Then he said, "I imagine the job looked a lot better to you after you left me last night."
She dropped her eyes. She knew she had to find a way to explain it to him. They were both rational adults; they had to discuss it. But just then she was saved by Michael.
He came in yawning, in jeans and a T-shirt and bare feet. He said, "Barbara, you're unbelievable. I wouldn't know it's the same house. What did you do, stay up all night? Where do you get your energy?"
"I wanted to save the vacuuming until Kate gets up," she said, glad for the distraction. "I was afraid it would wake her."
"That may be awhile yet," he answered, stirring sugar into his coffee. "As a matter of fact, I'd like to see her stay in bed the rest of the day." He glanced at his brother, an expression of mild distaste crossing his face as he reached the same mistaken conclusion Barbara had. "Sorry I can't offer you anything stronger than coffee, old man," he commented, "but I've found the best cure for a hangover is not to drink yourself under the table in the first place. And I always thought we gave very sedate parties," he mused and wandered off, presumably in search of the morning paper.
Kyle stared down into his coffee cup. "I imagine you'll be staying here, then—now that you have a job."
"In Maine, yes," she answered, glad he had chosen a neutral subject. "I'll get a place of my own as soon as I can, but Kate and Michael might have to put me up a little while longer. It doesn't pay that much to start."
"It will probably be good for you," he agreed, "to stay busy." Then he looked up. "Bobbie, I have to leave."
She could not answer, surprised at the confusing onslaught of emotions that statement caused, not one of them definable in words. She had known it was coming, but it was still a shock.
He went on, toying with the handle of his coffee cup. "I've put it off too long. Ontario. I know this is not the best time—"
"No," she corrected, proud of the steadiness in her tone. "It's probably the best time in the world. You'll stay busy, just like I'll stay busy, and we'll forget all about last night."
"No," he said sharply and looked up. The muscles of his jaw tightened and his eyes were determined as he said firmly, "I'm not going to forget it and neither are you." Suddenly his eyes shifted to the door by which Michael had left, and then, with resolve, back to her. "Bobbie, we've got to talk."
Her own courage was beginning to falter beneath the forcefulness in his tone. "We—we are talking."
He shook his head impatiently, and before she could move them, he grasped her fingers tightly, pulling her up. Even his touch sent weakening tremors of yearning through her, and she did not know how she could go on much longer, looking at him, being with him, talking to him, trying to pretend that her world had not been turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours and that she was not being torn apart inside bit by bit with every movement he made, every word he spoke… "Michael will be back any minute for a refill," he insisted, "or Kate will come down, and we're going to talk this thing through. Let's go outside."
She knew it had to be done, and when he had closed the patio doors behind them and they stood on the terrace, she decided to take the initiative. "Kyle," she said gently, "I've thought about it a lot, and I don't want to hurt you."
"Then why do you have to?" he demanded.
She shook her head and continued, with as much calm as she could, "I don't think you really realize what is happening here. You—"
"Is it that you don't love me back?" he interrupted.
"It's that you don't love me!" she cried, for a moment losing the calm, rational tone with which she had promised herself she would see this thing through. Then, more steadily, she explained, "You told me yourself you were in love with the idea of being married." It all sounded very rational and plausible, but she was aware she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him— and that even she could not really believe it. "That's all it is, Kyle," she insisted rather desperately, seeing the rejection beginning to form in his eyes. "You want a wife to fill your dream house and children for your nursery and a place to call home." He hissed impatiently and jerked his head to the side, staring out at the sea, but she continued, undeterred, "It's not a bad thing, Kyle. In fact, it's kind of wonderful, for some other girl, but not me. You know—"
"Do you think I'm a complete fool?" he demanded, anger flashing in his eyes. "Don't you think I've thought of that, examined it, tried to tell myself over and over again that's what it is? I've been burned once, and badly, do you really think I'm idiot enough to leap right in and do it all over again?" He turned back to the sea, leaning on the rail, and released a long breath. He shook his head sadly and finished, more quietly, "It just won't wash, Bobbie. Because it's not true. Because I really do love you."
He turned to look at her, the anger fading from his eyes. His words were quiet and deliberate, no more pleading, no more demanding, simply stating facts. And each one of them drove another spike into her heart. "I don't know when I first started to love you," he said. "That first time on the plane I was attracted to you. You were cute, I thought, and different. Sometime the next day I knew I wanted you, and before the week was out, I liked you a lot. I think I began to love you the first time I held you trembling in my arms and I knew the most important thing in the world to me was to stop whatever was hurting you from hurting you anymore… Bobbie, can you honestly say you didn't know it? Did you really think all I wanted from you was your company in bed?"
She looked down at her hands, one of which was locked about the finger that bore her wedding band in an instinctive protective gesture. "That," she whispered tightly, "was all I was prepared to give you."
