Home Fires

by Barbara Delinsky

  “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  “Ah, such sweetness. Such concern for my peace of mind.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel, his strong knuckles turning pale. “Right now I’m concerned with my own peace of mind, Deanna. Now, will you keep still? I need to concentrate.”

  She followed his gaze to the rain-slickened road and realized for the first time that they were on Interstate 85, headed northeast of Atlanta. “Where are we going?” she murmured half to herself. When Mark didn’t bother to answer she angled her head to the side and studied him again. “You know, you make a great ogre. You look terrific when you’re angry.”

  He smiled. Crookedly. “So do you. You also look great with your hair wild like that. But I told you that before, didn’t I? Finally decided to take my advice? Or did you do it just to torment me even more?”

  “You’re an egotist. I had no idea you’d be at my suite!” she cried, raising a hand to smooth her hair, sensing the futility of it, letting it fall back to her lap. “I really look a mess. It’ll serve you right when we stop somewhere and people stare.”

  Mark offered a skeptical “Hmmmph!” but that was all. The rain had increased in force, so he turned away and switched the wipers to double time. Deanna settled back in her seat and peered through the rain-streaked window at the gently blurred rolling hills. There was something real yet unreal about the sight, much like the scene being played out in the car. It was diverting to a point, but as the minutes passed, the traffic thinned and the afternoon drew wearily toward evening, Deanna grew uneasy. Each minute took them farther from the familiarity of Atlanta.

  “Mark, where are we going?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Is there a … restaurant in this neck of the woods?” She had assumed that the point of the jaunt was dinner out together, yet she could see nothing but the occasional turnoff and miles and miles of hilly, seemingly virgin forest The highway was scenic even in the rain, winding up and around lakes, leading ever deeper into the mountains of northeast Georgia.

  “Why? Are you hungry?” It was the first solicitous note he’d offered.

  “A little.”

  “We’ll be stopping in another twenty minutes or so.”

  Twenty minutes. Twenty miles. She grew more and more wary. The germ of a possibility darted through her mind, but she promptly ousted it. He wouldn’t do that …

  But the signs all pointed to it when the stop he’d mentioned turned out to be a general store in a small blink-and-miss-it town in a pocket of the hills.

  “Be right back,” he murmured, climbing from the car and dashing through the rain to the store, returning within five minutes with a large brown bag in either arm, stowing them in the trunk before sliding into the driver’s seat again.

  Deanna watched him mop the rain from his forehead and proceed to unzip his jacket. Then, though the keys were in the ignition, he stretched to dig deep into the pocket of his jeans. When his hand emerged filled with change, she could stand no more.

  “Mark … what’s going on? Where are you taking me? What were those packages? And … what’s that?” Her eyes were glued to his fingers, which had singled out a quarter and two dimes and now held them out to her.

  “That is for a phone call.”

  With the premonition growing stronger, she raised her gaze to confront his. “And who is making a phone call?”

  “You are.”

  “To … ?”

  “To Irma.”

  Of course. Why had she even asked? She nodded as though a phone call had been part of the game plan all along. “That makes sense. ‘Hello, Irma?’” she mimicked a possible conversation, “‘How’s the weather down there?’” The look she turned on Mark was as dumb as she could make it.

  Ironically her nonsense brought a softening to his features. “Come on, Deanna. I really don’t need this. It’s been one hell of a week for me and I’m exhausted. But the cabin doesn’t have a telephone, so this is your last chance.”

  Not only did Deanna’s eyes widen in understanding, but something deep inside lurched with Mark’s fatigue. Whether he knew it or not, there was one sure-fire way of getting through to her.

  Mark held her gaze while he finally revealed his intent “I have a cabin another fifteen miles or so into the hills. I want you to call Irma and tell her that you won’t be back in Atlanta until early Monday morning.”

  “Monday morning? That’s the whole weekend …”

  “Right”

  “I can’t do that, Mark!”

  “Why not?”

