A slow tear tracked down her face as she gently replaced the receiver in its cradle.
Part Two: West of the Moon
Chapter 20
January 1991
The Mediterranean sun baked down from an azure sky, glimmering like diamonds onto the pure turquoise of the sea. Erik, wearing a cast on his right leg, stared broodingly out at the horizon where the two shades of blue merged into one. Somewhere out there was Turkey.
Escape crossed his mind. It was a totally whimsical thought. Of course, there was no escape. He'd known that from the beginning. Or at least from the moment Margit had entered his hospital room to tell him she would marry him. Right now, she was asleep in a white-washed stone cottage in the Greek village below. It was early, only seven o'clock, and last night had been the first one they'd spent as man and wife.
If only she hadn't walked into his hospital room that day, he'd be a free man right now. How ironic that just as he'd decided to go to Kayleigh, tell her he loved her enough to give up all claims to Gunny and return to the U.S. with her, Margit had turned up. But was it coincidence? Had she suspected his relationship with Leigh, and that had been the deciding factor in her changing her mind about marriage? Whatever, Erik knew he had to be upfront with her. He'd told her everything, even admitted that he loved Kayleigh, hoping Margit would let him go. But incredibly, it hadn't changed her mind. She'd insisted their marriage would be the best thing for everyone. What could he do but agree? Now, too late, he knew that out of all the mistakes he'd made, marrying Margit had been the worst.
Erik turned from his contemplation of the sea and limped over to the six-columned ruin that had stood guard over the Rhodean village of Lindos for centuries. The Sanctuary of Athena, Greek goddess of war. His hand caressed the sun-kissed smoothness of a column as he gazed around him, wondering why he couldn't shake off his moodiness and just enjoy this holiday in Rhodes. It wasn't every day a man was able to honeymoon on a Greek island. Yet, Erik knew he had a right to feel the way he did. He was on a honeymoon, but he wasn't in love with his wife.
Last night, when he'd made love to Margit, the only way he'd been able to attain an erection was to think of Kayleigh. Halfway through, when Margit had murmured an endearment in Norwegian, he'd immediately gone limp. Reality had returned. Margit had been understanding, of course, attributing it to fatigue and jet-lag. But how much longer could he keep up the pretense? How would he ever be able to think of her as a lover instead of a sister? In two weeks, they would return to Oslo and start their married life together. Gunny would be there, thank God. Perhaps that would help bring some normality to their lives.
A breeze quickened off the Aegean Sea and rippled through his hair. He should go back. Margit would probably be up by now. But still, he lingered, basking in the warmth of the morning sun. He wondered what she'd want to do today. Swim in the bay, perhaps. It would feel wonderfully warm to her Scandinavian-bred body, even in January. Perhaps she'd want to take a paddle-boat out onto the glass-like sea. He was sure she wouldn't want to do what he preferred ... sit in a beach-side taverna, sip Retsina and get comatose-drunk.
Erik made his way down from the acropolis toward the tiny white village nestled below. It had been an effort to climb up here with crutches, but he'd felt such a need to get away. To find space. But it hadn't worked. Even at the top of the Lindos acropolis, the ghosts hadn't stopped haunting him.
* * * *
Leigh stood in the airport ladies’ room and re-touched her lipstick. Unfortunately, the warm russet color did nothing to relieve the pallor of her skin. The bout with pneumonia had taken its toll, revealing itself in the gaunt lines on her face and the smudged circles ringing her eyes. She'd lost over ten pounds, and even now, after two weeks spent in the Norwegian hospital, her appetite hadn't really returned. The kids probably wouldn't recognize her.
She ran a comb through her rumpled hair and sighed. It was the best she could do.
Outside, in the cold January afternoon, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver the familiar address.
The place where home used to be.
* * * *
The taxi pulled up to the house. Leigh stepped out and waited while the driver took her suitcase from the trunk. “Just put it there on the driveway, please.” She paid him and waited until he drove off before turning around to look at the house. Ruefully, she glanced down at the suitcase. A mistake. She should've found a hotel room before coming here. The kids would think she was back to stay. She glanced at her watch. They'd been home from school for an hour. Leaving her suitcase behind, Leigh walked up the familiar driveway.
