Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  The pounding on the door summoned her from that numbness. She knew who it had to be and shrank against the sofa even before she heard Nick call out.

  "Dani? Dani, are you in there? Dani, if you're in there, open the door!"

  She heard the doorknob being tried and held her breath, thankful for the solid wooden door and sturdy deadbolt lock.

  She was doing it again! Hiding. Always hiding. That was Nick out there. The Nick she loved. Nick, who had loved her. Nick, who after all she had put him through deserved at least one final opportunity to confront her.

  She struggled from the sofa and stumbled across the room. She had trouble making her fingers manipulate the lock, and she finally drew the door open to see him striding away—not down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, but across the courtyard.

  "Nick." Her voice was a hoarse croak, but he heard her. He stopped, seemed to steel himself, and turned. His eyes devoured her as he walked the short distance to her door, but no more than hers devoured him.

  He had discarded his jacket and his tie, and his collar was open. For some reason he carried that garish orange merchandise bag she vaguely remembered seeing in his car. He looked awful—haunted and angry — and for a moment she was frightened.

  "I was going for the pass key," he said, then stood silently watching, waiting.

  "Are you all right?" They spoke simultaneously, but neither answered the question.

  And although Dani knew there was no way she could undo what she had done, she had to speak. "I'm sorry. So very sorry," she murmured, and then she was in his arms, the package in his hand pressing against her back, but it was all right, because he was holding her, and she never wanted him to let her go.

  He tilted her head and cupped her face with his hand, tracing his thumb across the salty wetness of her cheek.

  "You never cried," he said with a touch of wonder in his voice. "They told me that never once the whole time you were in that place did you cry."

  "You knew?" And that was all right too. She wanted him to know, wanted him to understand why she had said what she said, why she had done what she had.

  "Not until yesterday afternoon." He pushed gently and moved with her into the apartment, pausing only long enough to close the door before leading her to the couch. His package landed with a resounding thump on the coffee table as he gathered her against him, holding her as if he, too, never wanted to let her go.

  "Dani, why didn't you tell me?" he whispered against her hair.

  "I couldn't. I couldn't tell anyone."

  "You lived with that horror locked within you for all these years and never talked about it with anyone?"

  She shook her head against his chest.

  "Lord in heaven," he said, drawing her more tightly into the safety of his arms. "No wonder you fought like a wounded animal."

  When he tried to pull away, she murmured a protest, clutching at his shirt.

  "I want you to sit down," he said firmly, and when she did, he dropped down beside her on the couch and draped his arm over her shoulder, holding her to his side.

  She felt him draw a deep breath and sensed his hesitation when he spoke. "I didn't know where to start, but I was finally able to contact the Fire Department inspector who investigated the—the fire. I talked to your neighbors. The man who heard the explosion and pulled you out of the house still lives next door. I found out about the weeks you spent in Mercy Hospital. But that was all. No one could tell us what happened to you after you were released from the hospital. No one—until we found Rob's mother."

  Dani stiffened at the mention of the woman. Maybe it was only her reaction that made her hear the bitter twist to his words, because there was no bitterness when he continued, only a deep sadness.

  "I finally saw the pictures I demanded from you," he told her. He took her hand in his, weaving his fingers through hers, looking all the while into her eyes and compelling her to look into his. "Hundreds of pictures, but not one of you."

  "There wouldn't have been," Dani whispered, able now to let the hurt show. "She never thought I belonged."

  "Dani—" He seemed unsure of himself, debating whether or not to do something. He was still hesitant when he reached across her and picked up the orange bag. He handed her the package almost apologetically.

  "It didn't seem fair for her to have all that she had and for you to have nothing."

  With trembling fingers, Dani reached into the sack and pulled out a slim white leather photograph album. Her hands were shaking so she could hardly open the cover. Snapshots. At least a hundred of them. Of Bobby as a baby, his wispy hair so pale it barely showed in the picture. Of Rob, beaming at his new son. Of Bobby, learning to crawl, learning to walk, learning to explore. And of Rob, there with him, teaching him, playing with him, laughing with him. The pain of her loss twisted through her as she turned the pages, until she turned the last one and closed the book, holding it firmly to her lap with both hands.

  She hadn't quite shed the last tear. She felt them welling up again, felt her breath catching in her throat. She moaned once and then she was sobbing uncontrollably against Nick's chest, soaking his shirt, while he held her, while he rocked her and comforted her, until once again she was spent.

  She drew a long, quavering breath but didn't raise her head from his solid support. "I loved them."

  Nick smoothed stray tendrils of hair away from her face and lightly caressed her cheek. "I know."

  She sniffed and burrowed her head closer to him.

