No Less Than a Lifetime

by Christine Rimmer

  “What?” He looked a little abashed. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just the way you said it. What you do. Like there wasn’t really a name for…a talent for taking care of people. And I guess there isn’t.” She took a bread stick and nibbled the end of it. “Nurturer, maybe. But is that a job?” She laughed, then answered her own question. “If it is, I don’t believe it pays well, as a general rule.”

  “Hey.” He looked wounded.

  “All right. You have paid me well,” she confessed.

  “Thank you.”

  “And you know, I’ve always been the type of person who takes care of other people. Even when I was little. I was always the one who worried about whether we were eating right. I took care of what clothes we had, mending them and washing them.” She tried a mussel. It was sublime. Then she heard herself musing aloud, “We were each so different, my sisters and I.”

  He ate a mussel, too. “How so?”

  “Well, Evie was…the special one. She had a talent for reading the future, for seeing things no one else could see.”

  “You mean like a psychic?”

  “Exactly. My father exploited her. He made a lot of money off of what he called her ‘gifts.’”

  Price was looking at her sideways. “Is this true?”

  Faith lifted a hand, palm up. “Scout’s honor.” She giggled. “Not that I was ever a scout.” She leaned a little closer to him, across the table. “Do you want to hear all this? Really?”

  He looked at her with what she dared to imagine was affection. “Yes. I do.”

  “Well, all right.” She held out her glass. He filled it. “Anyway, Evie, the youngest, was the special one. And Nevada, who’s the oldest, was the strong one. She fought my father tooth and nail. She…protected us from him as best she could.”

  “And you were—?”

  “The caregiver. Thenurturer. I tried to make sure we got balanced meals, and I scoured the Goodwill stores for bargains. And I put my father to bed when he drank too much.”

  Price was watching her so closely, “.lust like you did for me.”

  Faith bit her lower lip and looked down at the inviting plates of appetizers. It was the first time in five years that Price had referred, even obliquely, to that dark period immediately after he had lost Danny and then his wife.

  Price said, “When I was little, we moved all over, too. There was plenty of love, but no financial security. And no place to call home. I always wanted that, a real home.”

  She teased, “But you settled for a castle. Montgomery House.”

  He wasn’t laughing. “More like a fortress. That’s what it looked like to me, the first time I saw it. Stone and brick, three stories high. It looked…impossible. Like something from hundreds of years ago. It even had towers. It seemed like a place where my family would always be safe.”

  But even stone walls couldn’t keep death out, Faith thought. It came to her again that there were similarities between them. She said as much. “Maybe we’re a little alike, Price.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “No. I’m serious. Tell me.”

  “Well, it just seems as if we’ve looked for the same things. Peace. Security. I loved Montgomery House, too, the first time I saw it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I thought, Here, I’ll be safe.”

  Price’s expression changed. He looked out the window, over her shoulder, in the direction of Alcatraz. She knew he wanted to ask, Then why don’t you stay? But he didn’t.

  He forced a smile and raised his champagne glass. “But now, you’re ready to move to the mountains and go into business for yourself. Here’s to your success.”

  They drank again. The half-finished appetizers were whisked away. Soon enough, there was shrimp and scallop soup. And then the main course. Faith chose seared quail with leeks and star anise. Price had prime rib. They talked easily throughout the meal. Price was funny and warm and attentive; he really seemed to hang on every word she said. Faith felt like a queen.

  No, not like a queen at all. Like a desirable woman out with a man who set her pulse racing. She tried to be careful with the champagne, slowing down a little as the meal progressed, so that she wouldn’t get thoroughly intoxicated and make a fool of herself.

  But intoxicated she was. As the waiter cleared the plates away, Faith realized she’d given up all attempts to stay grounded in reality. This evening, in this elegant place, with the bay spread out below and her forbidden love across from her, was her most outrageous, impossible fantasy made real.

  Was it any wonder that her heart was singing?

  Price ordered espresso and something utterly decadent called black-bottom cappuccino mousse cake for dessert.

  Then he opened his suit jacket and slipped a hand in an inside pocket. He brought out a blue velvet box, which he set on the table between the candle and the crystal bud vase with the single red rose in it.

  He cleared his throat. “Faith, I…”

  She knew what was coming; she’d expected what was coming. But it didn’t matter that she knew.

  The evening was ruined. As far as Faith was concerned, he might as well have taken the silver ice bucket with the upended champagne bottle in it and tossed the whole thing in her face.

  Faith’s stomach knotted; she feared, for a split second, that she was going to be sick. Her face burned.

  Price was frowning. “Faith?”

  Oh, how could she have let herself be sucked in like this? How could she have done what she’d warned herself that, above all, she mustn’t do? How could she have put aside the basic truth: that this was not a real date at all.

  It was only a nice farewell dinner for a trusted employee. And now was the big moment; time for the gold watch and the thank-you-very-much.

  Price was leaning toward her, his beautiful eyes full of worry and bewilderment. “Faith? Are you ill?”

