Nancy Hightower, a neighbor from the next block, appeared at Natalie's side and patted her arm. Her touch was warm and caring; Jake's, when he'd touched her arm a moment ago, had been cold.
"Hello, Nancy," she said, gratified that her voice didn't reveal her panic.
"Jake didn't mean to hurt you," Nancy answered, and Natalie realized that she had been a witness to the hostile exchange. If anyone had to overhear the conversation, Natalie was glad it had been Nancy. As the panic eased off a bit, she sighed.
She smiled, but there was no humor in her expression. "Rationally I know he didn't mean to be cruel. We say and do things at a time like this that we often regret, if we even remember them."
"But that doesn't make it any less painful for the one on the receiving end," said Nancy.
Natalie nodded. A tear tracked down the side of her nose. She quickly wiped the moisture away with her fingertips. "Lisa's death has been unbearably hard on him. And I know from experience the grieving will get much worse before it begins to get better."
Nancy looked at her, then toward the dining room table. "Let's get something to eat," she said gently.
Natalie shook her head. "No, thank you," she said. She tried another smile and flattened her hand against her midriff. "I'll eat later, but I couldn't swallow a thing right now."
"Lisa wouldn't want you to get sick," Nancy told her in a matter-of-fact tone. She broke off abruptly when she realized what she had said and took a handkerchief from her pocket. She mopped her red-rimmed eyes. "Sorry."
"I understand."
Nancy replaced her handkerchief and sniffed. "Your husband was younger than Jake, wasn't he? Were they alike?" she asked.
Natalie was thankful for the other woman's attempt to steer the conversation to another topic. "Jake was five years older. He wouldn't agree with me, but I thought they were alike in many ways." She paused. Jacob and Joseph Armstrong had been orphaned when they were very young, and they had been brought up in foster homes. Jake had gone to work when he was eighteen so that Joseph could have a college education. "Joseph idolized Jake."
She was surprised that she could speak calmly of Joseph during this emotional time. Even after three years she still missed him terribly.
She had met Joseph Armstrong at the grand opening of a seaside resort off the coast of Charleston during Thanksgiving holidays. She was finishing her senior year of college; he had been out of school for a year and was working as a tax specialist. They had married the week she'd graduated.
Though she and Joseph had been seeing each other for months, she had first met Jake at their wedding rehearsal. A big man, with a walk like a lazy cat and a face that was rugged rather than refined, he had electrified every woman there into silence. Including Lisa. It had been love at first sight for the maid of honor and the best man. In less than three months Lisa and Jake had married…
Voices cut into her memories. Someone behind her attempted to muffle laughter. Someone else commented about the recently completed portrait of Lisa, which hung above the mantel in the living room. It had been delivered yesterday, the day after she died.
Without warning Natalie's panic returned. The pain around her heart intensified; she couldn't seem to get her breath. Suddenly she craved solitude, escape. She turned her back on the room and spoke under her breath. "Nancy, I have to get out of here. I'm going downstairs. If Jake asks where—"
Nancy nodded. "I'll make sure he understands. Besides, I'm sure that deep down he realizes this is hard on you, too," she said, looking around at the crowd. "The kitchen is a zoo. Try the front door." She hesitated, touched Natalie's shoulder. "Natalie … if you need someone to talk to…"
Natalie covered the other woman's hand with her own and squeezed lightly. "You're kind," she managed to say. "I'll call you." She left by the front door and descended one side of the split stairway.
A group of five people were gathered at the foot of the steps, talking about the tragedy that had brought them together. "Excuse me," she said to a man—a stranger—who blocked her way.
He moved aside but his inquisitive eyes followed her. She could feel their weight on her back as she headed for the apartment a few feet away. She stopped between two urns filled with crimson geraniums that flanked the door, fished in her purse for her keys and promptly dropped them.
The man was there immediately. As he handed her the keys he smiled, the confident smile of a handsome man.
