After patting Buffy, Harly straightened to face him. “I hope you found your peace, Alex.” There was sincerity in every thread of her words. “I am sorry. I can’t redo anything, but I hope you understand.”
He studied her for several seconds. Yes, he did feel a sense of peace, he did understand, but there was still a tightness in him, one that should have eased. It was a puzzle to mull over later when he was alone.
Reaching out, he laid his hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her cheek. “I do understand, Harly. Thank you.” Stepping back, he added honestly, “I regret last night, it should never have happened. But as you said, it can’t be undone.”
They stood in the doorway looking at each other. The light was bright in the yard, the night chill, the house warm and welcoming.
But it was her house, not his. He had his answers and that was the end of it. He could have his two weeks holiday with Paul before heading back to the city to his family, and from there back to the army base.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked suddenly.
“Sure.”
“This happened sixteen years ago. Some men would be angry, but it seems…” She stopped.
“It seems?” he asked curiously.
She searched for the right words. “Fresh. No, not fresh. Ummm…it’s not an overreaction, it’s…I can’t find the right words. Men would be angry, annoyed, but you were furious last night. Really mad. More than mad, if that makes sense.”
He stared down at her.
Nervously, she shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry. I can only go by my own family’s reactions, so maybe your reaction is perfectly normal.”
It was normal. He had a right to be mad, especially when it came on top of…when it happened right after…Oh Jesus. “I have to go.”
Without another word he turned and strode away, getting into the Jeep and shoving it into gear, driving down the driveway and out through the gate without allowing his thoughts to progress further. Getting out, he closed the gate, glancing briefly towards Harly’s house as he did so. She was standing there in the glow of the house lights, watching silently. She didn’t call out, or if she did, he didn’t hear it. He waved once, curt and brief, then got into the jeep and drove back towards Paul’s place.
Pushing away his troubling thoughts, his sudden doubts, his disturbed feelings.
Because Harly had just prodded a wound he hadn’t realised was still very sore.
And he was starting to wonder… No, he couldn’t wonder, couldn’t think about it, because it wasn’t possible.
It had nothing to do with it, nothing.
Nothing.
~*~
Sitting on the sofa with her foot propped up on the foot rest, Harly carefully stroked the lilac nail polish onto her toenails. The lounge was cosy, one lamp near the sofa casting a pale glow, another lamp near the doorway doing the same. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn against the chill night air, the mantle clock ticked the minutes away, and Buffy and the cats were sprawled in their usual sleeping places, the cats over the furniture and Buffy on her cushion in front of one half of the sofa. The TV played one of her favourite British cop mysteries, she could smell the lavender scented body talc she’d used after her shower, her flannel nightgown was comfortable and warm against her skin, the little bar heater warmed the immediate area, she had a hot Milo steaming on the coffee table, and tomorrow she was working on her sewing orders and didn’t have to go into the café.
Wiggling her toes, Harly studied the colour approvingly.
For the first time since Alex had come to town she felt light, as though a huge load had been lifted from her shoulders. He knew about the pregnancy, he accepted it, he wasn’t mad at her anymore…she guessed. He’d seemed okay, understanding, and the shock on his face when he’d realised that she’d been scared of him had warmed up a little part of her heart.
Life right now was good. Oh, she thought about the baby now and again, she even had a little cherub statue out the back amongst the roses in memory, but the reality was it had happened sixteen years ago. Her unknown baby would always have a special place in her heart, and she sometimes wondered what life would have been like if her body hadn’t spontaneously aborted the baby, but again the reality was it had happened, and she’d accepted it. Time had healed her wounds, and this last part, the facing up to Alex, had closed the chapter in her life peacefully.
Twisting the cap back onto the nail polish bottle, Harly placed it onto the coffee table and retrieved the hot mug of Milo, leaning back to comfortably stretch her legs out to rest on the foot rest while she sipped at the hot liquid.
Yes, she felt at peace.
Alex, however… She frowned. Okay, he possibly wasn’t going to get over it as fast as her, but the reality was that he hadn’t known about the baby until five months ago. He’d be mad, sure, and his acceptance had been there when she’d told her story, she’d seen the acknowledgement on his face, but there was still a tightness around his eyes, a feeling of something not right.
When she’d asked him, his expression had changed, going from puzzlement to shock before he’d yanked down that inscrutable mask he wore so well, and then he’d left her like a bat out of hell.
So there was something else going on, but whether it was to do with the baby or more, she wasn’t certain. It was linked, that much she was figuring out, but what, how, and why?
Taking a sip of Milo, she started unseeingly at the TV screen, not even noticing the chase scene playing out in the bright glow.
Maybe Paul would know? Did she have a right to ask him? What if whatever was wrong, he didn’t know and it brought up questioning that Alex wouldn’t like and might even make him leave early? She certainly didn’t want to cause trouble between two friends.
And really, was it any of her business? And why should she care?
Looking down at old Pepper, who had climbed into her lap and curled up, she murmured, “See, this is why I like my quiet, uncomplicated life. It’s so much more appealing.”
