Forbidden

by Pat Warren

  Sitting on her bentwood rocker at Richard’s bedside, Liz stared at the small ceramic Christmas tree on his nightstand. She and Sara had set it up a week ago and hung garlands here and there and even placed an inflated Santa in the corner to lend a bit of holiday cheer. On Christmas morning the two of them had come in, arms laden with gifts and wearing smiles of false gaiety that didn’t fool anyone. All three had tried desperately to pretend everything was normal.

  Nothing was.

  Now, two days later, it was apparent that Richard was failing rapidly. He’d already beaten the odds, still here seven months after Dr. Emerson’s prediction last May. Reaching to take his cool, thin hand in hers, Liz could scarcely bear to look at the changes those months had brought about in her husband.

  Pain had etched deep lines in his face, and his skin was like parchment. He’d grown steadily weaker and hadn’t had solid food in weeks. The intravenous needle attached to his arm seemed like a permanent fixture. He slept most of the time now, and often moaned aloud at the pain even the strongest medicine could no longer alleviate. At times he would ramble, mumbling to people only he could see, his mind roaming in the past, or perhaps the future. He sucked on ice cubes occasionally and had moments of clarity where he found the energy to say a few words, though the effort cost him dearly. Liz lived for those precious moments when they could still communicate.

  She rarely left his side except to bathe and change, to force down some food she really didn’t want, and to give comfort to Sara, who was already mourning the father she adored. Molly and Dr. Emerson all but begged her to get rest, but she was content to doze on her rocker while Richard slept. There’d be plenty of time to sleep when this was all over, and she knew it would be soon.

  She glanced out the window at a winter moon and shivered involuntarily. It was three A.M., that loneliest of hours. Sara was asleep in her room, as was the day nurse in the guest room next door. Liz leaned forward as Richard shifted slightly. She’d had a lot of time to think over these long weeks of her self-imposed vigil. She’d gone over the days and months and years of their marriage in her mind and realized she had few regrets. They’d had a good life together, and she fervently wished it hadn’t had to come to this end.

  Richard’s eyes opened, glazed with pain. Slowly they cleared, as if he’d willed them to, and he focused on her. Despite the agony she knew he was in, he smiled. “You’re still here,” he managed in a voice that was barely a whisper.

  Rubbing his hand, she gave him her own smile. “You know I am. Save your strength. Do you want a little water?”

  He did, and she held the bent straw to his lips as he managed to swallow a little. He closed his eyes as if drained of all vitality, and she thought he’d drifted back to sleep. But then he looked at her again.

  “I see a white light… down a long tunnel… not long now.”

  She would not insult his intelligence by contradicting him. “Are you in pain?” she asked.

  He denied the obvious, for both their sakes. There was nothing anyone could do about it anyway. “Thank you… years of happiness.”

  Eyes bright, Liz leaned closer. “It is I who should thank you. And I do.”

  He waited for his labored breathing to ease some. “One day… when time is right… thank Adam for me… I love Sara always.”

  There was a moment of shock, then a feeling of rightness, as if a guilty burden had been lifted from her. She should have guessed, as intelligent and intuitive as Richard was, that he’d known all along. “I will, if it ever comes to that.”

  His nod of acknowledgment was almost imperceptible. “And you… always in my heart.”

  Through the long months, she’d not let him see her tears, but she was helpless to prevent them now. “You will always be in my heart, too, darling.” A sob she wished she could have held back broke free as she carefully laid her head on his chest. “Oh, Richard, Richard.”

  Slowly he moved his free hand to touch her silken hair for the last time.

  Adam stared out through the tinted windows of the limo as it made its way along the wet coastal road toward Pacific Beach. A chilly January rain was falling, bringing early nightfall. The sky was thick and heavy with gray clouds, and the sea churned restlessly. His own emotions were in a turmoil as well.

