Look into My Eyes

by Glenda Sanders

  Holly shrugged. “It’s probably more a case of how long it takes the cops in Virginia to get around to showing it to her.”

  At her apartment, Holly changed into comfortable clothes, then joined Craig in the living room, where he was reading the newspaper. He put it down when he heard her enter the room and patted the cushion next to him. She plopped down with a prolonged sigh and relaxed against him with her head on his shoulder. “The pool’s still open. Want to go swim off some stress?”

  “No.”

  “Want to watch the news?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Want to just sit here and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?”

  “For as long as we can get away with it.”

  For a quarter of an hour, Holly listened to the beat of his heart and tried to pretend, but the world wouldn’t go away. They’d been pretending for weeks, and now reality was stalking them. The phone was going to ring or there would be a knock at the door. The best they could hope for was a longer stint in limbo.

  Holly didn’t want to think about the alternative. She didn’t want to imagine him backhanding a woman he was supposed to love. She just wanted to listen to his heart and believe that he was the gentle man she had come to care about. And that he could be hers.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Holly.”

  If he hadn’t lifted her hand and pressed the back of it to his cheek just then, she might have wondered if he’d really spoken.

  “No matter what happens, I want us,” he continued.

  He was kissing her fingers, and she felt it all the way to her womb. “Why don’t we wait until we—”

  He cut her off. “I’m in love with you.”

  Holly squeezed her eyes shut and snuggled closer as he nibbled on her pinkie. The words were in her throat to tell him that she loved him, too, when the doorbell rang, shattering the mood.

  Shocked, they sprang to attention. Craig exhaled a moan of frustration. She was already getting up, but he was still holding her hand. “Holly—”

  “We have to hear it, whatever it is.” With effort, she smiled at him reassuringly.

  With a desolate nod of agreement, he let go of her hand. She walked slowly to the door, wondering if anything would ever be the same after she answered it.

  Josh was almost obscenely cheerful as he bounded into the apartment and announced, “Well, kiddies, I have bad news and I have good news. Which do you want first?”

  “Just tell us what you found out,” Holly said, trying to remember that Josh had no way of knowing how poorly timed his arrival had been.

  “The good news first, then.” Tilting his head toward Craig, he said, “You, sir, are not Thomas Martin McClure, wife beater and family deserter.”

  “Mrs. McClure saw his picture?” Holly asked.

  “In her words, quoted directly from the authorities in Virginia, ‘In my wildest dreams, Thomas would look like that.’”

  Holly exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “And the bad news?” she asked hoarsely.

  “We’re back to square one,” Josh answered. “We still don’t know who the hell he is.”

  Holly’s eyes met Craig’s jubilantly. Square one wasn’t such a bad place to be!

  After an indeterminate silence, Josh shuffled restlessly. “Oh, for— Why don’t you two kiss and get it over with.”

  As far as Craig was concerned, the suggestion was superfluous. If the building had been on fire, he’d have taken the time to kiss Holly before carrying her out. The strength of her embrace and the ardor of her kiss telegraphed the same sense of relief. He continued holding her after the kiss ended, keeping his arm draped securely across her shoulders. “Thanks for letting us know,” he told Josh.

  Josh shrugged. “Anything for a friend.”

  “What’s in the bag?” Holly asked, pointing to a plastic supermarket bag dangling from his right hand.

  “A peace offering. I thought we’d celebrate.”

  “You thought I’d cook dinner,” Holly corrected.

  Wincing, Josh groaned playfully. “Come on, Holly. You know no one can make shrimp the way you do.” He looked at Craig. “Holly has made you her special garlic shrimp, hasn’t she?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” Craig said.

  “Then get ready for a taste that would make the gods weep with ecstasy.”

  “I’m being cajoled,” Holly said, but the protest fell on unresponsive ears.

  “I brought French bread and shrimp and real butter and fresh garlic and romaine lettuce and red potatoes,” Josh said. Then, turning to Craig, he added, “She makes these potatoes to go with the shrimp that...well, I can’t even describe them, except to say—” He made a circle of his thumb and forefinger and kissed it.

  “You need to find yourself a woman,” Holly said. “One who can cook.”

  “You’re the last woman on earth who enjoys cooking,” Josh said. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t think potatoes grow in supermarket freezers or foil pouches. And your shrimp—”

  “You two are going to do the dishes!” Holly said.

  “Deal!” Josh said. “We’ll even keep you company in the kitchen while you cook.”

  “You guys are all heart,” Holly said, taking the bag and poking into it. “I hope these shrimp are fresh.”

  “If they were any fresher, they’d have swam in the door,” Josh said.

  An hour later, the table was set, the Caesar salad tossed, the potatoes simmering. Josh and Craig stood near the range watching the shrimp sauté under Holly’s careful supervision.

  Josh sucked in a lungful of air scented with the blend of garlic and butter. “It’s miraculous,” he said. “Those smelly little shrimp transformed into this.”

  “Exactly how long has it been since you had a home-cooked meal?” Holly asked, picking up a bottle of crushed red pepper.

