He looked at her for a moment as though he did not know who she was. Then, abruptly, he seemed to recover himself. He stood and pulled on his jeans, then crossed quickly to the closet to drag out a suitcase. "It's Roseanne," he said, without looking at her. "There's been an accident. I have to leave."
Chapter Twelve
From that second on, everything blurred together in Barbara's mind and she would remember little of it. She did not know whether she questioned further or simply sat there in stunned, agonizing silence, watching him fling an assortment of clothes into a suitcase. She did know that she got no answers. There was the frantic ride to the airport and the flashes of light and shadow streaking across Kyle's white face and she kept thinking that Roseanne was in trouble and he would run to her, as he would the rest of his life, and whatever doubts she had about his feelings for his ex-wife vanished sometime during that terrible night.
If he said anything else to her during that trip, she did not know it. Arrangements were hurriedly made at the airport and he found a flight that was leaving for New York almost immediately. She followed him, as in a daze, to the boarding gate, and she remembered his turning to her, a look of purest torture on his face, and he said, "I'm sorry…There's so much I should explain to you…but I can't. Bobbie, please understand."
She thought she nodded.
She also thought she understood.
Her own flight to Maine did not arrive until sometime late the next morning, and, in a daze of shock and sleeplessness, she let hours go by while she sat in the coffee shop and stirred cup after cup of cooling coffee, before she called Michael to come pick her up. He looked at her as though he immediately understood, and he too was silent on the trip home.
She went to the guest house. She did not unpack. She did not even undress as she lay down on the bed and slept for twenty-two hours.
It was Kate who woke her. "I was worried about you," she said, and concern was etched on every line of her face. "I checked on you all yesterday afternoon and several times during the night. It isn't like you to sleep so much."
"I was tired," answered Barbara flatly. After her long slumber there was no confusion about the events that had led her to that retreat. It was all just as clear and painful as it had been the moment she had looked into Kyle's white face and known he was leaving her for his ex-wife.
The anxiety on Kate's face deepened into reluctance, and she said, "Kyle called."
Barbara sat up but was totally unprepared for the next words.
"Roseanne is dead, Babs," Kate said quietly. "A small-plane crash. Everyone on board was killed on impact. In the Catskills."
Something sharp went through her. Part of it was shock, part of it was pain for Kyle, part of it was just a horror of death when it came so suddenly to someone as young and beautiful as Roseanne. But she managed to ask, "Did he say when he would be back? Was there a message for me?"
Kate said sadly, "No. He was pretty upset."
It was a long time after Kate left that she began to cry. She cried for the death of a vital young woman whose time had been too short, she cried for Kyle's pain, she sobbed her rage and her grief out loud because Kyle had loved Roseanne, and there was no power on earth stronger than the love for a ghost, and it wasn't fair… It wasn't fair that she should lose twice in one lifetime.
The dark lethargy that possessed her during the next week took her back to the blackest period of her life over a year earlier. She didn't go to work, she didn't eat much, and she hardly ever got out of bed. She spent many long hours staring sightlessly out the window, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, completely unaware that she was reliving the same depression that had seized her after Daniel's death. As it had been then, nothing seemed to matter anymore. She insulated herself against hope just as she did against pain; the world went on about her and she knew nothing of it. She only knew that Kyle was gone. Love had passed her way twice, and twice it had left her behind. There hardly seemed any point in going on.
It was Kate, with alarm on her face, who forced her back into the world of the living. "Look what you're doing to yourself!" she cried, indicating the unkempt apartment, the unmade bed, and Barbara's bedraggled appearance in a worn terry housecoat. "This is the same thing that happened to you after Daniel died and it's not the same, Babs! Kyle loves you," she pleaded with her. "It's no secret—we've known it for a long time. He told Michael so, way back, after we got back from our trip." She took Barbara's hands and sat down beside her, trying to force her sincerity into her sister's mind. "And do you know something else, honey? He never said he loved Roseanne. He would say things like, 'She's beautiful,' or 'We'll have fun together,' but he always avoided the word love. He loves you, Barbara. It will be an adjustment for him, but he'll be back. And when he does come back, he can't find you like this. You've got to be strong, because he'll need all the support you can give him."
Barbara did not understand everything Kate was saying about "adjustment" and "support," but she had to come to realize that she was dramatizing her situation. Of course Kyle would be back, eventually. He would come back aged and worn with the wisdom only a close experience with death can bring, and in his eyes would be grief and regret for all the time he had let slip by without Roseanne, and the shadow of those lost years would stand between them for the rest of their lives.
She went back to work mostly because she saw what worry over her silent grief was doing to her sister. But eventually, mostly through the day-by-day routine, she started living again. If her actions were automatic, her lack of interest did not reflect in her work. In fact, she was doing a better job than ever, and she worked long hours to prove herself capable and to keep herself busy. The New England autumn blossomed bright and clear in multicolors, Kate grew plumper and more contented, and one morning she awoke without the dread of facing another day, ready to face whatever came along.