  He’d returned just yesterday from a three-week fact-finding trip through six major cities in Europe, and jet lag still had him in its nasty grip. It was Friday, and with the weekend looking ahead, he hadn’t felt like heading back to Washington just yet. He hadn’t told Diane just when he’d be home. It was probably unfair to her, but after weeks of having people constantly in his face, he needed to be alone awhile.

  They’d sold the house outside Sacramento shortly after Keith’s death; neither he nor Diane was able to handle the memories there. He didn’t particularly like the Georgetown apartment they’d rented and Diane had refurbished, but he also hadn’t seen a house he wanted to buy in the D.C. area. What he really wanted was a house on the sea in California.

  So he’d flown to San Diego and checked in at the Del, thinking he’d make a few calls and spend the weekend house hunting. But he’d been surprised when he’d called Fitz this morning and learned that Richard Fairchild had died shortly after Christmas.

  He’d honestly liked Richard, and though he’d heard he’d been ill, he hadn’t known it was that serious. He wondered how Liz was holding up. He really should call her.

  The day had slipped away from him as he’d finished up some paperwork, and suddenly it was late. On an impulse he’d decided to visit her rather than calling first, since he had the Special Services limo at his disposal. As the driver turned onto the Fairchilds’ street, Adam recognized the pillared house straight ahead. The last time—the only time—he’d seen it had been nearly ten years ago when Richard had thrown him that fund-raiser dinner-dance.

  A lot of water under the bridge since then, Adam thought as the driver pulled into the circle. “Wait here, please,” he said, stepping out into the rain. He dashed up the three wide steps and rang the bell. He heard the sound echo through the house, but nothing else.

  I was pretty stupid, just dropping in, he thought as he stood there, feeling more foolish by the minute. Then he heard faint footsteps, and the door swung open.

  He hadn’t seen Liz since his son’s funeral nearly three years ago, except in his errant thoughts. Her auburn hair hung to just past her shoulders, and her dark eyes looked huge in her much thinner face. She wore an oversize black sweater over black slacks and Garfield the Cat slippers. She gave him a long look, then a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Adam. Please come in.” Liz stepped back, observing the limo in her drive and the look of awkward discomfort on Adam’s face. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  “You,” he answered quietly. “I’m so sorry about Richard.” He reached for her hands, found them almost cold. “He was a fine man.”

  She blinked quickly and nodded. “Yes, he was. The finest.” She closed the door. “Let’s go into the den. I’ve got a fire going. It’s bone-chilling cold tonight.”

  He followed her, slipping off his raincoat and folding it over a chair in the large foyer. “I thought you had help. I’m surprised you answered the door.”

  She curled up on the end of the brown leather sofa and watched as he settled on the opposite side. “I let them all go just last week. We’ve had nurses and others around for over six months. I got so tired of having people everywhere.”

  He knew her to be thirty-seven, yet she could have passed for years younger, even with the new sadness on her features. “Surely you’re not planning to stay in this big house by yourself?”

  Apparently he’d forgotten about Sara, but then they’d never met. Liz hoped they wouldn’t tonight, for Sara was upstairs in her room. “I have a housekeeper here during the day, and a lot of friends who’ve been wonderful.”

  He sat back, angling toward her, wondering how long it had been since they�
�d been alone together. He nodded toward the colorful slippers and smiled. “Cute.”

  She smiled back. Sara had given them to her. “A Christmas gift.”

  He groped for another safe topic. “I imagine you’re aware that Molly’s been seeing Fitz. He tells me they’re good friends.”

  “I think they are. Molly seems to be a one-man woman, and Nathan was that man, the louse; but she’s very fond of Fitz.” She glanced at the tea things on the coffee table and remembered her manners. “Forgive me. I was just having a cup of tea. Would you like a cup? Or I could make you some coffee.” She’d never known anyone who liked coffee as well as Adam.

  “Tea would be fine.” He waited while she went to get another cup, then watched her pour. Her hands trembled slightly. It worried him. “Are you all right, Liz?”

