Window on Tomorrow

by Joan Hohl

  A sensation of uneasiness uncurled inside Andrea. The terrain beyond the edge of the grove seemed familiar. Yet she knew she had never been there before. Her uneasiness growing with each successive step, Andrea tightened her fingers around his, clinging to his hand as if to a lifeline.

  The path was barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. With every step she took, Andrea felt a growing familiarity and a deepening unease.

  The trees began to thin out, then became sparse on the uneven landscape. Andrea’s breathing grew shallow. Her palm grew moist against his.

  “Paul?” Her voice was little more than a raspy whisper, as he drew her into a grassy clearing shaded by an ancient tree with a gnarled trunk.

  His hand tightened around hers. “I am here, my heart,” he murmured. “You have nothing to fear.”

  The sweet, cherished familiarity of his voice, his words, in this place, was too much to bear.

  Andrea’s last thought before she lost consciousness was that she had walked, wide awake, into her own dream.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  When Andrea regained consciousness she was lying on a cushion of soft grass, gently cradled in Paul’s strong embrace. Her head was resting on his chest. His fingers were lightly brushing her temple.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was thin and colorless. Turning in his arms, she stared into his eyes. “Who are you?” she demanded with more strength.

  His eyes glowed from within with compassion and... more. “I am exactly who I said I was—Paul Hellka.”

  “I’m going mad!” Andrea cried, struggling to break free of his hold.

  “No, you’re not.” His arms held her fast.

  Unable to free herself, Andrea lay still and closed her eyes. “I don’t understand any of this!” Her eyes opened wide as a suspicion crept into her mind, a suspicion about him and her dream lover and this clearing. “Why did you bring me here? How did you know about this place?”

  “This spot is not very far from Parker,” he pointed out, indicating the area with a negligent gesture of his hand. “I’ve been coming here every day since I arrived in California. I pass by here as I walk between my home and the college,” he explained. “And this place was not my destination today. I wanted you to see my home.”

  Andrea felt more confused than ever. “Your home?” she repeated. “You live near here?”

  “Yes. Within walking distance.”

  “I see,” she said. But Andrea didn’t see. She didn’t see anything but the compelling lure of his eyes. Afraid she’d drown in the depths of his dark blue eyes, she glanced away, to stare at the lighter blue sky through the twisted branches of the old tree. Memory stirred and brought tears to her eyes. “Why did you call me ‘my heart’?”

  “Because you are my heart.” He drew a shiver to her skin by brushing his lips from her temple to the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Andrea, after all this time, don’t you know? Can’t you feel my heart beating for you... only for you?”

  “Paul...” Andrea turned her head; his mouth covered hers.

  “My heart,” he whispered against her lips.

  His touch was both new and familiar. Vibrantly awake, yet lost in a dream, Andrea sighed and gave her mouth to him, once more reliving the wonder of his kiss.

  His mouth did not make demands, but sweetly, delicately explored the contours of hers. Andrea felt the thrill of a promise of possession. He was hers again, her love.

  Reality returned with a cold rush when Paul withdrew his mouth from hers. The warm tears escaped the confines of her eyelids and slowly trickled over her temples and into her hair.

  Paul caught one tear with his lips. “Why do you weep, when we are at last together?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure.” Andrea turned her face into his chest. “Oh, Paul,” she sobbed, “I’m not sure of anything anymore!”

  “You can be sure of me,” he said. “Trust me.”

  “I can’t.” Andrea moved her head and heard the steady beat of his heart. “I want to, but I can’t. Not yet.” She felt his chest expand, then contract in a sigh.

  “My poor Andrea,” he said, caressing her face with feather-light kisses. “I wish I could resolve the confusion in your mind, but I can’t... not yet, not until you are free enough to trust yourself and me implicitly.”

