No Less Than a Lifetime

by Christine Rimmer

  “Just let it be a gift. Please?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. And then he sighed. “Okay. A loan. Since you insist.”

  “I do.”

  He looked down at his bare feet and then up at her again. “I’ll get some shoes on and get out of here. It won’t kill me to spend one night in a room without lights.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Price rang the outside bell at a little after eight.

  “We need to get this money thing handled,” he said when Faith let him in.

  “Of course.” She pointed at the stacks of his clothes that she’d set on the office sofa. “Let’s take your things out first.”

  Together, they carried out the piles of clothing and put them in his car, which was already packed with his suitcases and a number of bulging shopping bags.

  Then she led him back into her kitchen and poured him some coffee. He blew on it and sipped. Faith turned away, stared out the window over the sink at the back parking lot and beyond, to a small section of the road that led out of town, toward Nevada City.

  “How much do you think you’re going to need?”

  She made herself face him and then told him how much.

  “I’m going to add another ten thousand to it, just to be safe.”

  “That’s way too much. I won’t need it, really.”

  He shrugged. “Take it. For insurance. It’ll come back to me eventually, anyway. Unless you’d rather I just cosigned for you. That would be fine with me.”

  “If you cosigned, you’d never make a cent off the deal.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  He looked so tired. “All right. We’ll stick with the original plan.” He quoted a monthly payment and an interest rate. “Is that all right?”

  “The payments are small.”

  “You can pay two a month, if you want to.”

  “The rate’s awfully low.”

  The ghost of a smile haunted his mouth then. “If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll make it even lower. Then how will you feel?”

  She tried to answer his smile. “Okay. It sounds really great. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes ran over her.

  Desire rose in her belly, curling languidly, like smoke from a buried fire. She backed up against the sink.

  He drank some more coffee. “I’ll have the papers drawn up. You should get them in a few days.”

  “Yes. That will be fine.”

  “I’ll send you a check, as soon as I receive the papers.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “And will you let me kiss you? One more time.”

  “Yes, of course, I…” She felt her cheeks turning pink as what he had just asked sank in. “Oh, Price…”

  He stood. “I really am leaving. You saw that my things are in the car.” His expression turned rueful. “What I could manage to fit, anyway. I did buy a lot of stuff. I’ll send a truck for the rest of it. Have your sister get someone to bring over the furniture I bought from her. Put it in my room until the truck arrives.”

  “Fine.” She swallowed. “That sounds fine.”

  He took a step closer.

  “Oh, don’t. Please…” She pressed herself harder against the counter rim.

  He reached in a back pocket and took out his room key. “Give me your hand. Come on. This won’t hurt.”

  Slowly, she stretched out her arm.

  His fingers, so warm and firm, closed around her wrist. He dropped the key into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “There.” She pulled her hand away, but he held her eyes. “Do you know, when I first realized I wanted you, I thought maybe there was something wrong with me?”

  She stared at him, having no idea what to say.

  But she didn’t need to say anything. He was still talking. “I was so used to not wanting. I’d been numb for years. Going through the motions. With all those…sophisticated ladies, as you called them. But then I saw you. Really saw you. For the first time. It was a few days after that opening of Ariel’s, when you finally cornered me in my office and told me you were leaving in two weeks, no matter what. Do you remember that day?”

  “Yes. But, Price, I don’t think we should—”

  “Shh…I’m almost out of here. I swear. All I’m saying is, I realized I wanted you and I thought I had a damn hormone problem.”

  “Oh, Price…”

  “I still think I have a damn hormone problem, if you want to know the truth. All I want to do is make love with you.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He chuckled. “Because I just have no shame about it. Even after all the ugly truths, after last night. I keep thinking that nothing matters but having you. That everything will be all right, if I can just get you into bed.”

  “But it won’t be all right. You have to know that.”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “I guess. Hell. I spent all that money on psychiatrists for Parker. Maybe I should have spent some time talking to them myself.” He put a finger beneath her chin and made her look at him. “You’re not saying anything.” He put his hand on the side of her cheek. “Faith? Talk to me.”

  The scent of him swam around her, and she could feel the heat of his body, so close…

  “You have to go, Price. Please.”

  “My kiss?”

  “All right.” She closed her eyes and lifted her mouth.

  His lips brushed hers, so lightly, so sweetly. “Goodbye, Faith.”

  “Goodbye, Price.”

  She kept her eyes closed as he left. She was afraid that if she opened them and saw him walking away, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She’d chase after him, throw herself on him, beg him to stay.

  The door between her apartment and the office was still open. Faintly, far away, she heard his car start up. She turned slowly and looked out the kitchen window again. She saw the Jaguar, too briefly, as it passed through the little patch of highway that could be seen from where she stood.

  The key he’d given her was still clutched in her hand. And she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her wrist, his gentle touch beneath her chin, across her cheek. Her lips burned where his had brushed them. She tried to absorb the fact that this was the last time she would feel these things. But her mind refused to take that in quite yet.

