by Desiree Holt
As she backed out of her garage she happened to spot Clay just come out of his garage, dressed in fatigues. She had avoided him since the night of the blackout, but in the security of her car she could at least wave and say hello.
She rolled down her window. “Off to play war?” she teased.
“Off to the real war.” His face was impassive. “The team has a new mission assignment. I’m leaving here any minute.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so flippant.” She wet her lower lip. “How long will you be gone?”
He shrugged. “Probably a month.” Then he grinned. “Don’t let anyone steal the house while I’m gone.”
“I’ll guard it with my life.”
He walked over to the car and she was glad she had her heavy sunglasses on. “I haven’t seen you since the night of the blackout. You hiding from me?”
“Not at all.” Liar. “Just busy. Find your mystery woman yet?”
“No. Not even a hint of her. And lord knows I’ve tried every possible contact I could dig up.” He scratched his head. “You know, it’s the funniest thing. The other night I almost…” He paused.
Bridget’s pulse quick-timed. Had her body been familiar to him? Had it triggered a memory?
“Never mind. Just my brain playing tricks on me.” He slapped his hand against her car door. “Drive carefully. I’ll see you in a month.”
And maybe the new me, she thought as she nodded and backed out into the street. If things worked out right she might have a special surprise for Clay when he was back from wherever he was going.
* * * * *
“Only for you would I get up at five o’clock in the morning,” Joni teased, tucking the hospital sheet around Bridget a little more snugly.
“I really appreciate this, you know.”
“Of course I know, sweetie. I’m happy to do it. More than happy.”
Georgina Hawthorne had written to let her know that she’d passed the psych eval with flying colors and forwarded a list of recommended surgeons to her. She’d decided making an appointment with each of them was the best way to make a decision, and she felt the most comfortable with Harlen Richards.
Telling Joni about the procedure had been at once frightening and exhilarating. But Dr. Richards had been adamant that she couldn’t be alone, at least for the first couple of days. She’d be groggy from the anesthetic plus she needed ice on and off her eyes every twenty minutes for at least twenty-four hours.
She managed to have the surgery scheduled for a Friday and Joni had eagerly taken two personal days at work. She spent Thursday night with her and drove her to the hospital. She’d be staying at Bridget’s through the weekend and bringing her for her post-op appointment on Monday morning. Since arrival she’d signed enough paper to build a house, had everything checked again but her teeth and had her “before” picture taken.
“I should be mad at you for keeping your books a secret,” Joni said. “And for not telling me all about the masquerade ball.” She brushed a stray hair back from Bridget’s cheek. “But after listening to you last night I understand it and forgive you.”
She’d been told not to eat or drink anything after midnight so they’d opened a bottle of wine with dinner and Bridget had spilled everything. The ball, her feelings for Clay, how she’d started writing the books and the small success she was having. And her publisher’s request that she attend the conference.
“I should have told you before, but it just hurt so much to talk about it. Especially since I never expected to be able to do anything about it. Until now.”
“Until now,” Joni agreed.
“Good morning.” Dr. Richards swept into the room in his scrubs, smiling at her. “All set?”
“More than I’ve ever been,” she assured him.
He motioned to another man beside him clad in the same kind of scrubs. “This is Dr. Heisler. He’ll be giving you some happy juice and keeping you comfortable through the procedure.”
He went on to explain again what they’d be doing and while he talked Heisler inserted the IV line and hung a bag of fluid on the pole at her head. It seemed only seconds had passed before her eyelids drooped and she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up someone was holding her hand and there was something heavy and cold on her face. She tried to lift her other hand to touch it but the same someone grabbed it.
“Uh-uh.” Joni’s voice. “Ice. You have to leave it on for a while. The nurse will be by in a bit to check on you.”
“How…how did I do? Was the surgery successful?”
“One of the best I’ve ever done.” Dr. Richard’s voice right next to her. “Men will swoon when they see your eyes,” he teased.
“I’ll just be happy if they don’t run screaming in horror.”
The doctor took her free hand in his. “Bridget, I can promise you, no one is ever going to make comments about your eyes again, except to tell you how beautiful they are.”
She closed her eyes and drifted off again.
She was in and out of sleep all day, only obliquely aware of the ice being lifted from her eyes then sometime later replaced. Of Joni sitting beside her, talking to her when she was awake.
“Have you been in that chair all day?” she asked when she felt more alert.
“Mostly. I’ll be glad to leave, though. The hospital coffee will rot your stomach.”
“Leave?” She had a moment of panic. “Where are you going?”
“To take you home. Think you can sit up enough to drink something? They won’t let you leave unless you can swallow and pee. In one end and out the other. So get busy. Dr. Richards will be making evening rounds shortly. You’ve done so well if you get a handle on this he’ll be signing you out.”
“How do I look? I’ve had ice on my face almost all day.”
They just took the most recent ice pack off. Let me crank you up and you can see.”
