by Webb, Peggy
“I am. Seeing the coat shook me. But it’s absolutely none of my business what the two of you do.”
Marsha’s laughter was a discreet silvery tinkle. “What we do is talk—and laugh. Kirk has a wonderful sense of humor.”
Thinking of his evening with Celestine, the broomstick bombshell, Joanna smiled. “I know.”
“We’re friends, Joanna. I never meant our relationship to be more than that. And neither did Kirk. We’ve both had bad marriages, and we both have demanding careers.”
Joanna nodded and sipped her coffee, waiting for Marsha to continue.
“Kirk left the coat here a few weeks ago. It was a rainy weekend, and something was bothering him. He’s a man who keeps his own counsel. I never knew what it was and I never asked. Our friendship is like that. We’re comfortable with each other, Joanna.”
“It’s odd that he never came back for the coat.”
“Not really. He’s a very busy man. Although I’m sure he knew precisely where he’d left it, I called his office to tell him. He said he’d call me sometime and come by to pick it up. With his busy schedule—and mine—that could be next fall.”
“Thank you for telling me this, Marsha.” Joanna put her coffee cup on the glass-top table beside her chair and stood up. “Honesty is a good way to start a friendship.”
“I think so, too.” Marsha led the way to the hall. “You have a stunning smile, Joanna. No wonder Kirk is so enchanted by it.”
“He’s enchanted?”
Marsha opened the hall closet and took out two raincoats—Joanna’s and Kirk’s. “Yes. He says angels stop work on rainbows to bend down and watch you smile.”
“He’s never poetic.”
“About you he is. He speaks of you often, always with a deep sense of pride, as if he’d personally designed and manufactured you.”
Joanna laughed. “He didn’t do that, but he practically raised me. Kirk Maitland’s been taking care of me since I was three years old.”
“He’d be good at that. Very good, indeed.” Marsha handed her the two raincoats. “You might as well take Kirk’s. It could be a while before he’s here again.”
Joanna took the coats and draped them over her arm. The rain had stopped half an hour earlier. After bidding Marsha good night, she headed to her car, Kirk’s black Lincoln. Inside the vehicle, she lifted his raincoat to her face and inhaled. It smelled faintly of Kirk’s after-shave, a cool outdoors smell, like the forest after a rain. Sitting there in the dark, sniffing his raincoat, she didn’t even feel foolish. She felt wonderfully alive, glowing with anticipation for things she’d only read or dreamed. And she felt very much in love.
“Please come home soon, Kirk,” she whispered to the darkness. Then she started her car and headed north, home to Meadow Lane.
Chapter Eight
Kirk didn’t call Joanna again after he left Atlanta. It was purely selfish on his part. He knew he couldn’t hear her voice again without catching the first plane home, and he knew he couldn’t go home yet, not until he’d settled his personal dilemma.
In Charleston he took out other women, sleek, sophisticated women with degrees in law and science and mathematics, older women who knew all the rules and never made a move that wasn’t calculated. His plan was to dine and dance with Charleston’s brightest and best, then to finish the night in their beds in a pleasurable blur of wine and forgetfulness. It was a drastic and cowardly way of handling his problem, but he thought nothing less than complete debauchery would wipe Joanna from his mind.
He never got as far as the debauchery. He never even got as far as a kiss. Joanna kept intruding. Over the first candlelight dinner, he thought of her delightful revenge with Celestine. He spent the rest of the evening regaling his companion, the lawyer, with stories of Joanna’s escapades. She was bored to tears. And rightly so. He took her home right after dessert and spent the rest of the evening in his hotel room reading the Wall Street Journal.
Determined to do better, the next two nights he’d taken his dates dancing. That had been a tragic mistake. All it took was a little imagination to believe he was holding Joanna in his arms. She was the only woman he’d ever really danced with, the only woman he wanted to dance with. Every song reminded him of her. He’d unintentionally insulted both his dates by calling them Joanna. The scientist had caught a cab and gone home on her own, and the mathematician had pleaded a headache and asked to be let out on the street in front of her apartment.