  Looking blindly out the window, she grasped at whatever came to mind. “For one thing, I’ve got other plans. Standing appointments tomorrow. A brunch on Sunday.”

  “Irma can cancel for you. She’ll plead illness or … an emergency.” He paused, visibly beginning to relax. “What else?”

  Her attention fell to her jeans. “I haven’t got any clothes—just these! No makeup. No comb or brush. Nothing!”

  “You’ll live without makeup. You don’t need it anyway. And it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve used my hairbrush. As for the clothes, there’s a small washer and dryer at the cabin. Comes in handy.”

  If you know how to use them. Deanna scowled. “This is ridiculous! You can’t just … kidnap me for the weekend.”

  “I can do anything I want. And so can you. This seemed to be the only way I knew of to teach you that!”

  Feeling trapped, in part by a growing excitement at the prospect of having Mark to herself for an entire weekend, she mustered token resentment “Now you’ve adopted my case?”

  “It’s my case too, Deanna. Don’t forget that” We’ll be together, he had whispered on that first momentous night. Just as his words then had given her courage, they did the same now. “Will you call?” she heard him ask, saw the coins still extended to her.

  Her resistance lingered. “If I don’t … ?”

  Mark sighed, obviously having thought it all out in advance. “If you don’t we’ll have dinner at the cabin anyway and then I’ll drive you home.” Period. Done. Her choice. “I’ve brought you this far, but I can’t force you to stay. You’ll have to do that of your own free will.”

  When the action had been his—stealing her away from Atlanta, refusing to tell her their destination while the city fell farther and farther behind—it had been easy enough to accept Now, however, he demanded her participation in the decision-making. She was momentarily beset by all the fears that had entered her life along with him.

  “What did you have in mind for this weekend?” she asked more quietly, knowing he’d be able to read her timidity, unable to hide it

  He smiled his understanding. “Nothing terribly threatening. A quiet weekend. Sleep. Work around the cabin. Walks in the woods. I’ve got enough food to keep us stocked.” He cocked his head back toward the trunk. “I phoned the order in this morning, so it was waiting. They’re very accommodating.”

  Deanna ingested it all, seeing a threat where Mark saw none. She knew there had to be more, so she waited expectantly for him to elaborate, which he did in response to her silent question. His voice was lower, more gentle, so very much the Mark of her fantasy.

  “Yes, I want that too. It’s impossible for me to be with you without wanting to hold you, to touch you and make love to you. That’s got to be part of the deal. If you can’t accept it I’ll drive you back to Atlanta.”

  She wanted to accept it, wanted desperately to feel his arms around her again. It was what she’d dreamed of, what had tormented her temptingly for days. But … what about after? Would he begin to pressure her again?

  “It’s for the weekend, Deanna. No more, no less. You give me your all for one weekend … and I’ll drop you back at the Hunt International on Monday with nothing further said. It’s as much as I can promise—one weekend with no strings attached. Anything later will be up to you.”

  Deanna pondered his proposal in silence. She considered the fears that
loomed as large as ever. Should she agree to spend the weekend with Mark, he would have every opportunity to see exactly how inept a housemate she was. Should she not agree to the weekend, though, she might never forgive herself. It seemed too priceless to pass up, particularly since she’d been whisked away so quietly. Mark was right; Irma could cover for her. Her hair and nails would certainly survive. And as for the brunch … speaking of boredom …

  That was the clincher. She didn’t want to go back to that cocoon in which she’d been so restless all week. It was time to fly.

  Her decision made, she took the change from him and let herself out of the car without another word. The phone booth was just outside the store. As she dialed and spoke to Irma, her eyes never left the shadowed figure waiting in the car, just as she knew he watched her. He had leaned across to open the door by the time she ran back, but he waited patiently for her to settle before he spoke.

  “Well … ?” The one word embodied every last bit of his guardedness.

