Jim cleared his throat. "I..." he said, and then he stopped, the words strangled in his throat.
"Go on," prompted his father.
"Sage, I... I'm the one who's going to see that Kalmia Hill is restored to what it was," he said, and it seemed as if he could barely get the words out.
Sage's gaze shot to Adam.
"Yes," he affirmed. "Jim wants to do it. He's going to work along with the cleanup crew from Wilpacko."
"I can't tell you how sorry I am that all your hard work was destroyed," said Jim. "I want the house to be exactly the way it was before."
"That's what I want, too," Sage said, her heart aching. If only Jim hadn't done what he'd done, they wouldn't be standing here, the three of them, involved in this intense and exhausting conversation. Suddenly she was so tired that she didn't want to stand up anymore.
"Let's sit down," she suggested wearily. "We'll talk about it."
"I'd rather leave," said Jim. "I've said what I want to say. I want to get back to work on the house."
"But—"
"Leave it, Sage," Adam said gently. To Jim he said, "Go on, son. I want to talk with Sage alone."
Jim stood looking embarrassed and painfully uncertain before he pivoted and walked swiftly out of the house.
Now that they were alone, Adam found it difficult to speak. Memories of the physical engulfed him—Sage's flesh beneath his fingers, quickening to his touch; her head against his shoulder, fitting neatly into the hollow of it; her lips upon his, the softest lips in the world, and the most knowing. Her presence overwhelmed him. He loved her so much that he would have done anything for her.
It wasn't only the physical, either. Beneath the outer trappings was a real woman who understood him better than any other person, and he knew her deepest nature as well. The physical and the other more subtle qualities of their relationship blended until he didn't know where physical attraction began and emotional integration ended because the two things were one and the same.
But he had come here to say something, and so he said it.
"Sage, I have to go away for a little while," and he couldn't believe it when she involuntarily shook her head in denial, when her eyes swam with tears. Had he been mistaken about her? He'd decided she didn't care for him at all after that morning when she had so coldly walked out of the vandalized house. But now, with her eyes filling, with her lips silently forming the single word no, he felt a stirring of hope.
If there was a chance for him, he had to take it. So he plunged on, changing his plans as rapidly as the words spilled from his lips, actually daring to believe that they could patch things up between them.
"It's only for a week," he said rapidly. "I want to go to Florida to study the recycling process by which dyes can be recovered from biodegradable packaging. There's a research facility not far from Jacksonville. They've been working on the process, and the manager has offered me his fishing cabin on the St. Johns River for as long as I want to use it while I'm there." He took a deep breath, hoping that the problem with Karen would spur Sage to answer his question in the affirmative.
He said, "Will you and Joy go with me, Sage?"
She couldn't believe that he was inviting her, but he was, his dark eyes gleaming at her, devouring her, as though he couldn't bear to look anywhere else but into her face. Was it possible that he had longed for her as much as she had longed for him?
"Please, Sage," he said. "Let's get away, just the three of us, you and me and Joy. We'll leave the pain of what happened at Kalmia Hill behind, we'll have a chance just to—well, just to be together."
To be together. How wonderful it sounded! A respite from the pressures and responsibilities, a chance! And perhaps most important of all, leaving Willoree would remove Joy from the threat of Karen.
Then she remembered Joy's sniffles.
"Joy isn't feeling well," she said. "She was cranky this morning, which is so unlike her. And she didn't eat lunch, and her nose is congested." Her eyes beseeched Adam to understand that she really wanted to go. She wanted to go, but she couldn't, not if Joy was sick.
"I won't be leaving until the weekend. Won't Joy be well by then?" Adam asked anxiously.
Sage pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "I don't know," she said wearily, feeling as though she had been called upon to handle too much lately. Kalmia Hill, the house on Beauregard Street, the problem with Jim, the separation from Adam, and the disturbing presence of Karen. Now, on top of it all, Joy's sickness.
