Never Alone

by Lyn Cote

  With the flashlight, he showed her the sheets of winddriven rain still buffeting the basement window. The slashes of lightning continued. Jane shivered. Angie’s now-sleeping body became a deadweight across Jane’s tired arms, but she held the child till she was certain Angie wouldn’t stir.

  At Jane’s softly spoken suggestion, Cash went to the nearby dryer and brought back a basket of freshly laundered diapers. The cotton diapers made a cozy mattress and blankets. In a matter of moments, Angie, slumbering deeply, was tucked comfortably into the large, oval wicker basket.

  The town’s tornado siren blared. Its sudden blast jolted them both. Jane jumped up and collided with Cash. He took her into his arms, tucking her tightly to him. The siren wailed on, competing with the beating rain, pinging hail and roaring thunder.

  Another bolt of lightning exploded overhead. Jane clutched Cash as though she were drowning. The thunder detonated overhead again, again, again. Each blast urged Jane closer to him, to his solid strength.

  Cash’s awareness of her soft, slender body surged at the same pace as the storm. Her cinnamon scent was all around him, filling his head. Though afraid she might push him away, he kissed her.

  His lips caressed hers. Quivers of excitement like fragments of the lightning arced through her. She swayed in his arms.

  He pulled her snugly to him again. His mouth closed over hers, searching and claiming the eager sweetness there. He moved against her, unconsciously imitating the rhythm of the tumult out of doors. The incessant crashes and flashes continued outside, but they receded in her consciousness.

  In a surge of almost unbelieving joy, Cash clutched her shoulders, letting go of the flashlight. It clattered to the floor. He held her close, wrapped in the flickering blackness.

  The thunder and lightning blustered unnoticed. Jane let herself stand in the shelter of Cash’s arms. She knew she should bring them both back to reality. But this was the only man she’d ever loved. She had intended never again to give in to the attraction of his arms, but this would be the last kiss. One last kiss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angie screeched, breaking the silence of the peaceful morning after the stormy night. Asleep on the daybed, Jane jerked awake. Like a videotape on Fast Forward, images of her kissing Cash while nestled in his arms zipped through Jane’s mind. After that bittersweet kiss, she’d lain down on the old daybed while Cash had settled himself nearby on an old reclining chair to wait out the storm.

  Angie screeched again. Jane scrambled up, stumbling onto the basement’s cold, concrete floor. Angie wailed continuously. Jane lifted her out of the wicker basket.

  “Angie, sweetie. Oh, dear,” Jane fussed. “I forgot to triple-diaper you for the night. You’re completely soaked.” She dug down to the bottom of the basket for two dry diapers.

  Angie shivered and whimpered against Jane’s bare shoulder. Jane hurried up the basement steps, through the back hall into the kitchen.

  The back door opened. “Jane, it’s me.” Cash’s voice came to her from the small porch.

  “In the kitchen,” Jane called back. She cleared the sink of dishes and began to fill it with fresh water. While Angie leaned against her, Jane stripped the baby of her sodden yellow romper and saturated diaper. Jane swirled a little baby shampoo into Angie’s bathwater, then settled the baby into the warm, sudsy water. Angie’s good nature instantly restored, she gurgled and splashed at the floating bubbles.

  “You bathe her in the kitchen sink?” Cash appeared at her elbow.

  “She doesn’t like the big tub,” Jane said defensively. “She clings to me and cries.”

  “She looks like she enjoys this.” He peered over Jane’s shoulder. “Morning, Angie,” he greeted the baby. “Jane, I stopped at Lucy’s to tell her you and Angie were all right. Her phone lines should be up again sometime this morning.”

  Suddenly Jane felt Cash’s long, muscled arms—one on each side of her—stretch out and surround her. His skin slid against hers. Jane felt her body become charged with an invisible current transmitted from Cash’s bare skin to hers.

  Grasping one of Angie’s hands in each of his, he helped the little girl splash her bathwater. Soapy water sprinkled Jane’s face and bare collarbone. She batted her eyelashes to rid herself of the beads of moisture around her eyes. Then she felt Cash’s lips press a kiss on the back of her neck. Jane stiffened. She said quickly, “She’ll want her breakfast right away. Can you make one-minute oatmeal?”