  “Easter,” he replied. “Ham, green beans and candied yams. My new partner’s mother insisted.”

  Holly eyed the bottle of pepper, then looked at Craig. “Do you mind? This is pretty hot.”

  “Go for it!” he said. “I like my food spicy.” He grinned and gave his eyebrows a lecherous lift. “Just like my women.”

  The pall that followed was no normal silence, and the shocked looks that passed between Holly and Josh unsettled Craig. He had committed some sort of gaffe, but what? Holly surely knew he was teasing. She usually found his flirtatious comments amusing.

  “What did I say?” he asked.

  Again, Holly and Josh exchanged mysterious looks before Holly turned her attention back to sprinkling pepper over the shrimp, leaving the question for Josh to answer.

  “Someone we knew used to say that,” he said.

  “What?” Craig asked.

  “I like my food spicy—just like my women,” Josh replied.

  Holly’s fiancé, of course. “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s just a silly expression,” Holly said, turning the shrimp.

  “Strange coincidence,” Craig said.

  “The shrimp are done,” Holly said, and they adjourned to the table.

  Josh left after helping with the dishes. When he’d gone, Holly chained the door then leaned against it. Craig was standing a few feet away, and as she discovered him staring at her, their earlier conversation came rushing back as though it had never been interrupted.

  She walked over and draped her arms over his shoulders. “You were saying?”

  He told her again that he loved her, using touch instead of words. His hands were gentle on her body, his lips tender on hers. The sweetness of the kiss was shattering, the serenity she felt as he held her afterward precious.

  He cradled her face. “I have so much to tell you. And I want to be able to see your face when I do.” He guided her to the armchair, and urged her into his lap. Holly was struck by the overall rightness about being there with him, the comfortabl
e intimacy between them as his hand rested warmly on her ribs.

  They had a lot to talk about but, for a long while, he seemed content just to look at her face, smiling gently. Then he said, “I have a confession to make.”

  Holly tensed. “Confession?” Please don’t tell me you’ve been deceiving me that you’re a deadbeat or a con man. Don’t tell me that everything I believe about you is a lie.

  “You’re the reason I went to work at the library,” he said.

  “I don’t understand—how could that be?”

  “The first day I moved into my apartment, I was out walking, and saw the library. I went in and read some magazines and wandered around. It must have been a Thursday, because you were in the middle of Story Hour, and you...” He smiled. “I heard the kids laughing, and looked over and...there you were, reading, and the kids were hanging on to every word.”

  She was aware of a subtle change in the way he was holding her, an almost imperceptible tightening of his embrace as he continued, “I stood there watching you and I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than your face. I still can’t.”

  “I’m not beautiful,” Holly said. Wholesome, yes. Pleasing, yes. But she wasn’t a woman who turned heads or stopped traffic.

  “It’s not just your features, Holly. It’s...what comes from within—generosity and sensitivity and kindness. When I saw you with the children, something just clicked.”

  “I must resemble someone you know, someone you care about.”

  “I thought so at first,” he said, and laughed softly. “Especially when I started dreaming about you at night.”

  “The fact that you reacted to me interacting with children—”

  “It doesn’t mean that I have children,” he said. “I see kids and think they’re cute and sweet, but I don’t feel...paternal. A man with kids would feel...like a daddy.”

  “And what does a daddy feel like?”

  “I don’t know!” he said. “That’s just the point.”

  “Maybe you don’t feel married because you can’t remember your wife.” Suddenly, her fears came pouring out, one after the other. “Maybe you don’t feel like someone’s daddy because you can’t remember your children. Maybe missing them would hurt too much if you retained the feelings, so some internal defense mechanism has clicked in to protect you. Maybe you cling to me because—”

  “I cling to you because from the first time I saw you, there was a connection. Call it chemistry, or predestination—” He shook his head. “I just know that when I saw the library job on the list at the employment office, my first thought was that if I went to work there, I would get to meet you. And that the first time you noticed me, the first time I looked into your eyes—”

  He laughed softly. “It sounds corny, doesn’t it? Like the lyrics to a sentimental old song. But when it happens...” He brushed her hair away from her face with his fingertips and gazed into her eyes. “The love I feel for you is real, Holly. It’s the genuine article. It may be the only thing in my life that is real right now. And I need to know—” He exhaled a sigh of frustration. “I have no right...nothing to offer you. But I love you, and nothing is going to change that.”

  He waited for Holly to respond. And waited. Finally, unable to stand the suspense, he prompted impatiently, “I just bared my soul to you. Do you think you could say something? Anything?”

  Her gentle smile etched his heart as she combed her fingers into his hair. “What makes you think you have nothing to offer me?”

  He thought it would have been obvious. “I have no past, and God only knows what kind of future. That’s not much to lay at a woman’s feet.”

  “The past is like a match that’s already been struck,” she said. “And the future...no one owns the future. It’s not ours until it becomes the present.” Her fingers curved over his nape, soothing as only a woman’s touch could soothe. “If I learned anything from Craig’s death, it’s that right now is all anyone really has. And in the end, the only thing that counts is the love you give. Or receive.”