"I'm in love with you, Bobbie," he said quietly. "I'm not in love with the idea of marriage or trying to live out a fantasy. I don't even care if you love me back. I just want to be with you the rest of my life and love you. That's all,"
That's all. It was all, it was too much…
There was a long, long silence. Then he said, "I've got a plane to catch at one o'clock." She looked up, startled. So soon! He was leaving so soon, and this was how it must end…? Seeing the brief alarm in her eyes, he said quickly, "You know that I've had this planned for a long time, don't you? You wouldn't get it in your head that just because of last night I've got what I wanted and I'm dropping you?" She shook her head in silent protest, but he seemed unconvinced. He took a step toward her. "Because I'll stay. Say the word and the Ontario project can rot as far as I'm concerned because—"
"No." Her voice came out in a croak, and she had to clear her throat. She did not know how she made herself say the words at all, but to ask him to stay would be disastrous, and she had to protect herself. She managed an almost convincing smile. "I know, I really do. And it's best."
He dropped his eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of disappointment there. "I wish you'd stay at my place while I'm gone," he added in a moment, unexpectedly. "I know how you feel about imposing on Kate and Michael and it will make you feel a little more independent. Besides, I don't want to put my things back in storage so soon, and I'd like to think of you living there."
She looked up at him with an effort. The wedding band was digging into her finger. "How—how long will you be gone?" she had to ask.
His eyes were dark with determination, the lines of his face set. "I'll be back," he told her grimly. "I'm not giving up."
She went into the house and fixed breakfast for Michael as Kyle went up to his apartment to pack. She told Michael about her job and he seemed thrilled, and while she was talking to him, she was able to keep her thoughts away from Kyle, away from the hurt that was gnawing at the core of her stomach, away from the desperate determination that had last been in his eyes.
An hour later Michael announced that Kate was awake, but that he had decreed she should stay in bed the rest of the day to recover from the party. Barbara fixed a tray for her and sent it up with Michael, then did her vacuuming, keeping busy.
The tray wa
s returned with a note from Kate: "Help! I'm being held a prisoner of love!" Barbara smiled as she read it, and the smile turned unexpectedly to tears. She blinked them back angrily, and then she heard the back door open. Kyle came in.
He had changed into a dark suit and pin-striped shirt and a tie; he was shaved and neatly groomed. But his eyes still looked awful. She managed a bright smile as she looked at him. She would not have tearful good-byes. "Nice," she said, indicating his outfit.
He smiled weakly and made a deprecating gesture toward the suit. "My Canadian counterparts are very conservative, British to the core. I have a meeting as soon as I get there."
She appreciated his effort to make everything seem normal, but she could not maintain the pretense, or the eye contact, much longer. She turned away quickly and began clearing off Kate's tray. "Is Michael driving you to the airport?"
"I suppose." Then he noticed the tray. Concern tightened his voice. "Is Katie sick? There's nothing wrong with the baby, is there?"
She managed a reassuring laugh. "No, she's just tired. Michael's acting like a protective husband and father-to-be. He's making her stay in bed."
He stepped forward and touched her arm. "That's what I want to be for you, Bobbie," he said softly. "A protective husband, a loving husband, and—" Something flickered across his eyes; she knew what he said next was not what he had originally intended. He changed the subject in midsentence. "Will you walk with me on the beach one more time?"
She hesitated, not wanting to, but not wanting even more to have him walk out of her life like this. She let him take her hand.
"I mean it," he said as they went down the steps, "about moving into my place. I think you'll find it's important to you, once you start getting out on your own, to have that feeling of independence. And," he added pointedly, glancing at her, "if you don't have Kate and Michael around all the time, you won't have any excuse not to think. And I want you to think a lot while I'm gone."
She swallowed hard. She did not want to have to say this to him, she didn't want to see the look in his eyes, she did not want him to leave. They were on the beach, the sand firm and cool beneath her feet, the wind lifting her hair off her neck. Unconsciously she began to twist her wedding band. "Kyle," she said softly, "I don't want to hurt you.."
"You keep saying that."
She looked at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, pleading with him to understand. "I never intend to marry again," she said simply. "I've had my chance. What Daniel and I had was wonderful, it was magic, it was the kind of love that comes only once in a lifetime. Don't you see nothing can ever compare with that? Nothing can ever take its place." She dropped her eyes miserably. "If—if I told you differently, I would be lying, and—and it would never work, don't you see? Because I could never forget… I could never forget."
He did not answer for a time, and she was afraid to look at him. Her hand, resting so securely and firmly in his, seemed like a betrayal but he stroked it gently and she did not protest. "I'm not asking you to forget," he said quietly at last. "The past is something we carry with us always, for better or for worse, and Daniel's memory is something I hope you never put aside, because it's too precious to you… it's part of what makes you you. I'm not competing for Daniel's love, Bobbie," he said and stopped, so that she had to look at him. His eyes were the color of the sea at great depths, placid on the surface but hiding unfathomable secrets. "I'm not trying to take his place in your heart… I know it's already occupied. But there is room for both of us, separate and different, to walk side by side, if only you'll let it be."
She withdrew her hand from his, bringing it once again to cover her wedding band in a nervous, absent gesture. "I can't, Kyle," she whispered. "I just can't." She was being pulled in two directions, and the agony was almost crippling. Part of her could not bear to be separated from him, but the other part knew only tragedy would ensue if he stayed. Still, he was asking more than she could give. He wanted all of her, and she was not ready to make this commitment—she did not think she ever would be. But she did not want him to leave.
