If I'd Never Known Your Love

by Georgia Bockoven

  "Always?" I asked, seeking a good memory.

  "Yeah—always. When she brought her Johns to the apartment, I'd be sent to the corner market to buy cigarettes, or if she didn't have the money for cigarettes, I'd be shoved out the door to stand in the hallway until she was finished. That's when she remembered I was even there, which was only about half the time."

  "How old were you?"

  You sent me a penetrating stare. "This was how I lived. All my life. I've never associated sex with love or tenderness or caring, only money."

  "Not even now?" I said, my heart in my throat.

  "I'm learning. But it's been hard. You want me in a way that has nothing to do with people using each other. I don't understand that. And I don't trust it. Not completely.

  Not yet."

  "What can I do to help you?" I had a project. I would find a way for you to see the good in people. In me. I would do whatever I could to give you the joy and trust and love you'd never had.

  You ignored my question.

  "I've never seen a man look at a woman the way your dad looks at your mom," you said. "And your mom looks back at him like he's the most handsome, sexiest, funniest guy on earth. Robert Redford could be standing next to Clyde and your mom wouldn't see him. "You plucked off the grass that I'd thrown at you and tossed it aside.

  "The idea of loving someone like that is as foreign to me as palm trees and white sandy beaches. I know they exist, I want to experience them, but I don't have what it takes to believe I'll ever feel that sand between my toes. I want us to have what your mom and dad have, Julia. I want it so much it hurts."

  "My mom and dad really look at each other like that?" Not that I'd ever seen.

  "All the time. You don't see it because you don't want to, or maybe you're blind to it because they're your parents."

  Back then I didn't know how to respond to you when you said something like that. I was too young, my life before you too sheltered, to really understand what you were saying. "You mean they look at each other like this?" I put everything I had into the look I gave you, batting my eyelashes and grinning seductively.

  You laughed, but I saw a wariness, as if you were thinking it had been a mistake to talk to me about your mother. "Yeah, just like that."

  "I love you, Evan McDonald. "There it was. The fit as natural and right as a fox wearing its own fur. "And I'm going to love you when I'm fifty years old exactly the way I love you now." At the time fifty was as old as I could imagine and the same as saying forever. "If you let me."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "If you don't find someone else when you go home."

  You moved toward me so that we were nearly nose to nose. "What are you talking about?"

  You really had no idea. "Detroit."

  "Detroit isn't my home anymore. It's just another city. My home is here. With you.

  For the rest of my life, wherever you are is where I want to be. How could you not know that?"

  It wasn't the I love you, too, that I'd been looking for. It was a whole lot better.

  C H A P T E R 8

  David put in his three hours at the typewriter, ate his first meal of the day—a bowl of stale cereal—grabbed his tool belt and headed back to the dock to fix the loose board he'd found that morning.

  He liked repair work but found more satisfaction in creating the small, one-of-a-kind chests and boxes he made when he needed something to do that had nothing to do with writing. He created his boxes out of layers of contrasting woods glued together in varying patterns, experimenting with color and texture and grain. The finish received as much attention as the construction, and when he was satisfied he'd reached his self-imposed standard of perfection, he gave the box away.

  Of the dozens of boxes he'd made, he'd kept only one. Crude in comparison to the others, the wood ordinary white pine, the hinges scavenged from a bin in an old-fashioned hardware store in Enid, Oklahoma. For the past dozen and a half years it had been the depository of the one or two invariable bad reviews that accompanied the publication of his books. They were the only ones he kept, ignoring the ones that proclaimed him a genius and the conscience of the hedonistic eighties and self-indulgent nineties. He used them as reminders of the futility of writing for anything but his own approval.

  He saw Julia standing on the dock as soon as he rounded the final turn on the path.

  She had her back to him, and for an instant he thought about retracing his steps and returning when she'd left. Not until that moment did he realize that his months of solitude had left him with a proprietary feeling about the place. He didn't like knowing that he was no longer there alone, free to come and go without conscious thought or consideration of another person.

