by Modean Moon
Tim turned to face Nick, and a look of disgust twisted his handsome features. "Listen, big brother. I haven't had a day off in over a year. I finally got a vacation and now I have to cut it short after one day. I'm home—or rather I'm the closest thing to home we still have back here—and enjoying myself, and if you don't like the way I do it, I'm sorry, but I don't think your letting us spend the night in your house gives you the right to come down on me like that."
"Tim, I'm not coming down on you. I'm concerned." Nick seemed completely unaware of Dani as he spoke to his brother. "I know what this can do. Your marriage is back on an even keel. Don't risk it. My God, you've even got Timmie fetching beer for you, just like—"
Tim's words interrupted him. "Just like the old man. That's it, isn't it, Nick? Everything boils down to that. Well, let me tell you something. I'm not the old man, and neither are you, and I don't see you swearing off alcohol."
"I don't have a problem," Nick said coldly.
"Neither do I, big brother, neither do I. I don't spend every dime I make on booze with the boys, I don't get so damned drunk I beat my family, and I'm not about to kill myself or cripple my wife by running my car off a bridge. I had enough of that when I was growing up. I'm not about to repeat it, and I don't need you to be my self-appointed keeper to make sure that I don't."
Soft laughter from the hallway announced the arrival of the others. The two brothers glared at each other in silence for a moment before Tim turned away and marched across the room. Nick sank back beside her. Dani twisted the stem of the wineglass between her fingers, studying it to avoid staring at Mrs. Sanders's limp. Now the reason for the pain in Nick's earlier words was startlingly clear, and she wished, almost, that she had not heard the answer to her unspoken why. How had he survived a childhood like that? Hers had been lonely, but any abuse she had suffered had been from neglect, not violence. Sensing the tension still gripping Nick, she slipped her hand into his, and he clutched it, squeezing it until her fingers grew numb.
Janice seemed aware of the tension, but she attempted to cover it as she set a tray on the low table in front of the sofa and began dispensing coffee. Timmie bounced on the couch beside Nick, and Mrs. Sanders dropped into the second wing chair with a sigh of contentment.
"A perfect day," Mrs. Sanders said. "I just wish we had more time here."
"You're welcome to stay, Mom. All of you are. You don't have to leave just because Tim has to go back to work."
"Oh, no," Janice said as she accepted a glass of sherry from Tim and settled herself on the arm of his chair, draping her arm over his shoulder as he sat beside her. "Whither thou goest, and all that stuff."
An uneasy silence fell over the room, and Dani wished for a diversion, any diversion. She felt Nick's arm around her shoulder, but she held herself erect, not giving in to her need to lean on him. Tim, at last, provided the diversion, and even while he spoke, the words of a familiar cliché rang in her ears. Be careful what you ask for, the saying went. You might get it.
Tim was obviously casting about for anything to smooth over the silence. He began talking about arbitrations he had participated in years before, when he was just beginning to establish himself.
"Your name has sounded familiar to me all day," he said as he warmed to the story, "and I've finally remembered why. There was a dockworker's strike in Oklahoma City. All flights out were cancelled because of snow, and Janice was at least nine and a half months pregnant. I didn't want to be there; we weren't any closer to a settlement than the day I arrived, and I couldn't have left even if we had been. There was a nice young man there, a union representative for the employees. He took me off to one side during a break and finally got me to admit what was bothering me and calmed me down so that I could at least listen to what was being said in the hearings. He had a son, about a year old…"
No! Dani thought. It couldn't be. Please, God, don't let him say it.
"… beautiful little boy, blond hair, blue eyes. His name was Simms, too. Do you know him?"
He'd said it. He'd asked. And there could be no doubt who he meant. How like Rob it would have been—to pull out the picture and proudly show off his son. How like him to have given comfort to a stranger. But why, God? Why this stranger? She could always deny… No! She could no more deny him now than he could ever have denied her or their son. She turned toward Nick. He shouldn't have to learn this way, and yet, now, there was no other way. She caught his glance and saw only polite curiosity mirrored there. She felt the easy grip of his hand on her arm.