Half-way there, the front door opened. Leigh saw a small figure with blond hair. Her heart skipped a beat and she stopped, staring. “Aaron,” she whispered, unable to move. Almost as motionless, Aaron stared at his mother for a moment. A movement beside him caught Leigh's eyes. Ivan, their Golden Retriever. The dog slipped past Aaron and gave one sharp bark. Then he was running toward Leigh, his tongue lolling in a friendly grin.
Leigh extended a hand toward him. “Hello, Ivan.” The dog licked her palm in welcome, and tried to jump on her. “No. Don't jump. But it's good to see you, too."
"Mom!” Aaron shouted. His paralysis left him, and he began to run toward her.
It was all Leigh needed. With Ivan at her heels, she ran to meet him, tears of joy streaming down her face. Aaron threw himself into her arms. She clutched his wiry body tightly and smiled into his golden hair. “Oh, Aaron, baby, I've missed you so much."
The eleven-year-old boy held onto his mother as if he were afraid she would disappear ... again. “I knew you'd come back,” he said. “Mel said you never would. That you didn't love us anymore. I called her a lying sack of dog-shit and she hit me. Dad grounded both of us."
With difficulty, Leigh pulled away and gazed into his blue eyes. “I never stopped loving you. And it was wrong for Melissa to tell you that. But when people are angry and bitter, sometimes they say things they don't mean."
Aaron clutched her hand and pulled her toward the house. “Mark isn't home, but Mel is in the kitchen."
Leigh marveled at how much Aaron had grown since she'd last seen him. He was at least two inches taller. Her throat tightened. He was no longer her baby.
As they went in through the front door, Leigh inhaled the familiar scent of lemon oil furniture polish. She looked around and was amazed to see the cherry wood furniture freshly polished, including Grandmother Kayleigh's grandfather clock. The sea green cushions on the floral sofa looked as if they'd been recently plumped and the delicate mauve and sea green Oriental rug had definitely seen a vacuum cleaner recently. Had Bob ... ?
As if in answer to her unspoken question, Aaron spoke, “You should see Mel. She comes in here every day after school and dusts and vacuums. And Dad doesn't even tell her to do it. She gets weirder every day."
"Maybe you should tell her I'm here."
Aaron pulled on her hand. “No, let's surprise her."
Leigh allowed herself to be pulled along, thinking maybe he had the right idea. If Melissa were warned, it would be just like her to barricade herself in her room. From the hallway leading into the kitchen, Leigh heard a television blaring. They walked through the doorway, and she saw Melissa sitting on a counter-top, munching a sandwich, her eyes glued to a soap opera on the small color TV on the opposite counter. A new addition to the kitchen, Leigh realized, and it immediately aroused the cynic in her. Bob, up to his old games. Substituting material goods for attention.
"Mel...” Aaron began.
"Quiet, Bozo-breath. Dominic is about to rescue Alexandra from Zebulon."
"Mom's here."
At first, Leigh thought Melissa hadn't heard Aaron's announcement because her eyes remained fixed upon the television screen. But then, slowly she turned her head, a curtain of long blond hair falling gracefully over one curved cheekbone. Leigh drew in a sharp breath. How beautiful her daughter had become. Her face was clear of blemishes and her girlish body had
ripened into womanly curves. Had her breasts thrust out so pertly six months ago? Likely, they had, but in those final passionate days with Erik, Leigh had probably been too preoccupied to notice.
Leigh saw Melissa try to keep her face impassive, but there was an unmistakable light in her eyes as she looked at her mother. What did it mean? She swallowed the bite of sandwich she'd just taken and said, “Oh, hi. Want a ‘Coke'?"
Leigh was speechless. It was as if she'd just come in from a PTA meeting. Finally, she found her voice. “Yeah, thanks."
Melissa's eyes slid back to the TV. “Aaron, get her a soda."