"No, Adam," she said, fighting for control. Her eyes upon his were sad and sorrowful. "We can't go with you."
It didn't escape Adam's notice that Sage looked tired. Purple smudges discolored the delicate skin under her eyes, and her shoulders drooped with discouragement. He knew how difficult it was for her when Joy was sick.
"Mommy?" The edgy little voice from upstairs sounded high and whiny.
"I'll be right there," called Sage. She stood up, looking down at Adam. "I've got to go to her. I can't accept your invitation, Adam. I'm sorry." With one last desperate, harried look at him, she wheeled and ran blindly up the stairs.
Chapter 15
"Mommy, I'm sick."
Sage bent over her child, testing her forehead with the palm of her hand.
"She's mighty hot," Irma said, looking concerned. "Do you want me to call the doctor?"
"He said to call him whenever she has a temperature. Yes, Irma, call him for me, will you, please?"
Sage gathered Joy into her lap and sat crooning to her, rocking her to and fro. Joy, fingers in her mouth for comfort, submitted to Sage's ministrations.
When Sage looked up, Adam was there. She hadn't heard him come in.
"Oh, you frightened me," she said quickly.
He watched her with the child, his eyes warm upon her. To him the two of them looked like a picture of Madonna and child.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently. He knelt at her side. "Hi, Joy."
Joy blinked at him. She took her fingers out of her mouth and smiled. "Adam," she said.
"I couldn't go home," he said. "Not with Joy sick."
"You didn't have to stay," said Sage, her voice low. It touched her that Adam had chosen to be with her.
"I didn't have to. I wanted to."
He sat with them until Dr. Hargraves arrived. The doctor beamed his light down Joy's throat, checked her ears for fluid behind the eardrum, and swished a swab for a throat culture. Adam worried—was this the way it was when your child was sick? The fear, the sadness, the feeling of helplessness? These feelings welled up inside him, and they were unfamiliar because he'd never had to deal with his own son's illnesses. Experiencing this ordeal with her, Adam felt even more sympathy for Sage as well as admiration for her spirit and strength.
"As far as I can tell, Joy's got nothing more than a plain old garden-variety cold. With good care, she should be over it in a few days," Dr. Hargraves told them reassuringly when they had joined him in the hall after his examination. "I'll have the results of the throat culture tomorrow."
"Does it look like strep throat?" Sage knew from past experience that the possibility of strep was the reason he took a throat culture whenever Joy's throat hurt.
"No, Sage, it doesn't. It looks like what I said it was—a cold. Stop worrying." He patted her shoulder, and Irma saw him to the door.
Adam said to Sage, "I'll call you tomorrow to see how Joy is doing. And the invitation to go to Florida is still open."
"You know I can't go," she began, but Adam interrupted.
"Hargraves said she may be over her cold in a few days," he reminded her.
"But—"
"No buts," he said firmly. He turned to leave, but not before he squeezed Sage's hand. Then he was out the door and in his car, driving away down the street.
Her hand still tingled from his touch. For a moment she allowed herself to hope. But no, it was better not to get her hopes up. Because when she did, it was an open invitation for them to crash do
wn around her again.
* * *
It wasn't strep throat. And in a few days, Joy was up and around with almost her old vigor except for a nagging cough.
Dr. Hargraves saw Joy again on Thursday. It was another rainy day, and because it was raining, the doctor stopped by the house, saying that he didn't want Sage to bring Joy out in the inclement weather.
After his examination of her, Joy ran into the kitchen for a snack.
"She looks fine," Dr. Hargraves said approvingly. "Don't worry, Sage. I think she's out of danger of complications now."
"What about that cough?" They could hear Joy coughing in between requests for a glass of apple juice and a plate of crackers.
"Nothing a little sunshine wouldn't cure," he said with a rueful glance out the window at the unremitting veil of rain.
"Do you mean it?" she said quickly. "Sunshine?"