"Probably not," Tim went on. "It's a big city. I can't remember his first name—"
"Rob," Dani said, her gaze never leaving Nick's eyes. "He was my husband."
She saw the polite curiosity turn to shock and felt the easy grip on her arm bear down painfully.
"Oh…" Tim was speechless for a moment, but the silence was heavier than before. "Sorry about that, Dani," he murmured. "Cute kid, though," he said, as though grasping at anything rather than leave the room in its deathly quiet.
Don't, please don't, she moaned inwardly, all the time watching Nick's eyes.
"He's about eight now, isn't he? I wish we'd known about him," Tim went on innocently wreaking destruction. "He and Timmie would have had a good time together. Where is he today?"
The shock in Nick's eyes had given way to questioning, and then to — what? Revulsion? It was a hard way for him to learn that she had once had a family, but to what conclusion had he jumped to make him look at her with that look?
His hand gripped her arm mercilessly. "Yes, Dani," he said in a deceptively soft voice, "just where is he today?"
Suddenly it was more than she could bear. She had never talked about it with anyone, and to do so now, with people who were once again strangers, to do so now with Nick, who looked at her with eyes glinting dangerously from chiseled impassive features, she couldn't—she couldn't.
She took a deep breath and said as evenly as she could, "Bobby is with his father."
Chapter Nine
Nick didn't pause long enough to put the top on the Mercedes. She'd been aware of his making his excuses—they must have been adequate because she vaguely remembered the smiles of his family as they had bid them good-bye. He had released his punishing hold on her arm only while embracing the others and then had resumed his grip. She knew he had practically dragged her up the stairs, but she hoped no one else did. She knew that he had pushed her into the car seat as though he could no longer bear to touch her.
The night air was cold—colder than it had any right to be after the warmth of the afternoon, and the open car, racing along the divided highway as though its driver were pursued, drew the chill air inside and wrapped it around her.
Dani welcomed the chill as she sat huddled against the car door, for its discomfort kept her from thoughts-thoughts that swirled around her, as they had so often in her nightmares, thoughts that threatened to overpower her, to drag her back into that world of darkness and pain.
She felt her hands clenching and knew that now not even that familiar deception would work for her. Nick would notice, if he ever looked at her again, which didn't seem too likely at this moment, and he would have one more question for her. He clutched the steering wheel as though it were his safety line. And the tension in his hands was matched by that in his jaw. He could have been cut from stone except for the vein pounding near his temple, visible even in the dim light cast by passing cars.
Hadn't she known, though, since she let him into her life, that this time would come. Yes! And yet, somehow, she had begun to think that when the time came, if the time ever really came when she would have to tell him, she would be able to tell him only that which she was able to bear, and he would look at her with the understanding which he had shown her in the past, not pressing her to delve too deeply into what had happened, and why.
Maybe he wouldn't press her, she thought as she looked at his expressionless profile. Maybe he would simply let her out at her apartment and
disappear from her life. She could tell that he had already drawn conclusions as to why her son wasn't with her. Could those conclusions, wrong as they had to be, be any worse than the truth?
The truth. What was the truth anymore? What had it ever been? She could no longer bear to look at Nick. She turned her unseeing eyes toward the approaching lights of Tulsa. Bobby was with his father. That much was true.
She raised her eyes toward the real stars, the ones overhead. Oh, God. It was coming again, and this time she couldn't stop it. She had no more power over it now than she had in her sleep. Less. Sometimes she was able to awaken herself to end the dream, but she was already awake and it was starting anyway.
It always began as this afternoon had been—happy. Happy. And then— She sank back against the seat as the familiar scenario began unreeling, forever captured by her memory as though on film, and she was the unwilling audience of one, destined to live through it again and again and again.
