"What?" she asked, mystified by his sudden shift of mood.
His rich brown eyes were partially hidden behind half-closed lids, their long lashes creating needlelike shadows upon his cheeks as he smiled at her and brushed a thumb lightly over the back of her hand.
"I just want to sit here a while and soak it in. And look at you."
And that's what they did… for a full thirty minutes. They sat in the sun on hard rung-backed chairs, facing a row of fragrant bushes, and looked at each other. Holding hands. Rubbing thumbs. Remembering. Wishing.
When did I last study any person this well, Winn thought. When did I feel this rapport with another? When did it feel this right, just sharing the same sun with someone? What a stunning and good thing to do. How wise of Joseph to know the value of minutes like these.
She partook to her heart's content.
I love this man's face, hair, form. I love his gaiety and earthiness, his lack of artifice. I love the sound of his laughter, the turn of his brow, the line of his jaw. I love the common ground we find . The time I spend with him has a quality none other holds for me. We relate, Joseph and I. With him would life be this good, always?
Only Joseph's unsmiling lips moved as he spoke. "You feel it, don't you?"
"Yes." There was no need to clarify.
"We could have it, you and I, I think."
"I think so, too, Joseph."
"But we made a pact, didn't we?"
"Yes, we did."
So he removed his eyes from her precious face and-still holding her hand-bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. She had promised no more tears. She lifted her face to the sun, hoping it might sip away the faint dampness that had gathered on her lashes. Joseph's callused thumb rubbed her knuckles, and she wanted to sit like this with him forever, wishing, until maybe the auctioneer might come by and ask, "What am I bid for this man, this Joseph Duggan."
And Winn would say, "All that I have." And it would be that simple.
"It's a long drive home," he said quietly. "Time we start back."
She didn't lie with her head in his lap on their return trip, and he didn't claim to be sleepy. She sat most of the time close against his shoulder, her bare heels hooked over the edge of the seat, and her wrists looped around her ankles.
The ride was quiet. And long. And introspective. It screamed with unsaid things. Supper at a roadside restaurant was a failure, for neither was hungry, though they both ordered, then picked desultorily.
It was 11:00 P.M. when they pulled up in Winn's driveway. Joseph killed the engine, but neither of them moved. He stared at her front door.
At last he asked, "Can I come in?"
"No, not tonight."
He didn't ask why. He knew. Sighing, he slumped low in the seat and began kneading the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut.
"Joseph… I… thank you for-"
"Dammit!" he growled angrily, interrupting, turning his face away from her, staring out the side window while holding his lower lip with thumb and forefinger.
She paused uncertainly, reached for the door handle, but at its first click his hand lashed out and grabbed her arm. "What are you going to do?"
Her teary eyes met his across the broad seat. "Think… long and hard."
"And?"
"And I need time, Joseph. Promise me you won't call or try to see me until I contact you."
"Sit? You expect me to sit doing nothing while you go back to him and make wedding plans?"
"Joseph, don't! You promised!"
"Yeah, well that's easier said than done."
"Please don't ruin the end of a perfectly wonderful day."
"It isn't over yet. I said I want to come in."
"Joseph, this isn't-"
"All right, then!" he snarled. "I won't come in!" In a flash he was across the seat, grabbing her roughly into his arms. "There's plenty of room to do what we both want right here." His lips slammed onto hers, but halfway through the kiss she was gripping him violently and pulling him heavily against her breasts. She was both appalled and aroused by his anger, for she'd felt the wild frustration mounting within her body, just as he had, all the way home. It erupted now in a spate of pure animalism for both Winn and Joseph. Instead of fighting, she succumbed, clinging to his shoulders only momentarily before squirming down accommodatingly while he arranged his limbs upon hers with little gentleness or patience. His mouth was as hard as his arousal as he ground them simultaneously against her, gnashing her flesh with his lips and hips in an effort to quell the seething within. The punishing kiss lasted less than a minute before Joseph reared back, breath heaving harshly, and began jerking his shirt open. He yanked it out of his waistband while kneeling above her, one leg on the floor, the other angled across her body. Their eyes pierced, shameless in their intent while she, too, roughly unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, then together they stripped them down her right leg only, for they were too greedy to remove them entirely.
