The Second Promise

by Joan Kilby

  “Of course it has. The worst thing in the world for a mother is to lose her child—” Maeve broke off, not wanting to pursue that topic.

  Ignoring Will’s sharply inquisitive look, Maeve thought carefully about what to say next. She didn’t want to sound as though she were speaking from self-interest. “Marriage is about more than pragmatic choices. Certainly, you and Ida might be reasonably happy as platonic partners, but you’d be cheating yourselves out of the ultimate experience of life.”

  Will stared at her blankly.

  “Love,” she said, exasperated. “I’m talking about love.”

  “I don’t know what love is,” he said sadly.

  Maeve smiled at his innocence. “Yes, you do. You just don’t recognize it.” She was certain he loved her, and she was going to show him what that meant. Elated at the chance to give him something truly meaningful, she stroked his jaw. “Come,” she whispered. “I’ll show you.”

  The risen moon had lost its golden tone and now shed a brilliant silver light over the garden. Shadows from the giant fig tree spread inky fingers across the pale grass.

  Will let her lead him to the thick grass beside the pool. Rich vanilla fragrance drifted from the snowy banks of Selenicereus along the rockery. More flowers had blossomed. Under the moonlight they and the frothy clumps of white alyssum took on an almost fluorescent quality, while the cascading blue lobelia and banks of forget-me-knots glowed dazzling white. If magic existed in the universe, it was here, tonight, in this garden.

  And Maeve had created it.

  His heart leaped to his throat as Maeve slowly unbuttoned his shirt and smoothed her hands over his chest. She took his mouth in a kiss deeper than any they’d exchanged.

  “I’ve wanted you,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her dress to touch her breasts. “I’ve dreamed of you.” His body trembled. “Do you want me, too?” He needed to hear her say it.

  “Every minute of every day.” Pushing his shirtfront aside, she planted kisses across his chest.

  He pulled free long enough to bring two thick beach towels from a lounge chair and lay them on the grass. Then he turned to see Maeve releasing the tiny pearl buttons at her neck. He watched reverently as they slipped free of their loops, one by one, revealing tantalizing glimpses of pale rounded breasts beneath the fabric. Slowly she slipped the gown off her shoulders and let it slide to a pool of glimmering whiteness at her feet.

  Naked, Maeve’s long smooth limbs glowed in the moonlight. Her thick hair flowed over her full breasts to hang like a curtain around her slender waist. Maeve belonged in his garden. She was a part of all she’d created, a wood nymph whose spirit had entered the very plants and soil she’d shaped for his use.

  She knew him better than anyone, and in ways not his mother, or Ida, or Paul could fathom. Even with Maree, he’d never felt this all-consuming passion. He threw off his clothes and took Maeve into his arms. Under the all-knowing, beneficent face of the moon, he made love for what seemed the first time in his life.

  When at last they lay cradled together, the moon had moved a few degrees closer to the crown of the Monterey Bay fig. The air was still as warm as if it were day.

  “That was magic,” he breathed.

  “That was love,” she said, smiling.

  He held her more tightly. “Whatever it is, I can’t give this up for friendship. Maeve—”

  “Let’s go swimming.”

  “Okay.” He’d rather talk about their future, but they would have plenty of time for that later.

  Maeve dove straight in at the deep end and came up grinning. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “As warm as a bath.”

  Will walked across to the pool controls. He ignored the switch for the underwater light—the moon was illumination enough—but he opened the valves to the jets, and suddenly water arced across the pool from a dozen miniature waterfalls.

  Maeve was doing the breast stroke away from him, her long legs churning bubbles, when he dropped over the side. The water slipped over him like warm silk. Like Maeve.

  He swam after her. Just as he reached a hand out to grasp her ankle, she folded into a duck dive and shot to the bottom. He dove, only to see her glide across the pool underwater.