  She handed him a thin china cup. “It’s hard to say. I feel disoriented and so very tired. Yet I can’t seem to sleep for very long at a time.” She sent him an apologetic look. “But let’s not talk about my boring life. I read in the papers that you’re considering a run for the vice presidency.”

  He smiled again, the old boyish grin she remembered from their early time together. “Can you imagine?”

  “Yes. I always thought you’d go far.”

  Adam sighed heavily, unbuttoned his jacket, and leaned back. “I always wanted to. Funny, though, it’s not quite the kick I thought it would be.”

  “My mother has a saying, one that’s not terribly original, but she used it on me all the time I was growing up. ‘Be careful what you want. You may get it.’ It seems to imply that the chase is more satisfying than the victory.”

  “Maybe that’s it. I don’t know. Something certainly seems to be missing.”

  She frowned, serious again. “What is it, do you suppose?”

  You, he thought as his eyes met hers. Aloud he said nothing, just let her study his face.

  She blinked, recognizing a raw need in his steady gaze. After a moment she looked away before he could see an answering hunger in her own. “I don’t imagine any of our lives are perfect.”

  Through the open door, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs, then hurrying across the marble tile. “Mom, I’m going… Oh! I didn’t know you had a guest.”

  From the first sound, Liz had frozen, her stomach plummeting to her slippered feet. Praying for she knew not what, she smiled at her daughter. “Sara, this is an old friend, one you’ve heard Dad and me mention often. Senator McKenzie. Adam, this is my daughter, Sara.”

  Adam rose, extending his hand as the blond teenager came forward and shook it. “Good to finally meet you, Sara. The last time I bumped into your father in Washington, he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

  Sara couldn’t quite manage a smile at the poignant reminder. “We miss him a lot.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Are you going somewhere?” Liz asked.

  “Over to Justine’s. She’s coming for me and a couple of the others, and we’re going to hang around her place for a while.”

  “Is her father home?”

  Sara wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “Yes, Mother.” The blast of a horn sounded out front right on cue. “There she is. It’s Friday, so is midnight okay?”

  Liz nodded. “Please be careful.”

  Sara glanced hesitantly from one to the other. “I could stay home if you’d rather, Mom.”

  “No, it’s all right, really. I’m fine.”

  Relieved, Sara smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Senator. Bye, Mom.” She skipped off toward the door.

  “Take your jacket. It’s raining,” Liz called after her.

  “Got it,” she yelled back.

  “She’s lovely, Liz,” Adam said, sitting back down, “though she doesn’t look much like you.”

  “She resembles my mother’s side of the family,” Liz said hurriedly, then picked up her tea as her mind searched for a change of subject. “How’s Diane?”

  Adam stared into his cup for a moment before answering. “Diane is… Diane. You’ve known her longer than I have.”

  And that sort of takes care of that. She was equally glad not to be discussing his wife. “Is Fitz with you?”

  “Not this time, but I’m lucky to have him, you know. He’s like a rock. People often comment that I’m the stronger, but I believe Fitz is.”

  She thought of her many phone conversations with Fitz, of the way he’d persuaded Diane to adopt a child for his brother’s sake, and of the night of Adam’s accident when he’d called her and they’d both wept. “You’re both strong, but in different ways.”

  “I almost asked him to join me when we spoke on the phone earlier. I’m looking for a house, and I could use his practical advice.”

  “Where are you looking?”

  Adam gazed out the window that faced the sea and watched the rain hit the beach in the distance. “Somewhere on the water. Diane dislikes the ocean, but I’ve always loved it.”

  Liz did, too, but she refrained from lumping herself with him in opposition to his wife. “I know of one that’s just been put up for sale. The Reid house in La Jolla. I remember years ago you told me you loved that old house, that you used to caddy for the owner.”

  His eyes took on an excitement. “Is that house really available?”

  Suddenly he looked like the younger man she’d once known, eager and enthusiastic. “Yes. It’s less than half a mile up the beach from my parents’ home.” She wondered how she’d feel, visiting them and knowing he might be close by.

  “I didn’t know that.” He wanted badly to ask her to come look at the house with him. If he did, would she go? “How are your folks?”

