by Rena McKay
She suddenly wondered if Trev had gone back to the hospital or if he was over at Mrs. Barrone's house. She could just wander over that way, say she thought she'd come over and straighten up the mess in the living room. Then she stopped short, aghast. What was she thinking? She didn't want to see Trev again. Her outburst at the hospital might have been childish, but it was certainly accurate. She did not want to see him again.
The phone shrilled and Robyn raced for it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
It was only Mrs. Barrone's friend Mabel wanting to know how she was. Word had gotten around quickly that Mrs. Barrone had been taken to the hospital. Mabel was blaming herself too, saying she should have checked on Rose. Robyn soothed her, assuring her she mustn't feel guilty.
Robyn poured another cup of coffee after the phone call. Then she stretched out on the floor beside the gas heater, one of her handmade throw pillows under her head, and the phone within arm's reach. Through the window looking out on the park she could see the old redwood stump with the walkway cut through it. It was a favorite haunt of the neighborhood children. Had Trev played there when he was a little boy? she wondered idly.
There, she was doing it again, she thought, catching herself angrily. Thinking about Trev. Why? Why was he always there in her mind? Even now, as she was angry with him for his rude departure, another part of her was remembering the feel of his lean, hard body molded against hers, remembering the powerful heartbeat against her ear, remembering the quickening thud of her own heartbeat. How could she feel even a momentary physical attraction for such an arrogant, cold, materialistic man?
And yet he hadn't been cold or harsh when he was telling his grandmother about their forthcoming "marriage". What if that hadn't been just a pretense? Robyn wondered dreamily. What if it were for real? What if Trev really were in love with her? What if they really were planning to be married… live together… raise a family…
A slow, unfamiliar flood of warmth spread through her as visions drifted through her mind. Trev's kiss… Trev's touch, trailing fire across her body… Trev making love to her, eyes dark with passion.
Robyn sat up abruptly, shocked and horrified at the turn her thoughts had taken. Here she was, daydreaming like some infatuated adolescent! And all over a man she would probably never see again, except across a room at a funeral, a man for whom she felt only scorn and anger.
Briskly she bounced to her feet and in a flurry of activity she answered the mail, whisked through a quick housecleaning and caught up on the gift shop bookkeeping. The activity more or less managed to keep her mind off both Trev and Mrs. Barrone. Later she fixed a light soup-and-salad supper, her glance darting frequently to the owl-shaped clock on the wall. Trev would call, wouldn't he, when something happened? He wouldn't cold-bloodedly leave her to wonder?
Yes, she decided unhappily, when there was still no word by almost nine o'clock. He just might be that cold-blooded. She dialed the hospital and got a rather vague report that there was "No change" in Mrs. Barrone's condition. So there really hadn't been any reason for Trev to call, she thought slowly as she hung up. But he should have called anyway, she decided, anger returning in that odd seesaw of emotions he seemed to arouse in her. "No change" was really news, considering that they had hardly expected her to live through the day.
She felt a surge of hope. Was it really possible the doctors might bring Mrs. Barrone through? There were so many things doctors could do today, new medicines, new equipment, new techniques. On sudden impulse she dialed Mrs. Barrone's home number, thinking Trev might be there. Surely he could tell her more than the hospital's rather noncommittal statement.
She let the phone ring a long time, but there was no answer and finally she hung up, spirits drooping again. Mrs. Barrone's condition had been nearly hopeless this morning. The doctor had said as much. "No change" didn't mean she was going to pull through. It just meant the end hadn't come yet.
Robyn stayed up, head nodding over a book, until almost eleven o'clock, hoping Trev would call with something more specific to report, but finally she gave up and went to bed. Sleep came quickly but it was filled with dreams, half-wakings, nightmares. Visions of Mrs. Barrone, the peaceful look on her face suddenly shattered into horror as an unseen voice shouted:
"Lies! Lies! It's all lies!" Dreams of Trev, sometimes harsh and cold, sometimes warm and tender. The pillow beneath her head turned into his shoulder and when she looked up his mouth dipped to meet hers, and she felt the passion in his body…
She woke groggily, aware of a buzzing in her head that finally translated into the ringing of the telephone. She reached for the bedside phone, struggling to separate reality from dreams.