It was not a matter of forgiving Kyle. How could he ask forgiveness for something he could not help? Roseanne had needed him, he had shared his life and his bed with that woman, and even if he had hated her, he would have gone to her side at the moment of her death. Barbara could understand that. She loved him too much not to understand, and although it did not mitigate her sorrow at losing him, the very least she owed him was understanding and compassion.
She had managed to save some money over the summer, and as her hours and responsibility increased, so did her salary. She began looking for an apartment in Portland. Mr. Daily was very generous with her wages, and he promised a full-time managerial position by the first of the year if all continued to go well. She thought she should be able to manage on her own financially if she lived frugally until then, and it was important that she get on with her life. She had started a new life once with Kyle's help; she could do so again because he had taught her.
She came home late one Friday afternoon with an armload of groceries Kate had asked her to pick up, and there was no sign of her sister downstairs. Michael's study door was closed so she did not bother him but took the groceries to the kitchen and started to put them away. It was then that she heard the sounds from upstairs, strange sounds. Kate's voice was among them, and splashing water, and high, childish laughter. Curiously she started up the stairs. And then one sound distinguished itself above the others, familiar masculine laughter…
Her heart was in her throat and she clung to the banister to steady her steps as she slowly reached the top of the stairs. There was Kate, on her hands and knees before the bathroom door, laughingly wrestling a naked blond-haired little girl of about two. Water had splashed all over the hall carpet and the front of Kate's maternity smock and she was trying unsuccessfully to gather the child into a towel, enjoying the playful battle thoroughly. And, as Barbara watched in incredulity, Kyle emerged from behind his sister-in-law, another naked child, a boy, wiggling in his arms.
He was as wet as Kate, and laughing as he tried to dry the baby's hair with a towel held in one hand and attempt to prevent the slippery little b
ody from sliding to the floor with the other.
It seemed they both saw her at the same time, and the only sound was the echoing, inappropriate sounds of childish laughter. Everything froze as Kyle's eyes locked on Barbara's and a thousand emotions and unspoken phrases flashed between them.
Barbara broke the unbearable moment with a laugh that made her proud of its normalcy, and she exclaimed, indicating the foray before her, "What in the world is going on up here? It sounds like an orgy!"
Kate managed to wrap the little girl in a towel and busied herself with briskly drying the child's fine blond hair. Kyle smiled weakly. "Bobbie," he said, "I'd like you to meet Jason and Jennifer. My children."
Chapter Thirteen
There was no time for amazement, shock, or adjustment, as the children began to noisily demand attention from the two adults who were supposed to be caring for them. Jason pulled at Kyle's hair and began to shriek to be let down; Jennifer lifted her arms to Kate and begged to be picked up. "We were trying to make a good first impression," Kyle said with a grimace, disentangling the small fingers from his hair, "thus the bath. I guess we blew it."
Barbara only stared.
"They're twins," Kyle added unnecessarily as Kate bundled Jennifer back into the bathroom, and then returned for Jason. Kyle shifted him into her arms, inquiring, "Can you manage?"
"I need the practice," Kate assured him and closed the bathroom door on the high, querulous voices.
Kyle came toward her slowly, wiping his hands nervously on his water-splotched jeans, and offered, "They're two years old. They're supposed to be that way."
Barbara's face softened with wonder and incredulity as she reached out one hand to touch him. "Kyle—"
"Can we walk?" he interrupted suddenly. "Will you give me a chance… to try to explain?"
Her mind was whirling with confusion and she could only nod. Children, she kept thinking over and over again. Twins. Blond-haired, green-eyed two-year-olds who belonged to Kyle. She could not get out of her mind the picture of him, standing at the top of the stairs with a naked baby in his arms, and all she could think or feel then was that he had never looked more beautiful to her eyes, she had never loved him more… But children.
He did not speak until they were on the steps leading down to the beach. "I just couldn't tell you over the phone or in a letter, Bobbie," he said quietly, without looking at her. Then he lifted his face to the cool breeze and repeated, almost in a whisper, "I just… couldn't tell you."
But explanations could wait, for the moment. She reached for him automatically through the fog of her confusion, and immediately she was in his arms, the place where she had always belonged. His kiss was like that of a starving man presented with a feast, greedy and tenuous, as though afraid to believe his good fortune, expecting it to dissolve into a mirage at any moment. But her open, honest, and sure response calmed him, and gradually the kiss began to reveal more—pent-up longing and desperate desire, possessive dominance and the steady assurance that he loved her still. It told her all she wanted to know.
Somehow they were sitting on the steps, possibly because Barbara's legs would not support her any longer; they were wrapped in each other's arms in a tight and steady embrace that would weather all storms. He whispered against her hair, "Bobbie, tell me you love me. Tell me you still love me and that I didn't just dream it."
She held his face in both her hands, looking up at him. Her eyes were steady and tender. "I do love you," she said softly. "I never had a choice. I can't stop loving you."
Joy illuminated his face before it came down upon hers again, and this time the kiss was full of wonder and promise that swept aside all else. Eventually, however, they had to come back to the present, but it was with a new courage and a cautious confidence to face the problems of the future.
He took her hand and led her down to the beach. "I've been fighting for custody ever since the divorce," he began simply. "Roseanne was not a fit mother, and I tried everything I could to prove it."
