Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  Patricia’s face showed no emotion, but her voice was weaker. “It shouldn’t be John’s decision to make.”

  “Tell him that,” Pam blurted out. A second later she wished she hadn’t. Patricia’s eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. She kept looking at Pam, tears pooling in her eyes without falling.

  Helplessness, desperation, sorrow—Pam saw them all. If the suddenness of their appearance stunned her, their intensity was even more gripping. In the past few years Patricia had been a passive entity, seeming almost dim-witted at times. Pam had known the emotions were there—Bob had told her—but she’d never seen evidence of them herself. Now she did. Emotions long buried had suddenly risen to the surface with the most inadvertent of provocations.

  Looking at those emotions and the pain behind them, Pam felt a rise of fury. “It isn’t right, y’know. It isn’t right that you should be punishing yourself this way, while he goes merrily through life.” Without quite saying the words, she had acknowledged that she knew about the affair.

  Patricia’s response was a frantic shake of her head. “I deserve the punishment.”

  “But when is it enough? When does it end?”

  “When I die.”

  “No. You deserve more. Daddy would have wanted more for you.”

  “He hated me.”

  “He loved you.”

  “I betrayed him.”

  Pam tried to remember all the things Bob had said. “You betrayed him when you were feeling weak and unhappy, but you had help. You didn’t do it alone. If John hadn’t been there luring you on, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  Patricia dropped her eyes to her lap, where her hands lay limply. She stared at them for a long time, although Pam doubted she saw much. Tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  “You hate me, too,” she whispered finally.

  “I love you.”

  “You hate me.”

  “If I hated you, would I be coming here to visit this way?”

  “You feel you have to.”

  “I want to.”

  “But I have nothing to offer.”

  “You’re my mother. You gave me life. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I should have given you more.”

  “But it’s over. You can’t go back. Only ahead.”

  “I can’t go ahead,” Patricia wailed.

  Pam felt utterly helpless. She didn’t know what to say or do, since what she had done clearly wasn’t right. Acting on nothing more than her own need, she took Patricia’s hand and brought it to her cheek. “Someday,” she said, pausing to swallow the knot in her throat, “someday you will. Someday you’ll leave here and come home where you belong. Someday. You will.”

  Patricia gave another frantic little shake of her head, from which she went right into a nod. Then, as though the combination of the two gestures had short-circuited her mind, she seemed to wind down, and sank deeper into her chair and grew silent.

  Pam continued to hold her hand for a time before kissing it, replacing it in her lap, and standing. “I’ll be back in a few days,” she said softly.

  At the door, she looked back. The image struck her then of the frail, wheelchair-bound woman whose shrunken legs, bowed head, and hollow eyes reeked of the sadness of one living a life of self-inflicted punishment.

  In that instant, Pam began to understand the depth of her mother’s suffering. In the next instant, forgiveness took root. And in the instant after that, all the anger that might have been channeled toward Patricia was redirected toward John.

  One week later, Pam flew to New York. Officially, she was there to meet with a client who wanted to commission several pieces of jewelry. Unofficially—and covertly—she was meeting with Cutter. A single night in Manhattan was all he had between ten days in Texas and a week in Paris, and while she might have preferred to pick a more leisurely time, what she had to discuss with him couldn’t wait.

  Her client was staying at the Lowell Hotel. Cutter had said that he’d meet her at the Pembroke Room at four for high tea, and Pam appreciated the whimsy. It was Cutter the miner, at his tongue-in-cheek best.

  Concluding her meeting early, she reached the Pembroke Room well before him. So she settled into the French period furniture and anticipated his arrival with growing excitement. Even then, she couldn’t help but catch her breath when he came into sight. He was wearing a black silk shirt, gray pleated trousers, a loose-fitting tweed jacket, and imported loafers without socks. His immaculately cut hair was sensuously mussed. His face was lightly tanned, his jaw and upper lip lightly shadowed. There was a swagger in his step and a gleam in his eye. He looked spectacular.

  “Hi, babe,” he whispered, sliding onto the loveseat and kissing her neck. His grin was crooked.

  “Hi,” she whispered back. She put her fingers to his lips and skimmed their lean planes. “Did you plan that entrance?”

  “What entrance?” His eyes took in each of her features.

  “The one you just made.”

  “I just walked in the door.” He tipped her head up.

  “But beautifully.” She took a shaky breath and opened her mouth for his kiss. Her breathing was even shakier when it was finished. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

  “Me too,” he whispered back. He had a hand curved around her neck and was caressing her jaw with his thumb. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Bull. You’ve been looking at gorgeous models all week.”

  “Six-foot amazons. I like petite women. Women I can look down on.”

  “What a sexist comment.”

  “I’m a sexist man. Contrary to the trend. I do believe in the differences between us.” His gaze fell to her breasts at the same time as he lowered his hand to her hip. Against her mouth, he asked, “Want me to change?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Should I order tea?”

  “Only if you want to drink it.”

  “Do you?”

