“You want me to tell Craig and Daphne no?”
“I don’t know what I want, David. I need some time to decide. Please, just go.”
He fought the urge to stand in front of her and look into her eyes to see if she really meant it. He wouldn’t beg her. Taking his coat off the chair, he took the two steps across the apartment and left without looking back, making sure the door locked behind him.
…
No one touched him. David hadn’t even realized it until Sophie was gone. She touched him constantly, as if she had to hold onto him or he might float away. And he’d loved it, every pat, stroke, and nudge. He’d been acutely aware of them all, on guard to hide his reaction.
What had Sophie said before that first night? The class was all about the touching. That couples came for the closeness the touching provided. What he wouldn’t give to touch her again. The way he did when she slept and he didn’t have to worry about her reciprocating. He would wrap a silky curl around and around his finger and then rub his thumb across the hair. It was the softest thing he’d ever felt.
Now all he had left were the memories and the questions that still lingered. He’d often wondered if he would be able to wrap his hands around her tiny waist. He should have tried. Then at least he would know how it felt.
He wouldn’t know how it felt to be touched for a good long while. He wouldn’t be like his father and punish some other woman for not being her. Her calling him out on being just like his father had been the worst of it. And he was like the old man, manipulating Sophie’s life into what he thought she wanted it to be.
Just like his father, he thought he was doing it all for her. The building was a good investment, but he’d bought it to give her a break on the rent, never realizing she was perfectly capable of solving the problem on her own. And he’d arranged to take her with him on his tour, thinking it would be a way for her to see the country. But really it had been about his insatiable need to keep her close so he could glean some of her happiness.
She opened him up to the possibility of being happy, of wanting more from life than he ever had. A morbid sense of curiosity had him driving up into the West Hills, to the Forest Heights neighborhood he’d grown up in. He wanted to see the house Tessa thought Sophie would love. To see where life might have led him if he were a better man.
Who would touch him next? A stranger brushing him in the street? Kelly, probably. But even she kept her distance. He’d thought it was strange when his father hugged him. It shouldn’t be strange.
It hadn’t always been this way. He and Lance had always hugged and played, wrestled, touched, and even kissed, until Gretchen. David would never forget Lance’s third wife. He’d wanted so much for her to like him, for it to feel like it had with Kelly’s mother, Karen.
He’d tried to be good. Hell, he’d been a good kid. But Gretchen had hated how much time Lance spent with him. She’d said it was unnatural for Lance to sleep with David when the nightmares came, had said all the hugging would turn him into a girl. He’d been twelve at the time. He’d known not all boys were close with their fathers, but they had mothers, and he didn’t.
He’d never forget his father’s face when he’d stuck out his hand to shake good night. Lance had looked as hurt as David felt right now. But he’d taken it.
David had felt himself getting more and more irritable, moody, angry. Why did Gretchen have to come in and shake up his world? She’d tried to tell him to do something, who knew what now. He’d mouthed off, calling her a bitch. She’d slapped him. Not that he hadn’t deserved it, but no one had ever struck him before.
Craig had been there. He always was. He’d yelled at her as David closed up, then sat with him on the front step, kicking pebbles until his father had come home.
“Tell him,” Craig had nudged, but he’d stayed frozen. “Gretchen hit him. She can’t do that.” He’d heard the words as if they were coming from the television.
He’d never looked up as his father approached, just seen his shoes. Polished black. The briefcase had joined them with a thud, and promptly flopped on its side.
“What do you mean? David? What happened?”
The shoes were really nice. His dad had gotten him matching shoes for his aunt’s wedding last summer. Even their ties had matched. That had been the day Gretchen had started calling him the clone.
“She slapped him. Real hard. She can’t do that.”
His father had knelt down, and David had closed his eyes. Tight. Tighter as he’d felt the fingers where his cheek still stung. Gretchen said boys don’t cry.
And he’d tried not to, really tried as his father had wrapped him up, squeezing all his broken pieces back together.
“I’ll make it right. I promise.” The whisper had only made it harder. He had been grateful his father had held him long enough for him to gain control again. That way no one had known he’d cried.
Lance had walked them across the street to Craig’s house. Thank goodness the television had been on. Lance had tried to hug him again when he left, but David had pulled back.
“I’ll come get you right after dinner, okay? Right after. I’ll make it right.”
David had stared at the television. He couldn’t nod or even blink. Boys don’t cry.
He’d never seen Gretchen again. But thanks to her, he did have to see a shrink. Not that he’d said much. At least the sessions had taught him about the nightmare.
It wasn’t really a nightmare. The therapist thought it was probably a repressed memory. In it, he was scared, but he never knew of what, and went into his father’s room. He tried everything to wake him, but he was so small and Lance was so big. He just wouldn’t wake up. And then the panic would hit, waking David.
Lance had relied heavily on sleeping pills for five years after his wife’s death. The psychologist had reasoned the event might have actually happened, which was why David couldn’t let it go. It had tapped into a child’s fear of being abandoned by the only parent he had left.