"That was the legal case that had you so upset!" Barbara exclaimed, looking at him. Then, in wonder, "It was the children all along."
He nodded grimly. "I love my babies, and she held it over my head to get everything she could out of me. They would have been much better off with me from the beginning—they didn't see their mother enough to even know who she was. But she played a little dirtier than I did, and she blocked my every move. The finale was when she got an international custody ruling that kept me from even seeing them. She kept them in a penthouse apartment in London with a nanny. I can't say they were physically abused or mistreated in any way, and they had every material comfort, but they had no parents. Bobbie, you can't imagine what it did to me, thinking I would never see my kids again."
She nodded and tightened her arm around him sympathetically, understanding so much now. What she had mistaken as a morbid attachment to his ex-wife had really been no more than concern for the welfare of his children, and that night it had been to their side he had rushed, not to hers. "But, Kyle," she questioned in confusion. "You never mentioned them. Why didn't you tell me?"
He sighed, holding her hand tightly through their linked arms as though he were afraid she might try to escape. "I never wanted to keep it a secret from you. At first, well—" he gave her an abashed look "—my interest in you was not exactly of a permanent nature, and I didn't think it mattered. You made it pretty clear that first night you weren't interested in children, and I didn't think bringing out the old wallet stuffed with baby pictures would exactly turn you on."
"But, Kyle," she objected, "that's not—"
He silenced her. "I know that now. I realized pretty quick that the things you said that night were just your way of building up defenses against the family you never had." She dropped her eyes, moved almost to tears at the depth of his perception.
"Later," he went on and sighed, tightening his fingers around her hand. "Bobbie, this is complicated, so please try to understand. I knew that I loved you and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, and I knew it a long time before I told you so. I knew that the twins would always be a part of my life and that I would never stop trying to get custody and that would affect your life too. But you were skittish, always looking for a chance to bolt. I knew when I asked you to marry me I was taking a chance on losing you. A ready-made family would have given you all the excuse you needed." He turned to her, holding her shoulders, his eyes deep with sincerity and need. "Bobbie, please understand. I knew you needed time to adjust to loving me, to letting me into your life. Until you were able to do that, there was no point in going any further. And I thought we would have the time, time for me to convince you of my love and time for you to get used to sharing yourself with me, before we had to face the other problems our life together would bring. Your needs were very special, love. I couldn't pile it all on you before you were ready."
But she had to ask, "And when would you have told me?"
Again he sighed, and they started walking again. "I started to tell you several times. Maybe I should have. I knew I wasn't being fair. But I was doing the best thing I knew, under the circumstances. I would have told you that night," he answered, "that night we were together. I knew you were ready to accept my love, and I had to believe you were ready to accept whatever came with it. And I couldn't have kept it from you any longer. It wouldn't have been fair— to either of us."
"And then fate intervened," she said dully, and there was a silence.
"I went directly to London from New York," he went on after a time. "I had to stay there, going through all the legal channels. I couldn't call you. I couldn't explain it to you over the phone. I had to take the chance… that you would still be here."
She simply nodded. They walked for a long time in silence, the salt breeze cool against her face and Kyle's arm warm against hers. Barbara knew the silent turmoil he was undergoing, and her heart reached out to him in shared grief and understanding, but she allowed him the tim
e to put his feelings into words. "I think," he said at last, very low, "I must have been afraid all along it would end like this. The way she lived… I should have been prepared. But I wasn't."
She tightened her arm around him, wanting to draw him close to her and ease his pain, understanding as no one else could what he was going through. "No one," she assured him softly, "could be prepared for something like that."
He shook his head a little, throwing his face back to the breeze, as though to seek cleansing from the clinging nightmare of the past few weeks. "I don't know, Bobbie," he said after a breath. "She was a stranger to me. I realize now I never knew her, yet she bore my children, and a big part of my life was tangled up with hers. I still find it hard to believe that all this has happened. Shock, I guess. It doesn't seem fair—no matter what she was or what she has done— that it should end this way."
"Oh, Kyle," she whispered and, turning, drew him into her arms. "I know. I really know…"
They clung together, his face against her neck and the wind tangling their hair with one another's, for an endless moment, in which mutual need and shared sorrow imparted strength, a strength that would buffer them against present problems and weather all storms to come. Then he lifted his face to look into her eyes and said a little desperately, "Bobbie, if you hadn't been here—thinking about you was all that held me together these past few weeks, and if you hadn't been here, if I had come back and you—"
But the remaining words were drowned as their lips met in a kiss that was fierce with longing and determined possessiveness, and Barbara was lost as the familiar passion swept her. She pressed her fingers against the hard muscles of his neck and felt the strands of his hair brushing against the backs of her hands and the eager hunger of his lips on hers and she did not know how she could have ever imagined her life without him. His hands pressed against her slim waist, powerful in their strength yet gentle in their restraint. Her thighs were crushed against the hard length of his, and his hands roamed urgently upward to brush the curves of her breasts. Shivers of desire shook her as she knew again the ecstasy of being in his arms, and then he broke suddenly away.
Twice in a Lifetime Page 20