Thinking back on his attempts at escape, he decided nothing would wipe Joanna from his mind. He realized he was foolish even to try. He had to face his problem. He had to either let her go or try to keep her. The first would be heartbreak; the second would be tragedy. He remembered all too well the stings and lacerations he and Trixie had inflicted on each other, hurts heaped on because of the vast differences in their ages and philosophies.
He left Charleston, driving to the airport in a thunderstorm that matched his mood. The storm delayed his flight to Charlotte three hours. His briefcase held enough work to fill the first two, but the last hour was spent in serious thought. He made mental lists of the pros and cons of a union between himself and Joanna. The cons far outweighed the pros. Just as the storm lifted, he came to the agonizing conclusion that he must give up Joanna. He had to relinquish all claims to her. He had to step aside, emotionally as well as physically, and let her find happiness with the right man. He could sense that she was struggling with an attraction to him, the same attraction that draws an innocent moth to an age-old flame. She’d be burned. And he would never allow that.
As he boarded his flight, his heart was heavy. He’d finish his tour, then he’d go home and set Joanna free. No more out-of-control kisses, no more spontaneous skating parties, no more basketball games in the moonlight, no more sultry dances in the den, no more jasmine-scented good-nights.
o0o
When he finally came back to Tupelo, it was without fanfare.
It was four-fifteen when he landed, almost closing time at Deerfield, but he rented a car and went straight to the office. Joanna was there, just as he knew she’d be, standing in the middle of the newly furnished day-care center, her back to the door, an outlandish hat with huge paper roses on her head, a puppet in one hand and a magic wand in the other. Around her, an enthralled group of children listened to the story she was telling.
Smiling, Kirk leaned against the door frame and watched.
“...and the fairy princess waved her magic wand,” Joanna was saying, waving her silver wand over the heads of the giggling children as she talked, “changing the shy frog into the bravest frog in the pond. Oh, thank you, fairy princess. You’ve made me the happiest frog in the pond. Now I can do anything I want to because you’ve given me courage. I am no longer afraid. It’s magic.”
Kirk smiled as Joanna worked the frog puppet, using her best frog voice. Then she slipped into her fairy princess voice.
“The magic is in believing in yourself, George Frog. You were always a brave, happy frog. But you were afraid. Don’t ever be afraid, George Frog. Someone who cares is always watching over you. And with a last wave of her magic wand, the fairy princess disappeared into the clouds, calling as she went, be yourself, George Frog. Be yourself.”
Joanna took a deep bow, beaming at her small charges. The children applauded and yelled.
“Yeah, Miss J’anna.”
“Can I wear the hat now, Miss Dear Field?”
“Can I wave the magic wand over Frankie? He wants to see if I can take his freckles off.”
“Who’s that man in the door? Your husband?”
Joanna whirled around. Her eyes widened, her face flushed, and her mouth tipped up in the most beautiful smile Kirk had ever seen. He wondered how he’d survived these last few weeks without Joanna’s smile.
“Hello, Joanna. I’m home.”
“Kirk!” She threw the puppet and the magic wand into the toy box and flew into his arms, still wearing her funny hat, hugging him so har
d and close he could feel the runaway rhythm of her heart. “I’m so glad to see you I could die.”
“A little drastic, don’t you think?” He selfishly wanted to hold her. He wanted to lean down and take those tender rosy lips. He wanted to bury his face in that delicate neck and inhale her fragrance. Instead he gently put her away and walked into the playroom, inspecting the changes she’d made. “You’ve done a good job, Joanna.”
A small girl with Oreo cookie crumbs on her face tugged at his sleeve. “Are you Mr. May Land?”
Kirk squatted beside the pint-size cherub. “Yes, angel. I’m Mr. Maitland. What’s your name?”