David had learned how to change the dream, to walk around to the other side of the bed and climb in. It worked. Without the nightmares, David didn’t have an excuse to reach for Lance, even in the middle of the night.
No one touched him.
…
Speed bumps were the bane of her existence. Maybe because she drove over exactly sixteen, each way, going to check on Daphne between classes. But probably because everything bothered her right now.
Coming over the seventh bump, she slammed on the brakes. Luckily, no one was behind her. She’d know his car anywhere. Not just for its condition, but also for the way he parked it. Always toward the end of a lot, to lessen the chances anyone might park next to it and ding the door.
What was David doing here? On the far outside possibility he was visiting Craig and Daphne, it still made no sense, because the family birth center was on the other side of the hospital. This was by the clinics, where the doctors had their offices. Was he sick? Sophie pulled her SUV right next to the Corvette. So close to the driver’s side he couldn’t possibly open the door. It wasn’t really catty. He had a key and could move her truck. But he’d know she’d seen he was there.
She didn’t mind the walk. She didn’t have another class for hours. Maybe she should just sit here and wait. But then she’d have to talk to him, and she had no idea what to say.
Zipping up her jacket, she trudged across the parking lot into the lobby of the clinic and looked on the wall for the map of the sprawling hospital. If she followed the maze correctly, she could make it all the way to Daphne’s room without having to step outside again.
What if he was sick? Or maybe it was his dad? He had mentioned he was worried about Lance. Not that it was any of her business really, but he might need her. Instinctively, she wanted to console him. Guilt still niggled at her for not making sure he was okay with the revelations his father had dumped on him before she’d started in about how he’d treated her. Maybe helping him now would assuage that feelin
g. Whether they were on a break or not.
She pulled out her cell phone and stepped to the left, surveying the physician’s directory. Cardiologists and pediatrics on the fourth floor, oncologists on the third, urology and gerontology on the second. Why the hell was he here?
She dialed his cell phone, surprised when he picked up on the first ring.
“Sophie?”
She warmed from the inside out at the sound of his voice. She cleared her throat and tried to come up with a plan. “I need to see you.”
“Yeah? Did you decide—”
“No, not yet. Where are you?” Not very well thought out. But she had no idea what she was walking into.
“Oh.” Did he really sound crestfallen or had she only imagined that part? “I have a meeting, but it shouldn’t last more than an hour.”
“What kind of meeting?”
The silence was deafening as she walked into the elevator and pressed two. She’d check every waiting room in the building.
“Are you at work or visiting Daphne?”
“Diversion. I taught you that.” She whispered the words as she stepped out of the elevator. Gerontology was out, leaving the urology practice to the left. Her heart raced as she turned the door handle.
Please let him be here. Urology meant what, kidney stones? A lot less ominous than heart problems or cancer.
He stood staring out the windows lining the waiting room. He rocked back and forth on his heels like he was trying to ease his nerves. About the appointment or the phone call?
“David?” She watched his shoulders tense. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, but he didn’t turn.
As she stood next to him and looked up at his face, she saw why. He was white as a sheet. Terrified. Of the appointment or her? She wrapped both her hands around one fist while he shoved his phone into his pocket with the other.
“Are you okay?” She broke the silence with a whisper, and not because she was afraid of making a scene in front of the receptionist and two other men in the waiting room.
He closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
“Why are you here? Are you waiting for your dad?”
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tighter.
“You won’t tell me?” She didn’t bother to disguise the hurt in her voice. Not that she deserved to be told after the way she’d treated him, but she needed to know he was all right.
He shook his head, differently this time, as if he’d figured everything out. He cleared his throat and then spoke in a low tone that showed his anger.
He splayed his fingers, shaking off hers and hiding his hand in his pocket. “Did my father send you?”
She looked down at her hands, open in front of her, the void where he’d been gaping and noticeable. “I saw your car. I thought you might need me.” The only need seemed to come from her voice.
…
“I don’t need you,” David said. Vile, bitter, an absolute lie. Good God, why is she here? Now? And why does the doctor have to be running late?
David heard her slump into the chair next to him. He had to stop hurting her. He could physically feel it every time, as if it were happening to himself.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “Is there something wrong?”
He didn’t want to share the conversation with the room, so he sat next to her. Purely out of practicality. Not so his knee could touch hers. Not so he could breathe in that sweet almond scent. Her eyes were so blue.
“Sophie, it’s none of your business.”
“David.” The hushed whisper of his name sounded like it did in the morning when they would talk in bed. “If you’re sick, if you have something, I do need to know.”
He rolled his eyes. She thought he had an STD. As if he would have ever risked hurting her. “The only time I’ve ever”—he made circles with his hand as if that explained anything—“is with you. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here? Kidney stones? Prostate?”
“Vasectomy.” He watched her face as he said the word. He doubted she would look that pained if he’d slapped her.
Then she narrowed her eyes, and all her features sharpened. He knew this look. This was the mean Sophie, the nasty side of her he never wished to see. The only part of her he would not miss. Realization washed over him. He’d always thought she did this when she got angry, but it was when she was hurt.
“You asshole.”