  Faith set the key on the counter. Then she went to the coffeepot and poured herself a fresh cup. She carried the coffee into the living room and sat on the couch.

  Before her, on the coffee table, was the house wren Sam Fletcher had carved, still singing its ardent imaginary song.

  Faith’s song, however, had ended. It had been so beautiful. And so heartbreakingly brief.

  Not more than five minutes later, the outside bell jangled. Faith started to get up.

  But then she realized who it was.

  “Faith? Gal? Where the hell did you get off to?”

  “In here, Uncle Oggie.”

  He was standing just inside the door to the parking lot, and he caught sight of her on the couch. “Got coffee?”

  She stood. “You bet. Come on in and I’ll get you a cup.”

  “Lots of—”

  “Sugar. I remember.” She went to pour it for him.

  When she returned, Oggie was lowering himself into her big blue easy chair. She set the coffee on the side table at his elbow while he fussed with propping his cane against the opposite chair arm. Finally, he was settled. He took the cup and had that first long sip.

  Then he sighed. “Just what I needed. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  He set the cup on the table again. “So. He’s gone, eh?”

  She blinked. “How did you know?”

  “An old man has his ways. Did he take care of your money problems?”

  “Oh, Uncle Oggie.”

  “Come on. I’m family. You can tell me.”

  She looked down at
her folded hands and confessed softly, “Yes. He did. I’ll be just fine now.”

  “Oh, will you?”

  Faith looked up. “Sometimes, Uncle Oggie, you ask uncomfortable questions.”

  “I know. I’m a pain in the…neck.” He leaned forward and squinted at her. “Are you really gonna be all right?”

  “Yes. I am. Eventually.”

  He sat back, picked up his cup. “Not him, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He drank. “You know.”

  And she did.

  Oggie made a noise in his throat as he set his cup down again. “I don’t know what it is about some men, gal. With some of them it takes nothin’ less than an act of God for them to reach out and take the love they need.”

  Faith felt the tears rising. She swallowed them down. “I know, Uncle Oggie. Believe me. I know.”

  The first thing Price saw when he went in the front door at Montgomery House was that little boy of Justine’s. He was flying a paper airplane in the foyer, laughing and making vrooming sounds.

  Price thought immediately of Danny. Danny had only been three when he died. He’d never gotten old enough to make himself a paper airplane and go vrooming around the foyer with it.

  Price gave the kid a look. The boy snatched his airplane from the air and vanished from sight.

  “Price, dear. You’re home!” His mother came drifting toward him, wearing a diaphanous, tentlike thing with swirling colors so bright that she resembled a floating bowl of rainbow sherbet. She threw her arms around him, enveloping him in the scent of Tabu, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she stood back. “Now. Where’s Faith?”

  After running the gauntlet of his mother’s endless questions, Price locked himself in the library for most of the day. He tried to concentrate on getting things in order, preparing for Monday, when he’d get down to work again.

  But the columns of numbers blurred before his eyes. All he saw was Faith’s smile, her big brown eyes, her adorable overbite, the flush of pleasure and desire that pinkened her cheeks whenever he touched her.

  The longing to return to her was already killing him. But he would never act on it. She would settle for no less than a lifetime. And he had already made a promise that would last that long. A promise to Danny’s memory. He didn’t deserve another family; he would never have one. And Faith was going to get the chance he couldn’t give himself.

  That night, he hardly slept. And when he did drop off, he dreamed of Faith.

  And of Danny, smiling, laughing his baby laugh, reaching out his chubby little hands.

  Then, later, sometime near dawn, he had a nightmare.

  In some dark place, Price was wandering. And he could hear Danny calling, “Daddy! Daddy! Help me, Daddy!”

  But no matter how fast he ran, how frantically he searched, he couldn’t find his child. He woke from that one in a cold sweat, sure he’d never sleep again.

  But he must have. Because he woke once more, disoriented, just as dawn began to bleach the sky. He looked at the clock: 6:35. Cursing, he threw back the covers and pulled on a pair of slacks and a sweater and started for the library. The stock market opened at nine eastern time, which meant six o’clock on the West Coast. Serious trading would already be well under way.

  He was halfway down the stairs when he remembered that today was Sunday. He was hurrying to work when there was no work to do.

  He stopped and turned and started to climb again. Then he changed his mind. He just didn’t feel like going back to his empty bed. He went down again, headed for the kitchen. He’d turn on the coffee Balthazar would have left ready to brew. And when it was finished, he’d sit in the morning room and drink the stuff and wait for Justine to bring him his Chronicle.

  In the kitchen, he went to the counter and pushed the brew button. Then, not even bothering to turn on a light that would banish the early-morning shadows, Price leaned on his elbows and watched the pot. Feeling vague and fuzzy and not really all there, he stared at the green light that showed the thing was working and waited for the little sucking sound that meant the water was being dripped onto the grounds.

  He heard the childish voice just as the steam began to rise from the reservoir. It was coming from the morning room.