  She clenched her teeth together, fisted her hands in her lap. She willed all the emotions away, into hiding, down to the deepest part of her, where she’d kept them prisoner for years.

  But they just wouldn’t go.

  “Faith.” He reached toward her.

  “No!” She shoved her chair back and stood.

  “Faith, I don’t—”

  She put up a hand. “No. Stop. I can’t…I’m sorry.”

  “But, Faith…”

  Ugly, traitorous tears scalded the back of her throat. She had to get out of there. Fast. Somehow, she managed to squeeze out the words, “Excuse me, please.”

  And then she fled, almost mowing down the waiter with their twin espressos and matching plates of black-bottom cappuccino mousse cake.

  The waiter let out an exclamation of distress.

  The tears at the back of her throat pushed harder. They rose in her eyes, making everything blurry as she blundered through the linen-clad tables of well-dressed diners, praying that she’d make it to the ladies’ room before she could no longer contain her sobs.

  Behind her, she heard Price calling, “Faith, wait! Faith!”

  She’moved faster, bumping the side of a table and sending glassware toppling and clinking together.

  “My goodness!” someone said.

  “Look out!” another warned.

  “Faith!” called Price.

  At last, she made it clear of all the tables. She shot past the reservation podium and out into a hallway. A sign straight ahead said Rest Rooms and, below that, Telephone. Faith ran for the sign.

  When she reached it, she turned the corner and there it was, at the end of a short hall: the ladies’ room.

  Just then, Price caught up to her.

  “Faith…”

  She turned on him. “No. I have to…You have to…” She had no words. She whirled for the ladies’ room once more.

  He caught her arm. “Faith, what is it? What did I do?”

  She shook him off and shrank back, toward the ph
one kiosks not far away. “Just leave me alone, Price. Just…go away.”

  “No, I can’t do that. You know I can’t let you run off like this when you—”

  “You using that phone, ma’am?”

  Both of them turned and gaped at the man who was gesturing toward the kiosk Faith was standing in front of.

  “Uh, no. You go ahead…” Faith backed the other way— and pretty much right into Price.

  He grabbed her hand.

  She tried to jerk away. “Don’t. Please…”

  “Come with me.” His face was set.

  “But I…”

  He turned and retreated the way they’d come, towing her with him out of the phone area. They were halfway back to the reservation podium when he stopped.

  “We can’t talk here,” he said distractedly.

  “Price, I don’t—”

  He pulled her down another hallway, to the banks of gleaming brass elevators. One was open and empty.

  “Come on.”

  They were inside and the elevator door was sliding closed before she could even squeak out a protest. He turned to her. “Now—what is it? What’s wrong?”

  She looked away. This was like a bad dream. A small, strangled laugh escaped her. Her ultimate fantasy had turned into the worst nightmare of her life.

  “Faith.” He touched her shoulder. She jerked away.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. A man and a woman got on.

  “Great,” Price muttered, and grabbed her hand again.

  “Let me go.”

  He ignored her, yanking her out the doors just before they slid shut again. “We’re going to find somewhere we can talk,” he muttered under his breath. They were on the twentieth floor.

  Price set off again. Doors with room numbers on them fled back behind them. Faith staggered along at his side, still managing, the Lord above knew how, to hold back the hot, humiliating tears.

  They turned a corner, then another. Every once in a while, Price would pause to try a random door. None of them opened.

  “Price, this is hopeless.”

  “Shh…Just wait.” They came to a door that said Housekeeping on it. Price tried the handle. It gave. “Here.”

  He pushed the door back, found the light switch on the inside wall and flicked it on. Then he pulled her in among the mops, buckets and cleaning supplies.

  Once they were both inside, he shut the door and closed them in there together.

  Faith backed up, away from him.

  “Hell,” he said. “Faith…”

  She was shaking her head. And those stupid tears were rising. They stared at each other. Faith thought that, just possibly, this was the worst moment of her life.

  A tear spilled over and trailed down her cheek.

  “Faith. What’s wrong?”

  She opened her mouth—and nothing came out.

  She wished she could melt backward through the cans of cleanser and bottles of spray cleaner. She longed to disappear. But that was not to be, so she let her knees buckle. She crumpled onto the cold concrete floor, crushing the black taffeta bow at the back of her spectacular dress.

  Her misery claimed her. She buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs.

  Price covered the distance between them. He dropped down in front of her.

  And then he was touching her, lifting her, gathering her into his strong arms.

  “Hey, hey,” he whispered, stroking her hair, her tearstreaked face, her shaking shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

  He rocked her. He actually rocked her, as if she were a baby, someone frail and precious and terribly needy. And he whispered comforting things. He stroked her hair and cradled her close.

  And Faith was comforted. His tenderness right then meant more than she ever could have told him. And he didn’t stint. He went on, stroking and whispering and rocking her gently, until the torrent of weeping crested and finally subsided.

  Once she was down to a random hiccup or two and an occasional involuntary sob, he took her by the shoulders and carefully held her away. He pulled a snowy handkerchief from his breast pocket, then cupped her chin in his right hand and blotted her eyes with his left. For some reason, that struck her as funny. She giggled, and then hiccuped.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You. A southpaw.”

