Jory shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him much myself. He seems to prefer being alone. He’s getting around very well. Maybe you should drive out and see him. Surely there’s a lot you have to discuss, with the New Year just weeks away. It’s not good to be alone so much.” Jory grimaced.
“Maybe he’s starting to worry about getting back into the work harness. Let’s not talk about Woo. Let’s talk about us,” Ross said, filling her wineglass a second time.
“Ross, there is no us.”
“There should be. There could be. Why are you being so stubborn? Why won’t you give me a second chance? I know in my gut you’d give one to Woo, to anyone else. Why am I so damn different? Now that I’ve been rehabilitated, what’s not to like about me? Jesus, I don’t beat up on little old ladies or children. I pay my taxes, I do pro bono work. I even go to church once in a while. I believe I’m a worthwhile person.”
Jory leaned across the table. “Oh, you are, Ross. I’m so very proud of you and so grateful for the way you stepped in to help me. I’ll never forget it,” Jory said sincerely.
“Then what is it? What’s wrong with me? I know you feel something for me, I can see it in your eyes, in your face. I’m not exactly ugly, and I don’t smell. Jesus, I just don’t understand,” Ross complained.
Jory gulped at her wine. She held up her empty glass. Tears momentarily blurred her vision. “It’s not you, Ross. It’s me. Well, it’s both of us. I don’t know what I mean,” she mumbled.
“If you’d tell me, maybe I can sort it out. I’m supposed to have this sharp, legal mind. Give me a chance to use it,” he pleaded.
Jory gulped at the wine again. “I can’t have children.” There, it was out, the words finally said aloud. She watched the piece of meatball on Ross’s fork drop to his plate, saw the red sauce splatter against his white shirt, saw the look of horror on his face and knew it reflected her own expression. She jabbed at the ziti on her plate with such force the pasta skidded off, landing in the sugar bowl in the center of the table. She stabbed again, this time making contact with the ziti.
“You’re blaming me,” Ross said quietly.
“No. I did for a while. Blame isn’t something we should be talking about. There were two of us. I haven’t been able to reconcile it in my mind because I feel so terribly cheated. I always wanted a houseful of children. Men usually want children, sons especially, to carry on their name. Mothers want little girls to dress up in bonnets and little boys who look like their father. It’s more like, why did God do that to me? I cannot explain it any better than that, Ross. I never would have told you if you hadn’t . . . maybe it was the wine,” Jory said miserably.
“All these years and you never said a word. You should have told me, Jory,” Ross said tightly.
“Back then you didn’t care. Later it was too difficult to talk about, and then when I came back here, it was worse. Talking about it doesn’t help. Now you’re going to blame yourself. It’s not something either one of us should dwell on. We can’t do anything about it.”
“Are you sure? There are wonderful doctors out there making new advances every day,” Ross said desperately.
Jory locked her gaze with Ross. “You don’t understand, Ross. If you don’t have the necessary body parts, it doesn’t make any difference what kind of advances they make,” Jory said sadly.
“Oh.”
“I’m not really very hungry,” Jory said. “Do you mind if we leave?”
“Yes. I mind. I think you owe it to me to let me try and make up for what you’ve gone through. You should have told me. I can’t believe I wouldn’t have tried to do something to ease your pain,” Ross said.
“I didn’t see it that way at the time, Ross. To show you how dumb and inexperienced I was, I thought, even after speaking with the doctor, things could be fixed. I was seventeen, what did I know? I try not to think about it, and for the most part I succeed, but then when I see you, it all comes back. I don’t want it to be this way. I hate feeling like this, but that’s the way it is.”
Ross reached across the table to take her hands in his. “I’m so very sorry. I wish there was something I could say for both of us. Whatever it takes, I’ll do.”
“Too much, too little, too late, Ross,” Jory said quietly.
“It doesn’t matter to me that you can’t have children. What I mean is, if we ever got married, it wouldn’t matter. What I’m trying to say here is, I’d marry you in a heartbeat if you’d have me. I’m proposing. Will you marry me so we can live happily ever after?”