Natalie murmured her appreciation but ignored the smile.
She closed the apartment door behind her and leaned against it thankfully, shutting out everything, everyone. At last.
The old brick walls were solid. Not even sounds of traffic seeped in. The quiet was a relief. She shut her eyes and eased out of her shoes. She felt her muscles begin to loosen, her nerves unwind. She took a deep breath and let it out.
Natalie stood there for a long time. Finally, when her body informed her that her energy level had improved, and she was capable of moving, she pushed herself away from the door, scooped up her shoes from the floor and made her way back to the bedroom.
She hadn't slept for two days, not since the policeman had appeared. The two days had been a nightmare of telephone calls, arrangements to be made, people to be notified. Natalie had moved through them in a state of shock, yet she was better prepared to deal with certain details than either Jake or the Reeds.
She put away her purse and her shoes, stripped off her panty hose and set them to soak in the bathroom sink, then hung her dress in the closet.
Since she was clad only in her bra and panties, the cool air-conditioning on her sweat-dampened body was a shock. She unfolded a white comforter from the foot of the bed, lay down on her side and pulled it over her shoulders.
But before she could rest, she knew she had to cleanse herself of bitterness toward Jake and wipe out from her heart the things he'd said to her.
When Joseph had died, Jake and Lisa, but mostly Jake, had been there for her when she needed them desperately. So now she would not take his remarks too literally. Even when he said hurtful things, even when he lashed out at her, she would understand.
She vowed that she would be there for him as he'd been for her. She pulled one of the pillows out from under the spread and hugged it.
Somehow they had all made it through these past two days. Now, according to the minister, Lisa was at rest, at peace.
Natalie wondered about that. With so many things left unresolved in Lisa's life, how could her friend possibly find peace?
* * *
Night had fallen; the last of the mourners had left. Jake walked through the empty house. His friends and neighbors had cleaned the kitchen, stored the food, even straightened the living and dining rooms.
He pulled at the knot of his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. He locked all the doors, turned the lights off downstairs and, with slow, heavy steps, climbed to the top floor of the house.
He thanked God for the protective numbness that had carried him through the past two days, but he could already feel it begin to erode, leaving him with widening patches of raw grief. When the protection was stripped completely away, he feared what would come.
A few moments later, he stood alone in the center of the bedroom he had shared with Lisa. The four-poster bed was neatly made, scattered with her needlework pillows. Her dressing table was cluttered with all her small feminine accoutrements, her perfumes, her lotions. He picked up a silver-backed brush he'd given her last Christmas. He realized that his hands were shaking, and he dropped the brush. It bounced against the edge of the dresser and fell to the floor. He left it there.
The house was so damned quiet. He stumbled to the bed, sat on its edge and ran both palms down his face. They came away wet.
Lisa, damn you, you always did drive like a bat out of hell. Now look what you've gone and done.
Suddenly, with a muffled cry, he surged to his feet. He crossed the room to yank open the closet door. He hadn't the slightest notion
where he was going, but he had to get out of this room, out of this house.
Swiftly he shed the dark suit and tie and white shirt. He took off his leather shoes and grabbed a warm-up suit from the closet shelf. He stuffed some sweats, underwear and socks and a couple of knit shirts into his gym bag. He grabbed his shaving kit from the bathroom and headed for the stairs. He was halfway through the garden, headed for the garage, when he heard Natalie call his name.
Hell, he'd forgotten all about her. Natalie and the complications she represented, the talk he'd resolved to have with her, meant less than nothing to him at the moment. He had to get away, and he fiercely resented her for delaying him. She should realize that he could not deal with this now.
The night was black; the garden was filled with shadows. He turned toward the light that spilled from the back door of the apartment, but he didn't retrace his steps.
