by Julie Caille
He left Ronnie and went to his bedroom, passing the bathroom on the way. For once, he didn’t picture Alicia under the shower spray even though he heard water running. Instead, he imagined the way she must have looked when she heard him struggling to read. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the expressions on her face—the horror, the disgust, the pity.
He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan, watching it spin around and around like the hopeless circle he was caught in. Maybe she hadn’t heard. If she hadn’t, then no damage was done. If she had, he had to tell her. He had to make her understand that he wasn’t stupid or slow or lazy. His pride demanded it. But if she hadn’t heard...
His jaw tightened. She must have heard. Ronnie’s door had been open. She knew all right.
Or thought she did.
For a few seconds, he let himself remember how it had felt. To be young, alone, ridiculed for his handicap. Shoved into classes with mentally handicapped children by busy teachers with no time to spend on a child with special needs. He remembered the shaking heads, the low voices, his foster parents’ disappointment. They’d wanted to take in a bright child, not a sulky, rebellious little dummy. So he’d been sent on to another foster home and then another. And each time he’d been rejected, it had been like a piece of burning shrapnel exploding in his face, tearing apart the very substance of his human dignity.
Suddenly his brow creased. He could have sworn he heard Alicia calling him. But that was nonsense, surely. Wishful thinking.
And then it came again, her voice so low he almost missed it. “Luke...I need you.”
His mind stalled, but his body arched off the bed in an instinctive reaction. He reached the bathroom in time to hear her whisper his name again, faintly, with a quivering little sob that made his insides clench.
He tried the knob. “The door’s locked. Alicia, what’s the matter?”
She didn’t answer, but he heard movement inside, then the pop of the lock release. Then he received his second shock of the hour.
He didn’t know what he expected, but the sight that met his eyes was certain to stay with him for a long time to come. Alicia was leaning against the edge of the sink, her face nearly as white as the porcelain bathtub. Unshed tears glistened in her blue eyes and her hands clutched at the skimpy towel that wound around her wet body.
A towel smeared with blood.
There was blood on the floor, too, and on her discarded jogging clothes. His stunned glance took in her lacerated knees.
“My, God, what happened?”
She made a pitiful attempt at a smile. “Glass,” she quavered, swaying a little. “Smashed beer bottles, I think. I thought the bleeding had stopped, but then I took a warm shower. I started to get...so...dizzy.”
As she spoke, her grip on the towel loosened, and when he saw her arm, he bit back an oath. Savage emotions rocked his soul. He wanted to yell at her for not telling him sooner, shake her for trying to deal with this on her own. Instead, he sprang forward and slid an arm around her waist.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Shh, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. Don’t cry, darling.”
As she gave a small sob and drooped against him, he grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around her arm. Then, supporting her weight, he urged her out of the tiny bathroom.
Mentally reviewing his meager knowledge of first aid, he scooped her up and headed for her bedroom. Of course, a smart man would have made sure the towel stayed put, but rather than doing its job, it pulled loose to hang limply, trapped between his arm and her shapely underside.
“Luke...” The choked word contained embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about it,” he soothed. “I’m not looking.” Which wasn’t quite true, though he was making a truly noble effort to avert his gaze from her beautiful naked breasts, her satiny stomach and the fascinating cluster of downy blond curls at the apex of her lovely thighs. Affecting clinical indifference, he lowered her to the bed, re-covered her with the towel and made a quick examination of her injuries. “I think that arm is going to need some stitches,” he said. “When was your last tetanus shot?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes were closed. “Oh, Luke, I feel so strange.”
“What’s the matter with Aunt Alicia?” Ronnie piped from the doorway.
Luke moved to shield Ronnie’s view of his aunt. “Hey, squirt, go into my room and call Brian’s mom. Ask if she can come over right away. Tell her it’s an emergency.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened with alarm. “Is Aunt Alicia going to die?”
“No, she’s just got a little cut, but I have to take her to the hospital to get patched up. Don’t worry, Ron. She’s fine, I promise. Do you think you can call Brian’s mom?”
“Yes.” Ronnie disappeared.
Luke, meanwhile, did his best with antibiotic cream and gauze bandages. By the time the doorbell rang, he had gotten Alicia into panties and a pair of shorts. He had just buttoned her into a cotton blouse when Sharon came into the room.
As he expected, Sharon agreed to take Ronnie back to her house for the night. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said, her concerned gaze on Alicia’s pale face. “You go ahead and take care of this lady. She needs you, Luke.” Sharon laid a hand on his arm, exerting a slight pressure that seemed to hold some special meaning.
While Sharon gathered Ronnie’s things, Luke shoved a pair of espadrilles onto Alicia’s feet and lifted her into his arms.
“Luke, this is silly,” she mumbled. “I can walk.”
“Right. And pigs can fly.”
“I’m too heavy for you.”
“Says who?” he asked, making his way down the stairs. In fact, she was light and easy to carry, and the foolish thought came to him that he never wanted to put her down again. “I work out with weights, remember?” he added in an injured tone.
Her shaky laugh rewarded him. “Sorry. I forgot.”
And as she nestled her head against his shoulder, he wondered how anything could possibly feel so right and perfect.