His clothing hadn't cleared his ankles before he threw his body down on hers. As he fell, he caught her behind a knee and forced the leg wide. Her foot caught the window ledge, and she used it for leverage, thrusting up to greet and welcome him, fully aroused now, both.
And so they sought restitution, he driving deep, she surging up to meet his oncoming force with an elemental need to settle the conflict between them that both knew could not be settled this way.
But it felt good. Fruitless as it was, it relieved. They pummeled each other, fingers gripping hips and buttocks almost painfully as he growled and she sobbed, and in the end, together, they cried out. An anguished, replete, wonderful, pitiable wail of gratification.
Her climax was devastating. His, awesome. And when their spent bodies lay tangled and sated, they understood perfectly what they had accomplished. And what they had not.
His voice, when at last he spoke, was thick with contrition, muffled in the collar of her blouse, which hung half on, half off her body.
"Oh, God, Winn, I'm sorry."
"I am, too."
"Why did I do that when I love you?"
"Why did I? I'm just as guilty as you are."
"I'll never do it again, I swear, not in anger."
Was he crying? My God, was he crying? "Shh!" she soothed. His skull was damp as she wove her fingertips into his hair. "Shh." His arms tightened about her proprietarily. He lifted his head and spoke in a racked whisper.
"Did I hurt you, Winn?"
"No. I'm fine. A little messed, but fine." He rolled his shoulders back and groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut and catching a hand in his hair.
She attempted to lighten his burden and make him smile. "Did I hurt you?"
He gave a single mirthless huff of laughter and slowly eased himself off her, tugged up his jeans, lifted her legs across his lap and sat behind the wheel again. He crossed his arms on it, then lowered his head.
She withdrew her feet from his lap, arranged her clothing and threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair with an enormous sigh. He sat slumped over without moving.
"Joseph, I have to go in now."
His head lifted slowly. His eyes looked tormented. "I'll call you if and when I get myself freed from other commitments."
He sat silent and unmoving as black water. She leaned across the seat and placed her lips lightly on his, touched his chin and begged, "Don't blame yourself. It was both of us."
He swallowed. The sound was loud in the bleak silence.
"Goodbye, Joseph."
When she slipped away, he lurched, as if coming awake from a dream to find her truly escaping.
"Winn, wait!"
But the door slammed, and he watched her run to the house as fast as she could.
Chapter 11
D uring the following three days Winn learned things about crying she'd never known before. By Tuesday night she thought it might very well be possible to cry oneself to death. Sunday was spent alternately sobbing and drying up, running for the Kleenex box,
then for ice cubes to soothe her stinging eyes. To make mailers worse, Paul called, asking, "Where were you all day yesterday and last night?" And Winn was forced to make up a lie. To make matters additionally worse, Joseph called, too, ignoring her order to stay out of touch. His message was that he loved her and was despicably miserable and wanted to see her again. Though she managed to stave him off, she was deluged with fresh tears after she hung up.
Monday, with Merry gone from the hospital, Winn's gloom continued, camouflaged behind the cheeriness she forced for the benefit of the other patients. Monday night Paul called to say he missed her and would be home Wednesday at 4:00 P.M., and could she pick him up at the airport. She almost expected the ring that came just after nine. This time Joseph cursed at her, then apologized profusely, then called her Killer in the most heart-wrenchingly sweet voice she'd ever heard. "Hey, Killer… I love you, you know." Once more she cried herself to sleep.
At six-thirty the next morning Joseph called again. "Dammit, I didn't sleep a wink again last night! You are going to kill me yet, woman! Please tell me you aren't going to marry him."