  With a sigh, Andrea realized that in his usual calm, compassionate way, Paul had pinpointed the very core of her problem. She was more afraid to trust herself, her intuition, her feelings for and about him, than she was to trust him. The facade she had created out of the pain of betrayal had settled and become permanent. Discarding that protective shield and exposing her inner self would require a strength and courage Andrea wasn’t sure she possessed.

  Afraid that she might never be able to summon up that much strength, Andrea looked at him, tears shimmering in her hazel eyes. “Oh, Paul, what are we going to do?” she cried, in her fear unaware that her use of the word “we” revealed to him the tiny cracks already undermining her facade. “I feel like such a coward.”

  “You are no more a coward than you are mad,” Paul said in that soft tone she was becoming addicted to. “And we will go on as before. There is still time.”

  Andrea didn’t understand his last remark, but that wasn’t unusual; she really didn’t comprehend half of what he said to her. Mentally clinging to his assurance, she literally clung to the reassuring strength of his body. “I want to let go of the fear, Paul,” she said. “I want to be free of it...” Andrea hesitated, then confessed, “I want to be with you.”

  Paul closed his eyes, as if gathering fortitude. His arms tightened almost compulsively around her slender form. “We will be together, as we have been,” he murmured. “But from now on we will be together here, in our special place, where we can express our thoughts and feelings in private.” His kiss was as soft, and as addictive, as his voice.

  Bemused, Andrea sighed. “I’ve always loved this place,” she said, unaware of what she was revealing to him.

  “So have I,” he replied. “This is the perfect place for us to meet.”

  And so, throughout the days that followed, Andrea found herself living a parallel of her dreams.

  Some days they would meet after class and walk to the clearing together. On other days, when Paul was detained by meetings, Andrea would go to the clearing alone and wait for him. And there were days when, due to the bustle of activity surrounding her aunt’s approaching wedding, Andrea would arrive late at the clearing. As in her dreams, he was always there, on the path, waiting for her.

  And slowly, as the days slipped by, Andrea began to release her fears, insecurities, and inhibitions chaining her to memories of pain and betrayal.

  Paul was patient, always willing to follow her lead . .. in conversation and in caress.

  “Oh, Paul, wait till you see Aunt Celia’s dress!” Andrea exclaimed one rain-misted early evening. It was mid-October, and the days were growing short—in daylight and in the time left before Celia’s wedding. “She looks beautiful and young and ... so gloriously happy,” she continued.

  Paul’s eyes examined her glowing face, and a tender smile curved his mouth. “Celia’s in love,” he said simply. Then he laughed. “But have you noticed the change in Blaine since your aunt agreed to marry him?” When she nodded in response, he went on, “Blaine is like a different man . . .” He paused, then continued meaningfully, “The emptiness inside Baine seems to have been filled by the love he and Celia share.”

  “You don’t think it’s silly?” Andrea asked, recalling that she’d overheard one of the older professors saying rather cynically that Blaine was so besotted he was making a fool of himself.

  Paul frowned. “Silly? I don’t know what you mean.”

  Andrea briefly related to him what she had overheard, then added, “You know, most men think it’s only women who get all mushy about love.”

  “And most men never know what it is that’s missing from their dreary
lives,” Paul concluded for her. “No, Andrea, I do not think Blaine’s behavior is silly. I think it’s wonderful that he has found in Celia the woman who completes his life. I am happy for Blaine, and I’m proud that he has asked me to share his joy by being his best man at the ritual joining them as husband and wife.”

  Surprised and somewhat dazed by his response, Andrea stared up at Paul in utter fascination while a familiar question skipped through her mind.

  What manner of man was this?

  During the preceding weeks, Andrea had begun to understand what manner of man Paul was. She now knew him to be a very complex personality. He was brilliant— yet he never acted superior. And his brilliance extended far beyond his chosen field of earth science. His knowledge of history, technology, the arts, and the other sciences was astounding. In his day-to-day dealings with people, he revealed a nature that was compassionate, tolerant, understanding, and humorous. And, as Melly had indicated weeks ago, Andrea had yet to see him display anger.

