by Loree Lough
He glanced at the alarm clock. Eleven-forty.
What’s taking her so long? And why is she in there?
They had watched the eleven o’clock news, Dara sprawled on the sofa, sipping the tea he’d brewed her, Noah tilted back in his recliner. Afterward, while he flipped off the lights and locked the doors, she’d gone upstairs. When he rounded the landing, he noticed a pencil-thin streak of light glowing from under the hall bathroom door. Had he said or done anything that had made her feel she wasn’t welcome in the master bathroom?
Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling fan overhead and reflected on their evening.
When they got home after the reception at seven o’clock, Dara had changed into sneakers, leggings and an oversize sweatshirt. When she came downstairs, the first thing he’d noticed was that she’d scrubbed her face clean of eye shadow, lipstick and rouge. How could she be pushin’ thirty? he’d wondered as she’d bustled around the kitchen, preparing a snack from the party leftovers the church ladies had packed up, when she barely looks twenty-one!
They’d had a grand time, he and the kids and Dara, sitting around the table, recalling the events of the day as they nibbled at ham sandwiches and potato salad, baked beans and coleslaw. He couldn’t remember the last time the kids had been so happy, so animated.
Yes, he could.
Every time they’re around her, he’d told himself.
After supper, she’d excused herself to finish unpacking while he and the kids watched an old movie for the hundredth time. Then he’d tucked the kids into bed and listened to their prayers and joined her in the bedroom—correction, their bedroom—where he found her on her hands and knees in the closet. They’d had a short but friendly conversation, and he’d carried her empty packing boxes downstairs, and while she said good-night to the kids, he’d brewed them both a cup of tea.
Nothing that would make her feel unwelcome, he told himself.
Then they’d watched the last half of a show about a cat and a newspaperman or something, and the news. Anyway, he thought that’s what they’d watched; Noah hadn’t really been paying much attention to the TV.
Because he couldn’t keep his eyes off Dara.
In the trim-fitting pants and baggy sweatshirt, she’d reminded him of a fresh-faced teenage girl, stretched out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a mug of tea at her side. During a commercial in the cat program, she’d gotten up to make them another cup of tea, and when she’d leaned across him to get his mug, Noah got a whiff of her perfume. Like lilacs in the springtime, he’d thought, and it had been all he could do to keep from pulling her into his lap and smothering her with kisses.
For that next half hour, as the local news anchor read reports about the state police crackdown on aggressive drivers and the joke-cracking meteorologist delivered another forecast for snow, Noah had wondered what on earth the two of them were doing on a Saturday night, watching TV in his family room. They should have been walking hand in hand on a deserted beach on some exotic island in the Caribbean. This is your wedding night, after all, he’d thought.
Covering his face with the pillow, Noah shook his head. You’re a numbers man, he told himself. You don’t let things slip through the cracks.
But the truth was, he hadn’t forgotten about the honeymoon. Quite the contrary. He’d been afraid to plan one, because what if he did—she’d go along with it, of course, because that’s the way she was—but what if he planned a romantic getaway and Dara gave some slight hint that she didn’t want to be alone with him? She’d married him to clear her father’s name, to see that his kids were properly cared for. And a honeymoon, well, that was for people in love.
Wasn’t it?
Okay, so the big question now was, would she want to consummate their vows…ever…or did she view this a marriage in name only?
You could ask her, he thought, if she’d ever come out of the bathroom!
But he wouldn’t ask her, and he knew it.
Because he was as afraid of that answer as he’d been of the honeymoon.
He tucked the pillow under his head again, linked his fingers together under it. Everything just happened too fast was the answer he immediately gave himself.
But it was a poor excuse, and a lie to boot. Because the truth of the matter was, he’d fallen feet over forehead for Dara, almost from the moment she’d walked into her father’s office at Pinnacle Construction wearing that neat blue teacher’s suit, shiny curls bouncing, bright brown eyes flashing, smiling.
Even if he’d been uncertain then, he’d known it a week or so later, when she’d come to dinner at Bobby’s invitation. He’d taken her in his arms not once but twice! He remembered thinking at the time of a Top-40 song, recorded during the seventies, that went something like “love fits like a hand in a glove.” That was how Dara felt in his arms…as if she’d been created just for him by the Almighty Himself.
“Which switch turns out the lamp?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Noah cleared his throat and lifted his head in time to see her pointing at the double switch plate on the wall near the bedroom door. Now, really; how did she expect him to think straight when she looked like that?
She wore a floor-length white cotton nightgown with soft ruffles at the sleeves and hem. He’d never seen her bare feet before, but they were just as slender and shapely as the rest of her. It surprised him—that little bit of shocking red on her toenails—but it was a delightful surprise. You’re a vision, he thought, swallowing. You look like a princess in that getup.
Impatience must have gotten the best of her, because Dara flipped the switch nearest the door—and started the ceiling fan to spinning above him. “Uh, that one turns on the, ah—”
“The ceiling fan?” she finished, smiling.