  "No one ever loved me before Rob," she said, at last able to talk. "He and Bobby were my life. I had everything I had ever wanted—love and a family and a home—and in the space of an afternoon it was all taken away. I couldn't understand why I was still alive. And I was so alone."

  Nick tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed her head against him. She heard his words and felt them vibrate through his chest. "Rob may have been the first to love you, but, Dani, he wasn't the last. I can only imagine how alone you must have been—it's inconceivable that that woman could have abandoned you when you so desperately needed help—but that's over now. You'd be surprised how many people love you, and how many more would if you'd let them."

  He spoke soothingly, as though to a child. "Marcie didn't hesitate a second when I called her Saturday morning. All she asked was how she could help."

  "You called her?" Dani sniffed again and moved against him, at last understanding. "I wondered why she suddenly needed my help."

  "I couldn't leave you by yourself, Dani." He tightened his arms around her. "And I was only hurting you by staying. I had to leave to find out what was tearing you apart."

  She pulled away from him. "I didn't mean what I said to you."

  "I know. Can you ever forgive me for pushing you to that point?"

  Forgive him? Nick was asking her to forgive him?

  "I know now what you must have been thinking," she said. "Mr. Merriweather told me…about Marilyn."

  Nick sighed. "He shouldn't have. I should have been the one to tell you. But I suppose it was inevitable that he would. We called him yesterday afternoon from the sanatorium. Without his cooperation they would never have talked to us."

  Dani shifted against him, and the album slipped in her lap. She lifted it as though seeing it for the first time. "Rob's mother would never have given me this," she said reluctantly.

  "No. She wouldn't," he admitted.

  "Then how—"

  "The brothers Sanders can be formidable," he said, and it was obvious he meant to say no more, but Dani had no intention of pressing that question. She was too stunned by what he had said. "We," he had been saying. "Us."

  "Tim?" she asked suddenly. "Tim went with you? Tim knows?"

  "Knows what, Dani?" Nick questioned her sharply. "He knows that you suffered a tragic loss. He knows that for a while the pain of that loss was more than you could bear. Why shouldn't he know that?"

  He held her away from him, looking into her eyes. "There's more, isn'
t there?" he asked.

  She shook her head, afraid to speak. "I—" She could remember so well now, all the things Rob's mother had said. "She told me—" She caught her hand to her mouth and rocked herself back and forth, hearing the words, letting herself hear the words that had clawed so long at her memory. "God, how she must have hated me," Dani moaned. "And I believed her. I didn't want to believe her, but I did. All these years."

  Nick stilled her rocking, his hands firm on her shoulders. "What did she tell you, Dani? What else did that woman do to you?"

  She stared at him, at the steel edge of anger reflected in his eyes, and knew, intuitively, that it was not directed at her. Why had she never challenged those words before? Why had she been so afraid of letting them surface? She felt her own anger welling within her, clamoring to be let out.

  "Damn her!" she cried. "It was not my fault!"

  She felt Nick's hands clench on her shoulders. "She told you that?"

  Dani nodded, remembering… remembering. "Time after time. She was there every time I woke up—"

  Nick spoke gently, interrupting her stammered words. "She poisoned you with her bitterness when you were too vulnerable to recognize what she was doing. Dani, it was an accident. No one is to blame for what happened."

  "I know," she said. And she did. She knew it, and she felt it. "I know," she cried. "I know it now, Nick!"

  She felt suddenly light and young and free. She threw her arms around Nick and hugged him close. "Thank you," she said fiercely. "Oh, thank you."

  He circled her with his arms. "Why are you thanking me, Dani? You're the one who did all the work."

  She hid her face against his neck and didn't answer. Now was not the time to tell him she wouldn't have gone through this if she hadn't thought she'd lost him.

  He pushed her gently away. "Go wash your face," he said softly. "We're getting out of here."

  She sat up with an embarrassed laugh and brushed at her cheeks. "I must look awful."

  "No," he said, smiling at her. "But with my reputation, I don't want to run the risk of someone thinking I've been beating you."

  "Oh." She clasped a hand to her mouth.

  "Dani, I'm teasing."

  "I know you are," she said. "But I just remembered Sam Wilson. Are you in a lot of trouble?"

  "No," he said. "Wilson and I reached a compromise. One I can live with, and one he'd damned well better." He traced tentative fingers across her cheek. "And you're not in any trouble either. I know how much your career means to you. He won't do anything to jeopardize that."

  She turned her face into his hand in a moment of silent gratitude, then she smiled hesitantly at him, not wanting to drop the subject but knowing that now was not the time for this discussion either.

  He stood up and held his hand out to her. She clasped it and let him help her to her feet, wanting to walk into his arms but going instead toward the bedroom.