Leigh didn't miss the “her.” It was as if she couldn't bring herself to say “mom."
"Sit down,” Melissa said. “This is almost over. See, Zebulon ... he's the bad guy ... has the house rigged with a bomb and Dominic and Alexandra are inside."
Leigh glanced over at the TV, feeling like she'd just stepped into the twilight zone. With the exception of the phone call from Norway, the last time her daughter had spoken to her had been when she'd screamed invectives across the kitchen at the beach house. Words like “old woman, slut, whore.” Or had that last one been Bob's word?
On the screen, a house blew up and Mel jumped down from the counter top. “That's it. They always leave you hanging on Friday.” She switched off the television and turned back to Leigh. “So, how was Norway?"
Uneasily, Leigh glanced over at Aaron who'd sat down at the table beside her, nibbling an apple. “It ... wasn't exactly what'd I'd expected."
"Oh, really?” She flipped a long strand of hair around in front of her and examined the ends. Then, softly, she said, “And Erik? How is he?"
Leigh felt the color rise on her face. “He's getting married."
For the first time, Mel's eyes met hers. “Who to?"
"An old girlfriend in Oslo. I met her. She's very nice."
"So...” Melissa stretched out her legs under the table and studied her lavender fingernails. “You won't be seeing him again?"
"No.” Quietly.
"Is there a chance you and Dad..."
"No.” Emphatically.
"Well.” Melissa stood up. “You will stay for dinner, won't you? Dad won't be home. It'll be just the three of us."
Before Leigh could answer, she heard the back door open. “Hey, Mel, what's cooking? I'm starved."
Leigh's mouth went dry at the sound of Mark's voice. Without being able to see him through the walls of the mudroom, she could only imagine what he looked like, shrugging out of his coat and talking to Melissa over his shoulder. “Vicki sent me home because she wasn't feeling well. I think she's coming down with the flu.” He walked into the room and stopped dead upon seeing Leigh.
Gravely, Melissa eyed him. “We have a visitor."
"She's not a visitor,” Aaron said, glaring at Melissa. “She's our mom."
A cold look settled on Mark's handsome face. “What brings you here?"
"I wanted to see all of you. We can't go on the way it has been."
"Why not? We're doing okay without you."
"Well, I'm not doing okay without you."
Mark's sneer reminded her of Bob. “What's the matter? The Norwegian stud wasn't enough for you?"
Even Mel looked shocked, but Leigh sat stoically, not giving him the satisfaction of showing how much the barb had hurt her. “I want us to try to get our relationship back on track. I know it won't be easy. But don't you see, this bitterness has to stop."
An uneasy silence fell in the room. Aaron gazed at her with a look of adoration and Mel scrutinized her shoelace. Mark stared mutinously.
"Look,” Leigh went on. “Why don't we call out for pizza? I'll treat."
Melissa's foot dropped to the floor. She stood up abruptly. “Great idea.” Aaron slipped out of his chair and draped his arms around Leigh's neck. Mark's expression didn't change.
"Count me out,” he said. “I'm going over to the university."
"But you said you were starved,” Melissa protested.
"I just lost my appetite.” He turned and walked out to the mudroom. A second later, the slam of the back door reverberated through the room.
* * * *
"Erik, you should've listened to me when I suggested we postpone our honeymoon until summer."
Margit waved away a second cup of thick, sweet Greek coffee and watched morosely as the waiter filled Erik's empty cup.
"Oh, and can you bring me a bottle of Retsina, please?” Erik asked as he buttered a breakfast roll.
Margit's green eyes widened. “Wine at breakfast?"
A cynical smile came to Erik's lips. “It's after eleven. And I don't believe we've been married long enough to give you the liberty to start nagging."
"Nagging?” Margit pretended to be shocked. “I'm hurt you would think such a thing!” A breeze from the sea rippled through her straight reddish-blonde hair. She gazed out at the turquoise bay. “Oh, Erik, isn't this wonderful? I could stay here forever. Having breakfast in an open-air cafe, lazing in the sun all day. Why do people live anywhere else?"