  They circled each other around the pool, laughter bouncing off the surface, tension simmering below. He faked her out on her next pass, and they surfaced, panting, face-to-face in the moonstruck water. Her dark hair gleamed wetly, and a liquid light shone in the depths of her eyes. Water lapped at the top curve of her breasts. He could see their round shapes wavering dimly beneath the surface.

  Reaching for her waist, his hands slipped on her taut skin, then he pulled her in close. “Gotcha.”

  Legs entwined, mouths joined, they slowly sank through the water, her breasts against his chest. When his toes touched concrete, he propelled the two of them back to the surface.

  Will rolled onto his back, still holding her hand, and gazed up at the fat silver moon. The spray from the jets sounded like a symphony and the heady scent of the Selenicereus made his blood race through his veins. He’d never felt happier, or more alive, than at this moment.

  “The man in the moon is looking at us,” Maeve said.

  “Hope he likes what he sees.” Will sculled with his free hand until his body lay alongside hers. Her long hair floated across his arm. He felt so relaxed with her, yet stimulated by the slightest touch, the fleetest glance. An image of his future children floated into his mental view. A girl with long dark hair like her mother, and a boy who grubbed around in the dirt, examining the roots of a plant.

  “Maeve?” he said dreamily. “Did you ever think about getting married again?”

  Silence. Then she said, “I’m getting cool.” She removed her hand from his, and stroked across the pool. Then disappeared.

  Will hung in the water, disoriented. Where had she gone?

  Suddenly, he was being pushed up from below, lifted right out of the water to splash down a few feet away. Maeve bobbed behind him, laughing. He lunged after her, but she was too quick for him. She pulled herself out of the pool in a sluice of water. He just glimpsed her lithe naked form, before she wrapped herself in another of the big white towels sitting on the lounge chair.

  He climbed from the pool, and, still wet, scooped her up and placed her, laughing, down on the grass, where he made love to her again. The rich scent of vanilla mingled with the musky scent of their bodies. And he knew that for the rest of his life his mind would link the two, and remember the night something rare and precious bloomed beneath the full moon.

  They swam once more in the moonlight, and basked in the glorious scent of the Selenicereus until midnight came and all the flowers closed their petals for another year.

  The moon had slipped behind the fig tree by the time he led her through the house and up the stairs to his bed.

  “Maeve,” he murmured minutes later. “Will you marry me?”

  The only reply from the pillow next to his was the gentle, even sound of her breathing.

  “Never mind,” he said, drawing the sheet up to cover her. “I’ll ask you in the morning.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MOONLIGHT FILLED Maeve’s dreams, but she awoke to sunlight. Will lay on his stomach at her side, his face buried in the pillow. As she looked at his tousled head, her heart turned over. Last night truly had been magical. And just for the moment, she wasn’t going to think about what today would bring.

  She ran a finger lightly down his spine. “Good morning.”

  Sleepily, he rolled over and opened his arms to gather her into their loving shelter. She snuggled close, lazily stroking the dark, curling hairs on his chest. Golden silence cocooned them, rich with memory and meaning. She could lay here forever….

  Almost against her will, the scent of his skin started the blood hurrying through her veins. She stirred against him, and he turned to her, already growing hard. They made love, indolently at first, then with energy, and finally with an urgenc
y that tossed the covers from the bed and raised a sheen on their skin.

  “Awake now?” she asked, subsiding onto his chest.

  “Maeve, you’re a revelation.” He still pulsed inside her.

  She tightened around him, suddenly unable to speak. The moment was coming closer. She didn’t want to give him up. Not when she’d wanted him for so long, and had him for such a short time.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “We could build you a greenhouse over by the box hedge—”

  “Don’t, Will.” Nothing, not even love, would alter his desire to have children. She knew that as surely as she knew she loved him. Ironically, that he was a family man at heart only made her love him more. He was whole, and she was not.

  “I’m not a free man. But I intend to rectify that.”

  Maeve rolled off him and lay on her side, pulling him over so they were face-to-face. “I have to tell you something. It will change your mind about…about you and me.”