  He stopped to watch her. By anyone's definition she was a classic beauty. She had the features idealized in marble thousands of years ago by sculptors in love with perfection.

  She was thinner than the Greek and Roman ideal, her hair shorter, the sadness in her eyes something not even the most skilled artisan could capture in stone.

  Despite being annoyed that she was there, David felt a completely unexpected attraction. Obviously, he'd been alone too long. He needed to stop trying to find himself, and get back into the world. The simple fact that he could be attracted to a woman who'd come there to mourn her husband was insane.

  She heard his approach and jumped, a fleeting look of panic crossing her eyes. An embarrassed smile followed. "I keep expecting a bear to wander out of the woods."

  "I think the hunters cleared them out of this area a long time ago. At least, I haven't seen any while I've been here." David stopped at the end of the dock and put one hand on the waist-high piling, the other on his hip. "I noticed a board coming up this morning and figured I'd better fix it before one of us tripped and took a header into the lake."

  "I already fixed it," she said. When he didn't say anything, she added, "I found some tools in the garage. I hope it's okay that I borrowed them."

  "Of course it's okay." He shrugged. "Just not expected."

  "What? That I can pound a couple of nails? I can fix leaky toilets, too, and cranky sprinkler systems, and wobbling ceiling fans, and you should see what I can do with creaky floor boards." She softened the words with a smile.

  "I didn't mean I thought you were incapable, just that I was surprised you'd want to. I was told you were here on vacation." She appeared fresh from a shower, her dark hair damp and curling in a loose cap around her face. Dressed in red shirt, tied at her waist, and white shorts that showed off lean, muscular legs, she seemed a different woman from the one he'd met that morning, younger and somehow less guarded.

  "It's been a long time between vacations. Obviously I don't know how to relax anymore."

  He shifted his hand to the hammer in his tool belt. "Give it a couple of days. This place will either impose its pace or drive you back to the city."

  "What do you do around here? For entertainment, I mean. Is there a theater in town?"

  "You'd have to go into Redding for that."

  "A video store?"

  "The grocery store carries twenty-five or thirty titles, but any that aren't ten years old are gone by noon ."

  "Sounds like I should find a bookstore."

  He hesitated. "I've got a couple of boxes of books I'm donating to the library. You can go through and pick what you want." To make sure she didn't misinterpret his offer as an invitation to visit, he added, "I'll bring them by later and leave them on the porch."

  "Thanks."

  "Well, I guess I'd better get back."

  She shoved her hands in her pockets."Yeah, me, too."

  He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye at the edge of the clearing and turned to see what it was. A flash of white moved between two Douglas firs and then cautiously appeared next to a low- growing gooseberry bush. It was the dog he'd been feeding for several weeks and had named Pearl for her thick, almost iridescent white coat.

  Where she'd appeared reason
ably healthy before, she now looked emaciated and desperate.

  "Shit," David muttered.

  "What's wrong?"Julia followed his gaze.

  "She's had pups." He should have known she wasn't plump because she was healthy.

  How could he have been so stupid?

  "Who—" But then she saw what David saw."Oh, my God. She's so skinny."

  "She's been gone almost a week. I figured the coyotes had finally gotten her."

  "She's yours?"

  "She's a stray. Or more likely, she was dumped. That happens a lot around here.

  Whoever had her probably discovered she was pregnant and didn't want to deal with it.

  I haven't been able to get close enough to see if she has tags."

  "She looks like she's starving."

  "I'm amazed she's still alive. I've been leaving food out for her, but plainly not enough. I just assumed she was also getting fed somewhere else. I had no idea she was pregnant."

  "What have you been giving her?"

  "Whatever I had around the house."

  "I'm going to see what I have," Julia said. "Keep an eye on her for me, please."

  "She's not going anywhere." David took off his tool belt and laid it on the ground.

