Trouble Don’t Last Always

by Francis Ray

  He looked at her, his gaze piercing ice. “Would you care if I wasn’t?”

  The question was like a slap to her face. The hurt was overwhelming. “How can you say anything so cruel to me?”

  “Is it any crueler of you to shut me out of your life, out of Adam’s life, as if neither of you matter to me?”

  Eleanor tucked her head. He was right, yet there was no way she could explain. Even now, she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, have him comfort her the way he used to, but fear of how far she’d take that comfort held her immobile.

  “Eleanor,” he said quietly, and no power on earth could have kept her from raising her head. What she saw in his dark eyes was a misery equal to her own. “I missed you.”

  Tears pricked her eyes; emotion knotted her throat. “I missed you, too.”

  His sad smile almost broke her heart. “We’ve been friends too long to let anything come between us. What do you say we forget this week happened and start over?”

  He was giving both of them an out. She’d been wrong. He had picked up on the currents between them. Thankfully both of them realized to act upon them might ruin their friendship. A risk neither was willing to take. “After we eat, I’d like to pick up a couple of canvases.”

  His hand briefly covered hers. “I’d like nothing better.”

  Lilly tidied the room and turned down Adam’s bed. She felt the time was right for another nudge. Kneeling beside the leather chair he sat in, she said, “I’ve brought you something. Listen.”

  “Seven-thirteen P.M.” said an animated female voice.

  He jerked upright. “What?”

  “It’s a talking clock. Give me your hands.”

  Slowly he extended his hands and she wrapped his long fingers around the squat, fat, triangular shape. “You can set the time for automatic or manual.”

  The three control buttons on top were the size and shape of the keys on his computer keyboard. Adam thought of the cuckoo clock that had driven him crazy and asked, “Which one is for the manual control?”

  “The second one. Here.” She moved his index finger to the indented button and pushed.

  “Seven-thirteen P.M.”

  Adam clicked the button again. Again it noted the time in its electronic voice. A frown worked its way across his forehead. “Where did this come from?”

  Lilly crossed her long legs under her. She’d already decided what to say. “I asked your mother to get it for me. Dr. Delacroix dropped it off tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “The clock will help me keep my job.”

  “How?”

  She almost smiled. Dr. Wakefield certainly didn’t take anything at face value. “By letting you know that I’m doing my duties in a timely manner.”

  His fingers closed around the bulky shape and he hefted the clock. “I thought you were low on funds.”

  “I am, but I consider the clock a necessity. If I don’t keep this job, I won’t be able to get my car out of the shop.”

  “You do realize that this may work against you?”

  “How?”

  “Now I’ll really be able to tell if you’re loafing.” Sitting back, he pushed the MANUAL button.

  Lilly rolled her eyes. No one but Dr. Wakefield would say such a thing.

  The itching beard woke Adam up. Scowling, he sat up in bed, his fingernails raking through the stubble. It was all her fault. He’d been doing just fine— well, almost just fine—until she had started talking about some guy’s itching beard. She was strange. At times she was a motormouth; other times she was strangely silent.

  Knowing the scratching only made the itching worse, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash cool water on his face. He caught himself scratching in the bathroom and returned to bed. Frowning, he wondering what time it was, then almost smiled as he made his way to his clock and punched the button.

  “Two-o-five A.M.”

  Setting the clock down, Adam picked up the phone and punched in the first two buttons. If he had to be up, then so did she.

  A sleepy Lilly answered on the second ring, her voice husky with sleep. “Hello.”

  For some perverse reason Adam enjoyed the fact that he had awakened her. “My beard is itching.”

  “What?”

  “My beard is itching and you have to do something about it,” he told her, his hand going back to his face.

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Two-o-five A.M., to be precise,” he answered, satisfaction in his voice. “You must have a razor of some type. Bring it.” He hung up the phone and went to the sink in the bathroom.

  Dressed in his bathrobe and jeans, his arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, Adam leaned back against the marble vanity. His chin was thrust out and he looked immensely pleased with himself when Lilly entered the bathroom.

  “I have the razor.”

  “Good.” With surprising agility, he hooked his bare foot around a stainless-steel stool to pull it from beneath the vanity, then sat down on the soft padded leather seat. “I’m ready.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to shave me.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve never shaved anyone before.”

  “I’ve never let a woman shave me before, so I’d say we’re even.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’d like to get some sleep before the next century.” Pushing his shades back firmly on his nose, he lifted his chin.

  “Remember, this was your idea.” Her hand unsteady, she turned on the hot water, then draped a towel around his neck. Wetting a hand towel, she wrung out most of the moisture and wrapped it around his face.

  “You’re standing wrong. You’ll have to get behind me or between my legs.”

  “What!” she shrieked.

  “Don’t go woman on me. Come on; this thing is itching.”

  Not sure what he meant, she debated her choices. If she got behind him and had to lean his head back it would be even with her breasts. She was already shaking her head as she took a tentative step between his legs. Thank heaven she had taken time to put on her robe. With trembling hands, she removed the towel from his face, rewet it, then pressed it to his beard.