  She came forward the fraction of an inch necessary to fuse her mouth with his in a tongue-deep kiss. Cutter was more visibly shaken than she at its end.

  His voice was low. “Let’s go somewhere, Pam.”

  “My place or yours?”

  “Yours is nicer, but mine is closer.”

  “Yours, then. I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

  Actually, it had been just shy of a month since she’d seen him, but it might have been an eternity for the impatience she felt on the way to his apartment. He led the way, holding her hand as he lengthened his stride. She half-walked, half-trotted. When traffic lights periodically pinned them to a corner, she pressed as close to him as she could.

  Once inside his building, he rushed her into the elevator. The door had no sooner closed than he backed her to the smooth paneling, flattened his body against hers, and began moving. He didn’t stop until they’d reached the apartment, stripped off their clothing, and made love.

  At last, lying naked on her back beside Cutter, Pam gave a loud moan. “I should have known this would happen. One look at you and I’m not good for much of anything.”

  “You were real good for a lot of something,” he argued, but his lips barely moved. He sounded half-asleep.

  “I want to be good at a lot else.” She pushed herself up on an elbow. “Marry me, Cutter?”

  His eyes remained closed. He didn’t move. “Mmmm.”

  “I want to get married. Now.”

  “I’m not dressed.”

  She shook his shoulder. “Cutter, I’m not kidding. I want to get married.”

  “I can’t talk about this now. You’ve drained me.”

  “But this was the reason I came. I specifically want to discuss this.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have let me make love to you first.”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  Throwing an arm around her, he brought her back down to his side. “Let me hold you for a minute. Then we’ll talk.”

  S
o he held her. Tipping her head back, Pam studied his face. In total relaxation he looked young and vulnerable. Not that thirty was old. But he hadn’t been vulnerable for a long time. He was strong and independent, a man of friends and means. She was the vulnerable one. His world had broadened. She could lose him so easily.

  A faint shiver passed through her. His arms tightened, but it was an instinct. The evenness of his breathing told her that he had dozed off. Nestling her cheek in the soft, curling hair on his chest, she closed her eyes, breathed in the warm, male scent of his skin, and concentrated on the pure heaven of being there with him.

  The contentment was a sedative. She dozed, too, awakening to find him perched on an elbow eyeing her appreciatively.

  “You look like an angel when you sleep.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.” She stretched, felt the glide of her skin against his, snuggled closer. Then she remembered the point of her visit and flattened a hand on his chest.

  He moved it over his nipple, which was already tight, and let a low moan slip from deep inside.

  “Oh no you don’t!” She snatched back her hand and sat up. Sweeping her hair from her face with her thumb and forefinger, she settled cross-legged facing him.

  “I meant what I said before. About marriage.”

  His eyes were on the juncture of her thighs.

  “Cutter?”

  He looked up quickly. “Hmm?”

  “Let’s get married.”

  “When the time is right, we will.”

  “Let’s do it now. I’m tired of waiting.” She had his full attention. He was studying her curiously. “I’m out of school and earning good money. You’re earning even better money. You can’t give me the argument that I’m going to pass by you in life, because it’s more like the other way around. So let’s get married.”

  She watched his curiosity slip into disbelief. “Just like that? Just like we’re two people who met last year and fell in love? Just like we haven’t been wanting to get married since you were seventeen?”

  “Just like that.”

  His disbelief deepened. “But nothing’s changed, Pam. John is still there, still threatening.”

  “We’ve changed,” she argued. “We’re older. Stronger. I’m tired of living my life by John’s rules.”

  Cutter ran a hand over his eyes and left his arm on his forehead. Peering at her from beneath it, he said wearily, “I think we’ve been through this before.”

  “And I’m as tired of it as you are. So let’s do something. Let’s get married.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the time isn’t right.”

  “That’s what you said before, but it’s as right as it’ll ever be. John won’t just grow old and fade away, and if you think he’ll mellow sometime soon, think again. He has this thing about you, Cutter. He’d as soon slash my throat as have me marry you.”

  “That’s why the timing has to be right.”

  “But I want to get married now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “What else is new?”

  Hearing the bitterness in his voice, she felt a sinking inside. She had known that he wouldn’t jump at the idea, since they’d discussed it before. Still she wished he would show a little enthusiasm.

  “Why now?” he went on in her silence. “It’s not like we can spend any more time together. You have your career and I have mine. We’re both really busy. I’m hardly ever home. It won’t always be that way, but right now it is, and it’s no way to start a marriage.”

  “I want,” she repeated, “to get married.”

  He lowered his arm. “Tell me why, Pam. Why the rush?” She looked him in the eye and spoke through gritted teeth, easy enough to do with John’s face hovering in her mind. “Because I want control over my stock and my mother’s. I don’t want to wait another two years to turn twenty-five. I want that control now.”

  Cutter came up on an elbow. “Has John done something else?”

  “Not directly. Not new.” She took a breath and told him about John’s affair with Patricia. “Did you know?”

