The ‘us’ wasn’t lost on Genevieve. She could imagine him saying, “My wife and I...” Had the phrase felt natural or awkward forming on his tongue, she wondered. Aloud she said, “That was considerate of you.”
He shrugged. “There was nothing else I could do. I might have been able to help had I known he’d been stricken, but I didn’t know until the paramedics were already here.”
“That’s right. Being a doctor, you’re a handy fellow to have around in case of an emergency.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His eyes settled on her clothed body. “Tell me, did you replace your dress because you were standing in the hallway, or have you had second thoughts?”
She turned her gaze downward for a second before looking up again. “Dexter, I don’t believe it was meant to be. Us being interrupted at that moment...I have to interpret it as a signal that it’s wrong. It would complicate our relationship, blur the line in a way I just can’t handle.
“Nothing that feels so right can be wrong, Jenny,” he said quietly. “But I’ll respect your wishes. Good night.”
She felt like she’d been dismissed, like a child who’d been reprimanded by a teacher or a parent. She silently went into her bedroom and closed the door, her heart heavy. Dexter thought she was being difficult, but he simply didn’t know all the details of her situation. He didn’t know she’d already considered one attempt at citizenship by marriage, which she’d abandoned because the other party was in love with her, a feeling she didn’t return. The best way to handle this —the only way to handle it—was to have a relationship with no emotional or sexual complications, one that she could safely stay in until it was safe to do otherwise, when she could at last fall in love and marry the way most other people did. Intimacy between she and Dexter would only create more hurdles to get over and make for awkward interaction. The lust they felt would eventually cool off, and how would they manage to stay married to each other for several more years under those conditions? Genevieve’s instincts told her Dexter would grow to resent the three-year hold on his life once the thrill of getting his degree wore off and he began his career. Right now they could say they had a genuine fondness for each other. That was all they needed to fool the INS and get through this. She wouldn’t risk messing it up.
Still, circumstances being what they were, she’d feel better if she slept behind a locked door.
She had her hand out to turn the lock button into position when he suddenly knocked. She froze, then quickly took six long strides backward on the carpeted floor and called out, “Just a minute,” so he wouldn’t know she’d been standing directly on the other side. Then she moved forward and opened the door.
Dexter’s dark eyes blazed, his mouth set in an uncharacteristic straight line. “I just wanted to tell you that if you’re thinking of locking your door, you don’t have to worry. I have no intentions of coming after you. All this being caught in the middle is over, Miss Riddle. But if I wanted to, a locked door is hardly enough to keep me out, unless it’s made of solid oak.” Then he reached out and closed the door, practically slamming it.
Genevieve stood rooted, her eyes tightly shut. How had everything gone so sour? She opened her eyes and slowly headed for the king-sized bed and collapsed on it, pressing her face into the pillow and sobbing. She was trying so hard to make the best of an impossible situation. All her efforts had only served to make Dexter angry with her.
It wasn’t like she could refer to a guide on the best way to handle a fraudulent marriage; no such thing existed. She could only rely on her own judgment, and by the turn in events that had previously steered her in the right direction, like the delay in Barry’s divorce.
It should have been simple. Not only did Dexter need the money, but his career choice all but guaranteed his cooperation in the scheme that represented a low point in her life. If they could just forget about their attraction to each other and forget that one—no, now two—kisses, everything would work according to the plan. After they spoke with the INS they wouldn’t even have to see each other again until it was time to end the charade. Then they could go their separate ways, and neither of them would be hurt. Surely that was the right thing to do.
But if it was, why did she feel so empty?
The first thing Genevieve became aware of when she awoke the next morning was that her left hand felt unusually weighted. She knew the reason when she saw the plain brushed gold band she wore on her third finger. Her regular jewelry consisted of earrings, an anklet, and the sapphire she’d inherited from her mother. She’d never been particularly fond of rings, and it felt strange to have her finger encased.
Remembering her newlywed status in turn made her remember what almost happened last night. She wondered if Dexter had slept as restlessly as she had. Was he awake already, or, again like herself, had he lain awake long into the night before finally falling asleep?
She felt no reason to rush out to the main room, where he slept, so instead she reached for the remote control and flicked on the TV. As she shifted position she felt an itchy feeling on her backside. She reached down and pushed her nightgown up, relieving the irritation with her fingernails.
Instantly she felt another strong itch, this time on the side of her hip. Once again she shifted position so she could scratch it. This time she felt her skin, and it felt almost scaly. Good grief, what had happened to her?
She got out of bed and pulled her nightgown over her head, then stood with her back facing the full-length mirror on the closet door. To her horror, her backside was covered with a horseshoe-shaped rash of dry, reddish skin. The areas where she’d scratched had already turned red.
Genevieve immediately showered, giving the affected area an especially vigorous scrubbing. The warm water felt good against her skin. Maybe all she needed was a good moisturizing. Fortunately, she’d included petroleum jelly with her toiletries.
When she was dressed in a short sleeve cotton blouse and denim shorts, she opened her bedroom door and stepped out to an uncertain reception. The sofabed where Dexter slept was mussed, but empty. He sat at the desk, fully dressed in cargo shorts and a red short-sleeved polo shirt, talking on the phone. From the sound of it, he was upset.
