by Webb, Peggy
o0o
Rosalie sat in her chair, afraid to move. She thought she might break into a thousand pieces if she did.
Tears coursed down her cheeks; cold dampness seeped into her body. She would be warm if she moved closer to the fire, but she didn't figure her legs worked yet. Her whole body was still limp with desire.
What a fool she'd been. Throwing herself at David like a love-starved widow. She guessed that's what she was. That, plus more. She was uneducated, ordinary, as unexciting as the old gray paint peeling off the side of her house.
A man like David Kelly was bound to want more. She'd bet his wife had had at least one degree. She might even have been the kind who could juggle marriage with an exciting career and make them both work. David deserved that kind of woman.
Oh, she had been so foolish.
Rosalie got up from her chair and poked the fire David had built. Sparks shot up from the poker, and the wood crackled. It sounded so friendly, so cheerful. Any woman in her right mind would have responded.
She guessed she wasn't in her right mind.
Rosalie wandered over to her window and looked across the way. Every light in David's house was on. He was prowling from room to room like a caged panther.
"Serves you right. You could have been in my bed."
Still burdened with the awful knowledge that she had somehow failed, Rosalie turned from her window. Her clothes were beginning to dry. She was warming up, thawing out. And with the thawing came anger. Not at David, but at herself.
What had happened merely repeated an old pattern of hers: She was accommodating. True, she had wanted David as much as he had seemed to want her, but the fact was, she had been willing to make love to a man she knew nothing about. She had been willing to settle.
"Rosalie Tompkins Westmoreland Brown," she whispered softly as she squatted in front of the fire. "Perennial caretaker."
She had adored Joe Mack Westmoreland, loved him with all the intensity of her seventeen-year-old heart. But she hadn't wanted to marry him—not for a few years at least. She had planned to go to college and study music, then have a career in opera.
And then she had got pregnant.
Her dreams of an opera career and his of an engineering degree were replaced by the practicalities of day-to-day living. She had settled for secretarial school, and Joe Mack had settled for garage mechanic.
And then there was Harry. She was lonely; he was kind, or so she had thought. When the marriage went bad, she had wanted out, but he had begged her to stay. And so she had settled again, trying to make it work.
Rosalie stood up and viciously stoked the fire with the poker. Never again. She was through with settling.
Not that David Kelly was the kind of man one settled for. He looked like the grand prize to her. But then, she didn't know a thing about him.
She turned her head toward his house and saw him silhouetted through the window. His chest was bare, and his jeans were molded to his hips and thighs. He looked like one of those cardboard posters for fitness centers, the kind that came with the admonishment "In six weeks you can look like this."
Rosalie sighed. He had been a nice fantasy.
The following day she was going to turn over a new leaf, become a new woman, begin a new life. She had had dreams once. It was time to dust them off and take a good look at them. It was time to see if she could make any of them come true.
o0o
David had planned to leave without saying goodbye.
In the early Sunday morning hours, long before the lights were on in Rosalie's house, he stood in his bedroom with his bags packed. He would forfeit the rest of his rent. It was a small price to pay for freedom.
Freedom. Is that what he had, running from town to town, trying to escape his memories?
He sank onto the edge of his bed. Rover padded over to him and licked his hand. Damn. He had already formed a tie in this town. The dog. He couldn't just leave without making arrangements for his dog. And he certainly couldn't take Rover with him. He might end up next in a place with no pets allowed.
He knew only two people in town: Rosalie and the pet-shop owner. The shop wouldn't take in an un-pedigreed mutt, and he definitely couldn't ask Rosalie to take care of his dog.
He had already asked too much of her.
Rosalie. Even thinking her name was painful.
"Selfish bastard."
Rover flattened his ears and tipped his head to look up at his master.
"It's all right, boy. I wasn't talking about you." He patted the small dog's head.
Would Rosalie feel rejected when she awakened? Discarded? Angry? She had every right to be.
Across the way he saw her lights come on. Soon she would be in her kitchen, climbing on a stool to reach her cereal.
He owed her an explanation. Anything less would be cowardly.
o0o
Rosalie lost her breath when she saw David standing outside her door. Her first instinct was to welcome him with a smile as if nothing had happened. Her second was to run to her bedroom, climb into bed, and pretend she was asleep and couldn't hear him knocking. Her final decision, the one she considered wise and mature and in keeping with her resolution to be a new woman, was to let him in but treat him with proper caution.
She climbed off her stool, fastened the top buttons on her robe, and went to the door.
"Rosalie, I need to talk to you. May I come in?"
He had dark circles under his eyes, and he hadnicked himself shaving. Sympathy rose in her, but she fought it off. She was finished being a caretaker.
"Come in." She held the door wide, then stood back so no part of David's big body would brush against hers when he came inside.
They faced each other, and an awkward silence stretched between them. David was the one who broke it.
"Do you mind if we sit down?"
"I'll get some coffee." It gave her something to do. Her hand shook only a little when she handed him the cup.
