by Sarah Sundin
But Ray didn’t watch, didn’t seem to mind. He never did. Maybe he wasn’t the jealous sort, or maybe he didn’t care. Was Jim right? Did jealousy prove the depth of love?
Helen forced herself to dance, to smile, and to breathe.
Vic tapped George’s shoulder and swung Helen away as the band played “Perfidia.” He snuggled too close. “The next wedding will be ours.”
She pushed out a laugh. “Only if you fall asleep and dream it.” Yet now the Carlisles smiled. Why did they try to control her?
The music changed, but Vic maintained his grip. Now the gossip would shift. Not only was Helen Carlisle carrying on with the pastor’s son, but she was two-timing him, the little tart.
“May I cut in?” Ray laid his hand on Vic’s shoulder.
Vic’s lower lip poked out, but he stepped away as etiquette required.
Ray took her in his strong arms. “Missed you.”
Her head swam. People would count how many dances they shared. What was a proper number for a widow? The reception was no place for a small child, but she wished she hadn’t let Mary Jane Anello watch Jay-Jay and Judy at Betty’s house overnight. Then she’d have an excuse to avoid this dance.
She backed out of Ray’s embrace and almost lost her balance. “I’ve got to—got to help with the reception. I’m a bridesmaid, and things have to be done. Betty won’t do them.”
He cocked a smile and held out one hand. “Martha, Martha, come and dance.”
“Later. I promise.” Helen whirled away, and her long skirt caught on a chair leg, clumsy cripple girl. She made her way to the gift table. Work—she needed to work.
No one had thought to organize the gifts. She moved the large packages to the back, put boxes with bows on top of boxes without, and arranged gift tags to satisfy the guests’ pride.
“Bon soir, chérie.” Jeannie Llewellyn leaned against the table in a smart cream suit with red trim. “I’m glad you could wear that yellow dress again.”
Helen’s shoulders tightened. She had no desire to patronize the black market in San Francisco. And she preferred to think of her dress as golden. “Doing my patriotic duty.”
“How like you. Such a busy little beaver, aren’t you?”
Helen suppressed a grimace. Their competition had been balanced and fun in high school, but not since. How could she deal with her old friend right now? “Are you having a good time?”
Jeannie fingered the bow on a box from Clara Jeffries, which probably contained embroidered guest towels similar to the ones in Helen’s bathroom. “I try, but c’est très difficile. The whole thing is so sad.”
“Sad?”
Jeannie leaned close and brought a whiff of Chanel No. 5. “The Novaks had to invite half of Antioch because poor plain Allie has no friends.”
Helen gritted her teeth. “Be fair. She comes from Riverside and she’s lived in Seattle this past year, both hundreds of miles away, and with the restrictions on travel—”
“Mercy. No need to be offended. But don’t you wonder why her parents didn’t come or why she couldn’t find one friend—just one—to balance the wedding party? I know you and Allie have never been close.”
Helen stared at Jeannie’s perfect makeup. Why hadn’t she ever noticed how Jeannie resembled her mother, not just in looks but in character? “Dorothy couldn’t stand up for her so soon after her daughter’s arrival, and I was honored. I look forward to getting to know Allie better.”
“As sisters-in-law?” Jeannie gave her a nudge and smile.
Helen’s jaws clamped, and she adjusted a pile of packages.
Jeannie wrapped her arm around Helen’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to my mother, the fuddy-duddy. I think it’s sweet. Ray Novak’s too old and dull for my taste, but you seem happy, and you’d make a perfectly darling pastor’s wife. Of course, I hoped you’d marry Vic so we could be true sisters.”
“You want me to go through life as Helen Llewellyn?”
“Terrible.” Jeannie’s mouth pursed in a pretty little way. “I suppose that would be selfish of me.”
Helen gave her a simpering smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to help with the cake.”
Jeannie smiled and motioned her away. Thank goodness her vaunted college education didn’t help her detect Helen’s true meaning.