"Hello?"
"Did I wake you?" With characteristic arrogance Trev didn't bother to identify himself or apologize for the early call. Robyn tried to focus her eyes on the bedside clock. Eight o'clock. It wasn't all that early. She should have been up an hour ago. "I was just getting up," she white-lied. "I tried to call you at your grandmother's house last night but there was no answer."
"I've taken a room at a motel near the hospital. They just let me in to see her for a few minutes."
"She's still alive?" Robyn gasped. She straightened up in bed, propping the pillow behind her. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "How is she?"
"Holding her own, surprisingly. I think she'd like to see you."
"You think?"
"She's too weak to say more than a word or two. The stroke has affected her speech slightly."
"Then this doesn't mean—"
"That she is going to recover? No," he said flatly. "It just means we have to keep up our charade a little longer."
Robyn's heart flip-flopped. "You think she remember what we told her?"
"I don't know. It's hard to say." He paused. "Don't you want her to remember?"
"Yes, of course I do. As you pointed out, a certain peace of mind about your future is about all we can do for her now."
"Did you tell your friend Larry about this?" Trev remarked unexpectedly.
"Of course not," Robyn said indignantly. "This is just among the—the three of us." What did he think, that she would go around bragging she was "engaged" to a famous author? She had a sudden, angry suspicion that in spite of his concern for his grandmother he might be a little amused by this situation. He probably thought he was giving her a real thrill. "I'll be over as soon as I can get ready," she finished crisply.
"Good. I'll see you later then."
Robyn slumped back in the bed for a minute after hanging up the phone, feeling a little disoriented by the jarring transition from sleeping to waking. And she blushed to remember what she had been dreaming when the phone wakened her. Mrs. Barrone might not think she was such a "nice, sensible girl" if she knew about that dream!
She dressed in a neat blouse with standup collar and belted pants and hurried through a cornflakes breakfast. It was less than forty-five minutes after Trev's call when she guided her economy compact car out of the carport. The sky was clear today, the wind brisk. She fought the urge to drive the winding, redwood-lined road to Redwood Valley faster than her usual speed. Her tires were getting a little thin and this, of all days, was no time to have a blowout or accident.
Trev's Ferrari was in the hospital parking lot when she pulled in. She went to the main hospital entrance this time. Trev met her, as if he had been waiting and watching for her. Their eyes met, held, and Robyn's glance dropped first. He hadn't wanted to call her this morning, she suspected, perhaps wouldn't have if his grandmother hadn't asked for her.
"May we see her now?" Robyn asked coolly.
"Not now. At least there isn't any point in seeing her now. She's sleeping. Or maybe it's a coma. I don't know. I'm not sure they do." He sounded uncharacteristically agitated. "If I could just get her down to the Daydecker Clinic in San Francisco—" He broke off, ran a hand through his hair, then got control of himself again. "I should have waited to call you," he said stiffly. "No need for you
to rush over so early."
"I don't mind," Robyn said. She gave him a sideways glance. "You rushed off in somewhat of a hurry yourself yesterday morning."
"You had company." He looked down at her, blue eyes appraising. "I drove by again later, but your friend's car was still there."
Robyn was surprised to hear he had come back. "I'm sorry—" she began.
He cut her off curtly. "It doesn't matter."
They went to the same small lounge where they had spent the night and waited again. They drank coffee, flipped through well-worn magazines and carried on an occasional scrap of desultory conversation. Trev said he had arranged to have the window repaired and the living room cleaned up in Mrs. Barrone's house. Robyn sat in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair and tried to keep her eyes and mind away from the couch they had shared that night. She still couldn't reconcile her scorn and distaste for Trevor Barrone with the odd shiver of excitement that ran through her whenever she thought about that night.