  Her suit was crumpled beyond belief. She'd have to change. And why not change into clothes he preferred? She knelt by the garbage bag in the back of the closet, struggling with the knot until she freed it. She took out the jeans and gauze blouse and then shook her head. She had stuffed them into the bag with no thought of ever wearing them again, and now they were as impossibly wrinkled as the suit she wore. She folded them and placed them on the floor beside the bag. There would be another time for them.

  She took slacks and a blouse from the rack and walked into the bathroom. The image that greeted her from the mirror did look awful, ravaged by tears, with red, swollen eyes. She turned on the cold water, splashing it against her face to try to take away some of the swelling. She thought she heard noises from the bedroom, but when she turned off the water, she heard nothing. Quickly she changed clothes and reached for her makeup. Makeup wouldn't help, she realized. But time would. Just as time would help the headache and the crushing weariness that had settled over her. Just as time would help heal the wounds between her and Nick. He cared for her. No one could have done what he did for her without caring. And if he cared for her there was hope—that he still loved her, or that he could love her again, and this time he would never doubt that she returned his love.

  She noticed a subtle difference in the bedroom and in the closet, but she didn't stop to identify the difference. She remembered that her shoes were in the living room, beside the couch. Her stockinged feet made no noise as she entered the room, and she stood quietly, smiling, as she watched Nick playing with the kitten. A month before she had told the cat there was nothing here for him, or for her. How wrong she had been. As Nick bent to let the cat drop down to the coffee table, her gaze followed him and she saw her suitcase sitting beside the table.

  "Where are we going, Nick?" she asked, praying for one answer.

  He spun around to face her, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You don't belong here anymore, Dani. I'm taking you home."

  Home. Home with Nick. The closest thing to heaven she would know in this life. The answer she had prayed for. But now Nick, always so confident, seemed apprehensive. "If you want to go," he said softly.

  "Oh, yes," she said, gliding to him as she had wanted to earlier, feeling his arms wrapping around her. "Oh, yes."

  "Dani…" Still, he hesitated. "When you live with an alcoholic, as Tim and I did, growing up, you tend to color other persons' actions with your own memories. I didn't believe what I said to you, about drinking, any more than I believed what I said to Tim, but I was caught in my past. It was as though I had to draw those comparisons, even knowing they were wrong." He sighed deeply. "Tim and I had a lot or time to talk together this weekend. I finally convinced him to let someone else handle his case load so that he can have his vacation. That's really all he needs." His eyes pleaded with her for understanding. "My family is still at the house. If you think—if you'd rather not be with them now, I can take you somewhere else, anywhere else you'd rather go."

  What was he really saying? Was he afraid she was not ready for his family, or was he afraid his family was not ready for her? She looked at him questioningly.

  "They want you to be a part of us." His arms tightened around her. "I want you to be a part of me. But I know you still have things to sort out. Don't let what I want rush you into a decision you'll regret."

  She put her fingers to his lips to silence him. Joy flooded through her with a sweetness she had never imagined. He did love her, and now, now was the time to tell him.

  "I want to be with you," she said, "wherever you are… I love you, Nick."

  She felt him release pent-up breath. "I know," he told her.

  "You know?"

  "I've known for weeks, but I was afraid you'd never realize it."

  He bent to her then, and she went on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around his neck and arching into the curve of his body. She felt his hands in her hair, scattering pins as he loosened its waves to fall over her shoulders. He lifted her from the floor as their mouths met in a kiss so achingly full of promise she moaned and struggled closer to him. He turned with her, and she felt something solid beneath her feet. The coffee table. She thought fleetingly that they must forever make a place for that coffee table, and then she thought no more, because Nick was molding her to him, his hands as hungry for the feel of her as hers were for him, his mouth as hungry for the taste of her as hers was for him.

  "God, Dani," he whispered against her throat, "I thought I'd lost you."

  "Never, Nick," she promised. "Never, I—ouch!"

  Nick pulled away from her, his glance following hers as she bent to her leg. The cat that was not her cat, too long ignored, was busy climbing the leg of her linen slacks. She lifted him up, disengaging his sharp little claws, and then brought him up to rest on her arm. He was still small, still defenseless, and still, she now accepted, dependent upon her.

  She glanced a question at Nick. He laughed, gathering her and the kitten to him. "Yes, D.C., you can go too."

  "D.C.?" Dani asked.

  "Short for Dani's cat,"
he said. "You're going to have to call him something."

  He lifted her from the coffee table, letting her slide down the length of him until her feet rested on the floor. She leaned against him, feeling the energy flowing between them, bonding them. His love was more than she had dared to dream for, but never again would she doubt it. She looked up at him, letting him read in her eyes the love she felt for him.

  His smile was the sunshine that had been missing from this gray day. "Let's go home," he said.