“Sunny. My mama works in the sec’etary’s pool, but she never brings her swimsuit to work. Can I swim in the sec’etary’s pool?”
“Well, Sunny, the secretary’s pool is not like an ordinary pool. People don’t swim in that kind of pool.”
“Why not? Don’t you have any water?”
Kirk looked up to see Joanna holding back her laughter. “Help me out with this, Joanna. I’m not accustomed to dealing with anybody under the age of twenty-one.”
The plant whistle announced five o’clock.
“Saved by the bell.” Joanna bent down and put her arm around Sunny’s shoulders. “Tomorrow I’m going to take you down to the secretary’s pool and tell you all about it. How will that be?”
The cookie angel tilted her bright head to one side, considering the proposition. “If I can’t swim in it, I don’t want to go.” Then she bounced off and became absorbed in her coloring book.
Joanna laughed. “How soon the young forget.”
Kirk stood up, carefully putting some distance between him and Joanna.
“The resiliency of youth is wonderful. I almost envy all of you.”
“All of us?”
“Yes. These children. You.”
Further conversation was halted by the arrival of the first mother to pick up her child. One by one they came, stopping long enough to express their appreciation and delight over the new day-care center.
At five-fifteen Joanna closed the door on the last small child and his grateful mother. Then she turned and went straight to Kirk’s arms.
“I’ve missed you so.”
He held on to her, telling himself it would be the last time.
“I’ve missed you, too, Joanna.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest. “I never realized how desperately I’d miss you until you were gone. I felt incomplete without you.”
As I did, without you, he wanted to say. He called on his sense of humor to try to control the situation.
“If I’d known you’d feel that way, I’d have hired another dictator to take my place while I was gone.”
She stepped back. The look she gave him reminded him of a bristling kitten.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
He gazed at her a long time without answering. She returned his stare boldly. He admired her control, her dignity. The Joanna he was facing wasn’t the same Joanna he’d left behind. There was a new maturity about her.
“You’re right, Joanna. I know. I’ve known for some time.”
“That’s why you left Tupelo?”
“Yes. The first time I kissed you, I sensed your attraction for me. And my response to you shocked the hell out of me. What was happening between us got out of hand.” He reached for her, then changed his mind and let his arm drop to his side. “It won’t work, baby. I’m like George Frog. I can never be anyone except myself, a dedicated businessman whose life-style would bore you to tears.”
“I don’t expect you to be anyone else. I love you just the way you are.”
“Don’t say that. You’re merely infatuated with me. You’re young and innocent and at precisely the right age to become infatuated. I should never have let it happen. I blame myself. And proximity. The time was right for you and I was there.”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Yes. I did a lot of thinking while I was away. And I blame myself for responding to you. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, and I reacted as any normal male would. But that doesn’t excuse my behavior. I’m your guardian, your protector. I should have better control over my emotions.”
“And what are those emotions, Kirk? Passion? Desire? Love?”
Looking deep into her eyes, he felt the familiar tug on his heartstrings, the powerful response of his body to hers.
“God help me, Joanna. I want you.” He heard the sharp intake of her breath, saw the sudden pink in her cheeks.
“Then take me. Love me. Teach me to love.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t. I refuse to jeopardize your happiness by giving in to this selfish desire of mine.”
“You have no right to make decisions about what will or will not make me happy. It’s my life. I’m willing to take the risk.”
“You’re right, Joanna. I have no right to tell you what to do. I’m relinquishing control of your life. You don’t need me anymore.”
“Then why can’t you love me? Why can’t you let me love you?”
“There are a dozen different reasons. All of which you’d probably deny.”
“That’s not fair. You’re not giving me a chance to build a case for us, to refute your reasoning. You’re treating me like a child.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“Then do me the courtesy of communicating with me.”
“You’re shouting, Joanna.”
“I’m mad. I shout when I’m mad.”
He smiled in spite of his turmoil. Thank God, he thought, some things never change. Joanna would always be a spirited, exciting woman. No man would ever subdue her and no man would ever tame her.