Had he given that night any thought? she wondered. No, she decided wryly. His idea of spending a night with a woman surely included more fireworks than that. And yet no one had forced him to hold her in his arms, and he hadn't seemed in any big hurry to extricate himself the next morning.
They lunched at the cafeteria. Robyn felt drowsy afterward but she held her body rigidly erect in the straight chair. No more of that foolishness.
About midafternoon a nurse stuck her head in and said they could see Mrs. Barrone for just a minute. Outside the intensive care unit Trev stopped and deliberately took Robyn's hand in his.
"We're supposed to be engaged, you know. We have to make it look good." His voice was mocking but with an undertone that was almost threatening.
Robyn hesitated. Maybe what they were doing wasn't right. Maybe deceiving someone in the last hours of her life was all wrong. Maybe that was the time for total honesty.
"What's wrong?" Trev asked sharply as Robyn hesitated.
"I don't know. I just—" She broke off as a strange thought occurred to her. What if Mrs. Barrone didn't die? How would they explain all this then? Trev was looking down at her, eyes narrowed. "I—I'm just not very good at this sort of thing," she faltered.
"I don't think anyone ever gets 'very good' at confronting death," he said. His voice was unemotional but not unkind. His grip on her hand felt damp and she had the sudden feeling that he wasn't as calm about all this as he pretended to be.
Robyn steeled herself for the first sight of Mrs. Barrone, but it came as a shock anyway. The thin, almost transparent skin with the veins so vulnerably prominent on her temples, the gash cleaned but unbandaged. The frail body barely wrinkling the smooth covers, the needle taped to the thin arm. Could she really have shrunk so much in the last few days? Robyn wondered, blinking back tears. Or was it just that her feisty personality always made you forget how tiny and fragile she really was? She was still surrounded by the jungle of tubes and bottles, and now there was a big, shiny steel machine behind her too, ominous with dials and switches.
Robyn and Trev stood there motionless, hands clasped. Finally Robyn whispered, "I think she's—"
The eyelids fluttered open and Robyn caught her breath as Mrs. Barrone's faded blue eyes, unfocused at first, finally settled first on Trev and then moved slowly to Robyn. Trev reached out and took her hand in both of his.
"Grandma, it's Trev. Trev and Robyn."
Grandma. Robyn had never heard him use the term before. He had always used the colder, more formal "my grandmother" when speaking of her to Robyn, and she found the endearing term oddly touching. "Do you remember what I told you? Robyn and I are going to be married." He reached back and pulled Robyn up beside him, slipping his arm around her as if afraid she might decide to turn and run.
"That's right," Robyn said shakily. She clasped Mrs. Barrone's withered hand too. "We're going to be married. And we're going to have a big wedding, and you're going to get well and come to it. There will be baskets and baskets of flowers and you'll wear an orchid corsage."
Now why was she saying all that? Robyn wondered wildly. It was all so impossible. And yet the words just seemed to come, tumbling over each other as she built the impossible dream. Mrs. Barrone's eyes drifted closed but there was the trace of a smile on her face as if she, too, were seeing the baskets of flowers, the bride in white, the orchid corsage.
Finally Robyn's voice trailed off and Mrs. Barrone opened her eyes again. Her lips moved, straining to speak.
Trev touched her withered cheek. "Don't, Grandma. There's no need to say anything."
Her lips moved again, determination forcing a whisper through them. "I'm—so happy—two people I love most—love each other."
The words were slurred, as if one side of her mouth were stiff, but the trace of a smile was there again.
"We're happy too, Grandma," Trev said. His voice was husky with emotion. His arm tightened around Robyn though she doubted he was even aware of it.
"—sudden—" Mrs. Barrone murmured.
Trev glanced at Robyn. "What did she say?" he whispered.
"I think she thinks this is all kind of sudden," Robyn said. Leave it to Mrs. Barrone, Robyn thought ruefully. She always had been sharp as a tack. Even in her present condition the suddenness of this great "love" hadn't escaped her.