Her skirt swished around her feet as she headed for the cake table past too many eyes focused on her. Why couldn’t they watch the bride? Why couldn’t they mind their own business? Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone?
When Walt and Allie sank a knife into their wedding cake, Ray joined in the applause, louder than necessary, to express the joy he should have felt at the marriage of his baby brother.
Ray should have been the first of the brothers to marry, not just because he was oldest, but because Jack preferred chasing girls to settling down, and Walt had always been struck dumb in the presence of a woman.
At the cake table, Helen stacked plates and lined up forks and got in the way of Mrs. Anello and Mrs. Lindstrom. No doubt about it—Helen was avoiding him.
Back at Pyote Army Air Base, one of his fellow instructors had dated a woman who acted hot in private and cold in public. Like Helen. Turned out the woman was married. His friend felt cheap and used.
Ray understood.
He had ignored Nora’s vacuous letters to him at Cal while she fell in love with Bill Ferguson. He’d ignored Ann’s snide jokes about life in the parsonage and Dolores’s roving eye while she cheated on him with half his cadets.
He refused to ignore this.
Ray weaved a path among the guests. Lord, help me be calm and diplomatic, but help me see the truth so I don’t get duped again.
“Hi there.” He set his hand in the small of Helen’s back. “Why don’t you take a break? Even Marthas need rest.”
She faced him and stepped back, dislodging his hand from her waist. “Goodness, maybe later. There’s so much to do.”
He set a smile in place and looked at Mrs. Anello. “Do you have things under control? May I steal Helen away for a while?”
“Please do.” Mrs. Anello’s smile looked as fake as Ray’s, but with a trace of gratitude around the eyes. She pressed plates into Ray’s and Helen’s hands. “Take a break, Helen dear. You deserve it.”
“But . . .”
“We’re fine. You young people go have fun.”
Ray gripped Helen’s free hand and led her toward a quiet table in the back corner.
“Ray, please.” She wormed her hand free.
He faced her with the calmest expression he could muster. “Why not? The other couples are holding hands.”
Her eyebrows sprang up, and Ray’s chest tightened. He planned to marry her, and she didn’t even think they were a couple?
She raised a twitchy smile. “We decided to be discreet, remember?”
He set his plate on the table, helped Helen to her seat, and leaned down to her ear. “Discretion I understand; secrecy I don’t.”
“Secrecy?”
“In private everything’s great, but in public you treat me like an acquaintance at best.”
Her shoulders squirmed in his grasp. “I don’t . . . I just . . . it’s so early.”
Two months was too early? He drank in a deep breath, took his seat, and leaned his forearms on his knees. “You don’t want anyone to know about us, but they already do.”
She smashed a chunk of cake under her fork tines. “I know. Oh dear.”
His throat hardened. How could he keep the stoniness from his voice? “Are you ashamed of me?”
She swung her gaze to him. “Ashamed? Oh goodness, no. I could never—”
“That’s what it looks like. You were married to a hero, and now you’re stuck with a cowardly supply clerk.”
She sucked in her breath. “Oh, Ray, I never—”
“I need to know.” He locked a firm gaze on her. “I’m serious about you, and I need to know whether I’m just someone
to keep you company until this blasted war is over and the heroes come home.”
Her mouth flew open as if he’d punched her in the gut. “I could never. I’m not like that.”
“Why don’t you want to be seen with me?”
Her head shook in tiny tremors. “It’s not like that. Really, it isn’t.”
He held out open hands to her. “So let me show how much I care for you. Hold my hand. Dance with me two, three, four songs in a row.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please don’t.”
Ray stared at his hands. They’d always be empty, wouldn’t they?
“I need to go.” He got up and walked away, his mouth frozen in a polite smile to mask the steam roiling inside. He needed a swim as never before.
“Please don’t go.” Slender fingers clutched his arm. “Ray, please.”