  “They’re fine. Dad’s semiretired, but he still goes in occasionally. Can’t seem to stay away from his office.” She heard the mantel clock chime seven, the sound echoing in the still room as his eyes again locked with hers. She had the feeling that neither of them was saying what they were really thinking. “Sara and I had a late lunch, but now I’m getting hungry. Have you eaten? I have homemade soup and some cold lobster salad.”

  How often they’d shared late-evening suppers that long-ago summer. Memories nudged at Adam, warming yet disturbing. “You know what you used to make that I liked best when I’d show up after a speech?”

  Liz, too, remembered those evenings and didn’t want to. Or did she? “No. Tell me.”

  “Scrambled eggs. And you’d grate in cheese and toast English muffins.” Suddenly awash in nostalgia, Adam shifted on the couch, struggling to stay in the present. She looked so damn beautiful, so quietly vulnerable. He ached to touch her, to hold her.

  “I could make that instead.” She rose. “Come into the kitchen with me.”

  Adam shook his head, shook off the past, as he stood. “I don’t think I’d better. The driver’s sitting out in the limo in a downpour.” The driver who reported to Special Services might mention that Senator Adam McKenzie had stayed for a long while at the home of the widow Fairchild after hours, when she was all alone.

  She swallowed her disappointment, knowing she should have felt relief. “Of course.” Yet she couldn’t resist another try. Suddenly the thought of being alone in her big empty house loomed lonely and bleak. “You could let him go. I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”

  The possibility of being with her for another hour or more, plus the drive back, had him almost dizzy with longing. “I’d like nothing better. But…”

  “But I should know better. You’re a public figure.”

  He sighed as they left the den. “There are days I wish I weren’t.” And this was definitely one of them. “It was a nice thought.” He picked up his raincoat, folded it over his arm. At the door he turned to her. “Get some rest. You’re too pale, too thin.”

  She made a stab at lightening the mood. “A woman can’t ever be too thin, don’t you know?”

  He wasn’t buying it. “Perhaps you’re right, because you’re still the most beautiful woman I know.”
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br />   Her eyes warmed, moistening a bit. “You say the loveliest things, the sort every woman wants to hear.”

  “But you’re the only woman I want to say them to.” Before she could react, he dipped his head and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering a tad too long for mere friendship. Then he opened the door to the rain-swept porch.

  “Thank you for stopping by.”

  “Good night, Liz. Sleep well.” And he hurried to the limo.

  That night, to her amazement, lying down with thoughts of Adam, she slept better than she had in months.

  Gardening was another something to occupy Liz’s hands and mind, to help her along the road to healing after Richard’s death. As she knelt on the grass alongside one of the backyard flower beds and prepared the soil for new plantings, Liz decided she was glad she’d taken it up. In the box from the nursery were yellow and purple pansies, clumps of white sweet alyssum, clusters of yellow marigold, and, to go along the back wall, high-strutting snapdragons. Trowel in hand, she turned the damp earth and yanked out weeds as she moved along the bricked edge.

  The April spring sunshine was warm on her back, and perspiration beaded her forehead, but it felt good to do something physical. Her other two escapes, sculpting and volunteering at Helping Hands, didn’t wear her out physically. By the time she finished planting this flower bed, had some iced tea, and took a shower, she’d be comfortably tired. She needed to be in order to manage even six hours of nighttime rest.

  The nights were the worst, though the long evenings alone were nearly as bad. Sara often offered to stay home, but she was young and popular, heading for her sixteenth birthday in July and her senior year in the fall. Liz felt it would be wrong to chain her daughter to her side on what should be one of the happiest summers of her teen years.

  Easing back on her haunches, Liz examined her progress and decided she’d soon be enjoying the colorful fruits of her labor. She rose, stripped off her gloves, and climbed the stairs to her bricked terrace for a cooling taste of her iced drink. As she finished, she heard the phone ring and walked to the table to pick up the portable. “Hello?”