  “She’ll make my excuses,” Deanna whispered, feeling shy as she stared out the front window. Then she bowed her head to concentrate on the hands clenched in her lap and fleetingly wondered if she’d made the right decision.

  Mark didn’t leave her to wonder long. Reaching over, he took her chin and raised her face to his, slid his hand around to circle her neck, then leaned forward. She knew he was going to kiss her, wanted him to. But he hesitated for an instant when he was still a breath away. Any lingering doubt in her mind was driven away by the warm caress of his eyes.

  “Thank you.” He sighed against her lips seconds before they opened for his kiss. It was deep and real, very different from the kisses of the past. In the confines of the small car under a Georgia mountain downpour there was no element of fantasy. Only life. True and rich. The gentle stroking of his lips, the soft brush of her own in return—these were full and honest in the way that life could be only at its most glorious moments. Deanna had made the decision, a commitment, and his reaction reflected it

  Easing his mouth from hers after a last reluctant sip, he pulled her beneath his arm, snug against his side. The Mercedes was soon on the road again.

  Very slowly Deanna relaxed against his strength. Her initial awkwardness at having so shamelessly agreed to a weekend with him gradually ebbed away, a victim of the same recklessness that had motivated her earlier. It was clear that she would be her own greatest enemy if she spent the weekend worrying about a future without Mark once it was over. She realized that the only sensible course was to live for the moment, to enjoy the weekend without thoughts of beyond—as Mark appeared willing to do. She fit so comfortably at his side. As though agreeing, he squeezed her closer.

  It was quite dark when they turned off the main road and commenced a series of twists and turns that were all the scarier in light of the weather. Deanna found herself sitting straighter and unconsciously squinting to see out the window, wanting to help him find the way. Mark, meanwhile, put both hands on the wheel.

  “You’ve got a great sense of direction,” she exclaimed. “I can’t see a single marker for the life of me. How do you ever find your way?”

  He laughed, a mellow sound from deep in his chest that pleased her with its obvious enjoyment of her awe. “I’ve come here too often to forget. I could almost do it in my sleep. Come to think of it, there were times when I came close.”

  “Sleep? It is a long drive. How often are you up here?”

  “Once or twice a month for weekends. Longer stretches for vacations now and again.”

  “You drive all the way from Savannah each time?”

  He cleared his throat in self-mockery. “I’ve taken small planes several times, but … I’m not much of a flier.”

  “You’re kidding! A man of the world like you? You’ve got to fly if you work in all those different states.”

  “What I have to do, I do. When it comes to business, you’re right I have to fly. When it comes to pleasure, though, I prefer the wheel in my hands and the pedals under my own feet. Besides, a jumbo jet to Des Moines or St. Louis is one thing. A rubber-band hamlet-hopper is another.”

  She grinned. “Well put. But the ride must be tedious, coming up here over and over again.”

  “Not really.” He took another sharp turn, then straightened out. Deanna couldn’t identify much beyond the headlights’ beams and gave up the watch. “I do some of my best thinking during the drive. It’s usually very relaxing.”

  His emphasis on the “usually” provoked her in a good-humored sort of way. “And it’s not now?”

  “The weather, Deanna. My preference is for nice dry daylight This is a little soupy for my taste.”

  She followed his sharpened gaze. “Well … where is this cabin of yours?”

  “Coming. Coming. Be patient.”

  Two more twists and a gentle curve brought them over a rough road into a clearing. Deanna could still see nothing and might not even have known they’d arrived had the car not come to a smooth stop.

  “We’re here?”

  “We’re here.”

  She leaned forward. “I can’t see a thing, Mark!” In the pitch blackness she could make out nothing but large shapes and she would have been hard-pressed to say where forest ended and house began or vice versa.

  “Then you’ll just have to trust me to get you safely inside, won’t you?” Mark growled, playful for the first time that day.

  “I guess so.” She feigned resignation, but the eagerness with which she slid from the car belied her tone. Mark took her hand and led her on up the curved path toward what she now saw to be a building, large in its own right, yet still dwarfed by the surrounding fortress of evergreens.