He nodded.
“And this one?” She flipped it, turning on the light fixture attached to the fan. Turning off the fan and the overhead light, she said, “Looks like you’re in charge of lights out.”
It seemed to Noah that she floated, rather than walked, toward the bed, the flowing, billowing nightdress trailing behind her like…
Like the train of a wedding gown.
His heart beat like a parade drum, his pulse and breathing accelerating as she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets.
“Okay,” she said, rolling onto her side to face him, “I’m ready.”
Ready?
His heart was pounding now, knocking against his ribs, battering his spine. He wondered if she could feel it, like tiny hammer blows, thudding against the mattress.
Ready? Ready for what?
And then it dawned on him in a quick and disappointing moment…all that talk about which switch worked which light. Levering himself up on one elbow, he rolled to his right, nearly knocking the alarm from the nightstand as he reached for the lamp. Gritting his teeth, he twisted its knob and doused the room in blackness. “You want me to turn the bathroom light on?” he whispered.
“Whatever for?” she whispered back.
“In case you need to—”
“I’ll be fine.”
He could tell by the sound of her voice that she was still facing him.
“In a few minutes,” she continued, “my eyes will get used to the dark. I eat a lot of carrots. Good for night vision, you know,” she nervously chattered.
Chuckling, Noah shook his head. “I don’t know about carrots, but sometimes, you’re a nut.”
She sang that part of a popular candy bar commercial.
Rolling onto his left side to face her, he said, “And sometimes you’re not.”
Dara crooned the rest of the jingle.
Without thinking, Noah reached out, rested a hand on her shoulder. When he realized what he’d done, he half expected her to draw away, to stiffen with fright, to gasp. But she did none of those things. Instead, Dara gave his fingertips a light pat-pat-pat and a gentle squeeze.
And she didn’t let go.
Coul
d it mean what he hoped it meant?
Or was it nothing more than a friendly gesture? You’ll never know if you don’t—
“Noah?”
“Hmm.”
“Why do you suppose that, when the lights go out, people tend to whisper?”
Smiling, he shrugged. “Guess the darkness is a signal of some sort, telling people to be calm, to be quiet, the way nature stills and silences the earth.”
“Aha.…”
“‘Aha’ what?”
“I’ve married a poet, I see.”
He scooted closer, slowly slid his hand from her shoulder to her upper back and, laughing softly, said, “You mean like ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways’?”
A moment of complete quiet went by. “Something like that.”
He wished he could see her face so he’d know what that slight change in her musical voice meant. He moved closer still, wrapped both arms around her, again prepared for her to stiffen, to hold him at arm’s length, to turn away.
Again she didn’t.
Snuggling her face into the crook of his neck, Dara exhaled a long, slow sigh. And the sound of it wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Eyes closed, he kissed her forehead. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings earlier.”
“Hmm?”
“When you were talking about your wolf collection, and I said—”
“You didn’t.”
He felt her shrug.
“I just figured you were feeling guilty,” she said, “for breaking your promise. That you didn’t quite know what to make of having another woman in your house.”
“What promise?”
“You said once that she asked you to promise that you’d find the kids a mother substitute as soon as possible. You said you told her what she needed to hear, but that you’d promised yourself no one would ever take her place.”
If you told Dara that, he thought, you’re an insensitive jerk.
“Francine was never in this house. She never set foot in this room,” he said. “She died nearly three years before we moved to the Baltimore area, remember?”
She nodded.
“And just to set the record straight, I sold every stick of furniture when I put the Pennsylvania property on the market.”
She leaned back a bit. “You did?”
He nodded.
“But why? Weren’t there…weren’t there memories attached to those things?”
Noah sighed heavily. “That’s exactly why I left them behind.”
“Oh,” she said in a very small voice.
“Hasn’t been easy, has it?”
“What hasn’t?”
“Everything. You don’t even have an engagement ring.”
He felt her wrap her left hand in her right. “This little band of gold is all I’ll ever need, Noah.”
She was different, all right.
“But you had to endure a throw-together marriage service and a hasty reception, and—”
“I loved the ceremony, and the reception, too.” She shook her shoulders. “In fact, I can hardly wait until the pictures are developed.”
“Yeah, well…Then you’re forced to sleep in here, with me, so the kids won’t think—”
“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic for you, either.” Almost immediately, Dara began to laugh.
He shook his head. “What’s so funny?”
“Have you ever planned a picnic?”
Noah swallowed the urge to say, What does that have to do with anything? “Can’t say as I have,” he said, instead.
“It’s not so easy, you know, remembering everything—tablecloth and napkins, plates and silverware, something to drink and something to drink from, something to keep hot food hot and cold food cold and—”
He thought maybe he was beginning to understand her…a little. “I get it.”
He heard the smile in her voice when she nodded.