  “Umm,” he sighed, refolding his arms and relaxing against the vanity.

  Her hand shook a little more. She tried not to think where his head would be if she had stepped behind him. “You’re all right?”

  “Yes. Use short, even strokes and I’ll remain that way.”

  Removing the towel, she squirted the foaming white shaving cream into the palm of her hand, then quickly spread it over his face, around his mouth, beneath his nose.

  “Here goes.” The first swipe of the razor on his face sounded as if she were scraping sand paper, but hair, not skin, came off. Pleased, she repeated the motion, gaining confidence with each stroke.

  Five minutes later, she straightened. “Finished. You can wash your face again. The sink is to your right. Your after-shave is next to the right of that.”

  Getting up, Adam wrinkled his nose, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Don’t you ever get tired of badgering me?”

  “Helping you,” she said before she thought, then tensed as uneasiness swept through her.

  “So you say.” Slowly he stood and faced the sink. “Good night. I can finish from here.”

  Her relief was immense, but she wasn’t home free yet. “Then I’ll leave you with this for the future.” Lifting his hand, she put a small black leather pouch in it. “Everything is marked with raised letters. Shaving cream is SC, moisturizer is M, face cream, although I’m not sure what you need it for, is FC.”

  “Marked?”

  “Puff paint.”

  He twisted the soft leather case in his hands, then turned his head toward her. “You had this ready, didn’t you?”

  A lie was useless. “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you just give it to me?”

  It was now or never.
“You don’t take suggestions very well.”

  His long fingers flexed on the case. “The tape recorder was for me all along, wasn’t it?”

  She took a leap of faith and answered, “Yes.”

  “You tricked me.”

  Although there was no heat in the words, her nervousness increased. “I only did it to help.”

  He turned his back to her and faced the sink. “That will be all.”

  Feeling miserable, she turned to leave. “Good night, Dr. Wakefield.”

  “Lilly.”

  She stiffened. She was almost afraid to turn. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Relief and happiness flooded her. The wide smile on her face carried over to her voice: “You’re welcome.”

  “What time do you bring my tray for breakfast?”

  “Eight.”

  “Don’t be late.”

  At exactly eight the next morning, Lilly knocked on Dr. Wakefield’s door. “Dr. Wake—”

  The door opened, and Dr. Wakefield stood in the doorway. “Come in. I’m starving.”

  It took a few seconds for Lilly to get past how the yellow Polo shirt delineated the muscles in his wide chest, the clean smell of his spicy after-shave. Odette had been right: Dr. Wakefield was a good-looking man.

  “Lilly?”

  “Potato pancakes at twelve, link sausages at six, hash browns at nine.” She placed the tray on the table and waited, hoping this time he’d come to the table while she was still in the room. He didn’t. She tried another tack: “It’s a gorgeous day outside. Would you like to take a walk later on?”

  The pleasant expression on his face vanished. “No.”

  “You need exercise.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need,” he snapped.

  Lilly saw all her hard-earned progress fading away. “I’m sorry. I just thought you’d like to get some fresh air.”

  “Why do you think the balcony windows are open?”

  138

  She shifted from one foot to the other. “Can Samuel drive me into town this morning to get my car?”

  He took a step toward her. “You’re sure it’s fixed?”

  “The mechanic said it was. He said it was ready yesterday, but he had to wait for an inspection.” Lilly frowned. “He acted as if I knew what he was talking about.”

  “I had Jonathan check out your car.”

  “He told me. Why?”

  “To make sure you reach New Orleans safely.” Stepping back, he opened the door wider. “My breakfast is getting cold.”

  Dismissed, she started from the room, then stopped when she was even with him. “Thank you for helping.”

  She was out the door when he called her. “Lilly?”

  “You aren’t going to fire me now that my car is fixed, are you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  His mouth flattened. “Don’t pick up any hitchhikers on your way back.” The door closed.

  “What has gotten into him?” she muttered, then started down the hallway. She stopped abruptly and stared back at the closed door. He’d been attacked when he’d stopped.

  She continued down the stairs. Despite Dr. Wakefield’s animosity and gruffness at times, he’d done what Myron never had thought to do, worry about her safety and ensure that she had a safe car to drive.

  Shreveport, Louisiana, with its old red-brick buildings and streets in the downtown area, reminded Lilly a little of Little Elm. But there the similarities ended. In Little Elm there were no freeways to get lost on, no riverboats a short distance away to lure modern-day gamblers, no giant malls or billboards everywhere you looked.

  And although Texas and Louisiana connected, there was a laziness about Shreveport that she hadn’t found in Little Elm. It was easily distinguishable in the slow, almost thoughtful way people talked and moved. There was an open friendliness, with men tipping their caps and hats and women nodding and smiling.

  Perhaps, she reasoned, that was because there she had been prejudged. In Shreveport, she was an employee of an important doctor, not the daughter of a woman who went through men like Kleenex.

  “You need to go anyplace else, Miss Lilly?” Samuel asked, walking with Lilly to her car.

