldn’t breathe deeply without brushing against his skin. “What will you do, Faith? Storm my door again? Set your tent up outside my house the way you once threatened? Beat your lovely fists against my chest? You’d be surprised, Faith, to learn how much I’m going to miss that bossy side of you.”
And she was going to miss him, all of him, Faith thought. Caught off guard by Nathan’s nearness and the sudden strength of her emotions, Faith closed her eyes to keep Nathan from seeing the pain that she knew must be clearly stamped on her face.
Immediately, he stepped back, and held out one hand. “That wasn’t an insult, Faith,” he said, misunderstanding her concern. “I was teasing. I really do admire you, you know. There’s no finer therapist, I wouldn’t have had any other. And you don’t have to be concerned. I’m going back to work. No more hiding away. No more letting things go. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t let you down that way.”
He touched the back of his fingers to her chin, and ran his knuckles against her skin. “So, I guess this is it then,” he whispered. “Time for me to do my disappearing act?”
“Nathan?” Cory’s voice was a sudden, high-pitched sound across the table.
Faith looked up to see her son, his eyes large and watery, his ice cream a forgotten puddle of brown and white in the bowl.
“Don’t leave yet, Nathan, okay? I got somepin’, some-pin’ I need to show you. Will you stay? Will you stay?”
“Shh, Cor
y, don’t worry. I didn’t mean I’d go without saying goodbye. And I wouldn’t go, won’t go until you’re back. I promise you that.”
Cory bit his lip and nodded as he hopped off the chair and ran from the room as if the monsters had returned. When he came back, he held something crumpled so tightly in his fist that at first Faith didn’t recognize it. When she did, her heart froze. A lump the size of Chicago formed in her throat.
“No, Cory,” she said, reaching out. “Go put that away, sweetheart.” But it was too late. Cory launched himself at Nathan, shoving the torn bit of paper into Nathan’s big hands.
“Nathan,” she said, moving to take it from him. She couldn’t bear for him to read it, couldn’t bear for Cory to throw his heart to the wind this way. “It’s not—don’t read it.”
But he was already reading it. The words that Faith knew so well swam before her eyes. The Daddy Wish List. Not afraid of kids or monsters. Doesn’t have to be good at Cootie. A doctor. And Cory’s latest additions. Big. Yellow hair.
She blinked rapidly, zooming in on her child’s face. Cory was watching Nathan read, his hope and love written in his little boy eyes, as obvious as the red and green crayon on the list. And Faith knew that she had let this go too far, much too far, that she should have stopped things long ago.
Turning to Nathan, she tried to think of a way she could explain, to help him know what this was and what he needed to say that would make this easier for Cory.
“It’s—it’s—”
“The Daddy Wish List,” he whispered, his husky voice stumbling over the words.
~ ~ ~
Nathan looked up at Faith and saw the fear written on her face and her concern for her son. She needn’t have been afraid. He would go through fire and flame before he’d do anything to intentionally hurt that wide-eyed innocent sitting across the table.
The Wish List Page 13
