Donovan paced across the apartment, his movements restless, the expression in his eyes abstract. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the sofa, a small pile of mending on her lap, her fingers weaving the needle through a button, stitching it onto a blue chambray shirt.
“I told you the laundry would do that.” There was an edge to his voice, and he took a deep breath before going on. “There’s no reason for you to mend my shirt.”
“I don’t mind. I have to do some of my own things, anyway, and this is lousy weather for a picnic but great weather for mending.” She glanced out the window at the rain and shrugged.
“Yeah.” Donovan moved to the window and stared out. A distance away, lightning cracked. On the street below, the rain washed the pavement clean and made even the oldest car look shiny and new. Behind him, the small living room was the picture of tranquility. When the rain had made a picnic in the country impossible, they’d spread a sheet on Beth’s floor and eaten their picnic there.
He hadn’t minded, because any time spent with Elizabeth was time well spent. After the meal, they sat on the floor and talked—about a new project he was designing, about a house she was decorating, about Michael’s second year at college, which lay just around the corner. He’d felt well fed and content. So why was he so restless now?
He didn’t have to look far for the answer. Glancing at Elizabeth, he could feel the tension tightening in the pit of his stomach. She sat with his shirt spread across her lap, cheerfully sewing a button on. She looked the very picture of wifely devotion. It was driving him crazy.
He didn’t want her to play at being wife. He didn’t care if she mended or cooked or cleaned house—he could hire someone to do any or all of those things. He wanted her back in his home —their home, dammit! He didn’t want to pick her up for dates and then come back to her place for wonderful, semi-illicit sex.
He was kicking forty in the teeth, and he was too old for these games. He wanted a home again, a wife, and the support and love that went with commitment. He’d made a lot of mistakes before, but he wouldn’t repeat them. From now on his marriage came first.
The words hadn’t been spoken but he knew she loved him and he’d always know he loved her. Maybe their love would be even stronger than before. Adversity creating strength and all that crap. He’d been supportive. It wasn’t like it was a hardship —he wanted Elizabeth to be happy and he was proud of her career. It wasn’t like he expected her to give it up if she moved back where she belonged. They’d hire a housekeeper, a cook, anything. He just wanted her home again.
“Is something wrong?” The quiet question made him realize how long he’d been staring out at the rain. He turned and looked at her.
She’d finished his shirt, and folded it over the arm of the sofa. A silk negligee lay across her lap, the needle suspended over a delicate strap, torn loose from the bodice. He’d done that a few days ago when she’d been in a teasing mood. She’d tantalized him, stripping off his clothes and then letting her fingers stroke his heated skin until he thought he’d go mad. He had a dim memory of reaching for her, of hearing the fragile silk tear, but then she’d been sprawled across the bed and he’d been over her, within her.
She’d played the mistress that night, seducing him, driving him wild with need. Now she sat there playing wife, her fingers deft with the needle, her concern for how he was feeling. He was tired of playing at marriage. He wanted a real marriage, a commitment, promises.
“Donovan?” She looked at him, sensing his mood but uncertain of the cause.
The thought that if he pressed the issue he might lose her slipped in, but he pushed it away. They couldn’t keep straddling the fence. He couldn’t straddle the fence anymore. One of them had to take the first step.
“You’ve been staring out that window for the past twenty minutes. Are you watching for floodwaters?” He didn’t even hear her mild joke. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned to look at her..
“Do you ever think about what we’re doing?”
“At the moment, we’re not doing much of anything. I’m mending and you’re staring. Not much to think about.” Her attention returned to the negligee.
“I don’t mean right this minute,” His tone was impatient and he saw her fingers hesitate for a moment and then take another smooth stitch. “Do you ever think about what we’re doing overall?”
“Well, I’m not sure we’re making any great contributions to history, if that’s what you mean.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and strode across the room to sit next to her. She didn’t look at him as he set aside her mending before taking her hands.
“Beth, look at me.” She lifted her eyes reluctantly, and it didn’t take a genius to read the wariness in her face. “Do you ever think about our relationship? Where it’s been, where it’s going?”
“Of course I do. Things are good between us, aren’t they?” Her eyes pleaded with him to agree. Don’t rock the boat.
“No.” Hurt flared in her eyes and he sought to soften the blunt denial. “It isn’t that I don’t love spending time with you, Beth. You know I do. But I want something more. We can’t just drift along like this forever.”
“I never said anything about forever.”
“How long, Beth? We’ve been playing this game for two months. How much longer?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her head away, tugging on her hands, but he refused to release her. “I can’t give you a schedule!” The quick flare of anger faded as quickly as it had come and she looked at him, her eyes pleading.