"Thanks. I didn't sleep much last night."
"Neither did I."
"That's why I came, Rosalie. About last night."
"It's over and done with. We both agreed." She took a small sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup. "I'm adult enough to accept that."
"You're a sweet woman. A wonderful woman."
So wonderful you walked out the door. She gripped her cup with both hands, afraid to trust herself to say anything.
"My leaving last night had nothing to do with you. I want you to know that."
Was that supposed to be a consolation prize? Was it supposed to make her feel better? Oh, she was in a foul mood today. Playing the rejected lover to the hilt.
Well, why not? Why not leave somebody else to flounder for a while?
She sat with her coffee cup, leaving the burden of conversation on him and not really liking the new Rosalie she had become.
David's hands were steady on his coffee cup. His expression told her nothing. It was his eyes that seared her soul.
"I am . . . was a cop, Rosalie."
"I thought you were a carpenter."
"Only In the last two years . . . since I left Red Bay. I'm good with my hands."
I’'ll say! A trickle of sweat inched between her breasts. She remembered David's hands upon them, his mouth.
She sat stiffly in her chair, holding on to her coffee cup and praying. Lord, let me get through the next few minutes without making a fool of myself.
"My marriage ... I told you I was married."
"Yes."
"What I didn't tell you was that it was a bad marriage, right from the start. Both of us were to blame. We didn't have the same goals, the same needs, the same . . . anything."
"And so you divorced?"
"No. We stayed together, trying to make it work."
Like Harry and me, she thought. But she didn't say anything. This was David's story, not hers.
"There is nothing lonelier than two people living in the same house without l
ove. Our lives became as bleak as our marriage." David pushed his cup aside and raked his hands through his hair. "I finally couldn't endure it anymore. I asked Gretchen for a divorce, but she begged me to stay."
Her coffee had gone cold. Unwilling to leave David's side, Rosalie drank it that way.
"I stayed, Rosalie, even though I knew it was a mistake, even though I knew it was wrong."
"So did I. With Harry. Does that make us noble, or does it make us fools?"
"It made me a liar and a cheat, Rosalie. I fell in love with my partner, Stephanie. I think I knew it a long time before I finally admitted it." He stood up and began to pace, as if his memories were too powerful to allow him any peace.
"The department had rules about that sort of thing. I broke all the rules." His back was to her, stiff with tension. Suddenly, he strode to her chair, leaned down to her, and gripped her shoulders. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes."
"I cheated . . . once. I swore never to do it again. So did Stephanie. We both knew it was wrong."
David's hands bit into her shoulders. She welcomed the pain.
"And you love her still, David?"
He stepped back, his face and body as rigid as if he had been carved from a mighty oak. For a moment she thought he was going to walk out again, without another word. And then he spoke. "I loved her so much, I killed her."
Chapter Six
"No! You couldn't have."
"I did."
Rosalie stood up, clutching her gown close around her throat, all color drained from her face.
"You murdered her?" she whispered.
David had been so caught up in the past that he was almost totally oblivious to his present. Seeing Rosalie's face, the fear that came into her eyes, he felt like a monster.
"I didn't murder her. Not in the way you're thinking." Some of her color came back, but she still stood clutching her robe.
"We were on assignment. The kids were in a dark alley, full of drugs and looking for trouble. Our love had made us careless. We didn't know they had knives until it was too late."
"The scar on your back? Is that how you got it?"
"Yes." David went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Rosalie. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"You didn't." She licked her dry lips, then sat down. "Actually, David, you did. Not that I thought you were capable of such a thing . . . but I sometimes don't trust my own judgment . . . since Harry."
David squatted beside her chair and took her hands. They were cold. All thoughts of his own past vanished.
"What did he do to you?" She looked at him with eyes gone bleak. He chafed her hands gently between his. "Can you tell me, Rosalie? Can you talk about it?"
For a moment she stared at him, as if deciding whether to trust him. Then she sighed softly and began to talk. She told the whole story—how Harry had won her, wooing her at the cafe with sweet promises and kind words, how his kindness had gradually turned to cruelty, how she had wanted out and he had begged her to stay, and how, finally, his cancer had forced her to stay and take care of him.
When she had finished, he held out his arms, and she came to him. They clung together, with David squatting beside her chair and Rosalie leaning into him. And if he had been asked, he couldn't have told who was giving and who was receiving. It was one of those rare and beautiful moments when two souls touched, when two people recognized their separate tortures and came together to comfort and protect each other.
"I'm sorry, Rosalie," he whispered.
"I'm sorry, too, David."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing. A gentleness stole over David's spirit, and he almost believed in dreams once more. He put his hand in her hair, touching the silky strands with a posses siveness that astonished him.
Was this love? he wondered. This tender invasion of the heart?
From the wall In Rosalie's kitchen came the chime of a clock. It was time to go.
David leaned back to look into her face. "Will you be all right, Rosalie?"
"Yes." She gave him a brave smile. "I'm determined to be."