  Cash, releasing Angie’s fingers, straightened up. “Hot oatmeal?”

  “It’s her favorite.”

  “Even in summer?”

  “Her stomach doesn’t know it’s summer. The cereal’s on the shelf over the stove, just follow the directions on the box.”

  “Okay, boss. Oatmeal coming up.” Cash turned away and then turned back. He smiled suddenly. This would be the first morning of a lifetime of mornings for Angie, Jane and him in the kitchen for breakfast together. He pressed another kiss on the back of Jane’s neck. “Mmm. You taste good. Much better than oatmeal.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane flush a deep red. He felt like laughing out loud with a teasing joy, and he waited, anticipating her look toward him, either to scold him or kiss him. He didn’t really care which, a scold or kiss, because his answer to both would be a thorough Goodmorning-I-love-you kiss. He waited.

  Instead, Jane kept her attention on Angie. Feeling sharply disappointed that she hadn’t responded as he wished, he went to the appointed shelf. His fledgling faith fluttered to life. What’s happening, God? Tell me the words to say. Taking the box in hand, he read the directions. “Is this oatmeal for two?”

  “I usually make enough for two.”

  “Very well. I’ll make it oatmeal for three.” He brought the pan over to the sink to measure in the water. As he stood next to Jane, a glance at her trim figure delighted him. He grinned sideways at her. Leaning over, he bent to kiss her shoulder again.

  “Don’t.”

  Taken by surprise, he froze. “But—”

  “I’ll be right back.” Scooping Angie out of the water, Jane folded a clean dishcloth around her, then made a wide curve around the other side of the table and out the door.

  Her avoidance of him as she left the room had been unmistakable. Cold needles of fear pierced his chest. He went through the motions of measuring the oatmeal and water into the saucepan and setting it on the burner to simmer. Then he found the coffee canister and went to work on Jane’s fifties vintage percolator.

  A few seconds after the timer bell rang for the oatmeal, Jane walked back into the kitchen, Angie in her arms.

  Cash lifted the pan from the burner. He smiled uncertainly. Angie squirmed, and in her private language called for him. Jane ignored this and plunked the baby into her high chair.

  “Oatmeal, Angie?” Jane offered.

  “Where are the bowls?” Cash, waiting with the saucepan in his hand, asked soberly.

  Keeping the table between them, Jane went to the cabinets over the sink and quickly collected bowls, cups and spoons. “Please get the milk.” She nodded toward the refrigerator next to him and then sat down beside Angie.

  Bringing the plastic jug of milk with him, Cash set the pan of oatmeal on a trivet in the middle of the small table and sat down opposite Jane. He studied her, trying to judge what was causing her agitation. Her outward armor was in place, too. She had put on a high-necked, long-sleeved, floor-length robe.

  Pressing her lips tightly, she mixed brown sugar and milk into Angie’s bowl of oatmeal.

  Feeling a deep uncertainty, Cash went over last night’s events. He took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, then forced the issue. “Okay, Jane, what’s the problem?”

  She flushed.

  “What’s the problem?” he repeated.

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She spooned up a sugary bit of oatmeal for Angie.

  “Do you regret our closeness last night?” he demanded bluntly.

  Jane
cleared her throat. “I should have shown more restraint.”

  “I don’t think either of us could have shown more restraint. I held you in my arms. We kissed. Nothing more happened. I want you as my wife, Jane. I’ve made that clear.”

  “You made that clear with your convenient proposal,” she said stiffly.

  “I’ve changed. I don’t just want you as a mother to Angie. I love you.”

  “No! Don’t say it.”

  “Why not? You’re the woman I love—”

  “Don’t!” Her sharp tone startled Angie. The baby screwed up her face and began crying. “There, there, sweetheart,” Jane murmured. “Angie, here is the spoon. Angie, eat with spoon.” Gently she put the spoon into the little girl’s chubby hand.

  Then Jane looked directly into his eyes. “We both know that you don’t love me.”