  “How would I know? I was up in Maine.”

  “Then there weren’t any rumors flying around?”

  “None.” He hissed out an angry, “My God, the guy’s been in every bed around.”

  “Not mine,” Pam snapped.

  “But not for lack of wanting. You know that, don’t you?”

  She knew it all too well, but her concern was with Patricia. “My mother’s nervous breakdown was John’s fault. He’s the reason she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t act. He’s the reason she hasn’t been able to face life. He has to be stopped, Cutter. If I can get control of my stock and my mother’s, between us we’ll have more than he has. I want that control. So I want to get married.”

  But Cutter shook his head. “If marriage were the answer, we’d have done it years ago. You think I didn’t want to? But nothing’s changed. Our marrying won’t stop John. You may get control of your own stock, but not Patricia’s. Do you honestly think John would give it up?”

  “I’ll get a court order.”

  “Based on what? You’re not a businesswoman, you’re an artist.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  He sat up to face her. “John’s a businessman. We may hate his guts, but we have to give him that. He’s a good businessman. He’s built the company, and it’s sound.”

  “It was sound under my father.”

  “But smaller. John’s made something different and larger. He’s done well by his stockholders. Given your lack of experience and his wealth of it, no court will shift control of the stock.”

  “But I’m her daughter.”

  “And he’s her stepson.”

  “But look what he’s done to her!”

  “The court won’t see that—unless you bring it out.”

  She brought up her chin. “If need be, I will.”

  “You will not, because it’ll hurt you and it’ll hurt Patricia. I’m telling you, Pam, you haven’t got a chance of getting those shares. So rushing into marriage is crazy.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you loved me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I do love you. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether we let John dictate what we do and when. I want to marry you, Pam. I’ve wanted it for years, and you know it. But the timing isn’t right now. I’m on my way, but I’m not there yet.”

  “But you have so much!”

  “Everything is relative. I’ve earned a lot and invested a lot. Little by little I’m picking up St. George stock, but I don’t have anywhere near enough to be a threat to John, and until I do, I won’t have the power to prevent him from carrying out his threats. You can be damn sure that if we get married, he’ll lash out at anything and everything. I can’t take that risk.”

  “Risk? Is marrying me such a risk? If you love me, really love me, you’d do it.”

  He took her arms, and for a minute she thought he would shake her. He looked that fierce. But he simply held on tightly. “I do love you, really love you. Years ago I told you that you were the only woman I’d ever consider marrying, and that hasn’t changed, but I won’t marry you now. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  He did shake her then, a short, sharp jostle of frustration. “Because I have pride, dammit! Marrying you may be the most important thing in my life, but I’ll do it on my terms. I’ll do it when I’ve come far enough to settle down. I’m not there yet, but I will be someday.”

  “And if I won’t wait?” she was hurt enough to ask.

  He looked at her for a minute, then dropped his hands and sat back. “If you won’t wait, then it’s your loss.”

  “You pompous ass!” Scrambling off the bed, she reached for her clothes. “It’ll be your loss, too, only you’re too bullheaded to see it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Bos
ton. You need time to think about whether it’s me you want, or power.”

  “It shouldn’t be either or.”

  “Well, it is.”

  “Don’t do that,” he warned in a low voice that made her hand falter on a button of her blouse.

  “Do what?” She resumed the buttoning.

  “Give ultimatums. Either I marry you now, or you’re leaving. That’s a John kind of move.”

  She snagged her nylons, swore, felt her eyes water, and knew it had nothing to do with the snag. “No. It’s a human kind of move. I should have made it a while ago. If you loved me, you’d marry me. It’s as simple as that.”

  “It’s not simple. Nothing’s ever been simple where you and I are concerned.”

  She stood to stuff her blouse into her skirt. “Maybe there’s a message in that.”

  Heedless of his nudity, Cutter rose from the bed and came around to confront her. “You’re sounding like a spoiled kid.”

  “I’m twenty-three, old enough to get married and more than old enough to have kids.” Blazer in hand, she reached for her bag. “I would have had yours, Cutter. Ours. It would have been five years old now, only it never took a breath, because John had it killed.”

  Cutter was dead silent for an awful moment. “What?”

  “You didn’t know that?” she asked on her way to the door. Her voice shook. She began to tremble all over. “Hillary didn’t tell you?”

  He came after her. “What are you talking about?”

  She walked faster. “The abortion.”

  “What abortion?”

  “The one John had done while I was drugged.” At the front door, she whirled around. “He killed your child, Cutter. Only you never knew it existed, so you never loved it, so you don’t grieve like I do. You have your career. You have your money. You have your power.” She opened the door. “Well, good! Keep it all. I hope it makes you happy.”

  Slamming the apartment door, she raced to the elevator. She was too hurt to cry, too angry to think of looking back to see if he would follow. On the street, she hailed a cab and went straight to the airport. She was back in Boston before midnight. Not that there was a great rush. As she saw it, the coach had turned into a pumpkin well before that.