He let her go, and they both stood up, acutely conscious of the intimacy they had just shared. He squeezed her hand lightly, and then let go.
"Take care of yourself, Rosalie."
"You, too, David."
It was their way of saying good-bye. He left her standing there, then turned at the kitchen door. She lifted her hand in the eloquent gesture he knew so well. A quick, sharp pain of regret squeezed his heart, and he almost turned back.
Leaving was the noblest course of action. She had been hurt enough. He turned away from her, closing the door without a sound.
o0o
"Rosalie, are you going to play that king you keep waving around in the air, or are you going to marry it?" Betty narrowed her eyes, studying her friend. She had come to Rosalie's for a game of gin rummy, as she sometimes did on Monday night.
"Sorry." Rosalie put her king in the discard pile. "Lost my concentration."
"You never had it." Betty plunked her cards on the table, then got up and poured herself another cup of coffee. "Want some?"
"No. Caffeine at night makes me jittery."
She left her chair and prowled around her kitchen, moving the coffee canister from one cabinet to the other, lining up the sugar canister with the flour, straightening the dish towels. She ended up at the window.
"That's the fifth time," Betty said.
"For what?"
"Lining up the canisters. You're going to wear holes in them." Betty got a handful of cookies from the cookie jar, then sat down at the table with her bounty. "If you want to go over there and stare out the window, why don't you just do it—instead of pretending you just got over there by accident?"
"Oh." Caught, Rosalie whirled around, her cheeks turning pink.
"You want to tell me what's going on between you and David?"
"It's nothing."
Betty snorted. "Is that how come you were at the cafe last night looking like death, and he didn't show up at all, after he'd been sitting at table two all weekend."
"You noticed?"
"Yeah. I noticed. But I tried to keep my mouth shut." Betty took a big bite of cookie, studying Rosalie as she chewed. "I figured if you needed a friend, you'd come to me."
Rosalie left the window and covered Betty's hand with hers. "You are a friend. And if I need to talk, I'll come to you."
"Thanks." Betty blinked to hide the moisture that came into her eyes, and Rosalie swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Well, are we going to play gin rummy, or are we both going to time up and cry?"
"Let's play the game."
They played the game, and after Betty left, Rosalie wandered back to her window. David was sitting in his den, holding on to a book but staring at the wall.
Loneliness climbed into Rosalie's chest and took up residence there. Gripping the curtain, she watched him. When she finally let go of the fabric, it was crushed and wrinkled.
Rosalie smoothed the curtain, then straightened her shoulders and went into her bedroom. After she put on her gown, she climbed between her covers and pulled them up to her chin.
She didn't even glance at the empty pillow on the other side of her bed.
o0o
Nobody wanted a stray mutt.
David had tried for three days to find a home for Rover. Randy Prescott at the pet shop knew of no one who would take him in.
"You might inquire up at city hall," he said as he paid David for the latest birdhouses. "There's always lots of people coming and going up there. Somebody might want him."
"Thanks."
David left without mentioning that he would be leaving town as soon as he found a home for his dog. No use advertising his plans until they were complete.
He walked west toward the heart of the city. The air had a wintry bite in it, and he pulled his collar up against the chill. Winter would be coming soon. It was not a good time to move, e
specially since he didn't have a car. He needed to be settled into a new place before the cold weather came in earnest.
Maybe he should head farther south.
On his way down Broadway toward city hall he passed the Lyric Theater. There were no glitzy posters advertising the latest Hollywood offering, for the old building had long since been abandoned as a movie house and turned into a community playhouse. Rosalie had spoken with a certain longing when she'd told him of the theater.
He glanced at the marquee. Oliver!, it said. December 15, 16, 17. Tryouts were slated for Sunday afternoon.
David's quest for a new owner for Rover was forgotten. Rosalie had been planning to sing at the great opera houses of the world. "Dreams rarely come true," he had told her.
He stood with his hands in his pockets staring at the marquee. He remembered Oliver! He had seen it once when he and Gretchen were at a police convention in Birmingham, Alabama. It was a musical, with a very good part for a female singer, if he remembered correctly.
Dreams rarely come true.
He was going to change that. For Rosalie. Giving her a dream would cost him nothing except a few more days in Tupelo—and a few more days of secretly gazing out his window.
o0o
Rosalie was checking the ads for voice coaches when the doorbell rang. Wednesday night. She wasn't expecting anyone.
The bell rang again. She underlined the name that sounded most promising, then went to her door. David was there with a single pink rose in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
"David?"
"This is not about you and me, Rosalie."
She stood clinging to the doorframe, fighting the unreasonable surge of joy she felt.
"Then what is it about?"
"You have every right to be angry. I betrayed your friendship."
"We both did." She held the door open. "Come in out of the cold."
He stood just inside the door. She moved to the other side of her kitchen table and hung on to the back of a chair. It helped, but not much.
"This is for you."
David held the rose toward her. Cautiously, she came around her chair and took it, being careful not to brush her hand against his.