  “Watch your step,” he warned softly, tightening his grip on her hand when she nearly stumbled on a misplaced stone. “Looks like the rain’s done a job out here. I’ll have to see to that in the morning.”

  They ran up several steps to the cover of a broad overhang, where Mark dropped her hand to unlock the door and shove it open, reached back to usher her inside, then left her standing in the darkness while he crossed the room and fumbled with several switches. The steady patter of rain on the roof almost muffled the hum of the independent generator. In less than a minute, however, the lights flickered on.

  “Let me get the things from the car,” he suggested in passing. “I’ll be right back.”

  He dashed out so quickly that she wondered if he’d purposely left her alone to appraise his home for the first time. Could he actually have doubted that she’d like it? Gasping in pleasure, she grew more and more enchanted as she slowly perused the view. It was a work of architectural genius, a home like none she’d ever seen before. If she’d expected a rustic, rough-hewn mountain retreat, she had totally underestimated his taste, not to mention his unbelievable talent. This home could have been a showpiece in any urban setting, yet he’d chosen to hide it away from the world for his appreciation alone. And now hers.

  Turning her head for a more leisurely examination, she finally began to assimilate what she saw. The first and overall impression had been of a cultured grandeur. Her closer scrutiny broke the house down into each of its component parts.

  From the warmth and dryness of the interior, Deanna saw what she’d been unable to see from outside. The house was predominantly round, its huge front living area taking up two-thirds of a circle. Its walls were wood, as in any traditional cabin, but these planks ran vertically rather than horizontally and were smoothed and treated to give a fine finished ash-blond veneer. Near the back the break in the circular pattern allowed for two variations. The first was in the form of a kitchen, spaciously square and neatly integrated into the whole by a cleanly banded archway. The second was more enclosed, more private. Its door stood ajar, revealing it to be a bedroom.

  Deanna wasn’t quite sure what drew her boldly forward to that room, whether it was the roof of the house with its steady upward slant as it spread back or whether it was the subtle thread of anti
cipation within herself. She moved quietly, oblivious to Mark’s return and the sound of his footsteps headed toward the kitchen.

  She was utterly captivated. Before her was a room as sparsely furnished and decorated as the other, with nothing but the elegance of simplicity to enhance its flavor. There was the bed. Freestanding, not far from the back wall, it was bounded on all four sides by two tiers of steps, thickly carpeted, as was all the flooring in this room. The bed was a throne, an altar. High above it the ceiling reached its apex, its slant embedded with vast skylights that transmitted the spatter of rain rather than the twinkle of stars. She felt as though she were part of the elements, yet she was safely sheltered and warm within.

  Indulging in a final moment’s awe, she turned and half ran to the kitchen, stopping short on its threshold to see Mark very calmly and quietly storing groceries.

  “Mark!” she breathed, unable to contain her excitement even when he looked up so soberly. “It’s fantastic!”

  He finished placing a tin of coffee on the shelf, closed the cabinet and turned to her. “You like it?”

  “Like it? It’s magnificent! How could I possibly not like it?”

  “You could very easily hate it if you resented my having brought you here. It may not be quite as fancy as what you’re used to …”

  His unsureness took her aback, but only for a minute. “I love it! I’ve never seen anything so … so naturally compatible with its setting!”

  “Wait till you see it tomorrow. In the light of day there’s a different feeling still.” Midway through the expression of his pride, his voice caught. “You … are staying, aren’t you? Haven’t changed your mind or gotten cold feet?”

  She shook her head and offered him a hushed assurance. “No. I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll stay.”

  “For the whole weekend?”

  Touched by his softness, she stared at him. So tall and strong, independent and established, he seemed suddenly vulnerable again, depending on her as no one had ever done. Perhaps if she’d had a child to give of herself to, her protective instinct might have been slaked. But she had no child, could have no child. And she desperately wanted Mark to need her.