Judas priest, what a wonderful way to start the day-crying again! She made it through eight hours at the hospital and returned to her town house exhausted, but had barely flopped to her back in the middle of the living-room floor when the phone pealed, and it was her realtor, asking if she could leave the house around seven so he could show it. To a couple who'd seen it before-a hopeful sign, he finished. With a sigh she told the realtor where she could be reached, but just as she was leaving the house, Joseph called again.
"Joseph, I can't talk. I've got to get out of the house so the realtor can show it. And this is a good prospect, too, 'cause it's the second time this party is looking at it."
He sounded desperate. "Winn, don't you dare sell that house!"
She squeezed her forehead in an effort to stop the tears that immediately began stinging. "Joseph, I have to go."
"Winn, please, I love y-" he was barking into the phone when she tenderly hung it up. She drove to her mother's house because she couldn't think of anywhere else to go where the realtor could reach her.
Before she was two steps inside her mother's kitchen, Fern Gardner demanded, "What in the world is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"With eyes like those… who are you trying to fool?" Fern took a grip on her daughter's chin and inspected at close range. "You look awful, dear."
"Thank you, mother," Winn replied sarcastically. A knowing glint came into Fern's eyes. "Ah, you miss Paul, is that it?"
It was all Winn could do to keep from ruefully laughing. During the following hour, while Fern rambled on about how smoothly all the wedding preparations were going, Winn gritted her teeth and clamped her jaw. There were times when she wanted to scream at her mother to shut up. Finally she escaped to the bathroom, just to get away from the constant wedding prattle for a few minutes. There, locked in, she stared at herself in the mirror. Tell her, you coward, tell her! But the prospect of walking out there and dashing all her mother's bright hopes was daunting, to say the least. What are you waiting for, Gardner ? Your R.S.V.P.'s? Winn's stomach hurt. At times she felt light-headed, and often her palms sweated. It struck her that this horrendous misery bore all the same symptoms as love.
Out in the living room the phone rang. "Winn, it's for you!" Fern called.
To Winn's dismay it was the realtor. He'd just received a firm offer on her house.
Winn, don't you dare sell that house! Winn, goddammit, I love you! Panic welled, and all of Winn's symptoms grew spontaneously worse. Stalling for time, she told the realtor she'd have to think about the offer and would get back to him either tonight or tomorrow. "It's a good offer," he reminded her. "I wouldn't wait too long to accept it." Winn hung up and stared at the wall.
"Did someone make an offer?"
"Yes."
Fern threw her hands in the air. "Hallelujah! It's as if fate stepped in just in the nick of time. Darling, I'm so happy for you and Paul."
That did it. The tears burst forth like a geyser, and Winn fell back into an upholstered armchair, covering her face with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Fern couldn't have been more amazed. "Why, Winn, dear, what is it?" She bent to one knee and soothed the back of her daughter's head while the sobs shook Winn's shoulders.
"Oh, m-mother, it's the w-worst thing in the wo-world. It's so awf-awful that when I t-tell you, you're g-going to want to d-die."
Fern's dread billowed. "Are you sick? Is it some health problem or… or-"
Winn shook her head so hard the hair slashed Fern's face. Into her palms she sobbed, "It's wo-worse!"
"What could be worse?"
Winn lifted her streaming eyes and ran the back of one hand under her nose. "I c-can't m-marry Paul, mother. I d-don't love h-him."
Fern looked stricken. She turned as gray as Jo-Jo's funeral truck. Her mouth slacked, and she fell back as if landed a blow in the chest. She pressed a hand to her heart and spoke in a strained reedy voice. "You can't mean that!"
"I do. I mean every word of it." Winn tore out of her chair, heading for the kitchen Kleenex, then turned to find her mother still on her knees on the floor, stunned. "I don't love him, mother. I l-love somebody else." Now that it was out, Winn felt almost exultant.
"Somebody else!" Fern's face hardened, and she lurched to her feet angrily. "How dare you come to me three weeks before your wedding and tell me such a thing!"
"I don't know how I dare. It scared me all week, just thinking about it, but I decided it was either you or me, mother, and in the end I picked me."