It always started the same, with her spluttering in surprise—could she still be surprised after all this time— and grabbing the piece of old towel from her jeans pocket and scrubbing at her nose. "You—you…"
Don't fight it, she told herself. It won't do any good, anymore to fight it.
"Picasso, I think," Rob had said as he held the paintbrush upright between them and focused with it. "It's a perfect match for your eyes."
And then Bobby had joined in, gurgling with laughter. "Mommy's blue. Mommy's blue."
And Dani was caught, trapped forever in that moment of time. In her memory she eased herself onto the edge of the bathtub, repeating the movement as she had countless times in her dreams, and surrendered to the inevitable, as that day she had surrendered to her laughter. After all, she had thought then, what would a little more paint hurt. It had dripped off the ceiling and splashed off the walls all that morning. Her work jeans were completely ruined, as was her frayed flannel shirt, and her long strawberry blond hair had streaks of blue running through it, but her fellows weren't in any better shape.
Her fellows. Warmth enveloped her as she watched them. At three, Bobby already showed promise of having his father's good looks, but when she looked at him, she saw only innocence in his cotton white hair and cornflower eyes. When she looked at Rob, her breath caught in her throat. Four years of marriage had only intensified the rush of longing she felt when she saw his slender body, hardened by hours spent on the loading dock, or gazed into his compelling blue eyes.
She had shaken herself back to the task at hand. "I've changed my mind," she told Rob. "We aren't painters, you know. I think we should have left this for the next tenant."
"Not on your life," Rob swore. "You may have already taken the bar exam, but I still have one more semester to go, which means at least six more months in this trap. Besides, you've always wanted a blue bathroom, and for you, m'dear," he gestured with both hands toward the pale blue ceiling, "the sky is the limit."
She smiled at him. "Robert Simms, I don't know how I ever got along without you."
"Ah, shucks, Dani," he drawled, "don't get mushy in front of the kid." He leered at her suggestively and twirled an imaginary mustache. "Any chance we can send him to a sitter this afternoon?"
"Lech," she hissed at him. "Come here, Bobby. You've got blue on you, too."
She twisted around to the bathtub and dampened a cloth under the faucet, frowning slightly as the ancient gas water heater in the corner growled to life. She wiped down the squirming boy before looking back toward her husband.
"No chance for a sitter," she said in a mock whisper as she rose to stand beside him. "But I can put him down for a nap right after lunch."
Rob slipped his free hand around her and squeezed her against him. "Then what are you waiting for, woman. Food is in order."
"Yes, Master," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, Bobby. Help Mother with lunch."
"Want to stay with Daddy," the child protested.
She cocked an eyebrow at Rob. "It will be quicker."
He grinned. "Okay, Bobby, you stay with Daddy, and when we get this piece of wall and the door done, we'll go help Mommy together."
She ruffled her son's hair and reached automatically for the cigarettes and lighter sitting on the end of the tub. No. She changed her mind. She was smoking too much. She'd leave them where they were until after lunch.
She felt a little light-headed as she walked into the living room. Strange, she didn't feel ill, but these moments of weakness seemed to be coming regularly.
She opened the front door. The early April air still carried a reminder of winter, but the house needed airing. She breathed deeply of the fresh air and felt better. Leaving the door open, she crossed into the kitchen and began preparing lunch. Something easy, she decided. And quick, she added with a grin.
She glanced around her contentedly. Rob called the house a trap. In no way could it be compared with the home he had known all his life, but she didn't see it as a trap. A duplex unit among a cluster of closely spaced duplexes, it was infinitely better than student housing, and with Rob's weekend carpentry work, her coordinated curtains and slipcovers and the books and records and things they loved scattered around, they had managed to make it a real home. "Rather a cozy nest," she said aloud as she checked the soup and popped the sandwiches under the broiler.
"Are you two about through in there?" she called. "Lunch in five minutes."
"We'll be there," Rob's voice sounded muffled, and it lowered slightly as he spoke to his son. "Bobby, put that down. That's Mommy's."