Jory forced a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m flattered, Ross, but no. I admire what you’re doing with your life, and I truly believe you respect me. Let’s not tamper with what we have.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel something for me. Right in the eye, Jory, and tell me there can never be anything between us because once, a long time ago, we were two dumb people who didn’t know what they were doing. I think that’s stupid thinking on your part. I know I’m not a woman and don’t think like a woman, but I think and feel and hurt just the way you do.”
She sighed. “I have to leave, Ross.”
“I can’t let you drive back alone. You’ve had too much wine. Either come back to the house with me or I’ll get you a hotel room. Barring that, you can sleep in the office and leave when you’re sober. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve had two bottles of wine.”
“The dogs—”
“You left food and the heat’s on, so there’s no problem. You’ll clean the mess tomorrow and that will be the end of it. What’s it to be?” Jesus, he felt like his eyes were crossing.
“Do you have a sofa in the office?” Jory asked, slurring her words.
“No. Just chairs.”
“Then where would I sleep?”
Ross shrugged. “Sitting up in the chair. I have a picnic blanket in the trunk of my car. The floor? I’m not sure I’m in any condition to drive myself. I suppose we could sit up all night and drink coffee. There’s a small kitchen at the office and we have plenty of coffee.”
“Let’s go back to the office. Maybe the cold air will sober us up. I’m not drunk, mind you, just . . . not moving on all cylinders.”
Ross peeled some bills from his money clip and put them on the table. “Maybe you’re not drunk, but I think I am. Come on, let’s see if the cold air snaps us to attention.”
Jory reared back. “I don’t think I should go with you if you’re drunk. I’ll sit in the car until I feel well enough to make the trip home.” She struggled into her coat. She wondered if she’d fall once she started to walk. A vision of herself facedown on linoleum on the restaurant floor flashed before her. She bolted from the tiny restaurant.
Ross took that moment to pluck the carnation from the bud vase on the table.
Outside in the cold air he looked at Jory solemnly for a second before he presented the lone flower to her. “You’re as pretty as this flower,” he said, enunciating each word carefully.
“Really, Ross! No one ever gave me flowers before. When we got married I bought my own bouquet of violets. Do you remember that?”
“No. Did you save them?”
“For a week or so, then I threw them away. I wish I’d saved them.” They were walking now, holding on to each other, both of them shivering in the frigid air.
“You should have saved them,” Ross mumbled.
Jory stopped and shook off his arm. Her fist shot upward. “Well, maybe I would have if you’d bought them for me, but since you didn’t, I threw them away.” Ross swaggered sideways, coming to rest against the lamppost.
“You hit me!”
“Damn right I hit you. You keep bringing up all this stuff. Stuff I don’t want to remember, stuff that’s too damn hard to deal with. You deserved it,” she said, kicking him in the shins.
Ross yowled with pain. “ ‘Stuff’ . . . you call it ‘stuff!” Ross yelled in outrage. He reached for her.
“Don’t you dare touch me
, you—you—”
“What? What am I? Ha! You can’t even think of a word to describe what I am. That’s because,” he said, leering at her in the lamplight, “there’s nothing bad to say about me. You’re the one who isn’t a nice person. You’ve been trampling on my emotions for years now, and you’re going to keep on doing it. I can see it in your eyes. Go ahead, tell me it’s not true,” Ross bellowed.
“Shut up, Ross,” Jory bellowed in return. “Jerk. Jerk is what you are. So there. You’re a crud, a lousy crumb, is what you are. Were. Probably still are under that . . . that persona you’re presenting to the world. You ruined my life and now you want to . . . what the hell is it you want, Ross?”
“You, goddamnit!”
“Ha! I’m not for sale. Once I was, and you got me cheap. For nothing. Then you threw me away!” Jory cried.
“Do you have to tell the whole damn world?” Ross hissed. “People are on the street, watching us. Don’t you have any shame?”