Joni handed her a mirror and what she saw shocked her on many levels. The heavy epicanthic fold was gone, replace by redness and a line of stitches. And of course some swelling. But she could actually see her eyes! It was astonishing.
“Keep the ice on schedule for twenty-four hours and you won’t even have any bruising.” Neither of them had noticed Dr. Richards come in. He leaned closer, examining his handiwork. “Good job if I do say so myself. Okay. Let’s do what we need to and get you out of here.”
Bridget was eternally grateful for Joni, who was religious about the ice packs and made sure she slept with the special goggles they gave her. And fed her. And amused her. And encouraged her.
The post-op appointment showed better than good progress and each day as the week passed the surgical site improved. The swelling continued to go down, she had no bruising and she couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror. On Friday afternoon Dr. Richards gave her a huge smile and told her he’d see her in two weeks.
“You’re my star patient,” he said, and gave her copies of the “before” and “after” pictures. Then he said something strange. “Keep these to remind yourself that it’s really the person inside who counts.”
She celebrated by emailing her publisher to let her know that the conference was a go and by pulling up the conference site and registering. She felt as if she’d climbed a mountain. Her first day back at work she got up early to carefully apply her makeup, especially eye shadow and eye liner. This was the first time she could really use it properly. When she looked in the mirror it startled her to realize she didn’t look like she was squinting. That her entire iris was visible. And sparkling!
What a change!
She wondered how long it would take before someone noticed she didn’t have her tinted glasses on. It wasn’t until she went for fresh coffee in the break room and ran into three coworkers that someone actually commented. But by the end of the day she was basking in the compliments, even if no one realized what they were for. Everyone assumed she’d gotten contacts and that was why she’d ditched the specs. Sh
e didn’t care. She felt good about herself for the first time in longer than she cared to remember.
Telling her family had been a bigger hurdle. Her mother and sister were upset she hadn’t consulted other doctors and even more so that she hadn’t asked either of them to come and stay with her. But they’d been amazed at what they saw during video chats and now she only had one hurdle left to leap.
Clay Randall.
“Be careful how you do this,” the therapist working with her cautioned. “You have high expectations and I don’t want you to be upset by anything.”
“By what?” she frowned. “Are you thinking Clay won’t find me attractive after the surgery? Won’t be glad that he can find his mystery lady?”
“I’m thinking he might not be too happy.”
“I don’t understand. And I won’t let you spoil this for me.”
By the time Clay was back home nearly all the swelling was gone and she was ready to put her plan into motion. At midnight on Friday night she snuck out to his mailbox and left a note in an envelope for him.
Your mystery woman has been located. She will arrive at your house promptly at seven Saturday night looking for her pirate. Wine and snacks would be appreciated.
Saturday after running the errands she needed, including a trip to the costume shop, she sat in an agony of indecision. Should she have mentioned the snacks? Was that too unromantic? Should she have just asked for wine? Would he be shocked when he opened the door and there she was, in ball gown and mask?
Too late now. Everything was in motion. If she backed out she’d never forgive herself. She’d missed Clay desperately every day he’d been gone, distracted only by her surgery and recovery. Soon the waiting would be over. She just hoped and prayed that the connection they’d made the night of the ball was still there.
She took a long time getting ready, spreading lotion over every square inch of her skin, spraying perfume on all her pulse points. Carefully applying her eye makeup. Getting herself into the ball gown and mask. Promptly at seven she rang his doorbell.
“Red!” His eyes lit up when he saw her.
He looked so good, in dark slacks and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“Oh. Of course.” He opened the door wider to let her cross the threshold. “I didn’t know we were dressing formally tonight.”
“Only me,” she said. “And only for a little while.”
“I hope that means what I think it does.” His voiced was edged with lust and something deeper. He waved at the coffee table in front of the couch. A cooler filled with ice and two bottles of wine sat on a tray with two goblets. “As requested.” He winked. “Snacks later, when we need to replenish our energy.”
“Thank you.”
He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one, touching his glass to hers. “To us.”
She nodded. “To us.”
“I don’t know who found you or how,” he said, “but I owe them big-time. I nearly went crazy when you left without giving me your name or a phone number. Do you know I’ve dreamed about you nearly every night since then? Wanted you? Missed you?”
“But it was just one night,” she reminded him. “A night of seduction.”
His face sobered. “No. Maybe that’s the way it began but it was much more than that. Right? Don’t try to deny it.”
Her heart was beating erratically as nervous shivers jittered over her skin. Now they were starting to get to the meat of things.
“And if I agree?”
“Then you’d better have a damn good reason for running out the way you did.” He wasn’t smiling now. “Tell me what it is.”
Instead she set her glass down and slid down the zipper on her gown, letting it pool around her feet and stepping out of it. His eyes widened.
“You’re getting naked when we haven’t even finished our discussion?”
She tried another smile. “I thought maybe I could distract you.”
