Thorne's Way

by Joan Hohl

  Not even Lynn’s arrival had had much of an impact on her. The fist resting on the windowsill tightened until the knuckles turned white. Oh, she’d been angry, sure, but her anger had been swiftly forgotten with the advent of Jean-Paul. Etienne’s brother, for God’s sake. His lips twisting bitterly, Jonas remembered the way Valerie had gone after Lynn when she’d attacked Jean-Paul.

  Suddenly realizing he was beginning to think in circles, Jonas turned away from the window impatiently. What was taking so long? Crossing the room in a few long strides, he dropped wearily onto the plastic covered torture-rack they dared to call a couch, and picked up the March issue of Time. Jonas had skimmed through the issue the week it came out, but that didn’t matter, he wasn’t reading anyway.

  Was it on their wedding night? The day after? Musingly, Jonas continued with his game. No, he gave a brief shake of his head. Not then. That he had been both eager and determined to consummate the marriage—and equally determined that she be fully aware of who was doing the consummating—pointed to his having been in love before that night.

  The day he proposed to her in the office? He remembered how tense he’d become while waiting for her answer. And later that day, after he’d sent her home, he’d grown still more nervous, afraid she’d change her mind.

  Did that nervousness indicate the presence of love? Jonas didn’t know for sure, but he had a strong suspicion it did. Never having been in love before, he wasn’t quite sure of the components that went into the emotion. Not knowing the language, how was a man supposed to read the signs? If those components included the desire to protect, possess and pamper a woman, well then, he was definitely in love.

  Under better circumstances it might even be enjoyable. Jonas grimaced. Damn Jean-Paul! Jonas’s grimace changed to a half smile of self-mockery. There was no earthly reason to damn Jean-Paul, and Jonas knew it. Jean-Paul was innocent—at least as far as Valerie was concerned. And Valerie was innocent as well. Why had he let his suspicions and his mouth run away from him like that? He had known the child was his from the moment the words “I’m pregnant” came out of her mouth.

  His last thought propelled him out of the couch and back across the tiled floor to the window. He knew the child had been his, he amended thoughtfully.

  That the child was lost he was certain. Jonas shuddered as his mind replayed the events of the evening before. God, would he ever completely forget the fear that had gripped him when he had glanced in the rearview mirror and seen Val running into the back of his car? Jonas shuddered, remembering how he’d slammed on the brakes and flung open the car door to run to her and lift her, white and shaken, out of that hedge. Why was it, he fumed now, that doctors were never available when you really needed them? After carrying Val inside he had called Milt, only to be told the doctor was in the delivery room. By the time Milt returned the call, Valerie was ensconced in their bed, her color restored, insisting that but for a few minor scratches she was fine. Now, twelve hours later, Jonas asked himself why he’d allowed her to dissuade him from taking her to the hospital at once.

  “Really, Jonas,” she had pleaded. “I’m feeling much better. I promise I won’t get out of this bed before tomorrow, and then only to go see Dr. Abramowitz.”

  And both he and Milt had listened! That was what bothered him now. But, she had seemed all right! Until, less than three hours ago, she’d called out for him, wakening him from the light doze he’d fallen into on a living room chair. Just thinking about it created that same tightness inside that he’d experienced at the panicky sound of her voice, and the same gripping fear he’d felt on entering the bedroom to find her standing beside the bed, white-faced with pain. If he lived another hundred years he’d never forget the terror that had momentarily frozen his entire mind and body at the sight of all that blood! Her blood! In that frozen instant he had been certain that the life was flowing out of her. He was also certain that if she died, life would never again hold any real value for him. Not even his work could fill the void losing her would leave inside him.

  She can’t die! Dammit, I won’t let her die! I can’t give her up. I won’t give her up! Not even to death. Why doesn’t Milt come? What is taking so long?

  Val, don’t leave me!

  Jonas stood very still by the window, shocked motionless by the intensity of his thoughts. Never had he experienced such agony of mind. Not even at the vulnerable age of seventeen when, for two months, he’d carried the anguish of uncertainty about whether or not he’d fathered the child Lynn was carrying.