  And yet, with all the facets of his personality that Andrea had come to recognize as uniquely Paul’s, she had the strangest feeling that as many facets were still unrevealed to her. So, in effect, Andrea did not know what manner of man Paul Hellka really was.

  But there was now one very major difference in Andrea’s confusion concerning Paul. Instead of reacting with suspicion to this extraordinary man, Andrea found him even more intriguing and exciting.

  “Aunt Celia told me your parents were immigrants,” Andrea said one warm, lazy Sunday afternoon, finally expressing her curiosity about his family.

  They were lounging beneath the old tree, almost exactly the way they had in her dreams. Paul’s back was propped against the gnarled trunk, and Andrea was cradled between his thighs, her head resting on the breathing pillow of his chest. She felt his laughter rumble through his chest before it erupted into the mild autumn air.

  “I thought you’d never raise that subject,” he murmured, idly stroking the back of her hand with one finger. “Actually, Celia is only half correct.”

  “Half correct?” Andrea repeated, absently returning his light caress by drawing circles on his arm with one fingernail. “Which half?”

  “My mother was born in this country,” he explained. “My father was an”—his pause was barely noticeable— “illegal alien,” he finished softly.

  “Illegal!” Andrea exclaimed, twisting around to stare at him in surprise. “Do you mean he entered this country without permission?”

  Paul’s mouth twitched with an inner amusement that Andrea was at a loss to comprehend, considering the seriousness of the subject.

  “Oh, most assuredly without permission,” he said, his somber tone at odds with the laughter glittering in his eyes. “He crossed the border into this country in the Big Bend area of Texas,” he added.

  Her mind occupied by thoughts of the numbers of oppressed people who had sought freedom by crossing the Rio Grande, Andrea didn’t notice the slight emphasis he’d placed on the word “border.” “Umm,” she murmured. “I understand that many aliens enter this country in that section of Texas.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, still in that amused tone. “Many more than most people imagine.”

  Andrea barely heard his words, let alone the laughter woven through them. All her attention was centered on the sensations being sparked deep inside her by the slow, sensuous glide of his hand from her waist to her shoulder. A tingle in her palm brought her to the awareness of her own concurrently stroking the outside of his thigh.

  “Paul?” she whispered achingly when his fingers delicately probed the hollow at the base of her throat.

  “What is it, my heart?” he murmured, as his fingers drifted beneath the collar of her silk shirt to examine the delicate curve of her shoulder. “Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said softly. “Deep down, inside yourself.”

  Her hand slowly moved to the front of his taut thigh. “Warm,” she breathed. “And protected and ...”

  “Yes?” he urged her to finish.

  “Cherished.” Her breath whispered through her parted lips, mingling with his as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “You are all of those “ he murmured into her mouth. “I will keep you warm and protected and cherished for as long as breath and life quicken your body.”

  Stirred deeply by his promise, Andrea raised her hand to his face to draw his mouth to hers.

  This time his kiss was different. His mouth moved over hers in hungry exploration. His lips were hard with restrained passion. His tongue tasted the sweetness of her mouth with infinite tenderness.

  Warmth suffused Andrea’s body, arousing her senses, clouding her mind. Needing to be closer to him, she turned completely in his embrace to lie against him, their bodies aligned. Her breasts ached, and seeking relief, she moved sensuously against his chest. Without conscious direction, her hand glided to the curve of his slim hips, her fingers flexed, digging into the soft denim of his jeans. Striving to touch as much of his body with her own as possible, she arched her spine like a bow, unaware of the discomfort of her unnatural position.

  Paul was made aware of it as he slid his hand the length of her spine. His hand came to a stop at her waist and was joined by his other hand to gently lift her up and away from him. Andrea moaned a protest as her mouth was lifted from his.

  “Wait, my heart,” he whispered. “You will injure yourself this way.” Revealing a strength Andrea wouldn’t have believed possible for any man, he gripped her waist and lifted her bodily away from him, into the air.