"You learned to stop comparing us, didn't you?" he reminded her. "You learned to let go enough to let me into one part of your life. The next step is a small one—just to believe that I'm not threatening what the two of you had together or trying to erase his memory."
She could not answer. Tears were choking her throat. She only wanted it to be the way it was before; she wanted his friendship, his companionship, his presence in her life. She only wanted this never to have happened. She could not bear to lose him, but she couldn't, she just couldn't, give him what he asked. For he asked for the type of love that lasts a lifetime, and Barbara had already had hers.
He glanced after a moment at his watch. "I have to start for the airport," he said.
She managed, "Will you… be gone long?"
His face was dark with regret. "I'm not sure. At least three weeks. Maybe longer." He lifted her chin gently with his finger. Sincerity and wanting was in every line of his face. "Say the word and I'll stay," he said softly. "Tell me you need me, and the rest of the world can go to hell, I'll stay as long as you want me to."
Afraid he would read the answer in her eyes, she lowered them. She could not do that to him, for in the end it would only be good-bye again. The tears were burning painfully in her throat and any moment now she would start sobbing. Please don't let me cry, she pleaded to herself over and over again. Don't let him see me cry…
He brought up his hands to grip her shoulders hard. Fierce determination was in his face, raw pain was in his eyes. "This is not good-bye," he said hoarsely. "I'll be back again and again and I'm not going to let you go. Dammit, Bobbie, I'm not going to lose twice in one lifetime!"
And without warning he drew her into his arms. His kiss was hard and possessive and tasted of salt— her own tears, she realized in a moment. When he released her. he walked quickly away, and she held back the sobs until he was out of sight.
Chapter Eleven
Kate offered Barbara unlimited use of her car for the trip back and forth to Portland, and for the first week Barbara hardly had a moment to herself. She returned each night with a briefcase loaded with papers and a sense of satisfaction and importance. The second week passed and she established a routine of going into the office only three times a week, although she stayed long hours observing and learning about the operation. She soon discovered the necessity of setting up her office space at home, and she asked Kate if it would hurt her feelings if she moved into the guest house.
Naturally Kate took it personally. She was afraid she and Michael had done something to offend Barbara or were taking up too much of her time or getting in her way. It was Michael who proved to be her ally. "Don't mind Kate," he told Barbara, laughing, "she's just afraid she'll have to start cooking again. Of course you need your privacy, we understand that."
"It's not that," Barbara tried to explain, already feeling guilty. "I love staying here with you two, but it can't be easy on you, having someone else in the house when you're used to just the two of you. Now that I'm working, I feel like I should pay my own way. I've been freeloading on you for long enough."
"Well, we can't charge rent for the guest house," Michael reminded her. "It belongs to Kyle. But if buying your own groceries and keeping your own hours will make you feel more self-sufficient, then by all means, I think you should do it."
"Kyle said it would be all right," Barbara put in, not wanting him to think she was moving in without permission.
Michael laughed at his wife, who, as Kyle had predicted, was sometimes a little moody. "Don't look so glum! She's only moving across the lawn."
If she had not really needed the extra space for all the work she was bringing home, Barbara was not certain she would actually have gone through with it. Being in Kyle's apartment for the first few hours was an exercise in torturous memories. Every inch of it spoke of him. Even the scent of him, elusive traces of cologne and lingering masculinity, clung to ev
ery corner. His paintings were everywhere, taking on life of their own and reflecting the humorous, tender, pragmatic man who had created them. It was very much like coming home to the apartment she and Daniel had shared after the funeral and finding the signs of his life everywhere she turned. The temptation to keep Kyle's apartment as a sort of shrine, moving carefully around his possessions, not touching or displacing anything, was great. Even his easel still stood in place paints and brushes in readiness for his return. The difference, of course, was that Kyle would be coming back. That realization filled her with a tenuous sort of joy.
And when she got cautiously into his bed at night, remembering the last time she had been here so clearly she could almost touch him, a great, yearning ache filled her. It was a long time before sleep came.
Then one afternoon Kate came up to the guest house with a letter for Barbara. Even before she told her it was from Kyle, Barbara's heart had already missed a beat. Who else would be writing her?
She took it cautiously, joking weakly, "He probably just wants to know how his new tenant is maintaining the property!"
She was aware of Kate's curious scrutiny even as she joked back, "All we got was a postcard!"
Kate lingered, and Barbara did not open the envelope. She put it on the bar as casually as she could and offered her sister coffee.
Kate waved her hand negatively and replied, "Off my list." She looked around the room. "It's really incredible, isn't it? All these marvelous paintings, and he keeps them locked up."
"What he lacks in self-confidence he makes up in talent," agreed Barbara, pouring a cup of coffee for herself. More than anything, she wanted to discuss Kyle with her sister, but what would Kate say if she knew the depths to which their relationship had progressed? She would worry, first of all, that Barbara was unhappy, and then, she might try to push Barbara into something she was not ready for.
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