by Ann Cristy
"My mother?" Zen whispered, feeling much subdued.
"Yes, your mother. I loved her dearly, even after she married Patrick Driscoll." He sighed wistfully.
Zen began to see the older man with new eyes. "My mother was a lucky woman to have two such fine men love her."
Pythagoras Telos regarded her thoughtfully. "You are her child. Oh, not outwardly, but in many ways I see my Maria." He turned on one well-shod foot and returned to the dining room.
Zen went upstairs and changed into jeans and a cotton shirt. Bathing the twins was like an Olympic competition to see who would get wetter—the boys, Lona, or herself. But Zen delighted in the boys' antics.
By the time they were in their beds waiting for their uncle and grandmother to come and say good night, Zen was glad to escape to her room and change again, into dry clothes. Feeling restless, she chose dove gray sweat pants and a sweat shirt. She would jog around the yard before going to bed.
When she stepped outside, she saw that Damon's car was missing. She guessed that he had taken Melissa Harewell home.
The night was so beautiful with the moon rising over the water. Zen paused to admire the scene, then climbed the rickety steps of a gazebo built on a point of land near the water.
Weeds and bracken surrounded the building, whose disrepair contrasted sharply with the well-tended main house and grounds.
Zen welcomed the feeling of solitude and neglect. She was reminded of her untenable position in the Aristides household. She would never give the twins over to the manicured, repressive hands of Melissa Harewell. Boarding school for David and Daniel? Never! She would see Damon in hell first!
"So this is where you are." The deep voice of the man she'd been thinking about, coming out of the pitch darkness, shocked her out of her reverie and made her jump in surprise.
She whirled to face him and stumbled into a network of cobwebs. "Aaagh! Oh, I hate this stuff. It's in my mouth, my eyebrows. Damn you, Damon, must you move like a fox?" She flailed her hands in a futile attempt to escape the sticky webs.
"Here, let me help you." Damon vaulted over the railing with ease and pulled Zen into his arms. He wiped the sticky silk from her face and form with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. "There, is that better?"
She nodded. "Yes, thank you, most of it's gone. That's one of the things I hated most about camping—cobwebs ... and burdocks. I always had them on my clothes.
The more I picked them off, the more they got stuck on me."
"I hated the mosquitoes and the black flies," Damon said.
"Black flies!" Zen exclaimed, closing her eyes. "I'd forgotten about them. Daddy used to take us to his cabin on TupperLake in the Adirondacks, and he would paint, not seeming to notice when the black flies started to swarm around him. How they stung!"
"And the deerflies," Damon added.
"Yes! Oh, those horrid flies that would follow when you went to the farm for milk and eggs. Eleni would scream bloody murder. She always hated them worst of all." Zen started to laugh, not even noticing when her laughter turned to sobs. Her return to Long Island had forced her to recall painful memories she'd gone to Ireland to forget.
Damon drew her gently into his arms, caressing her hair and back. "You still miss her, don't you?" he said softly.
Zen gulped and nodded, hardly realizing that her face was pressed against his chest. "It was so awful losing her so soon after my mother and father. If it hadn't been for David, I... I don't know what I would have done."
"But why couldn't you turn to me?" Damon whispered in an anguished voice, running his hands up and down her arms in a tender message.
Zen looked up, aware all at once of how her blood seemed to be pounding out of rhythm. She tried to push away from him. "No, I couldn't do that." She gasped for air, feeling as though she had just climbed a mountain, trying to ignore the warmth of his closeness.
"Zen, listen to me. I know you hated what Lissa said tonight about sending the boys to boarding school."
"Never."
"Will you listen?" Damon's voice, harsh all at once, caught Zen's full attention. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do with either David or Daniel.
You can decide how the boys are raised. You can be their mother."
She looked at him without understanding.
"Marry me... and you'll have both boys," Damon said in a choked whisper.
Be Damon's wife? Be with him always?
For another moment Zen didn't move—hope, fear, delight, and desire all whirling inside her. Then fury erupted. "And what will you do with your other wife, Melissa? Put her on hold? Or will you put me on hold and tend her? No, damn you, no!"