The next day dawned with clouds in the sky and the promise of rain. Dressing warmly, Harly took Buffy for a walk down the road, waving at the few neighbours passing in their cars. Returning to the house, she swept and mopped the floors, cleaned the bathroom and toilet, and dusted. Once the house was clean, she retreated to the big back room.
The sewing room had five sewing dummies in it of different plus-sizes, bolts of material, boxes of cottons and buttons, cupboards and drawers and boxes with lace and beading and braids and anything else she found interesting or needed, clothes patterns, several tables and pretty much everything a dedicated clothes maker used.
After switching the main sewing machine on, she circled the sewing dummy, making a few minor adjustments to the sewing pins holding the tiny print flower material on it. The colour was white, the flowers gay little prints of blue, pink, bright yellow and red. The dress size was a twenty six. Neither the dress pattern nor the dainty print was one normally found in plus-sized clothes in shops. Many of those were dark with glaring prints, and the fashions were similar. Nothing really pretty that was affordable for the average plus-sized girl, be she a working girl, a mother, or any other class on an average wage.
Stepping back, Harly smiled. This dress was one that could be found on the racks of what was considered a ‘normal sized woman’, only in a much larger size.
The wonders of being able to sew and make patterns. She rarely bought her own clothes anymore, for those dresses she found that she liked were very expensive. It had been her own flair for sewing beautiful clothes in pretty prints and patterns that had slowly but surely gained her a following, and now she earned money part-time making clothes for other fuller figured women and girls.
There were no limits now. Women she’d never met sent her their measurements and pictures, with ideas of what they liked to wear, and through email communication she’d made many friends and sewn many clothes.
After switching on a CD of assorted music,
both rock and romantic, she carefully removed the pinned material from the dummy, sat down at the sewing machine and started the careful task of sewing the material together.
Lost in the love of sewing pretty articles, the music soft in the background, the time passed quickly in the hum of the sewing machine, the click of her scissors, and the rustle of material and paper. By the time hunger pangs finally broke her concentration, she looked up to see that it was raining outside. For several minutes she enjoyed the view through the window. Outside the trees were fresh but wet, and the plants nodded under the light but persistent droplets of rain. Thunder roiled in the distance.
Turning away from the view, she spotted Sunny, her female ginger cat, the youngest of the animals at two years old, playing under the far table with a length of braiding. Laughing, Harly went down on her knees and pulled the braiding while Sunny pounced and rolled, swiping at both her and the braiding.
Buffy looked up from where she lay on the carpet near the door, but after sleepily blinking, she laid her head back down and closed her eyes.
Switching off the sewing machine and CD player, Harly went through into the kitchen and turned on the light. The phone rang just as she entered and she picked it up as she crossed to the ‘fridge.
Opening the ‘fridge door, she surveyed the contents while murmuring, “Hello?”
“Harly?” Becky queried.
“Would it be anyone else at my number?” Smiling, Harly took a chunk of cheese from the chiller.
“You never know,” Becky replied. “Are you all right?”
“Of course. Why?” Laying the cheese on the kitchen bench, Harly opened the bread box and took out the packet, drawing out two slices before closing the bag and returning the loaf to the bread box.
“Just wondering, you being out there by yourself and all.”
“And all? Define ‘all’.” Slicing the cheese, Harly laid it on both slices of bread.
“Well, you’re alone.”
“No I’m not. I have my fur-babies.” She lit the grill.
“I mean, you’re all alone when it comes to human company.”
“Just the way I like it.”
“Don’t be like that.”
Placing the two cheese-covered slices of bread on the grill plate, Harly closed the door and picked up the kettle. “I can be like this whenever I want, and now is one of those times.”
“Huh, let me guess. You’re holed up sewing clothes.”
“I’m enjoying it, I’m not ‘holed up’.”
“Want to come over for lunch?”
“Thanks, but no.” Harly looked out the window. “It’s pouring with rain out there.”
“What, you’re worried that you’ll melt while running to your car? Toughen up, girl!”
Laughing, Harly switched on the kettle and retrieved her mug from the draining board. “On the contrary, I love my solitude. I’ve got music going, my sewing machine running hot, Sunny demolishing my braiding, and all is right with the world.”
“So I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ to lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Bummer.” Becky sighed.
“But I do thank you for the invitation. It’s a lovely thought.”
“But not lovely enough to entice you out of your cave.”
“I love my cave. It’s all mine. It’s cosy. It’s solitude.” Harly smirked, even though she knew her friend couldn’t see it. “Oops, did I say ‘solitude’ out loud?”
“Yes you did, you cow. You’re such a snob.” Becky tried to feign hurt feelings over the phone, but the thread of amusement in her tone kept coming through.
“So, am I right in thinking that you’re bored?” Harly flipped a tea bag into the mug and got out a teaspoon.
“Paul’s home. How could I be bored?”
“Ah, desperate then?”
“Hardly. He and Alex are playing a mean hand of poker at the kitchen table. They’ve eaten all my chocolate cake and commandeered the packet of Tim Tams.”