  He’d already taken her to the bank to cash the check Mrs. Wakefield had given her. Her hands had trembled as the teller counted $1,500 into her hand. She’d almost cried when she had to pay $900.63 to the mechanic.

  “No. I’ve spent enough money for today.”

  “Yes’m.” He opened her car door. “But I always figure it’s better to have it to spend than not have it.”

  Pausing, she looked back up at his lined leathery face. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You follow me closely now. The freeway can be tricky.”

  She pulled the door closed, then rolled down the window. “That’s how I got lost.”

  “Not this time. Dr. Wakefield called down to the kitchen and told Odette to tell me to see you got back safely.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes’m. Dr. Wakefield takes care of his own, always has. You follow close now.” With that last warning, he went to his car.

  Lilly started the car. The engine ignited immediately and she pulled out behind Samuel’s black Buick. The scent of strawberries filled the air. Lilly sniffed, noticing the high shine in the faded dashboard, the windshield free of the carcasses of bugs. They’d detailed the car. Then she noticed something else.

  Cool air gushed from the vents and bathed her face. The air-conditioning worked for the first time in five years. Rolling up the windows, she eased to a stop behind Samuel. Maybe, just maybe, things were turning in her favor.

  As soon as Lilly walked into the kitchen, Odette looked up and rushed toward her. “Is he all right?” Lilly asked anxiously.

  “Dr. Wakefield’s fine, but some man’s been calling you since you left.” She tried to swallow the dread clawing at her throat and couldn’t. “Did–

  did he give a name?” “Kenneth Powell.”

  Lilly sagged in relief. The phone rang again.

  Odette’s and Lilly’s gaze met; then Lilly rushed to the phone. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Crawford?”

  “Mr. Powell, what is it?” she asked, recognizing the Southern drawl in his voice immediately.

  “We got trouble. Your husband has decided to contest the divorce and the grounds of your petition.”

  Lilly glanced at Odette’s watchful face. “I’ll call back.” Hanging up the phone, she started out of the kitchen.

  “You remember, child, if you got troubles you got folks who care about you,” the older woman said.

  Nodding, Lilly rushed out of the kitchen. In her room she quickly called her lawyer’s office. “This is Lilly Crawford. Tell me again.”

  “I met with your husband and his lawyer this morning. He’s willing to give you the divorce if you’ll agree to remove the original language in your petition. If you do, the divorce will automatically go through in about thirty days.”

  “If I don’t?” Myron wouldn’t do anything unless it was for his benefit.

  “This possibly could drag on for months,” he answered simply.

  “Change to what?”

  “ ‘Irreconcilable differences.’ His lawyer pointed out your husband has his reputation to consider.”

  Rage swept through her. “He should have thought of his reputation before he hit me, treated me like dirt.”

  “What is your answer?”

  “No,” she said tightly. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she wasn’t giving in to Myron ever again. For the first time in her life, she had the means and the courage to stand up for herself. Pure stubbornness or not, she had no intention of backing down.

  “The burden of proof will be on us, and that will take investigation, which will take money.”

  Why did it always come down to money? “How much?”

  “Five hundred dollars to begin with. I’ll place it in an open account and draw out of that
as needed.”

  Briefly she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll wire the money this afternoon.”

  “You must have gotten a pretty good job,” he said.

  “Yes, I did. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Powell.”

  “Where is she?” Adam asked, the phone clutched in his hand. It was past one.

  “She had to go back into town, Dr. Wakefield,” Odette told him. “She said she had business to take care of.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “I’m not sure. She just asked what the address was here and left.”

  “Tell her I want to see her as soon as she returns.”

  Adam hung up the phone and went to the window. He’d been on edge since Lilly left that morning. He shouldn’t have snapped at her, but he had enough of people trying to get him out of his room. He was comfortable here. He knew where everything was, and it was safe.

  But what if she had kept going? Samuel had reluctantly admitted he’d taken her to the bank and she’d cashed her paycheck.

  Where the hell was she?

  “Dr. Wakefield,” came the soft voice followed by two knocks.

  Lilly. He whirled. “Come in.”

  “You wanted—”

  “Where have you been?” Silence. “Well?”

  “I had some business to take care of. I told Odette.”

  He heard the shakiness in her voice. “What’s the matter?”

  “I…nothing. Odette said you wanted to wait for your lunch. Are you ready now?”

  “Come here.” He thought she wasn’t going to comply until he felt her presence, smelled the fragrance of roses. “Are you crying?”

  “No.”

  Not willing to take her word, he lifted his hand and unerringly found her face. Her skin was smooth beneath his fingertips. “You aren’t going to tell me what’s going on, are you?”

  “No.” Her voice trembled.

  “Are you in trouble with the police?”

  “No.”

  He sighed in exasperation. “Can you say any other word?”

  “Sorry.”

  His hand fell. “Lilly, you could definitely drive me insane.”

  The deep grooves running across his forehead clearly said he was annoyed, but he had also gone out of his way to help her and ensure that she was safe. “I appreciate you looking after me. My mother—” She bit back the words in-law, quickly correcting the mistake she’d almost made. “My mother was the only one who ever did that before.”