Her icy-blue eyes froze him in place. Her voice was still a whisper, but her rage roared.
“How dare you? I have been spending every waking moment trying to figure out a life where I’d be okay with not having children of my own. I thought maybe if you explained why, maybe if I understood, I could be okay with it. I’m willing to change everything I am, and you don’t even trust me.”
“I trust you.” It came out automatically. Should have kept my damn mouth shut.
“Then why are you doing this? Without even talking to me? This isn’t just your decision, David.”
“No one makes decisions for me.”
“Of course not, that’s your job. You know what is best for everyone.” She took a deep breath, her pale throat undulating as she swallowed. “You could change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“How can you have so little consideration for my feelings? You weren’t even going to tell me. I deserve better than that.”
He set his jaw against the strain in her voice. He was doing the right thing. “Yes, you do.” His eyelids slammed shut as she choked on a sob. This had to stop.
“I do.”
He heard her rummaging in her bag. She must be crying, looking for a tissue. Tears wouldn’t change his mind. He needed to do this, should have a long time ago.
“David.” Her voice was deadly calm, crystal clear.
He opened his eyes. She wanted to cry. He felt the heaviness in his own eyes, the thickness of his throat. But she wouldn’t, at least not in front of him.
“I should thank you for making this easier for me. You really are a bastard.”
He saw the keys dangling in front of his face. She dropped them and he instinctively reached out and caught them. A profound sense of déjà vu swept through him. He’d done that to her when he’d tried to give her the car. He shook his head. “I don’t want—”
“I don’t care what you want anymore, David. I deserve better than this game you’re playing with me. I deserve someone who wants to love me without any qualifications. Who’ll be honored, not burdened, to have children with me. Have a nice life.” She grabbed his face, kissed him hard and purposefully. No romance, no regret, just good-bye. An end so bitter he couldn’t watch.
“God damn you,” she choked, pushing him away. “You closed your eyes.”
…
“Daddy, wake up,” the familiar voice pleaded. Tossing to his side, David knew he was dreaming. He’d had this dream so many times. Just walk around to the other side of the bed and get in.
“Daddy!”
Walk around, he told himself again. But something was different. Usually, he was staring at Lance’s sleeping face, but now he couldn’t see anything.
“Daddy!”
The dream would go on forever if he didn’t get in the bed. If he couldn’t see, he’d feel his way in. He stuck out his arms, reaching for the edge of the bed. His fingers touched warm skin, and his eyes shot open. There he was, maybe three years old.
“I went potty all by myself. You have to tuck me in.”
His hands cupped the little face in awe, focusing on the pale blue eyes. Sophie’s eyes. He pulled the boy as close as he could, feeling the soft skin and fuzzy cotton of the pajamas beneath his fingers, the short-cropped hair against his cheek. He pulled the boy’s scent into his lungs until he thought they would burst.
“Daddy, no. Not with you. In my bed. Mommy said you would.”
Mommy. Releasing the boy, David turned, looking at the other side of the bed. But it was empty. His bed, in h
is condo. He looked back to where the boy had been, but he’d disappeared, too.
He felt so empty he thought he might vomit. He fell back on the pillows and slammed his eyes shut. It was just a dream, but it had felt so real, so warm. The sheets had been white like Sophie’s, not gray like his. That meant she was with him there, right?
It could be real; he could make it real. He could risk it. He could risk anything just to feel that sweet-smelling hair against his cheek. Soap, peanut butter, and grass.
He tried to imagine it again, struggled to relive the moment. He tried to concentrate on every subtle nuance of the dream, but the tendrils snapped and evaporated as he wakened more and more. Maybe if he fell asleep the dream would come back.
This time he wouldn’t let go.
…
“It’s a girl.” Sophie spoke softly, setting her flowers in front of the grave marker her parents shared. “Kinsey Dawn, but you probably already know that.”
She rambled on, wishing they were really listening, wishing there had been someone to hold her as she’d left the hospital room this morning, fresh with the realization her sister had a family that didn’t include her.
She wanted to kneel, to throw herself on the ground and cry, scream, kick, at how selfish she felt. But the ground was wet from the morning dew, and cold from the November air. She should feel blessed Daphne had a baby a month premature who’d come into the world pink and screaming. But instead, she was envious she didn’t have a family of her own, angry with David for not being the man she wanted him to be, furious with herself for allowing her happiness to rest on other people.
“I messed up.” She closed her eyes as she purged her heart in the early morning silence. “I’m trying, Mama. I’m trying to find that full life you were talking about. But I’m afraid if I run to him because I want to now, I’ll regret it later. I’ll regret not having a baby. When I held Kinsey today, I just ached. She is so pretty, and she knows Daphne already. Daphne picks her up, and she relaxes.”
She wiped a tear away with her glove. “I don’t understand why it feels like this. I shouldn’t hold my sister’s baby and want her to be mine. I should be happy, after all they went through. I shouldn’t have wanted him to be there with me. But I did. How long does that last? How long until I can have a moment where I’m not wishing he were with me, that he would actually love me the way I love him?”
Compromising Positions (Invested in Love) Page 24