“I’m tired. I’m going home.”
Redness rimmed Helen’s lovely eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m not ashamed of you. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, but everyone’s watching, and I—I don’t know how to act anymore.”
“How to act?”
She pressed her hand to her forehead. “I don’t know anymore. Everyone in town wants me to be the brave little widow, and the Carlisles want me to mourn for the rest of my life, and you want me to . . .”
Ray curled one finger under her chin. “Stop worrying about everyone else. When you figure out what you want, come and tell me.” He turned to go, but her grip tightened.
“I’m sorry. I want to be with you. I do.”
“I’m sorry too—sorry I pushed too hard, but maybe we should—”
“Please. Would you please—please ask me to dance again? I really want to be in your arms right now. I’d be glad to, honored to dance with you, all night even.”
Maybe Dad was right and Ray was weak, but the pleading look in those brown eyes got to him, and he led her to the dance floor and folded her in his arms.
However, heaviness weighed down his heart. What was going on under the pinned-up honey-blonde curls pressed to his cheek? Why did she let the Carlisles control her? She even let her son control her.
What on earth had he gotten himself into? Despite what Helen said, she didn’t know what she wanted, did she?
In his mind, Ray shoved his plans into the rubbish can.
12
Tension coiled like a snake, and Helen treaded softly as Ray walked her home, a vital skill she’d learned in her marriage.
Sometimes the snake slithered away, and sometimes he struck.
At Helen’s front door, moonlight illuminated the sympathy in Ray’s eyes and the hurt behind it. He sighed. “I owe you an apology. I care about you a lot, but I rushed things. You’re not ready for dating. I need to step back and give you time.”
Her heart twisted. No, she couldn’t lose him. Whatever it took, she had to hold on. “Nonsense. I told you I want to be with you and I meant it.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry.” She stepped closer, rolled her fingers around the lapel of his uniform jacket, and smiled through the panicky flutter in her lips. “I’ve been silly. Why shouldn’t everyone know? Really. Jim is gone and the Carlisles will have to get used to it.”
He ducked his head to the side. “That’s not what I—”
“You want everything to be public. I understand. See?” She pulled him down into a deep and passionate kiss. He relented and let himself be pulled in, and if she kept him there, maybe he’d see how much she adored him, how much she needed him. Maybe if she pulled him in deep enough, he’d drive out all the darkness.
“Wow.” He lifted a sloppy smile. “That was great, but by public I meant a night on the town, holding hands. This—this can stay private.”
“So let’s go inside.” She gave him a flirtatious smile and opened the door. He hesitated but followed. Jim accused her of leading countless men over that threshold.
No, she wouldn’t think about that.
She set her pocketbook on the mail table that caused the scar on her cheek, and she flipped on the lamp. The previous lamp had accidentally smashed over her head. Jim found out she’d had the plumber over to fix the sink.
No!
She spun around and twined her arms around Ray’s neck. Black hair, not blond.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“Mm-hmm.” She burrowed under his chin and brushed her lips over his roughness. She would not let Jim keep her from Ray.
“We should sit down and talk.” His voice rumbled husky and irresistible, but he set his hands on her waist to keep her away.
“I’d rather not.”
“Let’s sit down.” He led her across the entry where she’d accidentally broken her arm after Betty’s wedding when Jim saw her dance with George.
No!
She hung back when they reached the sofa where she’d accidentally been pinned down and accidentally dislocated her shoulder. She wasn’t home that day when Jim called.
“No!”
Ray turned, eyebrows raised. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” She attempted a smile and circled her arms around his waist. “I just don’t feel like talking.”
“I do.” He gave her a fatherly look. He thought he knew best, didn’t he? Because he was older, because he was a pastor, because he was a man.
Well, she knew things too. She knew more about love than he did.
