Dare to Dream
Page 16
God! Why couldn't he just go? Didn't he realize she couldn't take much more?
Too vulnerable curled in the corner of the couch, she felt herself unwinding from her cramped position, rising to her feet, and walking toward the kitchen, putting as much space as possible between herself and Nick's looming form. She turned and stared into the darkened kitchen as she heard her voice, calm and cold, chiseling away at any feeling he might have left for her.
"You had no trouble drawing your own conclusions on the way home from the lake. All you demanded from me was confirmation. Draw your own now and consider them confirmed."
She heard his muffled oath behind her and remained silent, but when she felt his hands on her shoulders her tautly stretched nerves could stand no more. "Take your hands off me!" she screamed, even as a small voice deep within her moaned, Don't let me do this, Nick. Don't let me say these things. Please, Nick, don't ever let me go.
He spun her around to face him, his fingers biting into her arms.
"Dani—"
"That's the answer, isn't it, Nick?" Her voice caught and then rose again. "Push me around. Shake me some more. Maybe you could even manage to throw me on the bed again and make mad love to me while you make sure I know that's not what you really want to do!" Wonderful love. Tender love. Please, Nick.
"Listen to me!"
She couldn't listen to him, any more than she could listen to herself, for if she did she might hear those words that clawed always at the back of her memory, those words she had so far been able to keep pushed back. And she couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see his face tightened by the control he was forcing on himself, couldn't bear to see his beautiful green eyes clouded and questioning.
He had to leave! She had to make him want to leave! Now, before she was lost.
"Is this how you handled Marilyn?" She hurled the words at him, hating herself for doing it but grabbing at anything that would push him away.
"Damn Marilyn—"
"Why? Because she wouldn't let you bully her?" Nick, a bully? Never. Only tonight, stretched beyond his limit by things she didn't understand, couldn't stop to understand, had he ever been other than gentle.
A hard, gut-level blow wouldn't have been more effective. She watched his face blanch to an ashen gray. He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the flash of pain that speared through them. He finally released her shoulders, clenching his hands into fists and holding them tightly against his thighs. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, eyes that were devoid of expression.
"You want to know about Marilyn?" he asked in a voice that matched his eyes. "Let me tell you about her."
"No," Dani whispered. What had she done? If only she could erase that look from his face, hold him to her and tell him she didn't mean what she said. But she couldn't—not if she were to save herself. "No! I don't want to hear about your ex-wife. I don't want to play true confessions. Isn't that where this is leading? You'll tell me your horrible little secret and then I'll tell you mine and throw myself at you begging your forgiveness so you can be kind and gentle and understanding?" If only she could!
He pulled her to him, murmuring her name over and over, moving his hands through her hair, across her back, trying to soothe her, she knew, trying to calm her, and she couldn't let him. She forced her hands between them, splaying them against his chest, and pushed free from him. She stood crouched, ready to run, dragging air into her lungs but unable to fill them.
"Do you really want confessions, Nick?" she cried, no longer able to stop. "Do you really want to know where my son is? He's—" The word lodged in her throat. Too long denied, too long unspoken, she would say it now. "My son is dead!" she cried. The word hung between them, palpable and real in the room, but once said, once pushed past her throat, it freed others dammed within her.
"Dead. Dead in the fire that killed his father."
She heard Nick moan, "Oh, my God."
"Dead in the fire that destroyed the pictures you demanded to see." She heard her voice rising, shrill and hard. "Dead in the fire that destroyed the kitchen clutter and the closet clutter you bemoaned." She was screaming at him now. "Dead in the fire that left me scarred, but alive. And I—"
She caught herself in midbreath, stunned into silence. What had she almost said? Abruptly, unexplainably calm, she watched shock and sympathy battle for control of Nick's features.
"And I hate you, Nick Sanders, for making me say that."
She could breathe now, but the air was heavy in her lungs, weighing her down, as the air on her flesh pressed in on her. And she was incredibly weary. She turned from Nick and leaned against the breakfast bar.
"As I hate you for disrupting my life, for giving me an illusion of happiness, for helping me to forget, and then forcing me to remember."
She heard his steps behind her and shrank closer to the counter. "If you must understand something tonight," she continued in a monotone, "understand this. I have nothing else to say to you. Now or ever. And understanding that, you ought to be able, at last, to leave."
Would he reach out to her? He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body. She waited, not breathing, knowing by the prickles of electricity along her flesh that he held his hand poised near her shoulder. But then he was gone, the soft thud of the door the only sound she heard as he left, and she clutched at the counter, its unyielding surface her only support, her only comfort.
The shrill summons of the telephone recalled Dani from the fitful sleep into which she had finally fallen. The first ring jolted her upright in her corner of the couch. On the second ring she identified the sound and started to rise. But it was Saturday, she thought groggily. No one ever called her on Saturday. No one but Nick. The instrument jangled a third time. It wouldn't be Nick. Not after what she had said. A fourth ring. But it might be.
She watched the instrument warily as it rang again. Fool! she chided herself. It's only a telephone. Either answer it or ignore it. But she could do neither. She continued to watch it in hushed suspense until after the twelfth ring it fell silent.