She came outside and stood with her back to the doorjamb, her arms crossed protectively at her waist. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
She didn't try to approach him and for that he was grateful. He didn't want anyone anywhere near him, especially not her. "Yeah. I guess." He choked on the lie and scraped a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm going away for a few days. I don't know how long I'll be gone. If anything comes up … if … ah, hell! If the house burns down, call Andrew." He spun away, digging into his pocket for his keys as he disappeared into the garage.
Natalie watched him go, making no protest. She stood where she was until she heard the sounds of the car engine fade away. She knew what it was to try to flee from the anguish, the heartache of death. She also knew that it didn't work. But she couldn't tell Jake that; no one could. He would have to find out for himself.
She tightened the belt of her robe and wandered into the garden, taking solace in the darkness, the unseen beauty that surrounded her, in the scents, in the peace. Moving slowly she traversed the paths, coming at last to her starting point, to the open door. She went inside, closed and locked it behind her.
When Joseph had died, she had run as Jake was running now. For her, running away had been totally out of character. In fact, her flight had been one of the first completely spontaneous things she could ever remember doing.
But the memory helped her now, helped her to understand his need, his urgency; she wouldn't have dreamed of trying to stop him.
* * *
Jake was gone for more than a month.
The days were endless. Television didn't interest Natalie and music had no appeal. She bought a book and it lay on the bedside table unopened. Worst of all she couldn't work.
When night fell, she roamed the rooms of the apartment.
The place was a perfect size for her, and Lisa's professional decorating acumen had made it into a cozy, restful retreat, which, if she could relax, was probably what she needed right now.
The ceilings were lower than the ten-foot ones in the house above. The floors were well-worn brick, extravagantly softened by vintage oriental rugs.
The front door opened directly into the large living room. To the left was a brick fireplace, flanked by rich dark mahogany built-ins, bookshelves and cabinets that held the stereo and television. The furniture had been chosen for comfort, but nothing had been lost in charm. A sofa was covered in floral chintz; two deep-cushioned leather wing chairs flanked the fireplace. Straight ahead through a door at the back of the room was the sun-bright yellow kitchen.
To the right, through an archway, was a hall with steps leading upstairs. Also off the hall were the bedrooms, two of them, each with its own bath. The front bedroom had a floor-length window that looked out onto the sidewalk. Natalie had set up a temporary office there, and she had a view of LaFayette Square across the street. Open carriages carrying tourists often passed. The back bedroom, the one in which she slept, had French doors opening directly into the garden.
A week went by, then two, before she finally received a call from Andrew, Jake's assistant.
"I'm afraid Jake isn't coming home anytime soon, Natalie. He said that he would stay in touch, but he needed time to come to terms with Lisa's death. He said you'd understand."
She released her breath, relieved that Jake was safe. She hadn't known until that moment just how worried she had actually been. Jake had been distraught and visibly exhausted when he'd left. She rubbed at her temple with two fingers. "I do understand, Andrew. God, it's so hard, but time away may help him. Is there anything I can do?"
Five minutes later she was beginning to regret that she'd asked. Too clearly, she recalled the many essential details that followed death.
Lisa's car had been sold. Lisa's business had been put on the market. Natalie squeezed her eyes shut at that.
Andrew asked her to pack Lisa's clothes and personal things. "Jake was adamant," Andrew explained. "He said to call Goodwill. He wants it all gone before he comes back."
"Everything? What about Lisa's parents? Won't they want anything?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Reed have left all decisions to Jake." He hesitated. "He also wants the portrait destroyed, Natalie. The one over the mantel. He was most insistent about that."
She put her fingers to her trembling lips. "Oh, Andrew, I'm not sure I can do this."
"I understand. If you feel you can't take care of it, let me know. I'll … hell, I'll do something."
She was silent for a minute. "I'll try," she said at last.
* * *
When Jake finally did return to Savannah one evening in late September, he looked as though he'd spent the entire six weeks in a prison camp.