  The child! Once again his large, bony hands balled into fists. Had she lost his son? Jonas swallowed against an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. Valerie hadn’t lost the child, he had robbed her of it!

  No, his head moved in sharp denial. It had not been his fault. It had not been her fault either. It had been one of those stupid accidents that happen at times. And it had happened. No point in casting blame now.

  Jonas was not a man to wallow in guilt or regret. What was done could not be undone. All he could do now was hope Valerie could have another child. His child.

  If she lives.

  She has to live, dammit. She has got to live!

  What is taking so long?

  Was this what she had gone through while Etienne had teetered between life and death? This sudden, new insight made him go still again. No wonder you withdrew, love, Jonas at last sympathized. The pain is close to unbearable.

  Don’t leave me, love. Mentally Jonas did what he would never be able to do aloud; he pleaded. Please, fight to hang on to your precious life, for if you die, living will be hell, but I cannot withdraw from it. Once again the words Jonas could not voice aloud screamed through his mind:

  What will I do if she dies?

  In an effort to escape the merry-go-round of his thoughts, Jonas jerked back the sleeve of his jacket to expose his watch. Had he really been here two hours? It seemed impossible, yet even as he gazed at the small face of the slim gold disc, the digital number changed from one to two. Six-twenty-two, and he had dashed out of the house with Val in his arms at around four-thirty.

  It was a wide-awake nightmare. How often had he heard that phrase and dismissed it as exaggeration? Jonas shrugged. Live and learn. That’s what life is all about, isn’t it? What point in living if you never learn? And what have you learned, Thorne? That you are as capable as the next guy of feeling very deep pain and very real fear.

  Your mind’s meandering, Thorne. Jonas pulled his rambling thoughts together. You had better go back to the game.

  Why bother? he asked himself scathingly. You know that what began as desire for her very quickly became love. What purpose in pinpointing the exact day, hour and minute? You love her. But she still loves a dead man—or his memory. She doesn’t love you.

  Impatience riding him, Jonas strode to the door and into the corridor. It was eerily quiet. Hadn’t he always heard about how noisy hospitals were when the patients were sleeping? Where was everyone? Where was Milt?

  He swung around and strode back into the waiting room. Reaching into the slash pocket of his jacket, he yanked out a crumpled cigarette pack, grimacing as he withdrew the last cigarette in the package. For an instant he contemplated going in search of the lunchroom or a cigarette machine. Then, with a shake of his head he decided to stay put. Surely Milt would come soon?

  Some ten or fifteen minutes later, Jonas stood staring out at the lashing rain, his long fingers drumming a staccato beat on the windowsill, when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Dad.”

  Jonas turned to sweep his gaze over his daughter and frowned darkly.

  “What are you doing here?” Jonas’s tone betrayed his surprise.

  “I came to be with you,” Mary Beth answered quietly. “And to bring you some coffee.” She held a stainless steel thermos bottle aloft. “Gram sent it.”

  “The coffee I could use,” Jonas growled, walking to her. “The company I can do without.” He plucked the bottle out of
her hand.

  “Dad!”

  “What do you want here, anyway? Did you come to gloat?”

  “How could you think something like that?” Mary Beth reproached him softly.

  “I can think that, because you have given me good reason to think it,” Jonas retorted. “You would have resented the child, the same as you resent her. Very likely you resent me for marrying her in the first place.” Turning away, he walked back to the window, opened the thermos and poured the steaming brew into the steel cup.

  “That’s not true,” Mary Beth denied.

  Gripping the cup as if he’d like to crush it, Jonas turned to face her, controlling his anger with difficulty. “Isn’t it? Can you honestly tell me you’re sorry the baby’s gone?”

  “I am sorry,” she choked, her eyes pleading for him to believe her.

  “Are you? Why?” Studying her intently, Jonas sipped tentatively at the hot coffee, apparently unmoved by her stricken expression.