  “I’ve changed. I made a mistake when I made that proposal.”

  “You made it quite clear that you did not love—”

  “A man can change his mind.”

  Jane snapped, “A man can change his tactics to get what he wants.”

  “You wanted to be in my arms last night.”

  “It was that awful storm. I was frightened to be alone with Angie.”

  “The night of your parents’ anniversary you told me you loved me.”

  “I also told you that night I’d decided to close my heart to you. Last night I was weak. It won’t happen again.”

  Not taking his eyes from her, he fought for control by pouring himself a cup of coffee, then he put down the mug. “I will not let you sweep last night under the rug as though it didn’t matter. Your kisses showed your love—”

  “I don’t want to discuss last night—”

  “Too bad. We’re going to. Now,” he insisted.

  “You’re not in charge here.” She glared at him.

  He took a swallow of coffee to stop another cutting retort that nearly jumped from his lips. God, help me. What should I say?

  Before he could speak, Angie dropped her spoon. Both of them bent to retrieve it. It had fallen on his side. He picked it up, tossed it into the sink, then handed the baby a clean one.

  Jane straightened up stiffly and, even though she gave him only her profile, the anger on her features was obvious.

  He again swallowed the hot words that rushed to his mouth. He took a slow breath while watching Angie as she tried to spoon oatmeal into her own mouth. A glob of it quivered just below her mouth.

  “Jane, I love you and I want to marry you.”

  He watched her lift her chin, it trembled slightly. “I wish you wouldn’t insult my intelligence. We both know you don’t love me.”

  “No, we don’t both know that. I love—”

  “Stop it!” She turned to him. “I don’t want to hear any more!”

  He clenched his jaw, holding back another futile declaration of his love. Why hadn’t he realized that he needed to talk to her last night, to speak the right words while their closeness was fresh and irresistible? How could he make her believe him now? He felt as though he were sliding down into a black hole.

  Angie threw down her spoon and yelled in frustration. Jane took up another spoon, caught the oatmeal blob and slipped it into the baby’s mouth.

  Cash took in another tasteless mouthful of coffee. “Do you think it’s impossible for me to fall in love with you?”

  “It’s worse than that. I think you’ve proven it is impossible for you to fall in love with anyone.”

  Full-blown, complete frustration exploded within him. He wanted to bellow: I love you, Jane! Instead he closed his eyes. For several minutes he kept his eyes shut as he listened to Jane talking to and feeding Angie.

  The desire to go to Jane and pull her to him became a physical ache inside him. He craved her touch more than he had ever craved anyone’s touch in his whole life. He wanted Jane. Not just sexually, he wanted all of her, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, now and until her physical beauty faded and their passion was a mere glimmer in her eyes. In the past few days he’d just begun adjusting his mind to think of eternity. Now he knew he wanted to be with Jane until death, then beyond. What could he say or do to make her believe he was sincere? He murmured, “I love you, Jane.”

  Looking up, he stopped, shocked at the pain he saw in her eyes. In that moment he knew she loved him with a love that was so different from any he had known before: a quality of love that he could only imagine. When Jane had come to him the night of her parents’ anniversary, she had told him that she loved him. But it had been like explaining sunlight to a man born blind.

  From her eyes he now learned much. Jane still loved him, even though she denied it. She loved him in a way he had never dreamed of, in a way he hoped someday he might be capable of returning. Before that day in Wausau when he had opened his mouth and spoiled everything, Jane had wanted to give him a love few people ever imagined. A one-and-only, for-a-lifetime love. She was an Everett, after all. He felt numb. I’ve been a blind fool.

  Two hours had passed since Cash had left Jane’s door. Before he left, Jane had been confused by his change of expressions from angry to dumbfounded. She lowered Angie into her playpen in the den. A “Sesame Street” videotape already played cheerfully on the nearby television.

  Jane wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge for some fruit juice. The white florist box confronted her. Tom. I forgot all about the roses, she thought.