  “Nothing will change my mind. Not after last night.” He stroked her hair off her face, tucking the long strands behind her ear. “Say you’ll marry me.”

  “Oh, Will.” Gazing at his open countenance, she could have wept for what she was about to do to him. How could she have released the love inside him, only to destroy it with a few words? A revelation, indeed.

  “What is it? Are you worried about how Ida will feel?”

  “No. Well, yes, of course I’m worried about her, but I believe in the long run she’ll be better off not marrying you.”

  He smiled. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean.” Maeve gave him an affectionate push.

  Push led to shove, and before she knew it, he was on top of her, pinning her hands above her head.

  “Uncle!” she cried, breathless with giggles.

  He kissed her, long and tenderly, making sweet love to her mouth. Then, still gently but firmly holding her wrists, he looked into her eyes. “Now say, ‘I’ll marry you, Will.”’

  “I love you.” Love was all she could give him. And it wasn’t enough.

  His eyes were as serious as she’d ever seen them. “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t want children.”

  He released her wrists and slid off her onto his side. “I don’t understand.”

  She turned her face away so he wouldn’t witness her grief. “I had a child once. A little girl named Kristy.” Her throat closed up, and she couldn’t speak.

  Will pulled her back against his chest and cradled her hips in the curve of his pelvis. With his arm around her and his hand resting below her heart, he was as close as he could get. If only, Maeve thought, they could stay like this forever.

  “Go on,” Will said.

  “She was a beautiful child. Happy, bright.” Her voice trembled, but she made herself go on. “She was so full of life. And even as a baby, so sweet and affectionate. She would put her little arms around my shoulders, tuck her face into my neck and hug me.” Tears slid from Maeve’s eyes and down her cheek, wetting the pillowcase. “I loved her more than words can describe.”

  Will held Maeve in silence. Finally, with quiet dread in his voice, he asked, “What happened to her?”

  “One morning, I went into her room—it was past eight o’clock, far later than she normally slept, but I wasn’t worried. I certainly didn’t expect anything to be wrong. When she’d gone to sleep the night before she’d been perfectly healthy, not even a sniffle.” Remembering, Maeve felt her palms go damp. Her voice tightened. “I looked down at her and at first couldn’t understand why she seemed so still. Then I realized—she wasn’t breathing. I went to pick her up. She was…stiff. Cold. Dead.”

  She felt his shocked silence, then his arm clamped more firmly around her. “Maeve, Maeve.” Will keened her name.

  Maeve drew in a shuddering breath. “Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She died without a sound in the night. Oh, Will,” she cried, doubling over with the pain. “When I found her, she was blue.”

  Will turned her in to his chest and folded her in his arms, rocking her as she clung to him and sobbed.

  Long minutes passed before she could calm herself. At last she lay still in his embrace, emotionally drained and still grief-stricken that her life could go on when her child’s had ended.

  With infinite tenderness, Will kissed her swollen eyes. “Aren’t you able to have more children?”

  The message hadn’t sunk in. He wouldn’t sound so calm if he really understood. “There’s no physical reason I can’t.”

  In the silence, she could almost hear the pieces fall into place in his mind. When at last he spoke again, his voice had a strained quality. “I thought from things you said that it was Graham who hadn’t wanted children.”

  “He wanted to have another baby right away. I couldn’t face it. I still can’t.”

  “Maeve,” he said gently, urgently. “Don’t do this to yourself. I’m sorry about Kristy, but your life has to go on.”

  She forced herself to look Will in the eye. “I shouldn’t have made love to you knowing it would come to this, but I…I wanted you so badly. It was selfish. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” He gave a humorless laugh, then shifted away from her on the bed.

  “Will,” she said desperately. “More than anything in the world I would like to marry you. But you want a family. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.”

  He grasped her wrist again, and this time his grip burned her skin. “You convinced me I shouldn’t marry Ida. Made passionate, beautiful love with me. Bowled me over so utterly and completely I virtually forgot my name. And now you’re just going to walk away. What do you think that’s going to do for my chances to be happy?”