  Her eyes swimming, Mary Beth bit down on her lip. “Daddy, please,” she cried, “don’t be like this. I—I know I was cool to the possibility of a baby at first, but—well, I’m twenty, for heaven’s sake. How did you expect me to react?” Jonas opened his mouth but before he could answer she went on, earnestly, “I’ve had all your love for those twenty years. I…I guess I thought of you as my exclusive property. But Valerie can tell you that over these last few weeks we have become friends, and, well, I was kind of hoping for a brother or sister.” When he didn’t reply, Mary Beth reached out to grasp his arm. No longer even trying to contain her tears she sobbed, “Daddy, you have to believe me. I never, never wanted anything like this to happen.”

  What she said was true, he realized. She had had his love exclusively—with the exception of Marge—for the entire time she had been on this earth. Her reaction to his remarriage, and to his statement about another heir, had been completely normal. You’re lashing out in fear, Thorne, he told himself wryly. Placing the cup on the windowsill with one hand, Jonas reached out with the other to draw his daughter to him. “Okay, okay, honey, don’t cry. I’m sorry I snapped at you, I’m a little worried and not thinking too clearly.”

  Her arms clasped tightly around his waist, her forehead resting against his knit shirt, Mary Beth was just beginning to feel secure again when his words registered. Swallowing a half sob, she looked up at him wide-eyed. “What do you mean? Why are you worried? Valerie is going to be all right, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know, honey.” Unconsciously his arms tightened around her slim form. “It’s taking so damned long.” Jonas sighed. “I just don’t know.”

  Her eyes wide with amazement, Mary Beth stared up at her father in astonishment. “You’re in love with her!” she exclaimed softly. “You really are in love with her!”

  Jonas fully understood her astonishment; he had been acting like anything but a man in love. But that didn’t mean he was going to share his thoughts with Mary Beth. Arching his oddly dark brows, he asked, “Had you thought I wasn’t?”

  “Well…” She paused, then went on quickly. “Mother said that you were getting scared.”

  “Scared?” His brows went up further.

  “About,” Mary Beth bit her lip, suddenly sorry she’d mentioned her mother. “Well, about losing your youth.”

  “She said what?” Jonas laughed without humor.

  “She said that you were probably getting edgy about getting close to forty, and that’s why you married a woman so much younger than yourself. She said it happens to a lot of men, and that the marriages seldom work.”

  “And of course your mother’s an expert on what it takes to make a marriage work.” Jonas again laughed without humor.

  “Well, kid, I’ve got a news flash for your mother. The threat of reaching forty bothers me not at all, and the difference between Val’s age and mine never even entered my mind. And as far as our marriage goes, let me assure you, it will work.” Brave words, Thorne, he chided himself. Yet he knew that if it was at all up to him the marriage would survive. If she does, he amended.

  “Dad?” Mary Beth’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Do you think we should call Gram? She’s concerned too, you know. She really likes Val.”

  “I know.” Releasing her he turned to pour more coffee into the steel cup. “I think we’ll wait until I’ve talked to Milt. There’s no point in getting your grandmother upset needlessly. For all I know about this sort of thing, I may be worrying needlessly.” He raked his hand through already disheveled hair, then asked, “Do me a favor, honey, and go see if you can find me a pack of cigarettes.”

  As she swung out of the room Jonas drained the cup of coffee Marge had laced with whiskey and poured what was left in the thermos into the cup. Taking a sip he silently thanked Marge for the whiskey. It helped, but not much. What was taking so long? If he didn’t hear something soon he’d start raising some hell. No, Thorne, he advised himself sternly, raising hell won’t help a bit. And if she does die nothing is going to help.

  Jonas moved uncomfortably, not liking the sensation of fear that gripped his insides at this last thought. He was making his fourteenth circuit of the room when Mary Beth came back.

  “Still no word?” she asked unnecessarily.

  “No,” Jonas shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” she apologized as he brought the flame of his lighter to the end of a cigarette. “But I took a minute to call Jean-Paul.”

  The sharp click of the lighter sounded loud in the quiet room. “You did what?” Jonas asked in an ominously soft voice.