Ray caressed her cheek. “Something wonderful has been happening between us. But we need to slow down. Sometimes I think you’re the woman I’ve been waiting for and I—”
She kissed him so he wouldn’t complete the thought. “So, what are you waiting for?”
He tipped a smile. “Clever.”
“Hmm? What are you waiting for?” She worked her hands under his jacket and across the broad expanse of his back.
His eyes fluttered shut. “Can’t remember.”
Helen slid her lips along his jaw line until he moaned and met her and gathered her close. Nothing fatherly in his touch now.
She fell into his kiss, but she kept her eyes open and etched Ray into her mind—soft gray over biting blue, quiet humor over gregarious charm, gentle caresses over slaps.
No! She kissed him harder. She had to etch over the memories. Had to.
His shoulders stiffened under her hands, and he pulled back, breathing hard. “It’s time—it’s time for me to go.”
“No, don’t leave me.” She clung to him and kissed him. She wasn’t finished.
“Helen,” he said against her lips. He took her face in his hands and stepped back. “Believe me, I don’t want to go, which is exactly why I need to go.”
“No, no, no.” She shook her head in his grip. If he left, she’d explode. Something would explode inside and kill her. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go. You have to stay.”
“Are you . . . are you all right?”
“Stay. I need you. I need you to stay.”
He ran his hand over his mouth. “Um, Helen, I need to go.”
“Why?” A spark traveled up her fuse. He demanded so much of her. Why wouldn’t he give her what she needed? “You said you wanted to kiss me in private. We’re in private. Did you change your mind? Huh? Would you rather go back outside, kiss me for all the world to see?”
“What? That’s not what I meant.”
“You want everything public, don’t you?”
His head swung from side to side, his forehead in knots. “I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Let me get this straight.” She charged for the window and flung back the ruffled white curtains. “Out there I need to stay by your side, always by your side, only by your side, and hold your hand and gaze adoringly at you, but in here—that’s where you can kiss me, where you can beat me up.”
Ray’s eyes, his whole face stretched long. “Beat . . . what?”
“No!” She clapped her hands over her ears, worked them
up into her hair. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t.”
Concern curved around his eyes. “Did Jim . . . did he hit you?”
“No! Don’t say that. He couldn’t. He didn’t. He loved me.”
“I know, but did he—”
“No!” She gathered her hair in fistfuls. “He was a hero. Everyone loved him.”
Ray lifted his hand.
She flung out her arms to block him, but she deserved it. She started it.
No blow landed.
“Oh, Helen.” His voice fell on her instead, his soothing voice.
She peeked between her arms.
“Oh, honey. How could he do that? What kind of man beats his wife?”
His sympathy sank deep into her soul, but the truth, voiced for the first time, plunged faster and harder, and shattered her. The shards exploded out—out at Ray.
Her hands closed into fists, coiled in front of her chest. “No. Don’t say that. Jim was a hero. A hero!”
“But he hit—”
“No, he didn’t. He never did. How dare you? You’re ruining everything.”
“I—I’m trying to figure it out. He hurt you, but you defend him?”
She pressed her arms down to her side, down on stiff, ratcheting gears. “I’m defending the truth. I’m defending the father of my son. And you’re attacking him.”
“Helen—”
“How dare you? You—you’re a clerk, a coward. You are. Jim said so. Jim said you were soft, a coward. He was right. You won’t fight, and now you’re picking on Jim. He’s dead and you’re picking on him. That’s what cowards do. They pick on the defenseless.”
Ray’s expression hardened. “As Jim picked on you?”
“No! He didn’t.” Her fists shook at her sides. “No one—no one stands in my house and insults my husband, the father of my child. You wanted to leave, didn’t you? So, leave.”
“Helen—”
“Get out!” Her voice hurt her ears. She had to get rid of Ray Novak, get him out of her life forever. She stamped her foot and pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Get out and don’t come back.”
Something flickered in those gray eyes. Fear. A woman’s anger scared him. Jim was right. He was always right.