Finger Prints

by Barbara Delinsky

  Ryan stretched out on the bed and took her ever so gently in his arms. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “This is fine,” she murmured against his chest. The faintly musky scent of his warm skin momentarily numbed her brain against that other, more visceral discomfort. In a gesture totally devoid of sexual intent, she ran her hand up his chest and hooked it around his neck. Her thumb fell to caress the point beneath his jaw where beard ended and skin began. After a minute, she tipped her head back and studied the spot. “It’s soft here. I never noticed before.”

  “We all have our weak points.” He cleared his throat of its thickness.

  “Not weak. Very nice.” Her thumb ventured into his beard, her eye following its gentle exploration. “What’s this? A scar?” She felt the faint ridge and, on closer examination, saw the slightest line where no hair grew. When he was upright it was invisible. Only now, with his head back against the pillow, could she see it.

  He quickly looked down at her, obscuring the breach. “A little one. It’s nothing.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “An accident when I was younger.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell her the truth, but suspected it had something to do with the frustration he felt inside. If she wasn’t opening completely, he didn’t have to either. Juvenile perhaps, but he couldn’t help himself. Another time, he might have feared she would prod deeper. Already, though, she was shifting position, trying to get more comfortable. “Here—” he eased her out of his arms “—why don’t you rest. I’ll go see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen.”

  “Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get you something.”

  “You will not.” He was tugging on his jeans. “I lived alone for over a year. I’m not completely helpless. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be good for much for a while. Maybe I can get you some soup or something.”

  “Uh-uh,” she groaned, shaking her head. “I’ll just lie here. That’ll help.”

  It didn’t help much. She moved restlessly on the bed in an attempt to find a comfortable position. In essence the only relief she got was from the movement itself, which, for those brief instants, masked the pain. Finally she pushed herself up from the bed and, no longer able to bear anything binding around her body, changed into a long-sleeved nightshirt.

  Ryan appeared at the bedroom door just as she was attempting to pull the bedcovers back. “Let me help you!” When she slid between the sheets, dragging her heating pad along, he tucked her in. “Why didn’t you call?” He glanced at the clothes she’d strewn on the chair. “I could have given you a hand.”

  “A woman has to do some things alone,” Carly murmured, attempting a joke that fell flat.

  “Not in my book. A relationship’s for sharing. Both the good and the bad.”

  “Ryan….” Her moaned protest stemmed not only from the need she’d had for privacy but also from her own sense of guilt. But she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Not tonight. Not now. Eyes closed, she burrowed more deeply into the covers.

  His voice was soft in concern by her ear. “How about some aspirin?”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t help.”

  “Then something stronger? Maybe if I call your doctor—”

  “No. I have my usual prescription, but I hate to take it. It knocks me out.”

  He tucked an auburn wave behind her ear. “That might be the best thing.”

  “No,” she answered with a vehemence that was instantly spent. She went on more weakly. “I’ll be all right. I mean, it’s not like I’m unique. Women have been going through this since the beginning of time.”

  His lips brushed her brow. “But if there’s something that can make it easier….” His voice trailed off with the shifting of his thoughts. Slipping an arm under the covers, he searched for her hand and gently took it in his. “I suppose it’s all for a good cause,” he said quietly. “Your body’s working. Some day it’ll work a little differently.” She opened her eyes in time to see his ardor. “That’ll be when you have my baby.”

  He said it with such quiet conviction that, for an instant, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t so much as blink or swallow. It was a beautiful thought but staggering in its implications.

  “Ryan, I can’t—”

  “Don’t say a thing,” he whispered. His gaze touched her features one by one, pausing at her brow to follow the progress of his fingers as they smoothed her bangs from her damp skin. “I have to believe that some day you’ll be mine, Carly.”

  “I am yours.”

  He shook his head, his eyes profoundly sad. “Not yet. Not completely. And I promised I wouldn’t push.” He spoke with quiet urgency. “But there are times when I can’t help myself. When I have to say what I feel. Because I do believe it, babe. The two of us—we were meant to be. I don’t care what else might have happened in your life. It has no bearing on us.”

  But it does, Carly screamed silently, then lowered her lids in anguish. Curling more tightly into herself, she moaned. “Maybe I should take something after all. I feel like I could crawl into the nearest hole and die.” What she wanted to do was to crawl into the nearest hole with Ryan, pull it in after them, and escape together to another dimension. In lieu of that, she would take a pill.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “The medicine chest. The small prescription bottle on the top shelf. It may be behind something. I haven’t taken anything in so long.” Lapsing into silence, she thought of how, since she’d first come to Boston, she had avoided taking anything that might leave her less alert. But she had Ryan now to be her eyes and ears, and she desperately needed to sleep.

  Ryan was a long time in the bathroom. He stared at the bottle in his hand, looked back to the shelf and, seeing no other prescription, studied the label again. “Percodan?” he called out.

  “That’s it,” she managed. “One.”