  “I said I called Jean-Paul,” Mary Beth repeated, missing the edge in his tone. “He loves her too, you know.”

  “I had an idea he did.” Jonas’s voice had become raspy. Drawing deeply on the cigarette, he thought of all the times she had been with the Frenchman during the last weeks. Had she, he wondered, transferred her love for Etienne to the brother whose voice and manner were like his?

  Jean-Paul can’t have her. The thought seared into his mind like a hot flame, only to be followed by one that chilled him: Can I keep her if she decides to go to him? A wave of fierce possessiveness swept over him and he dragged deeply on the cigarette to hide his reaction from Mary Beth. Lord, just thinking about her leaving gave him the shakes. She isn’t only under my skin, he thought hollowly, she’s in my blood.

  “Dad?” Mary Beth’s sharp tone broke into his circling thoughts.

  “Are you listening to me? I said Jean-Paul asked if one of us would call as soon as we hear anything.”

  Jonas swore to himself savagely. I could strangle the idiot and he calmly requests that I call him. Call him? I’ll fire him.

  “Dad?” Mary Beth repeated worriedly, obviously thinking he had not heard her the first time.

  Deciding to leave her in the dark, Jonas looked at her blankly. “What did you say?”

  “I said Jean-Paul is very concerned and he asked if we’d call him when we hear something.”

  “Yeah, okay, if we ever do hear anything.” Swinging away from her he strode to the door and shouldered his way into the hall. He was just in time to catch sight of a nurse as she disappeared into an office. Lord, the place was as quiet as a morgue. That thought sent him back into the waiting room.

  “Dad, you’re making me nervous with your prowling back and forth. Sit down and talk to me,” Mary Beth coaxed.

  “What do you want me to talk about?” Jonas grimaced as he lowered his long frame into a molded plastic chair.

  “You, and Valerie.” Jonas stiffened visibly and she went on hurriedly, “Don’t close me out, Dad, please.”

  “What, exactly, do you want to know,” Jonas sighed.

  “Well, for one, why didn’t you make it plain from the beginning how you felt about Val?” Jonas moved to get up and she placed a staying hand on his tautly held arm. “Don’t you see that if you had, I very probably would have accepted the news of your marriage a lot more easily?”
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br />   “Perhaps,” Jonas conceded.

  “And surely you realize that Mother would not have built up her hopes of a reconciliation with you if…”

  “Wait a minute,” Jonas cut in sharply. “Are you telling me that’s why she came to the States?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mary Beth insisted. “When she found out that you sent Maria Cinelli packing she…”

  “How did she find that out?” Jonas again interrupted.

  “She said that a friend had mentioned it in a letter,” Mary Beth explained. “Anyway, when she found out, she canceled our plans to go cruising. She told me she thought you were probably tired of the swinging life and were ready to settle down.” At that point Jonas attempted to cut in again, but she held up her hand in a silent bid to be allowed to finish. “I guess I had myself convinced she was right and was all set for an announcement of your remarriage. That’s why I was so shocked when you introduced Val as your wife.”

  “You should have known better,” Jonas snapped in exasperation. “You know I don’t love Lynn. If you want the truth, I never did love her. You’re old enough to count. You know why I married her in the first place.” At her pained expression he stood up and pulled her into his arms. “Honey, I’ve never been sorry you were conceived. But that doesn’t change the facts. I never would have considered marrying her otherwise. I tolerate her for you and your grandmother.”

  “I suppose I always knew that.” Mary Beth smiled tremulously. “And I’m really not sorry you married Val. I’ve come to like her very much these last few weeks.”

  Dropping his arms Jonas walked to take his place at the window. “I’m glad you like her, but it wouldn’t have made any difference whether you did or not, I hope you realize that.”

  Mary Beth smiled ruefully. “I’ve known you a long time, remember? I’ve always known that you do exactly as you please, no matter what I, or anyone else, thinks.” She hesitated a moment, then decided to brave his anger by asking, “Does she love you, Dad?”