Finding strength she didn't know she possessed, Zen pushed Damon, catching him off guard. He staggered backward, trying to maintain his balance. When he hit the railing, it looked as if he would regain his footing. But the rotted wood of the gazebo gave way with a tearing crash, sending Damon and the railing down into the shrubbery.
Zen stood aghast as he began thrashing in the bushes, trying to stand up. "Oh, my God! How did that happen? I'm sorry, Damon. What have I done!"
Pain and love raging within her, Zen knew she couldn't face Damon's wrath. Feeling like the greatest coward who had ever lived, she turned and ran from him. He called her name over and over again, but she kept running.
She didn't stop until she was in her room. She tore off her clothes and stepped under the shower, lathering her body with vicious strokes that reddened her skin. "What the blazes does he think he's doing?" she demanded out loud as she stood at the mirror minutes later, pulling a comb through her hair. "Setting up an At Home Concubine Bureau, is he? Damn him to hell! He won't use me."
Furious, she stalked naked into her bedroom, still mumbling to herself, her body slippery with the lotion she had just rubbed over it.
A knock sounded, and the door swung open. Damon entered. "Zen, if you would just listen to me, calm down—" He saw her and stopped short, one hand raised defensively, bracken still clinging to his clothes. The angry look on his face softened to one of sensual shock as his eyes assessed her.
Zen's temper flared anew. "Get out of here!" Making no move to cover herself, she reached for a figurine on a side table and threw it against the wall with all her might.
The statue grazed the side of Damon's head, making him blink, but he didn't take his eyes off her body. "I'm going," he mumbled, "but this isn't the end of it."
"It damn well better be!" Zen watched the door close, her chin trembling with suppressed emotion. "And what's more, I never used to swear like this in Dublin," she added quietly, sniffing.
Feeling thoroughly dispirited, she pulled on a silk wraparound, slipped on soft silk scuffs, and bent to pick up the pieces of the broken figurine.
A knock on the door sent Zen scrambling for another weapon. But at the sound of the voice coming through the door she sighed with relief. "It is I, Lona, Miss Driscoll. Kyrie Damon sent me to clean up the broken china. He said he broke it by accident."
"He did no such thing." Zen rose from her knees and opened the door, facing Lona with arms akimbo. "I broke it. I threw it at him."
Lona nodded, stone-faced.-
"He's an aggravator and an instigator," Zen declared hotly.
"As a boy he was always full of mischief," Lona concurred, sweeping up the broken china.
"Mischief! The man is a...a revolutionary!"
Lona turned on the vacuum cleaner, effectively silencing Zen. Once the rug was clean, she turned off the machine and picked up the plastic bag filled with shards. "Good night, Miss Driscoll," she murmured.
"Good night, Lona."
Zen didn't sleep well that night. Not even the sweet-smelling sheets soothed her. She tossed and turned until the eastern sky began to lighten.
She rose late in the morning, still disgruntled, feeling lethargic and out of sorts.
She was wrapping a robe around her when her bedroom door crashed open and the boys tumbled in, grinn
ing exuberantly.
"Breakfast time!" David sang out, flinging himself at her. Daniel hung back shyly until Zen pulled him forward. She hugged him fiercely, suddenly overwhelmed with love for them.
Daniel looked up at her, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Lona said we're having pancakes today."
"Are they like the oatcakes Bridie used to make me, Aunt Zeno?" David asked, referring to the woman who had been their housekeeper in the Dublin apartment.
"A little like that, yes," Zen answered. "Why don't you two go downstairs and wait for me in the morning room? Then the three of us can eat together."
"Uncle Damon will be there, too," David told her. "He's staying home today. He's sick... but he's eating with us anyway."
Zen paused at the bathroom doorway. "Sick? What's wrong with him?" Her throat tightened.
"He isn't sick, Aunt Zeno. He itches," Daniel explained. Both boys galloped out of the room, leaving Zen with her mouth open, poised to ask another question.