  Pearl watched his every movement.

  Within minutes Julia was back, a stack of sandwiches on a plate. David held up his hand when she moved his way. Maybe it was men Pearl feared. "She doesn't trust me.

  Why don't you try."

  Julia nodded. She slowly started across the clearing.

  "Talk to her," David said."Tell her that she’s a good dog—and that she's beautiful."

  They were the words he'd used to gain the little trust Pearl had allowed him.

  Snatches of Julia's coaxing drifted to him, things about babies and being a mother mixed with the words good and beautiful. She was within twenty yards when she stopped, held out one of the sandwiches and then gave it a small toss forward. Julia then backtracked about ten feet and lowered herself to her haunches, purposely looking to the side and not directly at Pearl.

  David kept his gaze locked on Pearl, ready to move should she misinterpret Julia's retreat and in her desperation become aggressive. Instead, a wave of pity shot through him so strong it became impossible to remain a bystander in Pearl's life.

  She trembled as she left the safety of the forest and neared the sandwich, almost falling when she lowered her head to snatch it. Two bites and it was gone. She lifted her head to look at Julia, then at David.

  Julia placed the plate on the ground, stood and backed away.

  "It's okay," he mouthed, sending words of encouragement to Pearl that she couldn't possibly hear or understand. "Go for it."

  Julia walked toward David. "Is she eating?"

  "If she doesn't slow down, I'm afraid it's going to come back up."

  Not until Julia was beside him did she chance looking at Pearl again, catching one final glimpse as she picked up the last sandwich and carried it into the woods.

  "She's not going to make it if we don't do something to help her," Julia said.

  "What was in the sandwich?"

  "Peanut butter. It was the only protein I had."

  He would never have thought to give a dog peanut butter. "I'm surprised she got it down."

  "I put butter on the bread first."

  "Well, it must have worked." David bent to retrieve his tool belt. 'I’ll go into town to get some dog food."

  "I can get it. I was going anyway."

  He nodded.

  "Unless you want to go," she said. "She is your dog, after all—well, kind of."When he didn't immediately answer, she said, "Or we could go together."

  Oh, hell. This was becoming way too complicated. His life was screwed up enough already without adding a homeless dog and emotionally lost widow. "Be ready in five minutes," he snapped."I'll pick you up by the garage."

  Seeing her justified confusion, he added, "If that's okay with you."

  "I'll be there." Her reply lacked her earlier enthusiasm.

  David pulled up in a truck that would have been left on the back forty to go to rust in Kansas, leaned across the seat and opened the door. Julia didn't say anything as she climbed in beside him.

  "I owe you an apology," he said, grinding the transmission into first gear. "I wasn't expecting company this summer, and like all true curmudgeons I'm a little slow accepting change. I'm sorry if I've come across as less than welcoming."

  Company? It was a term she would expect from the owner, not the caretaker. "I'll try to stay out of your way from now on."

  "That's fair. And I'll do what I can to stay out of yours."

  "Now that we have that settled, I was thinking that we can make this trip a lot shorter and get out of each other’s way sooner if we stop at the vet's first." She went on to explain that they could buy a specialized food there and she would go back into town to do her grocery shopping another time. Alone.

  The vet listened and nodded as David and Julia told him about Pearl. Plainly, it was a story he'd heard before. He wasn't encouraging about their chances of saving her but suggested vitamins and a prescription food for lactating dogs that he thought would give her the best chance.

  "You could try to find the puppies before the coyotes do," he said, walking with them through the waiting room. "Provided they're more than a couple of weeks old, you might be able to save one or two of them if the mom doesn't make it."

  When they were in the truck again and headed home, Julia said, "I hesitate asking this, considering we just said we would stay out of each other's way, but would you like help looking for Pearl's puppies?"

  "I'm not going to try."

  Could she have been that wrong about the kind of man he was? "But if we don't—"

  "If I follow Pearl, she'll lose the little trust she has in me. When that happens she'll stop coming in for food and then she'll die. If she dies, so do the puppies."