  Craig pondered what she’d said, then with an impatient sniff, said, “Help me out here, Holly. Is there a snowball’s chance in hell that you love me half as much as I love you?”

  “Half as much?” she asked, leaning forward until her breasts crushed against his chest and her mouth was scarcely an inch from his. “You underestimate me.”

  9

  FOR SEVERAL DAYS following the false alarm regarding Craig’s identity, Holly and Craig were spared any new reminders of the precariousness of Craig’s situation. Like honeymooners, self-absorbed and oblivious to the world around them, they avoided talking about the unanswered questions that shadowed their future. By unspoken mutual agreement, they ignored what they could not change and refused to dwell on uncertainties.

  Madly in love, Holly told herself that the questions didn’t matter, and most of the time it was easy to let herself believe it. When she was with him, the rest of the world seemed far away, and when he held her, the question marks seemed less menacing. But there were times when the reality of their situation refused to be ignored, when she was forced to think about the mysteries surrounding the man with whom she’d fallen in love.

  One such time came in the middle of the night, five days after the false alarm, when she awoke to Craig’s anguished screams. Crying his name, she grasped his upper arm and shook him, but he fought her, lashing out blindly in his sleep. “Craig!” she called again, firmly, almost shouting.

  His eyes sprang open and the horrific groans that had awakened Holly faded into labored breathing. “Wha— Holly?” He folded her into his arms, drawing her hard against him.

  “You were having a nightmare,” she said, relaxing a bit as she felt his breathing return to normal.

  “It seemed so real,” he said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Something happened. My chest...hurt. It was like something had exploded inside it. And I looked down and saw that I was bleeding. I put my hands over the wound and tried to stop the blood, but I couldn’t. And I thought, ‘I’m dying.’”

  He shuddered. Holly pressed a reassuring kiss on his neck. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

  “I think...Holly, I think it was more than a dream. You’ve seen the scar on my chest—I must have been reliving the past.”

  “Do you remember any details? How it happened?”

  He shook his head. “Only the pain. And the blood. And thinking that I was dying.”

  “Too bad,” Holly said, snuggling closer and yawning.

  “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Too bad I didn’t have the presence of mind to recall my name while I was dreaming down memory lane.”

  Holly tried to go back to sleep, but Craig was restless, and she found herself unable to relax when he was so tense. “Did you really dream about me before we met?” she asked.

  “Yes. And afterward.”

  “What did you dream?”

  A subtle shift of his cheek against her temple told her he was smiling.

  “The kinds of wild, erotic things adolescent boys dream about cheerleaders.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Holly shifted and exhaled a sigh that fell short of expressing irritation.

  Craig pressed his thigh closer to hers. “I’ll tell you about one of the most vivid. You were at the beach. Your hair was longer and you had it pulled up in two ponytails. You were wearing a two-piece swimsuit. Bright pink. It was so hot, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

  He paused to take a breath, then continued, “We were with a big group of people. We were playing volleyball, men against the women. It was a grudge match, and both teams were jeering and taunting each other, but I wasn’t thinking about the game.”

  There was something vaguely disturbing about the way he related the details of the dream, making it sound so real. There was also something hauntingly familiar about the scenario he described.

  “One of the guys voll
eyed right to you, just over your head, and you jumped for it. And when you jumped, the top of your swimsuit popped up. The guys all started hooting and acting like jackasses. You were mortified, of course. You covered yourself with your hands and all the women closed ranks around you to shield you while you pulled your top back on.”

  His breath fanned through her hair. “It was only a glimpse, but I saw your breasts, and they were creamy and white, and the nipples were a light, rosy brown, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to touch you there. Some fantasy, huh? Although I much prefer reality.”

  Holly lay very still as he covered her breasts with his hands and kneaded them. No, she thought. It wasn’t a fantasy at all.

  Sensing her unnatural stillness, he said, “I didn’t offend you, did I?”

  “No!” Holly said, thinking fiercely, You terrified me!

  “Holly?”

  “Kiss me,” she said, turning her face toward his. “Please. Just...kiss me.”

  When he kissed her, everything was all right.

  When he made love to her, the world went away.

  When they were together, the question marks didn’t matter.

  * * *

  “YOU WANT TO KNOW what happened when Craig was shot?”

  Holly nodded.

  “Why are you suddenly curious about this?” Josh asked.

  “I’m letting go,” Holly said. “Maybe I’ve just reached the point where I can stand to hear it.”

  “Nice try,” Josh said. “But I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Holly said, feigning innocence. She should have known she couldn’t put anything past Josh. He was too detail-oriented, and she was lousy at bluffing.

  “What do I mean?” Josh mimicked. “You call me over for a clandestine meeting—”

  “Clandestine? At my apartment, in the middle of the day?”

  “On the only day that your boyfriend works and you don’t.”

  “I just didn’t think he needed to hear us talk about Craig. It doesn’t have anything to do with him,” Holly lied.

  Josh frowned skeptically before asking, “What do want to know?”