Dusk was gathering, slowly leeching the color from the garden. Natalie hadn't heard the car, so it was a shock to glance out the kitchen window and see him step through the gate. He'd lost weight, a lot of weight. His square jaw was unshaven; his clothes were a wrinkled mess, as if he'd been sleeping in them the whole time he'd been gone. She froze at the sight, a vegetable peeler in one hand, a carrot in the other.
He didn't spare a glance toward her door, but went straight upstairs.
An hour later she was standing at the sink once more, rinsing the last of her supper dishes under running water, when he came downstairs again. She held her breath until he bypassed the path that led to the garage and headed toward the apartment.
She let out the breath in a rush, turned off the water and put the dish in the dish rack. She caught a towel from the counter to dry her hands and went to the door.
The outside light was not kind to him; up close he looked even worse than he had from a distance. But at least he'd made an effort. He'd showered and shaved and changed from the clothes he'd arrived in to a clean pair of khakis and a black cotton turtleneck. He'd pushed up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and she could see that his distinctive tan had faded a bit. He needed a haircut and his mustache needed trimming.
But there was one encouraging note—the dazed look in his eyes when he'd left Savannah six weeks ago had been replaced by a harsh glint of acceptance. He'd begun the long process of recovering.
She smiled. "Come in, Jake. I'm glad to see you." Her voice was as warm and caring as she could make it, though she wrung her hands beneath the cover of the towel. "How are you?"
He shrugged and moved past her into the kitchen. "I'm better than I was when I left here. I can deal with … things … that I need to deal with. By the way, thanks for taking care of the packing upstairs. Andrew told me that you—"
"Nancy Hightower helped me. We were both glad to do what we could." She closed the door behind him. It had actually been a distressing experience. She couldn't have done it alone. Nancy and she had packed and sent Lisa's clothes off to Goodwill as directed.
But she didn't tell him, as she hadn't told Andrew, that they had stored Lisa's personal things in boxes and secreted them in a dark corner of the attic. And the portrait was stored right here in the apartment, in the closet of the room she used as an office. She and Nancy had decided that someday Jake might be grateful that they'd ignored his de
cree.
Carefully she folded the towel and hung it on a bar beside the sink. When she turned to him again, she made her voice light. "I just finished supper. I have two crab cakes from the take-out seafood place down the street and plenty of salad left over. Can I fix some for you?" She had also picked up fresh yeast rolls from the bakery and their luscious aroma lingered in the room.
"No," he said quickly. "I'm not hungry. I'll only stay a minute."
She almost told him that he was much too thin, that he should eat something, but she bit back the words just in time, remembering all the well-meaning advice she had received, and often resented, during the months after Joseph's death.
Each person reacted to the loss of someone they loved deeply in a different way. She could only imagine the ordeal Jake had been through, what fears and regrets had tormented him over these past weeks. But she could see that the first stage of grief—the disbelief—had passed. Now he simply looked grim … and determined.
She wondered about the determination as she sat at one side of the kitchen table. What was coming? She felt a moment of inexplicable dread.
"How are you feeling, Natalie?" he asked, pulling out a chair at right angles to hers. He didn't relax but sat forward with his elbows on his knees.
Actually she felt really good. She'd read that the middle three months of pregnancy were the easiest, and she believed it. Despite the trauma and upheaval in the first trimester, her physical well-being had established itself firmly. She studied his profile for a minute, then attempted a small laugh. "I'm feeling very fat," she answered. "I can't get my slacks buttoned."
He looked over, his gaze drawn to her middle.
She knew that her stomach wasn't clearly defined; she had on a big man-tailored shirt. But the agony—worse than before—was back in his eyes. It was clearly a struggle, but he gained control again.
"The baby is due in February?" he asked. His voice was toneless, not the vibrant baritone she was accustomed to hearing.
Jake knew exactly when this baby was due. His question was clearly a denial of the baby's existence. It brought a burning sensation to her eyes and tears clogged her throat. But Natalie repeated the vow she'd made to herself the day Lisa was buried. She would be strong for him, as he'd been for her when Joseph died.
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