  “Shh…Nice kitty. Pretty kitty. Be nice.” There was a hiss and an angry growl.

  Great, Price thought. Justine’s kid.

  He didn’t want to deal with any kid this morning. He would have to get rid of him.

  “Ouch!” the kid cried. “Don’t scratch me…”

  Price straightened as the child went on talking to what was obviously a cat—though there were no cats that Price knew of in his house. “It’s okay, kitty. I’m gonna ask my mom if I can keep you. You’ll like it here. I’ll take care of you…”

  Price went to the arch that led into the morning room and flicked on the light there.

  From beneath the big central table, he heard a small gasp. And a feline yowl.

  Price stepped down into the morning room and dropped to a crouch. He looked under the table. There, through a welter of chair legs, he caught sight of the kid. He sat crosslegged, wearing a pair of red pajamas, his eyes as wide as saucers as he stared back at Price. In his arms, he held a squirming, scruffy-looking ball of gray fur.

  “Where did that cat come from?” Price demanded.

  The boy winced at Price’s harsh tone. But then he lifted his little chin. “I found him. Outside.”

  “Get rid of him.”

  “But—”

  The kitten gave another loud yowl. Sharp little claws found their mark. Eli cried out. The cat sprang from his arms, darted through the barrier of chair legs, and ran out the back door, which was open just a crack.

  The boy clutched his arm, over the angry red welts that the cat had inflicted. “You scared him.”

  In the corner, Sir Winston flapped his wings, making an agitated sound.

  Price opened his mouth to tell the kid to get lost.

  And that was when it happened.

  The floor lurched.

  Everything lurched.

  It was a kind of snakelike, rippling sensation. As if the whole world were a whip abruptly cracked by a skilled and furious hand.

  “What the—?” Price dropped to all fours, trying to steady himself.

  But there was no stability to be found. The lurch had broken something free. The earth, all at once, had come alive. It began to shake, making a sound that was like distant thunder, rolling closer, taking over the world.

  Sir Winston’s cage went over. The bird screamed in outrage.

  From overhead came a thunderous cracking sound. Windows exploded outward, shattering into a thousand madly tinkling shards. Huge decorative pots skittered like pebbles across the room, the plants they held shivering and twitching, as if in some manic wind. Chairs and other small pieces of furniture rolled and danced over the buckling floor.

  Sir Winston screamed again. Black wings took flight out a broken window.

  And beneath the table, which was bouncing around as if the big turned legs were made of rubber rather than carved hardwood, Eli started to uncurl.

  The little fool! He was going to bolt out from under the only possible protection in the room…

  Muttering a low curse, Price dived for the child, just as the ceiling and the story above came crashing down on top of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In North Magdalene, Faith was sitting at her kitchen table, eating her breakfast of cornflakes and milk topped with sliced banana, when her phone rang. She went to the end of the small counter and picked it up.

  Her uncle spoke before Faith even got a greeting out of her mouth. “They just had a good-size shaker out there in the Bay Area.”

  “What?”

  “Earthquake. In the Bay Area.”

  “When?”

  “Now.” Her uncle made a snorting sound. “Gal. Just turn on your TV. And I’ll be right over.”

  “Yes. Of course.”
Faith hung up and rushed to the living room.

  The networks had already started their emergency coverage. It had happened at 6:49 a.m., less than half an hour before. Early reports from seismologists said it was centered on the Peninsula, in the mountains just above Half Moon Bay. They said it was a 6.6 or 6.7 on the Richter scale, smaller than the Loma Prieta quake of ’89.

  A few disaster shots were already in: cars buried in rubble, a collapsed overpass, people standing around in bathrobes, looking shocked and lost, in front of houses whose facades had caved in. So far, a single fire, from a burst gas main, had been reported, between the Presidio and Golden Gate Park. But the announcers said fire fighters were on the scene and the wind was low.

  “And before seven on a Sunday morning is far from the worst time of day to suffer an earthquake,” one of the anchormen said. “People are home, the streets and freeways are relatively deserted…”

  Her cornflakes growing soggy in the other room, Faith sat on the edge of the couch and watched, telling herself that it wasn’t so bad. Not as bad as ’89. And in ’89, the damage at Montgomery House had been confined to a couple of toppled breakfronts and some broken windows. Sausalito was on firm ground, not landfill, like so much of the Marina district, which had fared so badly in the earlier quake.

  It would be all right. There was no need for her to call or anything. The phone lines were probably down right now, anyway. And if the phones were working, she had no right to tie up the lines just to ease her own mind…

  “M-Mr. Montgomery?” The small voice was hushed, hollow with a breath-held kind of terror.

  Price pulled the boy a little closer, but gently. So gently. The small, warm body meant everything right then. Another human being. In this dark place. He whispered, “I’m here, Eli. I’ve got you.”

  He felt the boy sigh.

  They sat for a moment, not speaking. Price squinted into the thick darkness. He hadn’t put on his watch in his rush to get downstairs, so he had no way to tell how long they’d been here.