“Well, pardon me for saying this, but that’s an awfully lame excuse. Now you’re telling me you’ve run out of food because the hotel is full. Who’s running your catering department, a food service student? They’re supposed to know if they’re going to need more food. We chose this hotel because we liked the convenience of having a full breakfast included. This chain has an excellent reputation, but for this stay it hasn’t lived up to its name. My wife and I are down here in the Bay on our honeymoon. There’s a leak in one of our bathrooms, which they had to know about when they cleaned up after the last guest. Now it’s practically raining in there. And then I learn you have no more meat on the breakfast buffet and no eggs, either? What are we supposed to do with biscuits and gravy? We’re terribly disappointed, Mr.Callahan. We didn’t pay for this with Monopoly money, you know.” He caught sight of her and winked, which she took as a good sign that his angry words from last night had been, if not forgotten, at least put aside.
He turned his attention back to his conversation, appearing to be mulling something over. “Hmm...I think that’s a fair offer. It certainly takes some of the pain away. I trust you’ll make the necessary arrangements with the front desk, and our folio will show no charge.” Then he nodded approval. “Thank you, sir.” He hung up the phone.
She looked at him quizzically. It sounded like he’d...“Dexter? Did you just do what I think you just did?”
“I got them to comp our room.”
“For all three nights?”
“For all three nights. I got up early. I think I’ve got a built-in alarm clock; I’m up every day just before seven. I went for a workout in the fitness center, and after I showered I walked over to get some breakfast. Would you believe all they had was some yogurt, cereal, and home fried potatoes? They ran out of eggs,
bacon, and sausage. They kept me waiting for fifteen minutes, saying they were making more food, and then this lady comes out carrying a pan of gravy and then a tray of biscuits. When I asked for the eggs and bacon, she said, calm as you please, that they weren’t making any more today. I came right back here and called the general manager. He tried to explain it away by blaming it on the hotel being full, but that’s no excuse. A good catering manager gauges the supply on hand to the number of guests.”
“I agree. And he comped our room?”
“That’s right.”
She broke into a broad grin. “I had no idea you were such a good negotiator.”
“Hey, you might be picking up the tab for all this now, but I’m going to reimburse you for this, remember? At one-seventy a night, I just saved myself five hundred and ten dollars, plus tax.”
He seemed pleased with himself, and she had something that would make him feel even better.
“Well, since we’re talking about money, I have something for you.” She reached into the zippered compartment on the side of her purse and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s a certified check, all made out to NYU, just like we agreed.” She held it out.
He stared at it, then at her. Slowly he reached out to accept the envelope. “Thanks, Jenny. I...I owe you.”
“We owe each other. I’m getting something big out of this, too.” She paused. “You look so solemn, Dexter. I would expect you to jump for joy at getting this check.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m thrilled. Last time I was this happy—well, let’s just say there was a pregnancy test involved.” He placed the envelope inside his duffel bag, not looking at its contents. He grinned as he approached her. “Maybe I am being uncharacteristically low key, but that’s how the really big things affect me. Like getting my MD degree. I was dead calm about it, and at the time I truly believed I wanted to practice medicine.”
“That makes sense,” Genevieve said. “I think it’s a feeling of numbness. That’s how I felt yesterday, after the ceremony. For so long I hoped I’d be able to find a solution to my problem. When it finally happened, I felt a rush of calm come over me.”
“You know,” Dexter said thoughtfully, “when you think about the tremendous favors we did for each other, you’d think we had to sell our souls to the devil. But, Jenny, I can think of a lot worse things than being married to you.” He bent and planted a feather-light kiss on her mouth.
Wisely, she didn’t object. A sixth sense told her that after last night’s heated exchange, she’d never have to worry about Dexter making a move on her again.
But instead of being happy about that, it made her feel strangely desolate.
Dexter rubbed his palms together. “This is the type of gorgeous summer day that makes me feel good to be alive and in America. I say we go out for some breakfast, and then do some exploring.” He flashed his trademark grin. “Have you ever been to the Lincoln Memorial?”
Chapter 15
When they returned to New York Sunday afternoon, they turned in the convertible and headed for the brownstone by taxi. “Why don’t you go on ahead?” Dexter suggested. “I’ll stop and get us something to eat. That way, we won’t get in at the same time, in case our sharp-eyed landlord is home and starts to put two and two together.”
“Oh. All right.” She reached inside her shoulder bag for her wallet.
“Jenny, don’t.”
She looked up at him, startled. His tone sounded so sharp, like he’d just given her an order. “What’s wrong?”
“I might be putting the bulk of the money I saved toward my grandparents’ mortgage, but I can at least afford to buy you a hamburger, or Chinese, or whatever else you’ve got in mind. You just paid my tuition, remember?” He patted his pocket, where he’d put the check. “That means I can give up my part-time job. I might not be a licensed physician, but I do earn a decent salary in the M.E.’s office, you know, just not enough to cough up seventeen thousand dollars plus cover my living expenses. With my tuition paid, I’ll be able to manage. You won’t have to invite me to help with food consumption when you accidentally cook too much.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “You knew what I was doing?”