Dismissing her concern, she showered, brushed her teeth, and put on turquoise slacks and a cotton shirt. The slacks were made of a stretchable wool she had designed herself. The shirt was a madras cotton in cream and turquoise. She wore turquoise hand-tooled Turkish slippers.
She went down the stairs wondering if Melissa was coming to breakfast. Was that why Damon was staying home from work? The boys might have assumed he was sick. She geared herself to face the honey-voiced Melissa. Sophie, she was sure, would still be in bed. Mrs.
Aristides rarely rose before eleven o'clock.
As she approached the morning room, Zen heard David's boisterous voice and the quieter responses of his twin.
"Good morning." Expecting to see Lissa, she stretched her mouth into its widest smile. Instead, she saw only Damon. At least he resembled Damon. Zen stared aghast at his red and swollen face. "What happened to you? You look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy."
"Very funny." Damon's mouth was almost lost in his swollen cheeks. "There was poison ivy around the gazebo," he explained.
"Good Lord!" Zen breathed, torn between contrition and amusement.
Damon shot her a warning look. "If you laugh, Xenobia," he said with a calm menace, "I'll toss you in the poison ivy, too."
"Well, you needn't get huffy," she retorted. "It was an accident."
He held up one hand. "Don't say that. Ever since you arrived, you've caused one accident after another. I'm beginning to wonder if there's something more than that behind the incidents."
Zen put her hands on her hips. "You're not going to sit there and tell me you think I knew there was poison ivy..." Catching the boys' solemn gazes, she fell silent. "What I mean is, I'm very sorry you're experiencing... er... such discomfort."
"Thank you," Damon said politely, then winced and began rubbing his back against his chair.
"I don't think you should scratch," Zen said.
"I can't help it," he snapped.
"What's that funny white stuff on your arms, Uncle Damon?" David asked.
"Poison ivy cream," Damon answered tersely.
"Oh." David considered for a moment before adding, "Daniel said that Lona says it will last two weeks. Will it?"
"Maybe." Damon stared at Zen as she struggled to stifle a giggle. She coughed into her napkin and took a sip of orange juice.
"Aunt Zeno had a very bad rash once," David said thoughtfully.
Oh, no, not that story! "David, I don't think your uncle is interested in hearing about that," Zen suggested nervously.
Damon regarded her with new interest. "Actually, I'd love to hear about it," he assured the boy.
"Well, the doctor told Aunt Zen that if her tests didn't come out right she would have to go to the health place... I think. But she didn't, did you, Aunt Zeno?"
"No, dear." Zen smiled with effort as she remembered the awful rash she had picked up... and how the doctor had suggested she might have contracted a recurrent illness from recent sexual contact. The doctor had made her so angry by suggesting such a thing that she had shouted imprecations and left in a huff. The doctor had called back two days later with the results of the test— and to apologize. The rash had been caused by an allergic reaction to some untreated fabric.
Damon waited until the boys were playing games with their alphabet cereal before he leaned forward and whispered, "And did the rash come back, Zen?"
"You have a low-class mind," she accused him.
"How much did you pay the medical people to falsify the results of the test?"
She glared at him, furious at his insinuations. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that, if she had contracted such a disease, she must have picked it up from him, the only man with whom she had ever been intimate in her life. But she bit her lip, knowing he wouldn't believe her.
She considered his present mood. Damon was apt to use any excuse to cross swords with her, but he rarely resorted to such crass badinage. The poison ivy must be driving him wild.
Tamping down her temper, she poured herself a cup of coffee.
Later that day she took the boys down to the Sound. Though it was warm for late April, the water was icy cold. David and Daniel skipped stones, trying hard to outshoot Zen and crowing with delight when they succeeded.
"Is that a dog swimming out there, Aunt Zeno?" Daniel pointed to a dark object bobbing on the cold waves.
Zen held up a hand to shade her eyes and stared, then nodded slowly. "Yes... and he looks tired. What could he be doing out there in such cold water?"
"Maybe he fell off a ship, Aunt Zeno." David said in awed tones. "C'mon, doggy, c'mon," he shouted. Daniel immediately joined in.