Chapter Nine
Alicia pushed aside her cereal bowl and leaned an arm on the kitchen table. The sound of Sunday-morning cartoons emanated from the living room, signposting Ronnie’s location. Across the table, Luke sat hunched over his second cup of coffee, his dark hair rumpled and curly, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his firm chin.
She studied him from under her lashes. She’d done nothing but think about him since Friday night. She’d thought about how considerate and gentlemanly he’d been while helping her dress. She’d remembered how carefully he’d carried her, as though she was a fragile and precious object to be revered. She’d recalled how masterfully he’d shielded her from the paper pushers at the hospital, how attentive he’d been, how watchful and alert to her discomfort and distress.
No one else had ever treated her like that.
Not ever.
And so she’d given in when he’d bullied her into spending Saturday taking it easy on the sofa. In all honesty, she’d needed the rest. Though the cut on her arm had hit a vein rather than an artery, she’d lost enough blood to require a bit of recovery time. At the hospital, they’d told her that she shouldn’t feel much worse than if she’d donated a pint of blood. That had proved true.
To her surprise, Ronnie had insisted on coming home from Brian’s so he could be with her. He had hovered over her for most of the day, his blue eyes inquisitive and concerned despite the number of times she’d assured him she was fine.
Even more surprising, Luke had hovered, too. Not in the same room and not in the overt way Ronnie had done but close enough to keep an eye on her. In between mowing the lawn, gathering laundry and replacing an ailing light fixture in the kitchen, he’d managed to check on her far more often than the situation warranted. He’d brought her drinks, presented her with lunch on a tray and made sure that Ronnie wasn’t tiring her out.
If things had been different between them, if Luke had been her fiancé, her man, she could have allowed herself to bask in th
e unutterable joy of being cared for and cherished. But it wasn’t true, and as the day progressed, she’d had to remind herself of that with increasing frequency. Over and over she’d told herself that love played no part in his actions, that he was just being kind. And when that hadn’t worked, she’d tormented herself with images of Christina until the last delicious crumbs of her fantasy had been dusted away.
The light clunk of Luke’s coffee mug brought her back to the present. “So how do you feel this morning?” he asked. “No more dizziness?”
“No, none at all.” She made her voice cheerful, hoping her face hadn’t given any hint of her thoughts. “All systems are back to normal.”
As if he doubted her statement, his assessing gaze moved from her face to her bandaged arm and hands. His mouth flexed, reminding her how angry he’d been at the irresponsible teenagers who’d caused her injury. In fact, she’d discovered that while she’d been napping on the sofa yesterday, he’d taken a trash can to the place where she’d fallen and cleaned up the glass.
But apparently he believed her, for he nodded and said, “Do you feel up to taking a ride?”
Alicia’s heart plummeted. Something in his tone told her what he had in mind. She’d been dreading it, had avoided any mention of it, and yet all this time she’d known it was coming. Yesterday she’d been dallying with air castles; today she would cope with reality at its devastating worst.
“Yes,” she answered quietly, her reluctance quelled. “I think I’m ready.”
“I’ve boxed up most of Richard’s stuff, but I figured you or your parents would want some of Caroline’s. We need to start clearing things out.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve got a possible buyer for the house.”
A small shock wave rippled through her. She knew it was Luke’s job as executor of the estate to liquidate Richard and Caroline’s assets and to set up the trust fund for Ronnie. She just hadn’t expected the house to sell this fast.
“Already?” she said. “I thought the real-estate business was slow around here.”
“It is. I guess we’re just lucky. Some doctor made an offer. He came in a little low, so I made a counteroffer.”
Alicia traced a finger along the edge of the table. “So—” She cleared her throat. “When did this happen?”
Luke’s gaze was steady, his face taut as carved marble. “The agent called Friday afternoon. I meant to tell you. But then you got hurt, and it went out of my mind.”
The message came through loud and clear. She’d jumped on him about the school issue, so he’d thought she’d take exception to this, also. However, the last thing she wanted was to be involved in the disposal of her sister and brother-in-law’s assets. Visiting the house would be traumatic enough.
“That’s okay,” she hastened to assure him. “What about Ronnie? We can’t take him.”
“I’ll ask Sharon to keep him for a few hours. I thought we could go after lunch. We can eat out if you’d like.”
“That would be nice,” she said, her tone automatic.
She looked down at the soggy remnants of her breakfast cereal, wondering if she’d ever be able to eat again. Right now, her stomach churned with the knowledge that today she would walk into her sister’s house. What would it be like? Would it be as precise and organized as Caroline? When she trod the floors of the home where her sister had lived her life, would Caroline’s presence follow her from room to room?
“Alicia.” Luke’s hand slid across the table to cover hers. It was a large hand, a hand accustomed to manual labor, tanned and firm and strong. “We don’t have to do this today if you don’t want. Or I can go by myself. If you just give me an idea what to look for, I can bring back—”
“No,” she cut in vehemently. “It’s as hard for you as it is for me. I’m not going to let you carry this load alone.”
He smiled at that, though his eyes stayed serious. “I can handle it, babe. You don’t have to go.”