“Don’t you talk to me about shame, Ross Landers!” Jory shouted.
“You won’t talk about anything else. What should we talk about? Get it through that stupid, dumb head of yours. I’m not like that anymore. Nothing is forever, Jory,” Ross blustered.
“Oh no!” Jory’s fist shot up a second time, landing square against Ross’s left eye. “Well, I am damn well forever. I can’t have children, so that’s forever. Go ahead, you . . . jerk, stand there and tell me that isn’t forever. Forever, Ross!” Jory yelled so shrilly, a cop on the corner meandered over, his nightstick tapping his leg as he walked.
“Now you’ve gone and done it. There’s a cop heading our way,” Ross grated.
Jory kicked him in the shins so hard her shoe fell off. The cop retrieved it and handed it to her.
“Is there a problem here? Mr. Landers, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me, officer. I seem to be having a difference of opinion here with my ex-wife.”
“Ma’am?” the officer said, looking to Jory for clarification.
“The only part of what he said that’s right is I am his ex-wife. The rest is a lie. We’re having a . . . fight. We’re settling an old problem. Don’t interfere.”
“Are you inebriated, Mrs. Landers?”
“Yes, she is, and it’s disgusting,” Ross said virtuously. “I’ve been trying to quiet her down. I’m taking her back to the office.”
“Take your disagreement indoors and keep it off the street or I’ll have to run you in,” the officer said sternly.
“I’m not Mrs. Landers. My name is Ryan. My father was Jake Ryan, the district attorney. Don’t call me Mrs. Landers. I hate that name. I always hated that name. You don’t have any right to call me Mrs. Landers. Tell him he doesn’t have any right, Ross.”
Ross rolled his eyes for the cop’s benefit, as much as to say, See what I have to put up with. “Don’t worry, officer, I’ll take care of her.” A moment later Jory was slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Put me down, Ross! Put me down this damn minute! Do you hear me? You’re jiggling my stomach, I’m going to throw up if you don’t. Ross, put me down!”
“Are you going to shut up?”
“Yes. Yes, just put me down.”
“I can’t stand a drunk woman,” the officer said, taking one of Jory’s arms. Ross took the other and between the two men they dragged Jory to the office doorway.
His shins burning with pain, his left eye swelling to twice its size, Ross said, “Why do you think we got divorced?” The cop nodded sagely as Ross unlocked the door. “Thanks for your help, officer. I’ll see that she sleeps it off. Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to her,” he said virtuously.
“You stinking bastard,” Jory screeched the moment the door closed.
“Just shut up. That cop could have dragged both of us down to the police station. I could have talked my way out of it, but they would have locked you up to sleep it off and you’d be in the morning papers. Now sit down in that fucking chair and don’t move until I tell you to move. I have to put some ice on my eye and leg. I should paddle your rump good for this. I have to be in court tomorrow. This is all your fault, Jory.”
“Ask me if I care. I don’t care. A black eye is too good for you. I should have socked you in the other one so they matched,” Jory snarled.
“I told you to shut up. Go make coffee. Everything’s in the kitchen. I don’t want to hear another word,” Ross said menacingly.
“You told me not to move,” Jory said sweetly. “Make up your stupid mind.”
“Make the coffee! I’m keeping my eye on you so you don’t get frisky with me. Take your coat off, it’s warm in here. First thing you know, you’ll catch a cold and blame that on me too. I like my coffee strong with just a little cream.” Ross reached past her to remove the ice cube tray from the refrigerator. He yanked at the metal handle. Ice cubes showered upward to land on the floor. Jory laughed. She kept on laughing at the expression on Ross’s face.
“Serves you right, smart aleck. Ohhh, I’m going to be sick.”
“Jesus Christ!” Ross groaned as she rushed down the hallway to the bathroom. “You get it on the floor, you’re cleaning it up!” he roared.
Ross leaned against the wall, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he listened to her retch. “That’s an enriching vocabulary you have, Miss Ryan.”