“Are you whining, Becky?” Harly could just picture Alex sitting at the table with the cards in his big hands and a look of quiet, but determined, contemplation on his face. “Make another cake.”
“That’s what Paul keeps nagging me to do.”
There was a male objection voiced in the background.
“Ignore him,” Becky continued.
Hearing another male voice add something, Harly wondered which voice belonged to Alex. It was hard to know.
“And him, too,” Becky added.
“You’re wanting female company to balance the testosterone?” Smiling, Harly switched off the grill and carefully put the grilled cheese open sandwiches on a plate.
“I don’t know about testosterone. You make them sound manly or something.”
Manly was definitely what Harly thought when she pictured Alex. “Or something.”
“So…?” Becky asked hopefully.
“Nope. Sorry.” At her friend’s groan, Harly said, “Seriously, I have to get these orders finished.”
“I could help.”
“I said finished, not destroyed.”
“Oh, that’s harsh.”
“The truth often is.” Harly poured hot water over the teabag. “Read a book, Becky. Put your feet up. Watch TV.”
“Okay.” Becky sighed. “Since you’re not coming to rescue me, I guess I’ll have to.”
“Don’t run the guilt trip on me, sister, it won’t work.” Placing the mug on the table, Harly retrieved the plate of hot grilled sandwiches and sat down.
“Pooh. Okay, I understand that you like being by yourself and sewing. Weird, but okay. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I won’t, but thanks.”
Switching off the phone, Harly laid it on the table and reaching across, she grabbed the book she’d been reading and opened it. Sitting down, she ate and read and sipped her tea, and outside the rain grew heavier.
Thunder boomed, drawing her attention from the book, and gathering up the plate and mug, she washed the dishes and put them away before standing before the window and again watching the view.
There was something about rainy, wild weather that attracted her. Maybe it was because it blocked the road from sight and made her feel as though she were all alone in her little oasis. Leaning forward and angling her head, she peered down the side of the veranda and smiled. On the metal stand she’d set up just under the far end for that precise purpose, about twelve doves huddled together out of the rain. Under cover, they tucked their beaks close to their chests and puffed out their feathers.
Turning off the kitchen light, she checked on the animals, finding Chuckie curled up on her bed and Pepper on the sofa, while Buffy had returned to her cushion by the sofa. Sunny had fallen asleep on a box covered in an old blanket in the sewing room, the braiding lying forgotten on the floor.
After turning on the sewing room light, Harly switched on the CD player and sewing machine once more and settled down to work.
Finishing the main sewing, she put the dress on the dummy and studied it. Nodding in satisfaction, she started on the minor details, adding the zip and buttons before doing the final hemming. Placing it once again on the dummy, she stepped back and studied it.
A flash of lightening in the window made her look out to see that the rain was teeming down and regular flares of lightening were streaking across the darkening sky.
No more sewing by machine tonight, and with a regretful sigh she turned off the sewing machine and CD player. No matter, she could tack the lace around the throat by hand ready to finish on the sewing machine once the lightening had finished.
No sooner had she thought this than the light dimmed before brightening once more. Going out to the kitchen, she retrieved a torch from the drawer as a precaution to the power going out and returned to the sewing room.
It wasn’t long before she was once again immersed in the sewing. It was only when Buffy suddenly barked from the direction of the front of the house
that she realised how late it was getting. As she stood, she saw that twilight was falling outside, or maybe it was earlier but the clouds were making it so much darker. A glance at the clock on the wall as she left the room showed it to be five in the afternoon.
Standing at the front door, Buffy gave another bark and Harly wondered who would be foolish enough to drive out to her place in the terrible weather. Unless someone was lost, then who knew who it could be?
Flicking the outside light on so that she could see properly, her eyes widened in surprise to find Alex standing on the other side of the locked security screen. Slapping his wet cap against his leg, he was just reaching up to clang the bell hanging by the door. Obviously she hadn’t heard earlier because of the driving rain.
“Alex?” Unlocking the screen door, she swung it open. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.” He glanced behind her to the lit hallway beyond.
“Checking on me?” Bewildered, she, in turn, looked past him to see his Jeep parked close to the house.
“Becky tried to ring you when the storm grew worse, but there was no answer.”
“I didn’t hear the phone ring, it must be out. It happens sometimes when the storms are bad.” She frowned up at him. “Why on earth did you come out in this weather?”
“We were worried.”
“I’m fine.”
That all-seeing gaze slid over her once more, unnerving her a little.
“So I see.” Taking a step back, he knocked his sodden cap against his leg once more.
Realising that he meant to go out into the storm, Harly stepped forward instinctively. “You can’t go.”
Almost instantly he tensed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she reassured him, “But it’s teeming down. It’s not safe for you to go out there.”
“I made it here, I’ll make it back to Paul’s.”
“Don’t be stupid. What if you have an accident?”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I made it through the war so far, didn’t I?” His mouth quirked up at the corner.
The Lawson Boys: Alex Page 9