"And what does that mean-you or me?" Fern spit.
"Either I can make you happy or I can make me happy. Mother, can't you see it's really you who admires Paul, not me?"
Two high spots of color appeared in Fern's outraged cheeks. "How dare you speak to me like that!"
Winn sighed and slumped. "Mother, sit down, please. There are so many things we should have talked about during the last year that we never did. About Paul, and me… and you… and even Rita."
Fern's chin snapped up. "Rita? You mean his computer?"
"Yes, his computer. Sit down, mother, please." At last Fern perched on the edge of the chair that matched Winn's. She crossed her knees stiffly and looked as if she'd just eaten a worm. "Mother, Paul and I have only one thing in common that I can think of. Dancing. And he'd rather stay home and punch his computer keys than do that with me. It's you who has things in common with him, not me. I should have realized that when you first introduced him to me. Now I do, and I can't go through with this marriage and take him as surrogate husband to make up for the one you never had."
Fern's lips pursed, but she refused to meet her daughter's eyes. "Are you intimating that I chose Paul for you because I couldn't have him for myself?"
"In a way, yes, but-" Fern spit out a pent breath and rocketed from her chair, presenting her back. "Not in a romantic way, mother, please understand. He's everything you ever wanted for me because he represents stability, security, all the things you had to fight for because you never had a husband. But those things aren't enough for me. I need someone who enjoys having fun, who laughs, who's physical, who… who…" Winn thought of Joseph, and it was as if a beam of sunshine shot into her head.
"I assume you think you've found him in this other man."
"Maybe."
Fern tossed a disdainful glance over her shoulder. "And while you're deciding, what shall I do with all the guests who've been invited to your and Paul's wedding? What should I do with the gifts that have already started arriving here at the house? And the caterers and the flowers and the photographer and the gown?" With each succeeding word Fern's voice grew sharper and higher until she was nearly shrieking. "Do you know how much money this extravaganza has cost me!"
"Not exactly," Winn answered meekly, "but I can imagine."
Fern swung on her daughter, closing in. "You don't get deposit
s back for those things, sweetheart!" she declared with a sting in each word.
"I know, mother. But I'll pay you back, I promise."
It was silent for a moment, then Fern snorted and turned away. "You'll pay me back." She chuckled coldly. "And you'll pay me back for the embarrassment I'll suffer every time I meet a friend on the street?"
"Mother, this isn't easy for me, either!"
"And what about Paul? Have you told him yet?"
"No." For the first time Winn's voice softened. "I'll tell him tomorrow. I'm picking him up at the airport."
"What a wonderful welcome home for him," Fern jeered.
Suddenly Winn felt sorry for her mother. "Did losing my father turn you so hard and cynical that you can't be happy for me that I've at least made the discovery in time? Would you rather have had me marry Paul first and then find out it wouldn't work?"
Fern's shoulders seemed to wilt a little. She propped one hand across her stomach, dropped her face into the other. Wordlessly she shook her head.
"And you haven't asked me anything about Joseph, mother," Winn added softly.
"What does… Joseph do for a living?" her mother obliged coldly.
"He runs a body shop."
Fern raised one eyebrow, snorted softly and left the room.
But the worst was over. Winn had little doubt that telling Paul wasn't going to be nearly as hard as telling her mother. Oddly enough, it seemed Paul was less emotionally involved than Fern Gardner.
* * *
He came off the plane, beaming, with a clothing carrier slung over one shoulder. "Winn, I've missed you." He gave her a kiss while they walked, and launched into a joyous recitation of the wonders of Silicon Valley.
"Do we have time for a cup of coffee?" Winn asked before they headed for the luggage pickup.
"Sure. Anyway, there's so much I want to tell you."
Odd, he didn't notice Winn's uncustomary distractedness while they sat over coffee in The Garden restaurant at Twin Cities International. He was carried away with exuberance. Winn felt extra guilty to have to prick his balloon, but by now all she wanted was to have it out in the open so she could start making restitution and get her life back on track.
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