Promises, Promises

by Shelley Cooper

  “And the seventh?” Gretchen asked.

  His gaze skittered away from hers. “She died,” he said hollowly, adding, “She was six months pregnant. We couldn’t save the child. I just left her husband.”

  How hard it must have been for him, Gretchen thought, to tell that young man of his loss and then come home to his pregnant wife. “Oh, Marco, I’m so sorry.”

  He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Me, too. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go take a hot shower.”

  She had everything ready when, towel draped around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and let out a cloud of steam. In a glance, Gretchen saw him take in the dim lighting, the bedcovers that she’d rolled to the foot of the bed, the towel spread across the sheets, and the bowls of fragrant oil she’d placed on the table on his side of the bed. Marco looked from her to the bed and back to her again.

  “What’s all this?”

  “I thought I’d give you a massage,” she said. “Unless, that is, you’d rather just go to sleep.”

  “A massage sounds wonderful.”

  “Great.” She patted the bed. “On your stomach, please.”

  Dropping the towel, Marco quickly complied.

  Gretchen started with his shoulders, rubbing in the oil and kneading his tight muscles.

  “God, that feels so good,” he said with a groan.

  “That’s the whole point,” she replied. “I took a course in therapeutic massage when my dad was sick. It helped him relax, too.”

  “You can help me relax anytime,” he said.

  As she worked her way down his back and arms to his legs and feet, she could literally feel the tension melt and drain away from him. By the time she finished with his toes, Marco was hovering on the edge of sleep. Gretchen felt a tug on her heart as she pulled the sheet up over him.

  She was in the bathroom washing the oil from her hands when she heard the phone ring. Who could be calling at this time of the night?

  Grabbing a hand towel and stifling a curse, she ran for the bedroom, but she was too late. Marco was already sitting up, his legs swung over the side of the bed, the receiver to his ear. He talked softly for a few minutes, then quietly hung up the phone. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, he sat unmoving, as if gathering his strength. Surely that couldn’t have been the hospital, demanding that he come back in?

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  “Brian,” he said dully. “Val has asked him for a divorce. She’s assured him that there’s no chance of a reconciliation.”

  “Oh, no.” Gretchen’s heart broke for the couple she’d come to know and like. And for Kristen, whose life would never be the same. “Are you okay?”

  The eyes he raised to hers were turbulent with emotion. “It’s not like I haven’t known for some time now that they were on shaky ground.”

  “Still,” she said, “this must be really hard for you.” Especially after the day he’d just had.

  “Harder than I ever thought it would be.”

  “I understand. Your friend is hurting, and that’s painful for you to watch.”

  He shook his head. “If only that were all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The turbulence in his eyes increased. “Can’t you see? I was certain that if any marriage could survive the wear and tear of a demanding job, Brian and Val’s would. But if their marriage, a union based on love, can fail, what chance do the two of us have?”

  Throat working, he tore his gaze from hers. “What chance do we have?” he repeated softly.

  Gretchen felt the impact of his words like a punch to the stomach. Her heart gave a hard, painful twist. If she looked closely enough, she was certain she’d be able to see the ruins of her world crumbled at her feet.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t trust herself to speak, and, after all, what was there left for her to say? Any hope she’d had that Marco would tear down the walls he’d built to protect himself from intimacy had just died.

  At least the death had been swift and merciful.

  He stood up and began pulling on clothes. “I have to go. Brian needs me. I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.”

  Marco’s taillights disappeared from view, and Gretchen let the curtain fall back into place. Eyes burning, she turned to survey the bedroom. Her gaze fell on the empty bed, where the indentation of his head against the pillow was still visible, and with a cry of despair she sank to the floor.

  Pulling her knees to her chest, Gretchen wrapped her arms around her legs and, rocking back and forth, let the tears fall. She cried for a long time, then sat motionless for an even longer period. Finally, dry-eyed and determined, she climbed to her feet.

  She had filled one suitcase by the time Marco returned. Without bothering to acknowledge his arrival, she emptied the contents of her underwear drawer into a second.

  “What are you doing?” He sounded wary.

  She drew an unsteady breath and ruthlessly stemmed a fresh round of tears. She refused to cry in front of him. Nor would she get emotional about what she had to do. After everything he had been through today, the last thing Marco needed was her weeping all over him. And, in the future, when she looked back on this moment, she would like to think that she’d kept her dignity.

  “Packing,” she replied in a surprisingly steady voice.

  “Going on a business trip?”

  “I’m going home, Marco.” Thank goodness she’d put off finding new tenants for the duplex, and that they’d left her half furnished. Maybe, in some small corner of her mind, she’d known that she would be returning.

  She snapped the suitcase shut and placed it on the floor beside its twin. She would collect the rest of her belongings later, preferably when Marco was at the hospital.

  “This is home, Gretchen,” he said.

  “No, Marco, it’s not. This was just a temporary way station.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I ran out on you like that. But Brian needed me.”