  He rolled a yellow pill into his palm, snapped the top back on the bottle, then, frowning, stared at the label again. “Percodan. One every four hours for pain. P. Demery, M.D.” So the directions read, and Ryan had no problem with them. What he did have problem with was the fact that the prescription was made out to an R. Hart and came from a pharmacy in Chicago.

  Very slowly he replaced the bottle in the medicine chest, filled a glass with water from the sink, and returned to Carly. Eyes closed, she didn’t see the way he stood looking at her for long, long moments. She barely moved when he sat down on the side of the bed, and opened her eyes only when he lifted her and urged the pill into her mouth. She seemed distracted, far away, which was a very good thing. He needed time to decide what to do.

  Eighteen

  wEDNESDAY NIGHT RYAN WORKED LATE. HE DID the same on Thursday. Had Carly not had Sheila with her, she might have had more time to worry. But Sheila was with her, and, beyond that, there was school and plenty of paperwork, what with the third marking period nearly over.

  If Ryan was more tense than usual, she attributed it to fatigue. Both Wednesday and Thursday nights, when he came home late, he seemed content just to stretch out on the living-room sofa and close his eyes. On both occasions she had to wake him to get him into bed, and then he was too groggy to talk.

  By Friday morning, though, she was beginning to sense something else. He wasn’t looking at her. Not directly at least. It was as though he was the one with something to hide.

  They ran. They showered. They dressed, talking from time to time about one inconsequential thing or another. Then he made a point of reminding her about the dinner they were to attend that evening.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she said softly. They were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter drinking coffee. “What time do we have to be there?”

  He scrutinized his shoes as if debating whether to have them shined on the way to work. “Cocktails are at six. If we get there at six-thirty, we’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure? If you need to be there earlier—”
<
br />   “Six-thirty’s plenty.” He took a deep breath, stared at the window and absently sipped the dark brew. “Listen, if you’d rather not go, it’s no problem.”

  Hurt and puzzled, she answered slowly. “You’re speaking. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I know how you hate lawyers. It’s bound to be boring.”

  “Would you rather I not go?”

  Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest. “Don’t be foolish,” he muttered. “I’m the one who’ll be bored stiff. I hate these things. Your being there is apt to be the only thing that gets me through.”

  “Funny. You don’t sound thrilled about it. What’s wrong, Ryan? What is it?”

  For the first time that morning, he met her gaze. His eyes were expressionless, his voice steady. “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe that. You’ve been walking around here like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She put a hand on his arm. “Please, Ryan. I can’t stand the tension.”

  “Maybe I should move out.”

  She caught her breath. “That’s not what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to talk, to tell me what’s bothering you. What’s that you were saying the other night about sharing—both the good and the bad?”

  His eyes suddenly sharpened and Carly knew she’d hit a nerve. “Is that what you do? Talk? Discuss? Open up freely, with no reservations at all?”

  “I…I….”

  He put his mug down on the counter with a thud. “It goes both ways, Carly. I won’t pressure you. Don’t pressure me.” Turning, he stalked from the kitchen, grabbed his overcoat and briefcase from the living room and was gone.

  Carly placed a trembling hand on her stomach. She felt as though she’d been kicked, left with neither breath nor the strength to move. She didn’t know how long she stood, rooted to the same spot in the kitchen, when the downstairs buzzer rang. For an instant, her eyes brightened. She wondered if it would be Ryan wanting to apologize, to say he was simply tired or had a troublesome case or was coming down with a cold. When she heard Sheila’s nasal twang, she was disappointed.

  “Hey, buzz me up!”

  Carly did it, then began to put her things together for school. By the time Sheila arrived, Carly had her coat on. Her forced smile of greeting was as much of a tip-off as her otherwise stricken expression.

  “Uh-oh,” Sheila said, taking several books to relieve some of Carly’s load. “You guys had a fight. I sat in my car and watched Ryan storm out of here a minute ago and, man, was he boiling.”

  “Sheila. Please. I don’t need this now.” They started down the stairs, walking in silence for a while. When they got to the bottom, Sheila spoke more gently.

  “What happened?”

  Carly took a deep breath and shrugged. “I guess I got caught at my own game.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, pushing the front door open, “that Ryan’s been brooding about something for days now. It’s been worse lately and was horrible this morning. When I asked him about it, he said that if I don’t share with him, he doesn’t have to share with me.” She swallowed hard. “I hadn’t realized he’d been that bothered…or maybe I’ve realized it and just chosen to look the other way.”

  Sheila said very little as they walked down the path. When they got to her car, she propped her elbows on the roof and eyed Carly across the burgundy gleam. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Carly was no less direct. “I’m going to tell him.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Nodding, Carly opened the door and slid in, speaking again when Sheila was in the driver’s seat. “I have to.” She reasoned aloud. “It was one thing keeping my secrets when our relationship was super. I didn’t want to rock the boat then. Now it turns out that the boat’s being rocked by the very fact of my keeping those secrets.” She took a long, tortured breath and let it out as an evanescent mist against the window. “I don’t see where I have any other choice.”