  Stunned into absolute stillness, Andrea could only watch in amazement as he held her aloft above him, while simultaneously easing his body away from the tree and onto the grass-cushioned ground. Then, smiling into her shock-widened eyes, he slowly lowered his arms and settled her gently on his body.

  Andrea’s rattled thoughts tumbled over one another as they skipped through her mind. She had witnessed incredible feats of strength before, performed by weightlifters and the like. Nevertheless, she would not have believed it possible for a man to accomplish the feat Paul had just performed.

  She was five feet nine inches in height and weighed 130 pounds! And, though Paul stood close to six feet six, he was slender to the point of slim, and leanly muscled! Yet he had not only held her in the air above him but had shifted his body from his lounging position against the tree into a prone position on the floor of the clearing!

  Surely what he had just done was physically impossible! Andrea’s rational mind insisted. It had to be some sort of trick, an illusion, she reasoned, even though she had been suspended in midair, supported entirely by his physical strength.

  “How did you do that?” Andrea asked in a voice made hoarse by both suspicion and awe.

  Paul laughed and settled her more comfortably on top of his body. “Mind over matter,” he said jokingly.

  Unconvinced, Andrea frowned at him in consternation. “It’s really a trick, isn’t it?” she said skeptically. “A magician’s illusion.”

  “Is it?” Paul’s soft voice was rich with laughter. “In that case,” he went on, “since your sensual mood has obviously been cooled by disruptive thoughts, I’ll give you a repeat performance.” His lips twitched. “An encore.”

  Andrea began to shake her head slowly. “I don’t think ... Paul!” It was too late for her protest; he had commenced his encore.

  Grasping her again by the waist, he lifted her high in the air, away from his body, and slowly arched his spine. Then, just as Andrea feared she would hear his spine snap, he catapulted himself up from the ground, taking her with him. When he was standing upright, Paul lowered her to her feet.

  “Did you like that trick, my Andrea?”

  “I don’t believe this!” Andrea exclaimed in a shocked whisper. “You’re not even winded!”

  It was true. Paul was breathing normally, and he didn’t seem to have exerted himself at all. Feeling weak all over and trembly inside, Andrea stared at him in mute appeal.
Intellectually, she knew there had been no trickery involved in his demonstration of strength. Rationally, she knew the feat he’d performed was every bit as impossible as swimming safely with sharks. Yet she had witnessed both feats with her own eyes... and had been a participant in one of them.

  “Are you now preparing to run away from me, as you did that day on the beach?”

  Had Paul read her mind? Or were her thoughts and emotions written on her expressive face? Andrea mused, pondering the sudden realization that it no longer mattered to her, either way. He was different from other men . .. Boy, was he different! The difference made no difference to her.

  “No, I’m not preparing to run,” she replied, still shaken, but managing a smile for him. “I think you’re a little strange, Paul... No, I think you’re a lot strange,” she said candidly. Then she shrugged. “But that doesn’t bother me anymore. In fact, I rather like your strangeness.”

  His laughter started low, then built into a joyful sound that danced merrily on the sea-scented air. Once again he grasped her by the waist, this time to swing her off her feet and into a crushing embrace.

  “We’re almost there, my Andrea,” he said, lowering his head to hers. “We’re almost there.”

  Andrea might have asked him where “there” was, if she hadn’t gotten lost within a world where thought was not necessary—a world created by the pressure of his mouth on hers.

  Their kiss was long and deep and mutually satisfying. When he raised his head to look at her, Andrea didn’t even think to conceal her desire for him.

  “Ah... my Andrea,” he murmured. “I could happily die knowing that you are, at last, mine for the taking. But I won’t.” His mouth curved into a smile both sensuous and teasing. “I’m going to live to make glorious passionate love to you for a very long time ... perhaps as long as two or three hundred years.”

  Feeling light, free, completely unfettered by the past and her own fears, Andrea laughed. “You’re not only strange, Paul Hellka, you’re crazy!” Dipping her head, she kissed him spontaneously for the first time.