  “I’m not angry that you went to be with your friend,” she said softly. “How could I be angry about that?”

  “Then why are you leaving?”

  Not why are you leaving me, but why are you leaving. “I guess you could say I’ve finally come to my senses. My only regret is that this didn’t happen before I obligated you to me by marriage.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he said heavily. “Can’t this wait at least until sunrise?”

  Even from the depths of her despair, Gretchen could feel compassion for him. He’d had a hell of a day, and she wasn’t helping matters. But if she didn’t leave now, if she climbed into bed beside him and waited until morning, she might not have the strength to do what she knew she had to do. And to wait any longer was just to open herself up to more pain.

  “I don’t think so, Marco.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “Just a couple of hours ago you were giving me a massage. Now you’re leaving. If not because of Brian, then why?”

  “Because of what you said.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That if Val and Brian’s marriage, a union based on love, couldn’t make it, what chance does our marriage, a union not based on love, have?”

  It was all so clear to her now, had been from the minute Marco had driven off in his car. No matter how much she hoped and prayed otherwise, he would never let himself love her. While she could wish for a bright future for them in which that love was a possibility, knowing it would never come to pass, that Marco probably spent every waking minute regretting the impulsive act that had led to this hasty marriage, made it all futile. How he must resent her for that. If that resentment continued to grow, would he pass it on to their innocent child?

  The sad truth was that, weak and pitiful as it made her, she needed to be needed. And Marco didn’t need anything but his work.

  “You’re right, you know,” she said, her heart heavy. “Our marriage doesn’t stand a chance. I’m not blaming you, and I’m not blaming me
. It’s no one’s fault. This marriage never should have taken place.”

  Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands together. “Have you forgotten why we did this?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten. Our hearts were in the right place. It was our reasoning that was skewed.”

  “How so?”

  “We got so wrapped up in doing what was right, of providing our child with two parents who lived under the same roof, that we forgot to look to the years ahead. The long, empty years ahead.

  “I remember how close my parents were. There was never a question in my mind of their devotion to each other. Every time they laughed, every time they embraced, I felt warm and safe inside.

  “I want my child to grow up in that same kind of atmosphere. He or she deserves more than what this marriage can give. I deserve more. We all deserve more. That’s why I’m leaving. Don’t worry. I would never prevent you from seeing your child.”

  She waited for him to protest, to ask her to stay. If only he would ask her to stay. But he just sat there, so remote and contained she felt a suffocating despair take hold of her.

  “You’re right,” he finally said. “You do deserve more.”

  That was it, then. Gretchen felt her shoulders slump. Picking up her suitcases, she headed for the door. She’d taken three steps when the anger took over.

  The suitcases made a loud thud when she dropped them to the carpet and whirled to face him. Her life was falling apart, and he just sat there, impassive. In the long run, she supposed, her dignity wasn’t as important as the things she needed to say.

  “Before I go, I have one last thing to tell you. One last truth you need to hear. It’s not the job that’s preventing you from having a successful relationship, Marco. Just as some doctors make bad marriages, so do people in all professions. But many doctors have good and lasting marriages. You could, too, if you weren’t so afraid.”

  His back went ramrod straight. “Afraid?” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

  “Yes, Marco. Afraid. Of love. The fear was born in you the day your mother died. It intensified when Tess broke your engagement. You’re afraid that if you fall in love with any woman, you’ll lose that love the way you lost your mother. Medicine is safe. Medicine will never leave you. That’s why you’ve dedicated your life to your work.”

  Her hands covered her stomach. “This is what life is all about,” she said fiercely. “Not some career, no matter how much good it does.”

  She drew a deep breath and forged ahead before he could respond. “There’s a hole in your heart. I can hear the wind whistling through it. That’s the real reason I’m leaving. I’m afraid that if I don’t, I’ll wind up with a hole in mine.”

  Spent, Gretchen turned on her heel, picked up her suitcases and walked out the door.

  Chapter 14

  Marco stared at the silent piano. Outside, a storm raged, rain pounding and wind howling. Inside, all was so quiet and still he thought that if he concentrated hard enough he’d be able to hear his heart beating.

  Amazing how a heart could feel as if it had cracked in two, yet still go on beating. It was totally illogical.

  Gretchen had been gone for two days, and he felt as if all the life had been sucked out of the house. It wasn’t a home to him anymore. No longer would the swell of piano music fill the air, nor would the sound of her laughter echo off the walls. It was just a place for him to hang his hat and coat while he wasn’t working.

  When the sight of the piano became too much to bear, Marco turned his back on it. There was no respite to be found, however. Everything he saw bore Gretchen’s touch. The pillows on the sofa. The paintings on the wall. The matching terrariums on either end of the mantelpiece.

  His shoulders sagged. He’d known this would happen from the very beginning. He’d known she would leave. He just hadn’t expected her to go so soon.