His fingers tightened over hers, trying to convey how important this was to him. “I want a commitment. We’re married, we’ve got a grown son. This has been fun. It’s been great but I don’t want to play at having an affair anymore. I want to have you in my home, in my bed. Our home. Our bed. I want your clothes next to mine in the closet and your underwear drying in the shower. I want to live with you again. I want a marriage again.”
“Let’s give it some more time.”
“I don’t want to give it more time. I’ve been without you for almost a year. I don’t want to live without you another day. Dammit, Beth! You love me. I know you do. Why are you so reluctant to come home again?”
She pulled her hands away and twisted them together in her lap, staring down at them. “I’m afraid that if I move back in, things might go back to what they were, with you gone all the time and me filling my days with committees and tea parties. I don’t want that again.”
“Neither do I, and I promise it won’t be that way. I admit I lost track of priorities for a while. I wasn’t spending enough time at home. But I wouldn’t risk losing you again. Don’t you want a home with me? Maybe...maybe even another child? We’re not too old to think about it. We used to talk about having another baby.”
“We always decided to wait until everything was right before having another child.” Her voice was thick with tears.
“That was another mistake, but it’s not too late to change things now. If you want, we could try. And if you don’t want another baby, that’s okay, too. You’re the most important thing. Please, Beth, say you’ll come home with me.”
He stared at her down-bent head, feeling each beat of his heart, hearing every drop of rain that fell outside. Everything depended on her answer. She had to come home. Anything else was unbearable. The silence stretched, and Donovan’s nerves stretched along with it. Why didn’t she say something?
“I can’t.” A solitary tear fell onto her clasped hands.
Donovan stared at her, feeling the world rock beneath him. Hurt and rage stirred inside, but he swallowed hard, reminding himself that anger never did any good.
“Why not?” Despite his best efforts, the question came out sounding cold and angry.
Beth lifted her head, tears sparkling on her cheeks as she reached out to him, laying her palm on his arm, feeling the iron-hard muscles there.
“I’m just not ready, Donovan.”
“I see.” The anger in his eyes told her that he didn’t see at all. “Moving back in with me would entail sacrificing too much, is that it?”
“No.”
“That’s what you’re implying.”
“No, it isn’t!” She stopped and drew a deep breath, trying to find the words to describe the confusion she felt when she thought about being his wife again. “I met you when I was sixteen. By the time I turned seventeen, we were married and I was expecting Michael. Even when you were in Vietnam, I wasn’t alone because there was Michael depending on me and I had to hold things together for him and for you. You came home and I didn’t have to be strong anymore, I didn’t have to be alone. I quit work and devoted myself to being a wife and mother. I’m not ashamed of that. I loved doing that but now I’ve got something different. I’m really living alone. No one depends on me for anything.”
“And there’s no one is there to care if you don’t come home some night,” he said, his eyes cool and angry. “And there’s no one to take care of you if you hurt yourself and no one to be excited for you if you get a big job. There’s no one, Beth. Is that really what you want?”
The picture he painted was bleak, and she felt anger flare up, putting her on the defensive. “There’s also no one to tell me what to do, or to read the paper at the breakfast table or to expect me to pick up dry cleaning without even thanking me. I can do what I want, when I want, without answering to anyone else.”
He stood up and she followed suit, unwilling to let him tower over her. Not that he didn’t tower quite a bit even when she was on her feet, but she felt a little less overwhelmed. His eyes were cold.
“Fine. You stay here, without any responsibilities to anyone but yourself. I hope you’ll be happy. But I can’t play that game anymore. I want a commitment, Beth. I want a wife and a family, someone to share things with. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
She watched in shock as he pulled on his jacket and, picked up his gloves and helmet.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I can’t play anymore.”
“I’m not playing.”
“No?” He shrugged, drawing on his gloves, not looking at her. “Call it what you want. I want you to be happy, but I can’t live on the fringes of your life. If this is what you need to be happy, I wish you luck. Count me out.”
“You’re not going to bully me into making a decision like this.”
“I’m not trying to. Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
The door shut behind him. The quiet snick of the latch sounded more final than if he’d slammed it. Elizabeth. He’d called her Elizabeth. For the past few weeks she’d been Beth again. But just now he’d called her Elizabeth. Goodbye, Elizabeth. As if Beth wasn’t someone he’d say goodbye to.
Outside, she heard the faint roar of the motorcycle’s engine and then it faded away, leaving only the rain. She turned slowly, feeling very old, and walked to the window. She saw shiny trees, shiny street, shiny cars, but he was gone. She let the curtain fall and crossed to the sofa, reaching down to pick up his shirt. It felt soft and supple in her hands. If she drew a deep breath, she could catch a whiff of his after-shave. She blinked against the tears that threatened to fall.
#
“Bull pucky.” Carol spooned sugar-into her cup of tea and stirred it vigorously.