  “Didn’t you know that?”

  She nodded. “It just hit me all over again, because you dried my eyes backward.”

  He put the handkerchief over her nose. “Blow,” he instructed tenderly.

  She blew, then took the handkerchief herself and finished drying her foolish tears. That done, she slumped back, against a big drum of some cleaning fluid or other.

  She knew those blue eyes were on her. She made herself meet them.

  Price said, “Now, talk. What happened? Tell me.”

  She went on looking at him, part of her longing to just give him those terrible, wonderful words…

  I love you. I’ve loved you for years.

  But, in spite of all that had happened tonight, she found she couldn’t do it. All this time she’d feared she’d betray her heart to him, and now the moment was here.

  And she couldn’t do it.

  She knew he never intended to let a woman get really close to him again. If she declared her feelings, she’d only embarrass him, not to mention humiliate herself. And she’d had quite enough humiliation for one night, thank you.

  No. Price was not the man for her. She knew that. She only prayed that someday her poor heart would get the message and let her find someone else.

  “Come on,” Price coaxed, when she’d been quiet for too long. “You can tell me.”

  She blotted beneath her eyes with the soggy handkerchief, just knowing that her nose must be as red as a circus clown’s and her eye makeup smeared all over her face.

  “Faith. Please.”

  She managed a wavery smile—and a little of the truth. “It was the watch, Price.”

  He stiffened. “The watch? How did you—?”

  “There was a watch in that little velvet box, wasn’t there?”

  He looked flummoxed. “Well, yeah.”

  “I knew it.”

  “How?”

  “I just did. It was…so like you, to come up with the gold watch for your trusty housekeeper. And I know you had it engraved with something like ‘To Faith. Thanks.’ Am I right?”

  His gaze slid away for a moment, telling her she’d hit the mark. Then he gave her a wounded look. “It’s a damn good watch.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  He’d been crouched in front of her. Now he dropped to a sitting position on the bare floor and raked his hair back with a hand. “So what are you saying? You don’t want the watch?”

  She wiped at her eyes again and blew her nose one more time. “That is exactly what I’m saying. I do not want the watch.”

  “But why not?”

  She gestured weakly with his handkerchief. “Oh, Price.”

  “Just tell me. Why not?”

  She sighed. “Remember when you tried to tell me that I was a little like a member of the Montgomery family?”

  “Yeah. You said I was wrong. In no uncertain terms.”

  “I lied.”

  His brows drew together. “You did?”

  “Yes. You and your family mean the world to me. And I’ll miss you. And I don’t want any gold watch to remember you by. You give a gold watch to an employee. I know that’s what I am. But still, it feels like more. For a long time, it’s felt like more.”

  He looked at her for a moment, his eyes shadowed in the harsh light of the single metal-caged overhead bulb. Then he said, “Well, all right, if you really—”

  She spoke firmly. “I mean it. No watch. And no generous severance bonus, either.”

  “God. How do you know all this?”

  Because I know you, she thought, though all she did was shrug and sigh.

  He scooted ov
er, so that he could lean against the rows of shelves perpendicular to the ones she was leaning on. He rested his head against a shelf and then blinked when the light from above blinded him. He rubbed his eyes. “But I want to do something.”

  A totally preposterous thought popped into her head: If you want to do something, then make love to me…

  Her face flushed crimson; she could feel it. Hoping he wouldn’t notice her sudden blush, she turned her head away from him and stared hard at a plumber’s friend that was propped up in the corner.

  How could she even be thinking such a thing? She wanted real love. A lifetime commitment. A houseful of kids. Spending the night with Price Montgomery wouldn’t move her one inch toward those goals.

  But she did love him. And the day after tomorrow, she was leaving him. Forever.

  One night to remember. Was that such a bad going-away gift to long for?

  “Faith, I mean it. There must be something you want. Name it. If I possibly can, I’ll give it to you.”

  Above the plumber’s friend was a shelf stacked with fluffy white towels. Faith stared at them for a while.

  “Faith, look at me. Talk to me.”

  Slowly, she turned to face him again. And she heard herself asking, “Do you mean that? Whatever I want?”

  His gaze didn’t waver. “I meant it. Just name it.”

  She couldn’t believe she was keeping on with this. But she was. “Well, um, if you want to, you could give me…” And that was it. As far as she could go. It was too impossible. Her throat closed off the words.

  But he was looking at her piercingly now. “What? Faith, what?”

  She had no idea where she was getting all this nerve. But she heard herself starting that last sentence again. “If you really want to give me something, you can…”

  “What? Tell me.”

  She did. “…make love to me tonight…”

  Chapter Six

  Price was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. He shook his head. “This is crazy. Faith, you can’t mean—”

  She couldn’t bear his stunned expression, so she turned to face the plumber’s friend again. “Oh, don’t say that.”

  “But, Faith, I—”

  She spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t tell me what I mean. Just tell me if you will or not.”