"Boys, we don't know who this dog belongs to. Perhaps a neighbor..." Zen's voice trailed off as she watched the animal struggle valiantly against the current. "C'mon, dog, c'mon. You can do it." She looked around for a boat or something with which to help the animal.
"Aunt Zeno, there's a life ring in the boat house that Uncle Damon hangs—"
"Good boy," Zen interrupted Daniel. She hurried to the boat house, calling to the boys to stay where they were.
It took mere minutes for Zen to find the ring hanging on the wall, precious seconds to run back to where David was calling to the dog through his cupped hands, urging it to shore.
Praying she could remember how her father had taught her to throw a ring, Zen began to whirl it over her head in slow circles. She twirled it in wider arcs, then let go. The ring sailed out over the water but fell far short of the dog.
Both boys groaned.
"Try again, Aunt Zeno," David urged anxiously.
"What the hell's going on here?" Damon demanded, coming up behind them. They turned gratefully to him.
Zen vaguely noticed that his poison ivy seemed to be getting worse. "The dog," she panted, pointing out over the water.
Damon followed the direction of her gesture, squinting against the sun. "Poor devil's flagging," he muttered. He grabbed the ring from Zen, coiled the rope, and flung it in a high arc. The ring landed directly in front of the dog. "Damn smart animal," he muttered as the dog lunged at the ring and grasped it with strong jaws. Damon began pulling slowly and steadily, being careful not to swamp the dog and force him to release his hold.
When the dog reached shallow water, Zen rushed forward, but Damon stopped her, pushing the rope into her hands and entering the water himself. He grimaced at the frigid cold.
"He could be dangerous," Damon explained, "even though he looks too tired to be a threat to anyone." As if sensing imminent rescue, the animal fixed hope-filled eyes on him.
The water reached Damon's chest when he was finally able to grab the dog by the neck and pull him close. Moments later, both man and dog reached land safely.
"Will he die, Uncle Damon?" David asked anxiously as the exhausted animal lay on his side, his body heaving.
Zen saw Damon shiver, and her concern deepened. "Damon, you mustn't stay here. You're soaked. I'll take care of the dog. You go inside and change." She gave him a sl
ight push.
"We'll all go back to the house. Leave the ring there, Zen. I'll have Yanos see to it." Damon lifted the dog into his arms and carried him, the boys asking questions and racing around him. Zen trailed behind, muttering to herself. "See if I care if you get pneumonia on top of poison ivy. I suppose you'll blame this on me, too."
"Hurry up, Aunt Zeno. Uncle Damon says we have to get the dog warm." Daniel glanced back at her with a worried frown.
They took the dog to the barnlike building in back of the house where the Aristides automobiles and bicycles were kept. The taciturn Yanos and his wife Maria lived in an apartment on the second floor.
Damon carried the dog to the workroom in the back of the carriage house, where tools of every description hung on the walls. It was a good-sized rectangular room with a potbellied stove set on a brick foundation in the center. "Zen, there are clean drop cloths in that cupboard." Damon nodded toward ceiling-to-floor doors against one wall.
Zen rushed to get the cloths and spread them on the cement floor near the stove, where Damon placed the dog. She began drying the animal with other cloths she found on the shelves. "Damon, go get dressed," she urged.
He nodded. "I'll go take a shower." The boys helped Zen rub the heavy dog dry. "Why are his eyes closed?" Daniel asked in hushed tones.
"He's so tired, dear." Zen tried to sound reassuring, but she sensed the dog was in poor shape.
"What's all this?" Yanos asked entering the carriage house. "Kyrie Damon tells me that this creature has come a long way. I will give him some of my herbs, and they will give him strength."
"You will?" both boys chorused, looking at Yanos, their eyes brimming with hope.
"Yes, I will do that. In fact, I will take him to the stable where I keep the tonics for the horses. Soon he will be fine."
It was hours later before Zen was able to convince the boys to return to the house with her. "After all, you've missed your lunch. You must be hungry. Dinner will be in an hour or so. Perhaps we can have some snacks first."
David thrust his jaw out. "I want to take care of the dog. I'll eat down here."
"Me, too," Daniel agreed.