Elizabeth blinked, startled by her friend’s emphatic opinion. “Well, that’s succinct. Would you mind telling me what you mean? What, precisely, do you think is bull pucky?”
“All of it.” Carol set her spoon down with a thump. “Your whole line of reasoning.”
“You think I’m wrong to want a little more time alone?” Elizabeth’s voice was stiff. She’d been so sure that Carol would understand.
“I didn’t say you were wrong. I said your reasoning was—”
“Yes, I know. Bull pucky.” She rubbed her forehead, fighting the urge to put her head on the table and cry like a baby. It had been almost two weeks since Donovan had walked so quietly out of her apartment and out of her life. The first few days, she’d been angry, then she’d been hurt. Now, the anger and the hurt were all tangled up together in a big ball that had settled at the bottom of her stomach.
“I didn’t think I was asking for all that much. A few more months, maybe. Is that so bad?”
“With some men and some relationships that would be just fine, but Donovan isn’t some men. You’re asking for more than he can give.”
“If he loves me, he should be able to understand. I’m so afraid he’ll take me for granted again—that things will go back to the way they were.”
“If you love him, you should be able to understand what he needs. Loving somebody doesn’t automatically make a person omniscient.”
“I know that. But after all these years, you’d think he could trust me, that he’d know I wanted this time because it was important.”
“Beth, almost a year ago, you walked out on him. Even if he understands why now, even if he’s willing to admit that you had good cause, it’s bound to shake a man’s faith a little.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You expect too much of him, Beth. Donovan may be the best thing I’ve seen in pants in the past twenty years, but he’s human. You don’t make many allowances for that.”
“What do you mean? I don’t expect him to be more than human.”
Carol took a swallow of her tea, her thin face calm despite Elizabeth’s anger. “Don’t you?”
“No. I just expect him to be fair.”
“Right away you’re asking more than most people ever get. Life isn’t always fair, and both you and I know it. If life was fair, you’d have my metabolism so you could eat another cookie without looking like the Goodyear blimp, and I’d have your looks.” Carol crunched into a cookie to emphasize her point.
“This has got nothing to do with metabolism or looks. This has to do with loving someone and wanting what’s best for them.”
“Donovan does love you. The problem here is that you think you need something he can’t give you: the time you need. But he needs a commitment from you. He needs to know you love him enough to be his wife again. Quite frankly, I don’t see what the problem is. Do you think he’s going to ask you to give up your job?”
“No, he wouldn’t do that. He knows how much I enjoy it.”
“Is it the house? You don’t want to live in the old place again?”
“No. I love the house. I miss it. Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind selling it if it bothered me.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
Elizabeth ran the tip of her finger through some spilled sugar, creating small pathways and then destroying them. What was the big deal?
“Don’t try and tell me you don’t love him. I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Carol continued.
“I do love him. It’s just that he’s so strong. He’s always been so sure of himself, of who he was. I guess I’m afraid of getting lost in that strength again—of forgetting to be someone besides his wife.” She swept her hand across the table, scattering the fine grains of sugar. “It sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t, but you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Beth. I watched you when you found out you were pregnant. You were scared but you coped. And when Donovan went to ‘Nam and left you alone with Michael, you became Supermom before anyone knew what the term meant.”
“And as soon as Donovan came home, I let him take over. I wanted him to take over.”
“So what’s wrong with that? You were tired. You’d been going it alone for quite a while, and Donovan needed to know that he was needed. that he had a place in your life and in Michael’s. He needed to know that he had something to offer you.”
“So I wimped out and he played Mr. Macho.”
“It wasn’t like that. I was there, remember?” Carol’s voice was gentle, but relentless. “You were hardly a wimp. You helped put Donovan through college. You were one hell of a mom to Michael. When Donovan got his degree and started trying to get clients, you stretched money and worked like a dog to help him in every way possible. You both built his career and Donovan would be the first to say as much. Don’t be ashamed of that, Beth.”
“I’m not ashamed of it. But, somewhere along the way, I forgot to look at my dreams.”
“So, you got off the track. You’re still young. You’re working for your dreams now. Donovan has been supportive, hasn’t he? He’s helped get you some great jobs, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. But, what if I went back with him and then decided to give it all up?”
“That’s your choice, Beth. Dreams don’t get handed to you on a silver platter. You’ve got to work to make them come true. If you want your career bad enough, you’ll stick with it, and you know Donovan will do everything he can to help you.”
Elizabeth rubbed her fingers across her forehead. The headache that had been lurking behind her eyes all day had become a reality, but the throbbing pain was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.
“I just get scared. It wasn’t easy to walk out, and I’m so afraid I’ll have to do it again.”
“You won’t have to. If things get bad, you’ll talk to him this time. Donovan would lay down his life for you.”