  Lifting the box, she opened it. The blooms looked dry and neglected. She carried them to the sink and set about trimming the stems, but her thoughts couldn’t be pulled from Cash. He told her he loved her, but she couldn’t believe him. He might even think he really did, but how could she be sure? He’d ignored her for years. And, after his proposal that they marry only for convenience, she couldn’t overcome her doubts.

  Cash wanted her as a convenient wife. But no matter how she denied it, she still wanted him as the love of her life. She was cursed with the concept of lifelong love and marriage she’d learned from her parents. Her stomach clenched and she longed to sit down and cry. Cash had love enough for Dena, Angie and Lucy. Why couldn’t he manage to fall in love with her? She pulled a glass vase from a cupboard and began arranging the roses in it.

  So it came down to this. She still loved Cash, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t settle for less than his heart. To marry him without his loving her would be a sham, an unbearable one. Perhaps with time the pain would ebb.

  Somehow, some way she was going to have to push this out of her mind and memory. She must find a way to deal with her lingering feelings for Cash. Because of Angie she would be seeing Cash for the rest of her life.

  She finished placing the last flower into the cut-glass vase. She fingered one velvet petal. I’m not being fair to Tom. Right now, I still care too much for Cash.

  She walked to the wall phone and dialed Tom’s private line in his Chicago office. When he answered, Jane nearly choked on her misery, but she went on, anyway. “Tom, I need to be honest with you.”

  Angie’s first birthday dawned. Promptly at 4:00 p.m., Cash knocked on Phil and Marge’s door. It opened quickly. He could feel the hot sun on his back and the cool rush of air-conditioning on his face.

  As Lucy let him in, she offered him a silvery, coneshaped party hat. “Here’s your hat, Cash.” The living room was filled with Jane’s family, just like on the Fourth of July.

  Over Lucy’s shoulder he spotted Tish, who was giving him a look that spoke of her excruciating embarrassment over the childish party hats. Attempting to soothe her discomfort, Cash winked at Tish. Trying to be cheerful was costing him. Memories of his lost Dena had haunted him all day. His frustration over Jane had upset his sleep. But with cheerful aplomb, which was in direct opposition to his true feelings, he put the cone on his head at a jaunty angle and snapped its elastic string under his chin.

  Tish handed him a metal noisemaker for one hand and a party whistle that would unfold and squeak when he blew it.r />
  “Feels like New Year’s Eve,” he murmured to Tish.

  “Feels like we’re at the nuthouse,” Tish said to him from the side of her mouth.

  “Cash,” Marge hailed him from where she sat near the fireplace. “Come here and watch this beautiful child!”

  Angie stood on Phil’s lap. Phil held her securely under each arm. Angie was trying—with great excitement—to grab the hat from her grandfather’s head. Each time she reached up for it, Phil dodged her chubby hands. Instead of squealing with frustration, Angie squealed with enjoyment of the game. Finally Phil let her jerk the hat off his head. Angie crowed and immediately shoved it into her mouth. She was applauded and cheered by one and all—even Tish.

  “Now that we’re all present,” Lucy said formally, “we may begin the activities on this most festive of occasions.” Again there was cheering and applause. “Blind Man’s Bluff will now commence.” Lucy quickly chose Henry as the blind man, tied a handkerchief around his eyes, spun him three times and let him loose in the large living room.

  Henry came right at Cash, who jumped backward to avoid being tagged. Tish appeared at Cash’s arm and tugged at him to follow her. He let her lead the way down the hall.

  “We can hide here,” Tish whispered as they arrived in the master bedroom.

  “Why do we want to hide?” Cash whispered back.

  “You can’t tell me that you want to play Blind Man’s Bluff. Kids don’t even play that anymore. When I was ten, I wanted to play it at my after-school birthday party, and none of the kids even knew what it was! Now that shows you how weird—”

  “It isn’t weird. The Everetts are just…” He groped for the right words.

  “The Everetts are just weird.” Tish folded her arms across her breast.

  “The Everetts are blessed with Lucy—”

  Tish snorted derisively and tossed her head like a headstrong filly.

  “Your grandmother knows what has lasting value and how to stay young or play young.”

  “I hate her. I just want to grow up and get away from her and my parents—”