Silence. Then, “I’m going to kill you, Ross. First I’m going to blacken your other eye, then I’m going to cut off your . . . oh shit!”
“Tsk tsk tsk,” Ross said, clucking his tongue. He headed back to the kitchen, where he measured coffee into the pot and gathered up the scattered ice cubes. He packed them into a dishcloth, slapping it against his eye. He was contemplating the pain in his leg when Jory tottered out to the kitchen. Ross stared at her with his good eye. “You look,” he said, searching for just the right words, “a mess.”
“Shut up, Ross,” Jory muttered, her eyes on the coffeepot.
“Let’s call a truce here. I’m the one who’s maimed and injured. I’m the one who has to appear before a judge tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. I’d think you could have a little compassion here. I also saved you from a night in jail. Let’s start over. Let’s talk about Woo or the weather. Better yet, let’s talk about Christmas, it’s just a few weeks away. Where are you going to get your tree this year? If you like, I can go with you to cut it down,” Ross said generously.
Jory poured two cups of coffee. “I have no desire to discuss your friend or the weather,” she said coldly. “I’ll think about the tree part, but not tonight. You should keep toothbrushes in the bathroom.”
“Why?”
Jory threw her hands in the air. “Because my mouth feels . . . awful. Toothpaste washes away the taste of the wine. If you had toothpaste, I could have swished it around in my mouth. Mouthwash would be good too.”
“Shut up,” Ross said wearily.
“I feel terrible,” Jory said.
“Well, guess what, I don’t feel like I could run the mile. Take a good look at me. Let’s just sit here and drink our coffee.”
“This coffee is too strong. I feel like my hair is standing on end.”
Ross laughed. “It is.” He laughed again, to Jory’s irritation.
“Well, your eye looks like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. More grape than peanut butter. I hope you limp for a week.”
“C’mere and kiss me,” Ross whispered.
Jory’s heart started to pound. “Why would you want to kiss someone whose hair is on end and looks like a raccoon?” she asked.
“Because I love you. I don’t care how you look. I don’t care if you can’t have children. I don’t care about anything but you. And don’t tell me it’s too late. It’s never too late if you’re willing to set aside past differences and move forward. I told you before, I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you. I’ll work at it for the rest of my life. I mean it, Jory.”
He sounde
d so sincere. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she was sure Ross could hear it. What would it be like to be in his arms, to make love with him here on the floor in the office? Would it be as wonderful as she always imagined it would be? Would she be able to let go of all her inhibitions, all the hurt she had stored inside of her? And when it was all over, then what? She took a tentative step and then another. Ross reached for her hand, fearful she would change her mind. She sat down next to him on the kitchen bench, her hand still in his. The ice cubes scattered a second time.
“Do you believe me when I tell you I love you and want to marry you?” Ross whispered against her cheek. She nodded. “Tell me how you feel about me.”
“I don’t know, Ross. I’m afraid of you, of what you can do to me. I can’t help it if I keep remembering . . . I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t ever want to go through that again. Maybe what you think you feel for me is . . . lust. That’s not good enough for a lifetime together.”
“Oh, I feel lust all right, but that’s not why I love you. Well, part of it. I just want to be with you. I want to see you in the morning when I wake up. I want to eat breakfast across from you. I want us to walk the dogs together and play with them after dinner. I want to be the one to cut down the Christmas tree and help trim it, to put the angel on top. I want to hand out the presents under the tree. I want to be the one to make you smile. I swear, I’ll never make you cry, Jory. I’ll take care of you if you get sick. I’ll stay home from work and make a mustard plaster for you. I want to be part of your life. Please, think about it with an open mind. I have all the time in the world. I’ll wait forever if it takes that long. But do me a favor.”
“What?” Jory whispered.
“Invite me for Christmas.”
“Okay. I’ll think about everything you said.”
Ross put his arms around her shoulder to draw her close to him. She didn’t resist.
They talked all night long, often seriously, though at other times silliness overcame both of them and they laughed together. The intimacy she’d always hungered for was there. She could feel it.
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