“Thanks for agreeing to spend the weekend here,” Estelle said, laying her legs across his thighs.
They were sitting on the balcony of her condominium in their bathing suits, passing a bowl of boiled shrimp between them. The afternoon sun was hot and boats crammed the inlet below.
He didn’t dislike these condominiums so much now that he didn’t have to live in one. They were very modern, full of angles, and painted the gray of weathered wood, different from the warm silver-hued gray of the Chapel House. They were located where the ocean met the inlet, and it was that feeling of being surrounded by water that made the condo tolerable for him. In all other ways it was too small, too sterile, too new and unseasoned.
Estelle’s face was calm and beginning to turn pink under her straw hat. He didn’t dare tell her that he was on call for the Emergency Room this weekend. He was hoping any obstetric crises could wait until Monday.
“It’s good to have you all to myself for a change,” he said, wrapping his hand around her ankle. He could handle the condo for one weekend.
She passed him the bowl of shrimp, and he took a handful.
“The Chapel House feels cramped these days, don’t you think?” Estelle peered at him from under the brim of her hat.
“Cramped?” He laughed. “Hardly.”
She looked down at her hands. “Aren’t you tired of it yet, Cole?”
“No.” He tensed, hoping they weren’t headed for another fight.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t be. You thrive on being around people who need you.”
He shrugged. “Is that so terrible?”
“You know,” she said, “I think part of our problem is that you don’t realize that I need you. You treat me as if I’m incapable of feeling hurt or scared. You comfort everyone else, but you’ve never comforted me. Never.”
He frowned. That couldn’t be true. He searched his mind for examples. The time she’d found the dead woman in the stairwell at Blair? Hadn’t he comforted her then? No, not really. She hadn’t seemed that upset. Years ago, after the abortion? She’d gotten through that far more easily than he had. It was true that he never thought of her as needing him in that way.
“I think it’s your strength that’s always attracted me to you,” he said.
“But I do have needs.” Her voice was one he’d never heard before.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled her legs from his lap and leaned toward him. “I need you so much that sometimes it scares me. When I was alone in Paris I felt, I don’t know, desperate. I’m afraid of losing you.” Her eyes were so wide that he could see the reflection of a sailboat in them.
“What do you mean, you felt desperate?” The word alarmed him.
“I’ve always been afraid that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be out of my life. Also”—she hesitated, looked at him almost shyly—“lately, sometimes, I feel . . . well, out of control. It’s frightening.”
“I’ve never given you reason to worry about losing me.”
“I know, I know. But, are you listening to me, Cole? I feel . . .” She hunted for a word. Her hands were fists at the sides of her head. “I feel trapped by my own head.”
“Estelle.” He leaned forward to take her hand. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before? How can I help unless I know?”
She leaned back suddenly, pulling her hand out of his. “It’s really nothing. I don’t know why I brought it up. Forget it.” Her eyes had cooled.
“Forget it? You just told me you feel desperate and frightened and trapped and now you want me to forget it?”
“Yes.”
She’d let him inside her for a fleeting instant, and he hadn’t recognized her at all.
“I’m worried about you.”
She laughed and crossed her legs. Her look was almost mocking.
If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, he would have pursued it. He would have questioned her until he’d uncovered the truth. But this was Estelle, and he knew better than to try. Once she closed a subject there could be no reaching her.