“Of course. Don’t take this the wrong way, Jenny. I was glad to get what you’d made, but you’re no Rachael Ray. I found it hard to believe that your sudden interest in cooking came right after you’d seen that I’d lost a few pounds.”
“Okay, so I’m found out. I was worried about you. Is that wrong?”
“I think it’s cute. But I’m putting a stop to your pulling out your wallet all the time, right now. Just tell me what you feel like eating, and I’ll get it for you.”
She nodded, understanding. A man had pride if he had nothing else, and she’d undoubtedly bruised his. When he told her he would one day pay her back every penny she believed him, so she’d better act like it. Then she smiled. “Since you mentioned it, Chinese. I like the mixed fried rice, with pork, chicken, and shrimp. And plenty of duck sauce.”
“I’ll go to the place around the corner.”
Genevieve ended up spending that night in her rented room. She tried to tell herself it was because she was tired after the long drive home. In her heart she didn’t want to be far from Dexter, not after they shared one last meal in the kitchen.
She gave her notice to Brenda the next day in a written note and arrived back at her condo by cab Monday evening just after rush hour, the cab full of most of the belongings she’d brought with her, plus the ones she’d requested from Dexter: A toothbrush, a hair pick with hair still in it, and a few of his clothes.
Z.L. was on duty at the door. “Miss Shane!” he exclaimed. “You’re back.” When he stood close enough to speak to her without anyone else hearing, he said, “For good this time?”
“Yes. I’ve got my bags with me.” She squeezed his forearm through the sleeves of his uniform and spoke in a low voice. “Thanks, Z.L.”
“Here, let me help you with those.” He lifted her bags out of the back seat. “You’ve got lots of suitcases, Jenishka.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been away a long time.”
“And Mr. Henderson? He is here too, yes?”
She paid the driver the amount on the meter, plus a tip. “No.” She realized Z.L. would need to know the truth. “I didn’t marry Mr. Henderson, Z.L.”
The doorman frowned, his heavy white brows knitting. “You not marry Mr. Henderson?”
“No. I married Mr. Gray.” She gave him an embarrassed shrug. “It all happened very quickly.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I understand. Love is a funny thing. Sometimes she sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I’m sure your Mr. Gray is a good man. Not like Mr. Shane.”
Now it was Genevieve’s turn to be confused. She quickly realized Z.L. presumed she’d already had an unsuccessful marriage, which would explain why she used the name of Shane while her father’s had been L’Esperance. “Oh. Z.L., I wasn’t married. I just...” her mind raced for a reasonable-sounding explanation. “I wanted to use a surname my professional contacts could pronounce. But yes, my husband is a good man.” The words came out with surprising ease. “He’s not here right now. He has a very heavy schedule. He goes to law school, and he works full time, plus he studies a lot. But you’ll meet him,” she added, realizing that it would only benefit her and Dexter for he and the doorman to meet. She could tell the INS she had kept to herself and had no friends, but they’d be suspicious if the doorman in her building had never laid eyes on her new husband.
“I’ll help you upstairs with your bags,” Z.L. offered. “It’s good to have you back, Jenishka.”
She smiled at him. “I’m glad to be back, Z.L.”
Dexter awoke with a heavy feeling in his chest, and quickly remembered the reason. Jenny no longer slept in the room on the opposite side of the hall.
Because she’d mentioned that she planned to stop work early and pack her things, he rearranged his schedule so he could be ther
e to help her. He’d helped her down the two flights of stairs with her luggage. He badly wanted to kiss her goodbye just after he loaded the bags in the taxi’s trunk, but good judgment won out. He didn’t agree with her refusal to keep their relationship platonic, and his instincts told him that he could persuade her to change her mind, but he didn’t feel he should have to. He wanted her to come to him freely, not because she’d been swayed. Something was clearly holding her back.
He’d regretted his show of temper in their hotel suite after she informed him she’d changed her mind, but his disappointment had been deep. The more he saw of Genevieve, the more he wanted their relationship to progress to the next level. Was she afraid that if an affair ended badly he’d lose interest in helping her? Didn’t she realize how deeply vested he was in perpetuating a fraud on the government?
He sensed there was something she hadn’t shared with him. What was that she’d said the day she asked him to marry her? You have no idea what I’ve been through, of the choices I’ve had to make. And then there was that other remark she’d made just a few minutes later. I want to keep this impersonal. It’s better that way. Believe me, I know.
He had no idea what she’d been getting at, only that it was clear she’d been affected by some prior event. He had to be patient, and maybe he’d be able to help her work through it, whatever it was.
She’d taken his hand before getting in the back seat of the taxi and given it an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for everything, Dexter. I’ll be in touch,” she’d said.
He noticed she didn’t say she would see him. She had some more belongings in her room that she couldn’t carry with her, like a drafting table and a small LCD television. Obviously she would be back for them, but he suspected she’d purposely show up when he wasn’t around. He’d told her he would go with her and help her move all her things, but she declined his offer, again proving that she had no intention of telling him where she lived.
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