  Julia wasn't about to surrender that easily. "There has to be a better answer."

  He stiff-armed the steering wheel. "I don't subscribe to lost causes. And as I see it, Pearl isn't a 'we' project. Either I take her on or you do."

  So, it was her he didn't like interfering in his life, not Pearl or her puppies. Had she done something to offend him? After years of forcing her way into offices of people working just as hard to keep her out, she truly wasn't aware anymore when she was being pushy or too assertive or simply expressing interest. She wasn't the same woman she'd been before the kidnapping and had no idea how to go back. Or if she even wanted to.

  "I'm sorry. I'll butt out." She rolled down the window, let the wind whip her hair and stared at the passing trees. "Pearl is all yours."

  They were almost to the house when David said, "No, I'm sorry. I've been acting like a jerk." He took in a deep breath. "Let's work on getting her back to my place with food and then we'll station ourselves at points along her route to see if we can figure out where she's hidden her puppies."

  She could hear the doubt in his voice; he didn't believe for a minute that it would work. But she was grateful he was willing to make the attempt, and that he had included her in the effort. She would have a hard time getting through the day knowing someone or something needed her and she wasn't doing everything she could.

  "Thank you," she told him.

  He rewarded her one of his heart-stopping smiles. "You're welcome." After several seconds, he added, "I'm sorry about today. Can we begin again?"

  She'd known few men in her life who apologized—at least, few whom she believed.

  For most, the words were a means to an end. She decided right then, without reservation and despite their rocky start, that she liked David Prescott.

  She returned his smile. "Consider it done."

  That night when Julia called Shelly and Jason, she told them about Pearl, grateful to have something to talk about other than how much she missed them.

  "Grandma's cat had kittens," Shelly said cautiously after
they'd exhausted the discussion about Pearl.

  Her mother was a founding member of the Bickford Animal Shelter and fanatical about spaying and neutering. It was highly unlikely that she'd allowed one of her cats to get pregnant. "Grandma's cat?" Julia questioned.

  "Well, not exactly. It's one she brought home from the shelter. The mom is almost a kitten herself and Grandma didn't think she would know what to do when she had her own babies. They're so-o-o-o-o cute, Mom." She rushed on before Julia could say anything. "She said I could have one—if it's okay with you. Is it? I really, really want this gray-and-white one. He's been sleeping with me and he follows me everywhere.

  Grandma said she would pay for his shots and that she'd have him fixed as soon as he's old enough so you wouldn't have to do anything when he comes home."

  It was on the tip of Julia's tongue to ask what would happen to the cute little kitten that would become a full-grown cat by the time Shelly left for college, but she'd been the bearer of negative answers for so long that she leaped at the opportunity to be positive. "Okay."

  Shelly shrieked. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won't be sorry. I promise. I'll do everything. You'll never have to feed Jim or change the litter box or anything."

  Julia believed that the way she believed she would be the million-dollar grand-prize winner if she bought a magazine subscription. "Have you named him?"

  "Grandma told me not to, but I did anyway. I'm calling him Orlando."

  Julia didn't have to ask why. Shelly, like half her friends, had a bedroom wall covered in Orlando Bloom posters. "I like it."

  "I suppose I should tell you that Jason will probably want one, too. There's this scrawny little black one that the mom rejected that Grandma has been helping Jason bottle-feed."

  How could she tell Jason no when she'd told Shelly yes? Maybe Shelly was wrong and Jason wouldn't ask.

  "Jason wants to talk to you, Mom," Shelly said.

  So much for that idea.

  Six Months and a Day Missing

  "I'm pregnant," I blurted out. It wasn't anything like the way I'd planned to tell you.

  I'd spent the day going over how to lead you into the news gently. The timing was terrible. We were in the middle of junior- year finals and you were a week away from your last summer in Detroit. I held my breath and waited.