"It may look as if it's sudden, but it really isn't," Trev said. "I've been looking all my life for a girl like Robyn. No, not like her. I've been looking for Robyn herself. I just didn't know her name until I got here and found you had her safely hidden away for me where no one else could find her. And now that I've found her I'm never going to let her get away."
Robyn felt her breath catch as he spoke. The words could have come out saccharine sweet, sticky and unbelievable, but he said them harshly, almost fiercely. If she didn't know they were a complete fabrication, she might even have believed he really meant them, and the thought made her feel suddenly shaky. He shot her a dark glance, as if defying her to disagree with him.
Mrs. Barrone just lay there and Robyn thought she had drifted beyond their reach again. Then her fingers made a little scrabbling motion on the bedsheets. Trev touched her hand reassuringly but still the fingers moved.
"—show me—"
"What is it?" Trev turned to Robyn, his face alarmed. "What's wrong? Should I call the nurse?"
Robyn reached out and touched the thin hand again. She leaned closer as Mrs. Barrone struggled to squeeze another word out.
"—ring—"
And then Robyn realized what Mrs. Barrone wanted. To her old-fashioned mind a pledge to wed meant an engagement ring. Even now Mrs. Barrone still wore the tiny diamond in its antique filigree setting that her beloved husband had given her many years ago. Robyn looked at Trev helplessly.
"She wants to see my engagement ring."
Trev looked at her a moment, mouth set, then turned back to his grandmother. "We haven't had time to pick one out yet," he said smoothly. "We've been pretty concerned about you, you know."
"I'm—old bother."
Robyn leaned over and smoothed the white hair. The faded eyes followed her face weakly. "You're no bother at all. You just hurry and get well for our—our wedding."
"—plants—"
"Your plants are just fine," Trev said quickly. "I have someone coming in to water them. And move them around too."
Robyn glanced at him, surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness. In all this, she hadn't given a single thought to the plants, and yet, of course, Mrs. Barrone would worry about them.
After the effort of getting the few words out, Mrs. Barrone's face relaxed peacefully, eyes closed. The' faint smile hovered on her lips. Everything was taken care of, that smile seemed to say. Her plants watered and moved, her grandson settled down. She looked beautiful, Robyn thought with a painful tug at her heart. Thin, fragile as fine porcelain, but beautiful. Robyn held her breath. Was she gone, drifting peacefully away?
No. The frail chest moved in a shallow brea
th. Robyn held her own breath again as it seemed so long before another breath came. Her hand felt damp with nervous perspiration.
"I think we'd better leave her alone now," Trev whispered. His voice sounded as strained as Robyn felt.
She didn't resist the firm hand on her elbow as he guided her out to the hallway. She blinked, a little dazed, as if she had just come back from some other world. A nurse, hovering just behind them, pulled the green curtain around the bed. In the hallway a man went by pushing a cart loaded with dirty trays and dishes. A light pulsed softly over a doorway. Two doctors went by discussing the medical convention in San Francisco.
All these people just going about their jobs, Robyn thought wonderingly, and others were dying… She lifted her eyes to Trev's. She thought his were suspiciously moist, but he looked away before she could be sure. "That was very thoughtful of you to arrange for someone to care for her plants. I know it made her feel better."
His jaw tightened. He propelled her to one side to let an aide pushing a cart of fresh linens pass by. "I'll get someone," he said briefly.
"So that was all just a lie too!" she said with bitter disillusionment. "Isn't anything about you real?"
He lifted a dark eyebrow. "Were all the things you said real?" he retorted.
"No, of course not, but—" She floundered helplessly.
"They almost sounded real. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were madly in love with me." He laughed humorlessly. "In fact, you really gave a great performance. All that flowery description of the wedding, right down to the orchid corsage. Sounded as if you'd been planning it for years. I'm sure you could win the award of the year for 'Best Performance in a Hospital.'"
Robyn stared at him angrily. And she had thought perhaps he really felt something when he was in there with his grandmother. "I'll put it with my 'Nicest Girl in Town' award," she said sarcastically.
"You mustn't be greedy," he chided.