"Sure. If I could write a prescription for a bottle of the stuff, I'd do it. Several of my patients could benefit from a bit of sun. Unfortunately," and he grinned at her, "it's impossible."
"Adam asked us to drive to Florida with him," she said. "To stay for a week. The weather is warmer there—do you think, I mean, would it be a good idea, to take Joy?" She held her breath.
"Sage, it would be an excellent idea. This cold, damp weather is going to hang on for days, as it usually does at this time of year. By all means, if you can take a vacation in the sun, go do it."
"Why... why, then I will!" said Sage, astounded at this turn of good luck.
When he had gone, Sage hugged herself with happiness. She and Adam and Joy would be together for a whole week or more! Joy would have sunshine, and Sage could stop worrying about Karen McKenna.
Best of all, it was a chance to piece things together again with Adam.
* * *
The house in Florida was just what it had been described to be—a modest fishing cabin with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living area and a screened porch. It was located in a remote area on the shore of the St. Johns River, and Adam insisted that he didn't mind the hour-long commute to the research facility in Jacksonville.
"Look, Mommy," Joy said, clapping her hands and jumping up and down in excitement when she saw the little weathered wooden dock with its small outboard motor boat bobbing gently on the waves.
"I'll take you fishing someday, Joy," Adam told her. "Would you like that?"
"Catch a fish? Me?"
"Yes, you," said Adam, sweeping the little girl into his arms and planting a kiss on her cheek. "That is, if Mommy promises to clean whatever we catch."
"Clean a fish? Me?" Sage shot back, as surprised at the idea of cleaning a fish as Joy was at the idea of catching one.
"Sure. Anyone who knows how to shingle a roof ought to be able to clean a fish," he said illogically, grinning down at her.
She grinned back and took his arm, warming to the solid way it felt beneath her fingertips and the strength of it as he held Joy.
"You catch, I'll clean," she said. "It's a deal."
Twilight heightened the shadows in the woods surrounding the cabin as they walked up the sandy path to the cabin, and the first crickets began to chirp in the rich green woodland. The air was as balmy here as spring in Willoree, and Sage was glad that they had escaped to this safe haven with its gentle climate. Their ride south in Sage's pickup had been easy and fun and had passed quickly. They'd have the whole week and the next weekend together. It promised to be a time of rest and of—what? Sage could only hope.
On their first night there, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that Sage approached bedtime. She and Adam hadn't been together in so long. She hadn't commented when he'd deposited both their suitcases in the large bedroom with its double bed. Of course they expected to sleep together. It was part of living together, wasn't it?
Sage knew that this time together was a test. How would it be, the three of them in close company for more than a week? Would there be stresses and strains that didn't show when they were around his son and her family? How would they handle the issue of Jim, who had stayed behind with one of his new friends from school and had pledged to repair Kalmia Hill? Sage was worried about the boy and concerned that he might make things at the house even worse. It was hard for her to take Jim's good intentions on faith.
But back to bedtime. They sat, she and Adam, in the small living room, Adam flipping through a magazine, Sage tensely trying to concentrate on an inane comedy on television. Outside, the shrill sounds of night insects seemed to encroach upon the cabin. Joy had been sleeping peacefully in the single bed in the smaller bedroom for an hour or so when Adam smiled across the room at Sage, set aside his reading matter, and walked over to her.
"Come for a walk with me," he said, his eyes shining upon her.
Sage rose from the couch where they sat, and he led her out onto the screened porch. They stood quietly for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight silvering the scene before them. The moon trailed a gossamer train upon the river's broad path, and above them stars pierced the dark curtain of sky.
"The crickets are certainly loud tonight," commented Sage.
"It's not only crickets you hear. Some of that racket is the croaking of tree frogs. Look." Adam pulled her over to the screen where three of the tiniest of green frogs clung with minute splayed legs. As they watched, one of the frogs lashed out a long tongue and gulped down a bug.
"The frogs come to feed upon the insects that are attracted by the light," he told her. "Come on, let's walk over by the woods."