She dragged a hand through her hair and shook her head as if that would shake off the panic claiming her at the thought of having to talk to Nick again. She smiled grimly. Foolish to worry about something that would never happen. But, just in case, she lifted the receiver from the telephone and lay it carefully on the writing pad of her desk.
Then she went methodically about the apartment, emptying the ashtray Nick had used earlier, smoothing the covers on the bed, removing any trace of his visit. She retrieved her clothes from the floor and hung them in the closet. There was no point in putting them in the laundry now. They would never be worn again.
The prescription bottle lay on the floor where Nick had thrown it. She picked it up and carried it into the bathroom. She looked at it for a long time before removing the lid. How long since she had taken one? Months at least. She had been so proud of not needing that kind of help. She was still proud of it. Why, then, did she keep them? Unless—unless the keeping of them close to her was in itself a dependence. Quickly, defiantly, she upended the bottle over the toilet. She gave a yank to the handle and watched the swirling water carry away what nebulous protection the pills had offered. She tossed the bottle toward the trash, not bothering to watch it land, spun on her heel, and left the room.
That expended her little store of energy. She went through the mechanics of making coffee and carried a blue ironstone mug of it back to the sofa. She curled once again into her corner of the couch, tucking her feet under her.
In a little while, she told herself, she'd get up and do something, anything to occupy her mind. In a little while, but for now—she took a deep breath and leaned her head against the sofa cushion. The smell of Nick teased her senses. The scent of his after-shave and cigarettes had permeated the apartment. In a little while, maybe she would open the windows and air out the apartment. There was work at the office that had to be done, that should have been done Friday. Maybe she'd go
downtown and pick up a few files. That had always helped before. Maybe she'd do that. In a little while. But more than a little while passed as she sat huddled and alone on the couch, and her untouched coffee grew cold in the cup.
The first hesitant tap at the door was an irritation Dani decided to ignore, but when the noise persisted, she pushed herself off the sofa. At least it wasn't Nick's bold knock summoning her. It was probably just someone selling magazines, she thought as she reached the door. She opened it to see a fiercely determined Marcie raising her fist to knock again.
"Marcie?"
Marcie's face eased into a hesitant, troubled smile. "I hope you don't mind, D.J. I've been up for hours and I—I had to talk to someone. May I come in?"
Dani swung the door open. "Of course," she said. She watched with a puzzled frown as Marcie crossed to the couch and sat, obviously ill at ease, on the edge of it. Dani realized she still held the cup of now cold coffee so when she closed the door, she walked to the kitchen, dumped the cold coffee and filled the cup with hot coffee and without asking filled the other mug for Marcie.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she set the cup on the table near the woman.
"Nothing," Marcie said quickly, but Dani noticed her catch her lower lip in her teeth and watched a variety of emotions cross her face as the normally open and outspoken woman seemed to edit her thoughts.
"Well, maybe something," Marcie said finally. She gripped her coffee cup and charged into what she had to say. "I'm almost used to Joe being gone during the week—not quite, but almost, but the weekends are ours. They always have been. But he's stuck in Kansas City this weekend, on my time, and the house just seemed to close in on me. I guess I got to feeling sorry for myself. I shouldn't have. He's finally gotten his promotion. I'm going to be able to quit work and stay home when the baby is born. And he's promised me that he won't have to travel nearly so much, but—but I just didn't want to be alone. Do you know what I mean?" She asked the last in a small voice.
Dani took a deep breath and leaned back against the sofa. So, she would be leaving after all. "I know exactly what you mean," she confessed with more honesty than she intended.
Marcie was just what she needed, Dani reluctantly admitted to herself later that morning. She was much better for her than house cleaning, or working on office files, or what had been most probable—sitting with numbed mind unaware of time's vacant passage.
By the time they finished the pot of coffee, Marcie had thrown off her glum mood and reverted to the irrepressible imp Dani had come to rely upon.
"You've got to go with me to the flea market," Marcie insisted. And without knowing why she was doing it, Dani gathered clothes and went into the bathroom to dress for shopping at the flea market. She hesitated before stepping into the shower. Her body still bore the subtle imprint of Nick's lovemaking, the feel of him and the lingering scent of him. For one wild moment she longed to hold those sensations to her as long as she could. Instead, she stepped under the spray and lathered every inch of flesh, deliberately and thoroughly.
Marcie drove a tiny foreign economy car with a confidence that bordered on terrifying for Dani, but she did get them to the fairgrounds with nothing more serious happening than one silver-haired man shaking his fist out the window of his car at them as they sped past. They parked almost at the door of the building which housed the weekend flea market.
Once inside the vast exhibit hall, though, Marcie slowed her pace to little more than a crawl. She examined every item in every booth with a thoroughness that both frustrated and intrigued Dani.
"This would be marvelous on your coffee table," Marcie said of an onyx paperweight. Dani didn't think so. And, "Don't you think this is perfect for that corner in your bookcase?" This was asked of an art nouveau statuette of a woman clothed with half a drape and a flower. Dani was trying to think of a tactful rejection of the idea when she noticed Marcie's eyes twinkling with laughter. Sometime just before daylight she had thought she could never laugh again, but now she surprised herself by giving in to a reluctant chuckle.