“Yes, I do,” she asserted. “Let’s face it, Luke. This isn’t easy for either of us.”
His fingers tightened over hers, conveying a wealth of understanding. “No, but I’ve gotten over the hump. If it’s going to be too tough for you, I think you’d better skip it.”
Damn him, he was being too nice. She needed distance, not kindness and compassion. The empathy in his eyes strained the fragile fabric of her self-control. It made her want to lean on him instead of being strong, draw him close instead of being safe. Most of all, it made her want to weep—for her sister, for Richard, for Ronnie. And for her own lost dreams.
Sending him a frown, she disengaged her hand from his. “I’m going with you,” she said shortly. “It’s not a subject for debate.”
She spoke the words with coolness, enough to redefine the line that should be separating them. A little less chumminess and camaraderie would make it a lot easier to cope. She might love him, but she wasn’t about to let him know it.
The tactic worked only too well, for at once the good humor faded from his face, replaced by a brittleness that had been missing before. He rose to his feet and reached for his hat. “Fine,” he said evenly. “I have to go out and deliver some parts. I should be back around eleven-thirty.”
But as he walked away from her, her chest felt as empty and hollow as the echo of his receding footsteps.
* * *
After Luke left, time seemed to slow down. There wasn’t much for Alicia to do, so she decided to sit in the living room and fold laundry while Ronnie watched Looney Tunes. Carefully, as though to make up for driving Luke away, she smoothed her fingers over the soft cotton of one of his shirts.
How silly to be envious of a piece of cloth. But the shirt had rights she could never have. The right to press against his body, the right to absorb his scent.
The right to belong to him.
The knowledge of her own folly throbbed inside her like a festering sore. Matching pairs of socks together, she thought what a fool she was to be sighing over a piece of clothing. And for heaven’s sake, why was she in love with Luke when she could have been in love with Nick? Nick was handsome and predictable and safe, and he came from the same world she did—the world her parents approved. On the other hand, she doubted Nick loved her, either, so perhaps for once she had been wise.
She looked over at Ronnie, stretched out on the rug with his chin on his hands, and tried to imagine taking him back to Boston and installing him in her guest room. But a child wasn’t like a light fixture, something to be disconnected from one location and reattached in another. Ronnie was a child, a human being, and as Mrs. Glover had pointed out, he needed stability. Still, the thought of going back alone—without Ronnie—was almost more than she could bear.
As the child giggled over the cartoon, Alicia wondered what Caroline would have wanted them to do. Just the other day she had read an article that suggested it was becoming popular for parents to name two guardians in their wills—one to raise and educate the child, the other to look after the financial interests. But Caroline and Richard had not specified these roles for her and Luke. Apparently they had trusted them to do what was right, and had not anticipated how difficult it would be.
When the program came to an end, Ronnie shut off the TV and came to sit next to her, his curious gaze trailing over her various bandages. “Does it still hurt?”
“No, it’s much better, thanks to you and Uncle Luke.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders. “You both have been taking such good care of me.”
Ronnie accepted the gesture, cuddling against her as he so often cuddled against Luke. “Maybe I’ll be a doctor when I grow up,” he said pensively. “Or a teacher.”
“How about a writer?” she teased, watching his face. “Like the little boy who wrote that book we read yesterday.”
“Can we read it again?”
The request took her by surprise, but she was more than willing to comply. As she settled the book on her lap and began the diarylike narrative, Ronnie leaned closer, his exp
ression betraying fascination as he inspected each illustration.
“This really happened,” he stated when they reached the end.
“Yes, it did. Tommy got through a hard time by writing about what happened to him and by drawing the pictures. I’m sure it helped him to feel better.” Alicia smiled at him. “Maybe you could do the same. I could help you if you wanted me to. And I know you could do the pictures.”
“But Tommy’s story has a happy ending,” the child objected in a thready voice. “Mine doesn’t.”
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, and hugged him again. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you’ll be happy again. It’s going to take a while, but it will happen.”
“I know,” he quavered with a wisdom far beyond his years. “I’m happy sometimes. But sometimes I’m sad ‘cuz I miss my mom and dad so much.”
Again he surprised her, this time with the suddenness of his movement as he turned his face into the pillow of her breasts. And as his hot, silent tears soaked into her blouse, Alicia rested her cheek on the top of his head and enfolded him with her love.
* * *
“Do you ever miss the climate up north?” Alicia asked.
Luke rubbed a thumb along the rim of the steering wheel as he considered her question. The drive to West University, where Caroline and Richard had lived, usually took about an hour. Alicia had been quiet when they’d left the house, but somewhere around the time they’d hit I-45, she’d started to make desultory conversation. He enjoyed listening to her talk. Her voice was pleasant and easy on the ears, soothing him in a way nothing else could have done. And for the first time since Friday night, he relaxed.
“Yeah, sometimes,” he admitted. “But not during the winter. I can do without the snow and ice.”
He found himself elaborating, explaining all the things he liked about living in the South. And she listened, really listened, as though what he said mattered, as though he was saying something important and intelligent. As though she had not overheard his humiliating struggle to read, which he knew damned well she had.