They seemed content, after that, to lie quietly in each other’s arms. Listening to her soft, steady breaths was as comforting as the gentle sound of rain on the roof, and Noah was lulled into a near sleep state. It felt so good, holding her this way, that he had no idea how much time had passed since he’d turned out the light
After a while, her sleepy voice broke the silence. “Noah?”
“Hmm.”
“We, um. We never discussed the…the details.”
“What details?” he mumbled groggily.
Sleepy or not, he had to consider the possibility that maybe he understood her a little too well, for he thought he knew what she was referring to. But much as he longed for her, Noah would not risk frightening her or making her feel put-upon. Because he couldn’t forget what Dara had said: “My father gets his good name back. You’ll get chief cook and bottle washer, and your kids get a substitute mother. What’s in it for me?”
His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness by now, and in the narrow shaft of light that squeaked under the window shade, he could see her beautiful, wide-eyed face. Oh, how he longed for even one kiss from his wife. Noah swallowed hard. Took a deep breath. But the time wasn’t right. She had to trust him first, to know how much he cared for her. “We have the rest of our lives,” he whispered, “to work out the details.”
Her cheek pressed to his chest, she murmured something.
“What’s that, sweetie?” he asked without even thinking, running his fingers through her hair.
“I know it’s been a busy, hectic day,” she said, stifling a yawn, “but I was just wondering…”
“Wondering what?”
“What were you thinking, standing up there on the altar, when Pastor Williams said ‘Do you take this woman…’”
Noah looked into her eyes, which seemed bigger, browner, downright fathomless, in the nearly dark room. Should he tell her the truth? That he was thinking, Get on with it, so I can seal this deal with a kiss! Should he admit that his palms had started sweating and his heart had started thumping as though he’d just run a marathon?
Should he tell her that it had taken every ounce of his control to keep from blurting out that he loved her, that he felt like the luckiest man on earth knowing she’d consented to marry him…for whatever reasons?
No. The truth would only put pressure on her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
One hand on either side of her face, he repeated her question. “What do you mean, ‘What was I thinking?’” ‘
Her eyes sparkled like coal in the moonlight as she gazed into his face. “I mean, was there a moment when you asked yourself, ‘Is this a mistake?’ Was there a point when you considered ducking out the door and—”
He pressed a fingertip to her lips, silencing her. “No,” he said sincerely, “nothing like that went through my head, not even for an instant.”
A smile gentled her features. “But how could you be so sure?”
“Because,” he began, “I’ve never done anything without first consulting God. At least, not since Angie and Bobby came along.”
Dara nodded. “I see.”
Was that…was that sadness in her voice? “What about you?” he asked. “Did you have any second thoughts at the last minute?”
“No,” she said, “not really.”
The words had been what he’d wanted to hear, but she’d said them a beat too late, and she’d stiffened slightly when she’d said them, which could only mean one thing: she had given a thought or two to calling the wedding off. The realization awakened an ache in him like none he’d known to date.
“Remember when I asked you, selfishly, what was in it for me?”
“I remember.” He doubted he’d ever forget. “But the question wasn’t the least bit selfish. You had every right to be concerned about your future.”
His response seemed to calm her, and she relaxed again in his arms. “I think I know what’s in it for me now.”
His heart soared with hopefulness. “What’s in it for you, Dara?” he husked.
She nestled closer still.
“I love Angie and Bobby—”
“I know that,” he interrupted. “Anyone with eyes knows that.”
“But,” she continued, “what’s in it for me…is a baby.”
Was he hearing things? Had she really said—
“I’ve been praying about it ever since you first popped the question,” Dara said. “There’s so much love in this house. I think we’d have a lot to offer a baby. A baby would be good for the kids, would be good for us all.” She sighed sweetly. “I’ve wanted a child of my own for as long as I can remember. I hate to use a cliché, but my biological clock is ticking even louder than that old-fashioned alarm of yours.” Smiling, she tilted her head back, stared into his eyes. “That’s what’s in it for me, Noah.”
“A baby.…”
She nodded again.
He was about to tell her he’d never deny her anything, especially not something as miraculous, as magnificent as a baby, when she pressed her lips to his.
Chapter Ten
Instinct made him slide his hand around to her nape to draw her nearer still, and this time when their lips met, he tried to tell her with his kiss how he felt, how much he’d like to give her…how his heart was overflowing with love for her…feelings he could never describe with words alone.…
Gently, lovingly, he ended their kiss and pressed his fingertips to her lips. “A baby, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding, “a baby.”
A shudder went through him as he looked into her long-lashed, closed eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, “so beautiful.…”
Slowly, her lids opened, and dreamily, she looked at him, and went completely still. “So are you.”
His forefinger traced the curve of her jaw, the slope of her throat. He loved her with all his heart and soul. They’d have children together. Face life’s ups and downs together. Grow old together.
Together.
The word was like a rainbow after a thunderstorm.
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears as he kissed her. She twined her arms around his neck, drove her fingers through his hair and sighed, a long, melodious sound that reminded him of the wind chimes Brother Constantine had hung in the garden at St. Vincent’s.