"No," she said. "But if you want to put her on your counter, I won't say anything."
A hot dog and a soft drink at the halfway point sustained them until they finally left the building a full three hours after entering. Marcie's purchases consisted of the onyx paperweight, an earthenware pitcher, and a pair of turquoise earrings.
"But you have to buy something, D.J.," Marcie moaned as she noticed that Dani was empty-handed. "You can't spend that much time with that much wonderful junk and not buy anything. It's—it's un-American!"
"I'll tell you what, Marcie. I'll buy lunch."
"Lunch? Omigosh!"
"What is it?"
"I left this morning without feeding Max and Killer. We have to run by the house before we do anything else."
Dani soon discovered that running by the house was not quite as simple as it sounded. It required a thirty-minute drive to a suburb of Broken Arrow, a small city south of Tulsa. Marcie and Joe lived in a subdivision of new brick homes, some so new the lawns were still scars of raw earth. Marcie's front lawn, however, was green and lush, with neat borders of young shrubs and annual flowers. Marcie led her into the house, through a large living room with a cathedral ceiling and stone fireplace, into the L of the dining room and kitchen. The house was scrupulously clean but had scattered stacks of books and needlework projects lying around what appeared to be Marcie's favored nest. Marcie opened a sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio. The stockade fenced backyard was divided by a chain link fence. Half the backyard was a vegetable garden. The other half was devoted to dog.
A weimaraner bounded over to jump on Marcie.
"Killer?" Dani asked as she watched the girl disengage the dog's paws from her shoulders.
"No. This is Max." Marcie gave a shrill whistle and motioned toward the doghouse. A pomeranian peeked from the doorway. "That's Killer."
Somehow the afternoon turned into evening. Marcie always seemed to have just one more thing to do before they left. "Just let me get these few weeds from around the tomatoes. You know how a garden can go to pot if you don't stay right on top of it." And, "Just let me dry one load of clothes. These are going to mildew if I don't get them out of the washer." Then, "It's so late now, why don't I fix us a snack." Eventually, turning on the television, "I've been wanting to see this movie for ages. Would you mind very much if we watched it? It's the last play date."
What is this? Dani wondered. Where was the devastated woman who had knocked on her door that morning practically begging for company? Marcie seemed supremely capable of filling her own time without any help. And yet, wasn't that what Dani was so good at? Who was she to criticize another person's method of doing it? Still, Dani was beginning to feel unneeded, despite Marcie's friendly comments during the day and even during the movie, until Marcie turned off the television and turned to her, hesitant again.
"D.J., would you think I was awful if I asked you to stay the night?" She hurried on before Dani could speak. "By the time I drive you into Tulsa and get back, it will be after midnight, and the house will be empty." Marcie sighed deeply. "And Joe still won't be here."
"Marcie, I hadn't even thought about—"
"If you have other plans, of course I'll take you home."
But Dani could tell that she really didn't want to. "I didn't bring anything with me."
"Oh, that's all right." Marcie rushed to say, "I can let you have a nightgown, and I buy toothbrushes by the handful. Joe's always losing one when he goes off on a trip."
Why not? Dani thought. Why force Marcie to drive for over an hour round trip to take her back to emptiness?
Dani shrugged helplessly. "Why not?"
She had changed into the nightgown Marcie provided and was walking down the hall from the bathroom to the guest room when she heard the telephone ring and Marcie's muffled voice when she answered. "No, everything's fine," she heard Marcie say softly. "D.J.'s spending the night here."
Marcie was already up, seated at the table with coffee and the Sunday newspaper, when Dani wandered into the kitchen the following morning.
"Sleep well?" Marcie asked as she poured coffee and passed it to Dani.
"Like a baby," Dani said, amazed at how rested she felt. "And you?" she asked, remembering Marcie's reason for wanting her to stay.
"Better than I thought I would."
"Joe's call last night didn't have anything to do with that, did it?" Dani teased.
"Joe's…" Marcie's cheeks flushed bright red. She ducked her head and smiled sheepishly. "Have some of the newspaper," she said abruptly, passing the frontpage section across the table.
Dani took the paper but she didn't look at it. She looked instead at the comfortable, cozy atmosphere of the rooms around her. She looked through the open drapes at the well-tended garden and the two dogs romping companionably in the backyard. She glanced covertly at Marcie—married to a man she loved and who obviously loved her and soon to have his child. Dani tossed the paper to the table, poured herself another cup of coffee, and carried it to the patio door where she stood looking over the garden. Marcie had been smart to turn down the promotion. A career was a poor substitute for what she had.
"D.J.?"
"Mmmm?" She turned slowly to see Marcie pointing excitedly to an item in the newspaper.
"Mid-South has staked a well in Beckham County, and if I'm not mistaken, it's on that same piece of ground that Sam Wilson tried to peddle to Nick."
Dani took the paper from her and hurriedly scanned the entry. "That slimy weasel," she said under her breath. The man had worked a farm out agreement all right, but not for Nick, for himself. "He wouldn't release Nick's money but he went ahead and peddled his leases before they were released."