"Should we?" asked Sage with an anxious look over her shoulder. She thought she heard Joy cough softly in her sleep.
"Don't worry about Joy. We won't go that far," Adam reassured her.
They strolled along the path bordering the woods. "The foliage here is different from what you're used to in Willoree," Adam told her. "Those big trees are live oaks. See, the leaves don't resemble those of ordinary oaks, do they?"
"I don't like the woods," said Sage with an unexplained ripple of foreboding. "Let's go back."
She spoke so sharply that Adam shot her a keen glance. "Anything wrong?"
"No. No, but I don't like the woods." She turned swiftly and began to hurry, head down, her arms wrapped around herself, walking toward the water.
Adam caught up with her before she reached the dock. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" he urged. He didn't like the way Sage cast a brooding look over her shoulder at the shadows behind them.
"I guess it's just that it's so isolated here. I'm used to having a lot of people around," she explained feebly.
Adam relaxed. "That makes sense," he said, tucking her arm around his. "You don't have much solitude in your life, do you?"
"Not much," she admitted. "But I enjoy being in the middle of a group."
"So do I," said Adam, surprising himself. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about before, but now, since knowing Sage's family, it was true.
Before them, the black water of the river glistened in the moonlight like glittering onyx, like Adam's dark eyes.
"Would you like to go inside now?" he asked tenderly.
Her eyes met his and she nodded, once, twice.
In the bedroom she gazed up at him. His eyes warmed her with an expression of such pleasure that she knew that he was anticipating what was to come as much as she was. She sighed thankfully and melted into his arms.
"It seems like such a long time," she said, her words muffled against his shoulder.
He brushed the short tendrils of her hair away from her face with his lips.
"It has been," he said, his hands tightening against her back, pressing her toward him before moving on to renew his acquaintance with her body, so close and so warm and so real.
Together they made it happen as though the incident with Jim had never occurred, pushing everything out of their consciousness so that they were the only two people in the world and the slaking of their desires was the only important thing right now, at this v
ery moment. Spirits can be renewed through bodies, and Sage knew it and Adam knew it, and when the spirit is renewed, there can be peace and a chance for a newer, closer understanding. And as they both reached their heights, timing it—he holding off, she rushing to meet him—their bodies took them where they both wanted to be.
Afterward Sage nestled in Adam's arms, unsure about their future, but sure about one thing. She loved him, and for that moment, for that night, it was enough.
The next morning Sage awakened when Adam tickled her toes with a fuzzy fishing lure.
"Auk!" she yelped, startled out of sleep.
She opened her eyes to find Adam regarding her from the foot of the bed where he knelt.
"Shh," he said, lifting a cautionary finger to his lips. "Don't wake Joy. She's sleeping like an angel. Come along with me."
He tossed the lure on the dresser and tugged at the bedclothes until they fell aside to reveal Sage's body in all its richness, her skin still glowing from the night before.
"On second thought," he said, caressing her ankle thoughtfully, "maybe we should stay right here."
"Mm," she agreed sleepily. "Maybe we should."
"On third thought," he mused, "you ought to see this."
"See what?" she said.
"Nature. Beauty. Although your kind of nature and beauty could give the other kind a run for its money."
Sage sat up and stretched. "Thanks for the compliment. But our time is probably limited before Joy wakes up, so you'd better show me."
He pulled on a pair of shorts before slipping his own bathrobe around her naked shoulders and, his arm around her, they tiptoed carefully through the cabin to the screened porch, closing the door quietly after them.
"I wanted you to see this," he whispered close to her ear. "Isn't it beautiful?"
The sun, staining the dark water crimson, rose over the venerable moss-draped live oaks rimming the opposite bank of the river. The water was so still that it seemed contained in its own skin. The quicksilver flash of a jumping fish sent an ever-widening pool of ripples surging outward, begetting more ripples and more until finally they subsided and the water flattened again.
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