“Not this time. Tonight I want to see the face of the woman I’m making love to. With.” His voiced lowered. “The woman I think stole my heart.”
Bridget unclasped her demi bra and let it drop, then shimmied out of her thong. She stood before him in just her ridiculous high heels and the mask.
“How’s this?”
His eyes traveled over her slowly, taking in every naked inch, fire dancing in his eyes.
“Good. But not good enough.”
“Oh? What else would you like?”
“I’d like the mask off too.”
Bridget took in a slow, deep breath.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she persisted.
“Absolutely. I’m not going to let you walk out of my life again and me not knowing who you are. I want to know right now. Because I truly believe we stated something special and I want to know who it’s with.”
“Okay, then.”
With shaking hands she reached back to unfasten the lacings that kept the mask in place. Slowly she pulled it away from her face and tossed it to the floor with her gown. Here it was, the moment of truth.
Clay’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped his wine. “Bridget?”
She trembled with uncertainty. “In the flesh. So to speak.”
“What the hell is going on? You’re Red?”
“Is it so hard to accept?” She reached down for the dress and held it up like a shield, needing something so she didn’t feel quite so exposed.
“But why? I had no idea you even felt that way about me.” He swallowed half of his wine. “You never even let me get close to you. Never. Where are your glasses? I thought you had trouble with your eyes?”
“I do.” She bit her lower lip, wishing she hadn’t thought this was such a good idea. “Did.”
“Bridget, what the fuck is going on here?” Then his face hardened. “Did you pull that whole stunt at the ball to win that stupid bet?”
She was stunned. “What? No. Of course not. I just…wanted to be with you and there was no way you’d ever…”
“Ever what? It might have helped if you’d given me a signal here and there. Was it just the sex? Was it, Bridget?”
She shook her head, tightening her hands into fists at her sides. “Of course not.”
But he wasn’t hearing her. “Thought you’d have a good roll in the hay with the military stud next door? Was that it?”
“No.” Tears were burning her eyes. “Nothing like that.”
“Then what?” His eyes widened as if a thought had just stabbed his brain. “Wait a minute. Why didn’t you say anything the night I… We… When…”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “The night.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t that have been a good time to mention it?”
She lowered her gaze. “I had my reasons.”
“I hope they’re damn good ones, because right now I’m feeling like the fool of the century. And it isn’t a good feeling, I promise you.”
This wasn’t going at all the way she’d planned. “Maybe I should just show you the pictures.”
His eyebrows flew up to his hairline. “Pictures? What pictures?”
“Not the kind you think.” She stepped into her dress, shoving her arms into the sleeves just enough to hold it up, gathered up everything else and fled out the back door.
She’d left her own door unlocked, knowing she wouldn’t be far away. In her bedroom she tossed the dress, the lingerie, the mask and the shoes in a corner, trying hard to stave off the threatening tears. Finding a big t-shirt and a pair of shorts, she dug the pictures from Dr. Richards out of her top drawer and hurried back to Clay’s, her heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest all the while.
He was still standing in the living room, right where she’d left him, like a mountain of stone, his face looking as if it was set in concrete.
“Here.” She shoved the pictures at him. “This is why.”
He took the pictures from her and glanced
at them then looked again, harder. “What’s this?”
“That’s me. Before,” she pointed, “and after.”
He looked at the pictures for so long Bridget was almost afraid to move. She was shaking so badly she had to clutch her hands together.
“Say something. Anything. Please.”
At last he lifted his gaze and looked at her. “So you had a problem with your eyelids. And now you’ve had surgery. Right?”
She nodded.
“You didn’t think you could tell me the real reason you wore those glasses? Or let me know your were interested in me without that whole charade?”
“Oh, right. You would have jumped at the chance. Just like all the other men who took a look at me and made crude jokes. Just like the people who stared at me as if I were a freak.” Anger was fast replacing the anxiety. “I’ve seen the women you date, Clay. And I was very aware of how I looked. You would have taken one look at me and run in the other direction. You told me I had bedroom eyes. Well, you wouldn’t have taken them in your bedroom if you’d seen me as I was.”
He tossed the pictures onto the coffee table. “You obviously have a very shallow opinion of me, Bridget. I go into war zones where I see things so much worse than this they’d turn your stomach. I want what’s inside a woman, not what’s outside.” He paused, staring at her hard. “Did you ever wonder why I never saw these women more than once or twice? Or why I never settled down?”
“I-I thought it was because you’re a SEAL. You go away so much you didn’t want to have to leave someone behind.”
“Do you know how many SEALs are married? My captain’s about to celebrate his tenth anniversary.” Clay came to stand in front of her, glaring down at her. “I’ve been looking for a woman like Annie McCord. Someone strong and independent, who loved me unconditionally for who I am, not what I am. Who would make a home for me to always come back to. Who understood what I do. In the short time we spent together I had the feeling you might be that person.”
“Please.” It seemed to be the only word she could force out of her mouth.