"Because they were born somewhere else.” His eyes fastened on his newspaper—the only English-language one he could find. “Oh, the krone has dropped again. If we keep spending money here in Greece, we may be penniless when we get home."
"Did you hear what I said? We should've waited."
"Why?"
"Your cast, of course. Look at you. You can't go into the water with me. You can't even get a tan, or you'll be two-toned when the cast comes off."
"Don't worry about me,” Erik said, flipping to the sports page. “I'm enjoying myself."
"But I'm not! I mean, I want to do things together. Here I am going to the beach, and you'll be hanging around this cafe getting drunk on Greek wine."
Erik dropped the newspaper and looked at his wife. “Do you want me to come down to the beach with you?"
A chastened expression crossed her freckled face. “No, of course not. You'd be miserable. Look, I'll just go out for an hour or so. Just enough to get a little color. Then we'll meet for lunch.” She stood up and bent toward him for a kiss. “I'm going to change into my suit. You sure you won't be bored?"
"Not at all,” Erik said. “I'm going to write some postcards. I'm sure everyone back home wants to know how we're doing."
"Okay.” She smiled. “Try not to miss me too much."
Erik's eyes followed her trim figure as she headed back to their cottage, her long reddish-blond hair swinging past her shoulders. She was an adorable girl, really. There would be many interested male eyes upon her down at the beach, and he knew he should feel jealous. But that emotion just wasn't there.
He glanced down at the pile of postcards on the table. Usually, he loved writing notes and letters to his friends and family, but today, he just wasn't in the mood. There was only one person he wanted to write. Quickly, he took out the ink pen from his shirt and in sweeping letters, wrote, “Dear Kayleigh,” onto the back of a postcard. He stared down at it, feeling a wash of emotion spread through him. God, it hurt so much just to see her name. And what could he write to her? “I hate my life, I don't love Margit and the only thing I want is you.” No. It would only make her feel as horrible as he did. Besides, there was nothing he could say now that he hadn't already said in that final letter he'd written in the hospital.
Another mistake. His life had been full of them lately. He shouldn't have listened to Margit. Instead of writing the goodbye letter and giving it to Margit to leave at the nurse's desk, he should've followed his instincts and said goodbye in person. Kayleigh had saved his life on that mountain above Ose, digging him out from under the snow. His last sight of her had been as she'd collapsed onto the snow after he'd stopped her from firing the rifle.
Abruptly, he slashed through her name and then tore the card in half. It was time to face the fact that Kayleigh was gone forever.
He glanced up to see a woman walk by on the sidewalk in front of the cafe. He saw her only from the
back, but her ash-blonde hair was styled exactly like Kayleigh's. His heart raced. He moved up from his chair so quickly that one of his crutches fell to the floor with a crash.
"Kayleigh!"
The woman stopped and turned to look at him, a question in her eyes. He stood still, one hand grasping the back of the chair as he struggled to retain his balance. His heart pounded like a kettle drum. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I mistook you for someone else."
Erik settled back into his seat. With a trembling hand, he poured himself a glass of Retsina and gulped it down. He stared down at the postcards, blinking quickly to restore his suddenly blurred vision.
* * * *
Margit settled herself onto a beach towel and tugged her sun-hat down to protect her face. With her pale complexion, she'd have to be very careful out here on her first day in the sun. She wished Erik could have joined her. Some honeymoon! Last night, something had gone wrong with their love-making. It had been the first time since the night they'd learned Gunvor was dead. Thinking about it, she blushed. It had been so awkward. And then, Erik had ... well, lost it. She'd tried to reassure him it was jet-lag, but she wasn't sure it was.
Was it Kayleigh? How she wished she'd never heard of that woman! She knew Erik had loved her. He'd admitted it. But did he still? She was so sure it had just been sexual attraction. What else could it be? The woman was at least a decade older! Good-looking, yes. She could understand why she'd be attractive to Erik. But love? Impossible! They had nothing in common.
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 22