  “I’m sorry, Will,” she repeated, miserable.

  “And what about you?” he said. “Can you be happy walking away from what we experienced together last night? Having another baby might heal you. God knows, staying childless hasn’t ended your suffering.”

  “I’d better go.” She slid off his bed to pluck a scrap of white lace from beneath a chair. Tears welled in her eyes as she clumsily thrust a leg into her panties. Damn it, where was her bra?

  He got off the bed and reached for his bathrobe. “If you’re looking for your bra, you didn’t wear one.”

  His eyes locked with hers, and for one brief moment he and Maeve were transported back to the previous evening, when their love was newborn, full of splendor and promise. Then Will’s eyes turned cold and Maeve reached for her dress.

  Later, she would weep. Right now, she had to leave. Before she begged him to take her with or without children.

  That was when she realized that subconsciously she’d been hoping all along he would say that. She yanked her dress over her head and heard a seam tear. What a fool she was! He was right to despise her. She’d screwed up both their lives.

  She jammed her feet into her sandals. “Goodbye, Will.”

  He turned his back on her without a word.

  Tears blurred her eyes. Maeve walked out of the room, down the stairs. And out of his life.

  WILL’S NUMB SHOCK lasted only until he heard the front door shut. Then boiling anger took over.

  Damn her. She’d found his heart, feasted on it, then spit it out. His fists clenched, and his eyes screwed shut to stop the tears from leaking out. He felt like breaking something. The way she’d broken him.

  Instead, he stood under a scalding shower and scrubbed his skin raw. He could remove all traces of her scent, but memory was more difficult to extinguish. And feelings he tried to rebottle had grown too large to contain.

  He felt like the soiled towels he gathered later from the garden—used and tossed carelessly aside. Even the Selenicereus flowers hung wilted and spent on the vine. Their brief, spectacular inflorescence now seemed vulgar and pointless.

  As he stood in the middle of his glorious garden, everything seemed pointless. The brilliant sunshine mocked his grief and the magpies’ sweet
warble was a painful counterpoint to his suffering. But somewhere deeper even than his personal pain, his heart ached for Maeve and for the baby girl she’d lost.

  Ruthlessly he shut that part of his emotions down. He didn’t need her. If Ida still wanted to get married, fine. If not, he’d crawl into his cave and be happy all on his own, God damn it.

  He considered going surfing, but for once the idea didn’t appeal. When he was out on the waves he thought too much. And he wanted Maeve off his mind, not on it.

  So he walked back to the house and called Ida—not that he expected her to be at home. He counted thirteen rings before he finally hung up. He’d deal with that situation later.

  What he needed was action. Something to take him out of himself. Hell, why not right out of the country? Still holding the phone, he dialed Paul’s home phone number.

  “Listen, Paul, how soon can you be ready to check out that factory in Indonesia? Tomorrow? Fantastic. I’ll pick you up on my way to the airport.”

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Maeve headed south on the highway to Mornington to see Ida. Even if she couldn’t be part of Will’s future, she needed to know what his future was to be.

  At the intersection with Mornington Road, she pulled to a halt in the right turn lane, waiting for a gap in the traffic. While she waited, she fanned herself with her hat. Temperatures had soared once again, and she was almost glad to hear the radio weather person issue a storm warning for later in the day.

  Just then Will’s silver Mercedes approached in the oncoming lane. Of all the horrible coincidences. The traffic light turned from green to orange, and to beat the red light, Will stepped on the accelerator. He roared through the intersection, eyes forward, looking as if he were a thousand miles away. This would be their punishment, she thought: doomed forever to cross paths but never again to meet.

  A few minutes later Maeve was knocking on Ida’s open office door. Ida glanced up from her paperwork, her scarred face alight with expectation. When she saw her visitor was Maeve, her features settled into a blandly neutral expression.