  Nor had he expected the force of the pain that knifed through him whenever he thought of her. Each time, it felt as if someone had punched a fist through his chest, grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed hard.

  His mistake had been in allowing himself to hope. And to care. Thank goodness he had his work. Without it he didn’t know how he would be able to go on.

  The only thing that kept him from drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whisky this very minute was his job. But in two weeks, on the first night of his week off, he planned on getting stinking drunk.

  When the doorbell rang, Marco had half a mind to ignore it. But what if it was Gretchen? Maybe she’d forgotten her key.

  “You look like hell,” Carlo said when he opened the door.

  “And you look like a drowned rat,” he growled back.

  Carlo raised his eyebrows. “Testy, are we? Hard day at work?”

  If only that were the reason for his foul mood. “Hard week.”

  “As you can see,” Carlo said, looking pointedly around him, “it’s raining out here. Can I come in?”

  Marco didn’t feel up to company. But Carlo wasn’t one to be easily dismissed without a lengthy explanation. Besides, he had to let his family know sometime that his marriage was over. Now seemed as good a time as any. Without a word he stood back and motioned his brother inside.

  “What brings you out on this ugly evening?” he asked.

  Carlo held up a videotape. “This. It’s from your wedding. I thought you and Gretchen would like to see it. It has some priceless footage of Antonio dancing with a lampshade on his head. Although where he got that lampshade in the first place, I’ll never know.”

  Carlo looked around him, seemingly aware for the first time of just how quiet the house was. “Where’s Gretchen?”

  Marco supposed there was no use mincing words. “Gone.”

  Carlo’s brow furrowed. “Gone where? Shopping? It’s a lousy night to be out shopping.”

  “She’s gone home, Carlo.”

  “This is home.”

  If only she had felt the same way he and his brother did. “Not to her. Our marriage is over. She left me.”

  “When?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “What happened?” Carlo asked. “What did you do?”

  “What did I do?” Anger seized him. He counted off on his fingers. “I bought her this house. I gave her a wedding I thought she’d never forget. I worked my fingers to the bone day in and day out to prepare for our future. That’s what I did.”

  He turned away, and his voice lowered. “It wasn’t enough. She left me, anyway.”

  “Come with me,” Carlo ordered.

  “Where?”

  “The den. I want you to see something.”

  They took a seat in front of the television set, and Carlo put the tape into the VCR and fast-forwarded. When he reached the spot he wanted, he pushed the play button.

  “Tell me what you see,” he said.

  Gretchen’s lovely face filled the screen. It was hard for Marco to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat.

  “Gretchen saying her vows,” he said in a low voice.

  “Look closer,” Carlo said. “At the expression in her eyes. If that’s not a woman in love, I don’t know what is.”

  Marco wanted to believe. Oh, how he wanted to believe. The same way he’d wanted to beg her to stay on the night she left him.

  “It’s just a trick of the light, Carlo.”

  His brother looked as though he wanted to strangle him. “Why are you being so damned obstinate?”

  “Because you don’t know the truth. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  “She’s pregnant,” Marco said flatly.

  “In that case, even more reason for the two of you to stay together.”

  Marco shook his head. “You don’t understand. The only reason she married me was because of her pregnancy. All I was to her was an affair. She’s still looking for Mr. Right. She doesn’t love me.”

&n
bsp; “She told you that?”

  “Not in so many words. But the implication was clear. We wanted each other. We had each other. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing.”

  Carlo was silent for a long moment before asking, “Have you told her you love her?”

  “No.”

  “But you do love her.”

  When had he fallen in love with her? When she’d propositioned him? When he’d watched her cradling Kristen in her arms? When she’d coaxed him from that tree? Or while they were floating in the deep end of the pool, and she’d gazed at him with those big brown eyes of hers and seduced him body and soul?

  The answer was yes to all of them. He’d fallen a little bit more in love with her with each moment they had spent together. A fact he had finally acknowledged when she’d floated down the aisle to him, looking so achingly beautiful he hadn’t been able to believe his luck. She was going to be his.

  Almost immediately he’d been seized by fear. He’d been terrified that it was all a dream. He’d been terrified that he would lose her.

  And now he had lost her. Which was why he’d fought so hard against falling in love with her in the first place.

  “Yes, Carlo. I love her.”

  “Why haven’t you told her?”

  “Because, when she told me she was pregnant, all she could talk about was adoption and visitation and shared custody. Telling her I loved her hardly seemed appropriate. Especially when I had to practically twist her arm to get her to agree to marry me.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that if you had told her you loved her, you might not have had to twist her arm so hard?”

  “And did it ever occur to you,” Marco shot back, “that if I had said those words, she would have believed I was only saying them to get her to marry me?”

  “What about your wedding night?” Carlo asked. “Couldn’t you have said something then?”

  Marco was silent.

  “You were afraid, weren’t you?”

  Instead of answering, Marco said, “Every relationship I’ve ever had, the woman has been the one to break it off. They leave, Carlo. They always leave.”