“Then why can’t he give me more time?”
“He needs you.” Carol’s mouth twisted, her eyes half-wistful. “I’d give just about anything to have what the two of you have. You two almost make me believe in destiny.”
She didn’t have to say anything more. Elizabeth had more than enough to think about. The idea of Donovan needing her stuck in her mind. She’d always thought of it as the other way around. He’d been the one to take care of her, he’d been the strong one. She’d never doubted that he loved her, but she’d never thought of him as needing her.
She loved him. She didn’t deny that, not to Carol, not to herself. But, if she went back to him, would she let herself get swallowed up in his strength again? The past year had taught her the value of independence. It had also taught her something of its loneliness. Donovan had hit the nail on the head when he pointed out that there was no one to care whether she came home at all.
If she kept saying it loud enough and often enough that she liked living alone, it might sound completely sincere but she missed hearing someone else stirring around. She missed— She missed Donovan. And Michael. She missed the home they’d had together.
She’d deliberately avoided thinking about Donovan’s suggestion that they might have another baby. Now, the thought slipped in, surprisingly appealing. It had been a long time since she’d had a child to cuddle. Michael had grown out of the cuddly stage early. A baby. Donovan’s baby. Yes, the idea had definite appeal.
As Elizabeth crawled into bed that night she decided that Carol was right. Maybe she was crazy to worry about anything beyond the fact that she and Donovan loved each other. Surely they’d learned from their mistakes. It would be a risk, but if she didn’t make a commitment now, it might be too late.
The thought sent a shiver up her spine. Too late. Awful words. She turned over in bed and stared at the moonlight pouring in through a crack in the curtains. It couldn’t be too late for her and Donovan. She’d go to him first thing in the morning and tell him she loved him and wanted to be with him.
The thought brought a wave of contentment. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
#
It seemed as if she’d just closed her eyes when the alarm went off. Moaning, she groped for the clock, her face still buried in the pillow. She pushed the alarm button but the ringing didn’t stop. Groggy, she opened her eyes and stared at the clock. The first thing that registered was that it said two o’clock in the morning. The second thing was that the room was dark. And the third and most frightening was that it wasn’t the alarm making that awful noise, it was the phone.
She stumbled out of bed, her feet half tangled in the covers. By the time she’d covered the few short feet to the living room, the ringing seemed to have gotten ten times louder. She found the phone by instinct, snatching the receiver, her heart pounding so hard she could hardly breathe. Phone calls at two in the morning were one of two things: wrong numbers or emergencies. She prayed it was someone looking for an all-night pizza parlor.
“Hello?”
“Mom?” She forgot how to breathe at the sound of Michael’s voice.
“Michael? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Please God, let him be all right. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital.” His voice sounded young and shaky in a way she hadn’t heard since he entered his teens.
The hospital. A thousand nightmares flashed through her mind. “Are you badly hurt?” Amazing how calm her voice sounded. You couldn’t even hear the panic that was screaming inside her.
“I’m fine, just a few scrapes and some bruises.”
“Thank God.” She swallowed tears, knowing he wouldn’t welcome hearing her sob over the phone. “What happened? Never mind. You can tell me about, it later. I’ll be down as soon as I get some clothes on.”
He kept talking as if he hand’t heard her. “It was the motorcycle. I think it’s totaled. This car came from out of nowhere.”
“Don’t worry about the motorcycle. As long as you’re okay. I’ll call your father and we’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“Mom?”
Elizabeth’s fingers knotted over the receiver, hearing the fear in his voice. “What is it, Michael?”
“Dad was with me. He tried to avoid the car, but the guy came out of nowhere. There was nothing he could do.”
Elizabeth stared at the dark room, feeling the bottom of her stomach dissolve. She swallowed. hard, fighting to stay calm.
“ Is he ... is he badly hurt?”
“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. He...he looked awful when they put him in the ambulance. They just keep telling me not to worry, but no one will tell me what’s going on. He was bleeding a lot. I’m scared, Mom.” His voice cracked.
“Stay calm, honey. He’s strong. You stay right there and don’t worry about anything; I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She set down the phone, making a conscious effort to uncurl her fingers from the receiver. In all the years they’d been together, she’d never seen Donovan seriously ill or hurt. He’d always been so strong, so invincible. Maybe Michael was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t that badly hurt. After all, a lot of blood didn’t have to be serious. Everyone knew that head wounds always bled out of proportion to their seriousness.
Head wounds. Oh God, what if he hadn’t been wearing his helmet? She swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her and forced herself to take a deep breath. Donovan always wore his helmet. He was adamant about it. There was no sense in giving herself nightmares until she knew there was something to worry about. She wasn’t going to worry about anything until she got to the hospital.