“That’s one of the differences I was alluding to. You’re as spirited as a newborn colt in spring and I’m a stodgy, methodical man. You enjoy travel and theater and dance and sports. I enjoy work. You once accused me of smothering you. And it’s true. I’d smother you to death, just as I smothered Trixie.”
“I’m not Trixie.” She jerked off her hat and threw it across the room so hard the paper roses fell off. “Hellfire and damnation.”
“Don’t cuss.”
“I’m not cussing. I’m venting my rage. Trixie has nothing to do with us. Why can’t you forget about her?”
“Because my marriage happened. It’s a part of my past. I believe a man should learn from his mistakes.”
“Does learning from your mistakes mean never taking a chance on love again?”
“I won’t take a chance with you, Joanna. You’re too important to me—and I’m too old for you.”
“Too old for what? Sex? I know darned good and well you have a libido. Do you think I’m too young and innocent not to know arousal when I feel it?”
His smile was bittersweet. “Not sex, Joanna. I’m too old in terms of philosophy and life-style. I’m accustomed to an orderly life. Little people like Sunny scare the hell out of me. I can’t imagine myself surrounded by diapers and bottles and children who depend on me.”
Her face softened. “You’re afraid of failure, aren’t you?”
“You’ve discovered my Achilles’ heel. Failure is anathema to me. I won’t fail with you.”
“You have no idea how wonderful you are, do you? You’re the finest, kindest, most generous, most compassionate man I’ve ever known. You’re brilliant and assertive and successful and humorous and very much in control. One mistake is not failure, Kirk. I understand everything you’ve told me, but I don’t agree with any of it. Give us a chance.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I must live according to the dictates of my conscience. Logic and common sense tell me there can never be anything between the two of us except friendship. And so I’m setting you free.”
“Don’t...” She held up her hand as if to ward off the truth.
“I’ll check into a motel tonight and move my things out of Meadow Lane tom
orrow.”
“Meadow Lane is your home, too. You don’t have to move.”
“Being in the same house with you would never work, and prolonging the move would merely prolong the pain. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to tell you like this. Somehow I imagined this discussion would be more civilized, less painful.”
“Do you love me, Kirk?”
“Don’t ask that. The question is irrelevant. My decision is made.”
“Can you deny that you love me?”
She’d asked the one question he’d never answered, even to himself. He’d thought in terms of desire and passion and need, both his and Joanna’s. In that lonely airport in Charleston, he’d even thought of marriage and its inevitable consummation. But love? It was the issue he’d avoided. Noble men gave up passion and desire and even marriage; but only cowards gave up love.
“I’ve never lied to you. I’m not going to start now.” He captured her hand, felt it tremble in his. Tenderly he lifted it to his lips. “Yes. I love you... enough to let you go.”
He released her hand and walked away, quickly, while he still could. The slamming of the door sounded like doom. A crash in the playroom announced Joanna’s rage and frustration. His first reaction was to turn back and see if she had hurt herself, but he walked on. He’d released her emotionally. All that remained now was to free her financially. Tomorrow he’d go to the bank and place the bulk of her money under her control. Tomorrow he’d sever all the ties that bound them except the legal ones that couldn’t be revoked—the business ties. Tomorrow he’d move out of Meadow Lane.
He entered his office and locked the door. Sitting in his swivel chair, he stared out the window without seeing a thing. Tomorrow he’d be bereft.
o0o
After Kirk walked out of the playroom, Joanna cried. Her crying wasn’t a delicate, ladylike sniffing; it was a sobbing, nose-reddening, messy affair. And she didn’t even have a handkerchief with her. Leaving the playroom, she went down the hall to the ladies’ room and blew her nose on a paper towel. It felt scratchy. The discomfort suited her fine. She didn’t want to be comfortable. She wanted to be miserable, to wallow in her pain and rejection, to suffer with her broken heart.