  Sheila started the car and headed for Rand. “You could stall. See if it’ll pass. Make it up to him in other ways.”

  Carly’s head turned quickly. “What ways?”

  “Oh, you know,” she hedged, vaguely intimidated by Carly’s sharp look, “doing little things that he likes.” She wrinkled her nose and managed a one-shouldered shrug. “Food. Sex. That kind of thing.”

  Carly looked away muttering, “I couldn’t do that. I’d feel like even more of a crumb than I do now. Besides, that’d be avoiding the issue.” She pressed two fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “I knew I’d have to tell him one day. It was only a matter of time. Sam said it once; when the time was right, I’d know it. Well—” she sighed, opening her eyes and looking straight ahead “—the time is right now. We have Ryan’s speech and that dinner tonight, but after that I’ll tell him.”

  Though firmly made, the decision weighed heavily on her mind all morning. Ryan phoned during her lunch break, timing his call perfectly to catch her in her office. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, but she wasn’t sure quite how to respond. “Hi, Ryan,” she said softly, cautiously.

  “Babe, I’m sorry. I was a bastard this morning. I’ve been furious at myself since I got in here.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “I love you. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Slow tears gathered at Carly’s lower lids. She gave a convulsive swallow. “I know. I love you too.”

  The silence on the line was profound, with Carly as startled by her confession as Ryan. “You what?”

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to say. “I love you.”

  “So you finally decided to tell me.” His voice was lower, almost gruff, but there was a thread of humor in it that Carly recognized instantly.

  A smile came to her lips and slowly grew. “Uh-huh.” It wasn’t even worth denying his implication that she’d known for a long time, or asking how he’d known.

  “Damn it, Carly, this has to be the cruelest thing you’ve done to me yet! I have an afternoon of appointments lined up starting in five minutes. There’s no way I can get out there now!”

  “I didn’t expect you to come out,” she said. “I only have a few minutes myself. I just wanted you to know how I felt.” Her voice softened all the more. “It’s a start.”

  Suddenly his tone matched hers. “It is, babe. And we’ll make it work. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so.” Even as she said it, an unbidden shiver coursed through her. In her mind, if nothing else, she was committed to telling Ryan everything about her past. If only telling him would make it all go away.

  Shortly after Sheila saw Carly safely into her apartment, Ryan came home bearing a bouquet of roses and a smile warm enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. But Carly’s heart needed no melting. Accepting the roses with a smile to match his, she flowed into his outstretched arms and murmured the precious words against his lips.

  “Tell me again,” he ordered after a kiss that left her short of breath.

  “I love you,” she breathed. “I love you.”

  He searched her eyes, found that they echoed her words, and let out a long breath. “I was worried you wouldn’t say it to my face, that you’d lose your nerve or have second thoughts in the course of the afternoon.”

  “Come now, Ryan,” she teased. “Where’s your faith?”

  “My faith has been raked over pretty rocky ground lately,” he said, His sober expression wiped the grin from her face.

  “I know. But I do love you. You’ve known that for a while.”

  “Yes.” He kissed her again, this time slowly and with a thoroughness that reached to her soul and back. Carly arched closer, loving the feel of his tall, lean body, loving the strength of him, loving the way his arms circled her back in total possession. No longer did she fear the fire he created. Together like this, they wer
e the fire, prepared to consume anything and everything that came across their path.

  When he released her, it was with a reluctance she shared. “I wish we didn’t have to go tonight.”

  “I know,” she whispered, “but we do.”

  “I could always call in sick.”

  “You could not. You’re the speaker, Ryan. You can’t let all those wonderful people down. Besides—” her grin wasn’t to be contained “—those wonderful people need to hear what you have to say.”

  He gave her a squeeze. “You’re full of it.”

  “No. I’m serious. Just think. They’ve come from all over the country. Your talk may be the most important one they’ll have heard all week.”

  “You are full of it.”

  “We won’t know that unless we go.”

  He cleared his throat. “We’d better get dressed then?”

  She nodded. “Society can only arrive so late.”

  The evening started out well enough. Armed with drinks and each other, she and Ryan circulated through the predinner crowd. More accurately, she observed in a moment’s grace, the crowd circulated around them. It seemed that Ryan was indeed well-known in the legal community—and sought after, if the number of people who approached them was any indication.

  Several members of Ryan’s firm were in attendance. Carly was pleased to see these familiar faces in what was to her an otherwise anonymous and potentially threatening group. At several points she was amazed that she was there at all; three months before, she would never have dreamed of appearing like this, so open to speculating eyes. But with Ryan beside her, sometimes with an arm lightly around her waist, other times simply rubbing shoulders with her, she managed to control the urge to hide her face and run.

  He held to his promise of keeping her by his side, except for those moments when he was on the podium. What she hadn’t expected was that he would be seated at the long rectangular head table, and that she would be seated right beside him. It was heaven; it was hell. His presence was a constant comfort, even as her insides churned at the thought of being in the public eye.