She grinned as she turned to the sink. Breakfast dishes soaked in now cold water. She turned the hot water tap on them and reached for clean plates in the cabinet above.
The explosion shook the dishes in front of her hand. She looked at them, not comprehending, for a split second, until she heard her son screaming, "Mommy! Mommy!"
"Rob?" she called, but there was no answer from him, just Bobby's high-pitched wail of agony.
She whirled and ran toward the bathroom, screaming Rob's name. The door was closed. Why was the door closed?
She twisted the knob and pushed against it, but it wouldn't budge. "Rob!" she screamed. "Bobby!" No answer came from inside the room, only a strange, ominous crackling that she refused to identify.
Something wedged the door shut. She could feel it near the floor. She heard voices behind her, but nothing mattered except getting the door open. She put her shoulder against it and felt it give slightly. She slid her hands into the small opening and pushed with all her strength. The flames shot out at her, searing her hands, igniting her hair.
Someone grabbed her, pulling her away from the door and jerking her shirt over her head, but the only sound she heard was that of her own scream going on and on and on.
"You're home."
Dani slumped back in the seat. Through the windshield she could see the facade of the apartment building. Laughter from the playground in the next courtyard drifted to her on the night breeze. Familiar scenes, familiar sounds, they were now strangely unreal, more a dream than her dream.
Reluctantly she dragged her head around toward the accusation she heard in Nick's voice. He stood beside the door, holding the door open.
"You have to get out. You can't sit there all night." He did not offer her his hand then or when she started up the sidewalk. She heard the car door slam and felt his unyielding presence beside her. She couldn't reach out to him. He wouldn't reach out to her.
At her apartment she turned to tell him—good night? Good-bye? Which was it to be? And did it really matter now? All she wanted to do was close her door on the world, curl up in a tight ball on the end of her couch, and wait for this night to be over. And it would pass. The sun would come up on a new day, and she would begin her routine as though none of this had happened. But why—why couldn't tomorrow be Monday instead of Saturday? On Monday she would have had the pressures of the office to count on. On Saturday she would have only herself.
And
why wasn't Nick leaving? Why was he just standing there, looking down on her?
The kitten bounded from the shrubbery and began insinuating itself around her ankles, purring loudly as he did so, and Dani felt her tightly held control beginning to fray. Blindly she fumbled for her key. Nick took the keys from her, opened the door, and walked into the apartment. The kitten entered, too, going directly to the kitchen, mewing loudly. Dani stood alone at the door, outside, not wanting to go In, having no other place to go. She watched Nick follow the kitten into the kitchen, and she watched him as he took a bowl from the cabinet and got the milk from the refrigerator. She might as well not be there for all the attention Nick was paying to her, and yet she had no doubt that once she entered, he would turn on her with questions and deny her the solitude she so desperately needed. Evicted. Effectively evicted from her own home. For, impersonal though it was, the apartment was the only home she had.
It was too much! She stepped into the apartment and found words for the first time since leaving Key Point, They grated in her throat as she hurled them tightly across the room.
"That cat does not belong in this house."
Nick glanced at her and continued pouring milk into the bowl. "The cat isn't the issue, Dani," he said in a voice as tight as her own.
"Get him out of here."
Nick picked up the cat and the bowl of milk and carried them to the front door. He straightened, closing the door.
"And you go with him!"
His hands tightened on the door before he closed it completely, locked it, and turned to face her.
"No. If I leave now, we'll never get this resolved. If I leave now, any hope we had for something together will be gone."
"If that's a threat, you've made a serious error, Nick. I won't be pushed into anything by an ultimatum."
He leaned against the door, his palms spread flat against the wood on each side of him. "That's not a threat, Dani, and it's not an ultimatum. It's a statement of fact. I can't leave you alone to pull that wonderful little trick of yours of shutting out the rest of the world, of shutting out me, until I know just what in the hell has happened."
