by Peggy Webb
He doubted that she could drive a car, let alone a bus, but he pretended to believe in her vision.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Jenny," he said, and meant it. "Usually when I travel, I race along the interstates from motel to motel, seeing nothing but fast-food restaurants and shopping malls."
"Can you teach me to drive a bus?" She leaned toward him, earnest in her request
"You can already drive a car, I assume."
"Oh, no. Not yet." She broke a cookie into four pieces and gave one to each of her cats and dogs. "But I'm going to learn."
"Can I go too?" Megan piped up.
"You can go, but only if Daniel says yes."
"Can I, Daddy? Can I go with Jenny on her bus trip to see the world?"
"We'll see...."
Megan made a face. "That means no," she whispered to Jenny.
"Maybe it means maybe," Jenny whispered back.
Daniel smiled as the two of them pressed their heads together, whispering. He'd never been happier.
They ate the last of the cookies and drank the last of the tea, and there was no longer any reason to stay. The party was over. While the children scurried to restore the animals to their rightful places, he stood beside Jenny in the flower garden.
"Thank you for a beautiful afternoon, Jenny."
"You liked it?"
"Yes. Very much." Too much.
Her face radiant, Jenny wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.
And Daniel knew he was treading dangerous waters. Standing beside her with her soft hair brushing against his cheek, he wanted to be the one to bring those looks of rosy adoration to her sweet face. Always.
He wanted to be Jenny Love-Townsend's hero.
Somehow he was able to leave the flower garden, though he had no idea how he'd said good-bye. After he'd delivered the children safely to their nanny, he plunged into his work as if all the demons in hell were chasing him.
Long after everybody else had left the SullivanEnterpriseBuilding, Daniel sat in his office bent over his work, determined to forget an unexpected tea party with a woman who called him wonderful.
Chapter Three
Jenny washed all the teacups except Daniel's. Standing in the kitchen, she ran her finger around the rim. She couldn't bear to wash away the place where his lips had touched.
"Jenny?" Gwendolyn poked her head around the door. "Why don't you leave those dishes till we get back? We don't want to be late for dinner with your folks."
"I'll be ready in a minute."
"Okay, honey. I'll wait for you in the front hall."
Jenny hung the tea towel on the rack to dry, then set Daniel's teacup on a silver tray and carefully carried it upstairs. In her bedroom, she set the tray on a marble-topped table beside a photograph of Jake and Sarah. Then she tenderly lifted the cup and pressed her lips where Daniel's had been.
Closing her eyes, she saw a beautiful vision. She saw herself sitting beside Daniel and his children in a forest glade with all her animals gathered at their feet. The vision was as clear as a photograph pasted into an album, and the caption below it read, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, on their trip to see the world.
A family of her own. Wouldn't it be lovely?
"Jenny," Gwendolyn called, bringing her back to reality.
Cradling the cup with both hands, she set it on the silver tray, then she positioned the tray just right so that at night she could reach out anytime she wanted to and touch Daniel's cup.
In the doorway, she took one last look at the cup. She loved the way he'd looked drinking his tea, with his eyes all dark and sparkly. Jenny sighed. She'd have to be careful not to dream of too much.
o0o
That night Daniel dreamed of Jenny. They were waltzing together in a field of flowers. With her body close to his, she was as graceful as a ballerina. Music swirled round them, and the sun warmed their skin. His hands were hot... and his body ... The music played on and on, but they were no longer dancing. They were lying together on the flowers, mouths joined, legs and arms twined together. He could taste the heart shape of her mouth. She was sweet, sweet. He entered her slowly, and she was sweeter still, so sweet that he cried for her, cried for them both.
He jolted awake. Sweat poured off his face and his body. Swearing, he fought his way out of the tangled sheets and made his way to the bathroom. Leaning against the porcelain, he viewed himself in the mirror. With his wild black hair and eyes, he looked like somebody's worst nightmare come true.
Jenny's. If he didn't rein in his feelings, he was going to be Jenny's worst nightmare come true.
He splashed cold water on his face, then crawled back to bed. He'd failed everybody he ever loved. By all the saints, he would not fail Jenny.
o0o
"Miss Gibbs," he said the next afternoon at two-thirty. "I don't like to ask employees to do tasks that aren't in the job description, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to take my children to the portrait artist."
"Is that Jenny Love-Townsend?"
"Yes." Would she be waiting in her flower garden with tea she'd made just for him? "Do you know where she lives?"
"Everybody knows where she lives, Mr. Sullivan. She's the town's celebrity ... the famous painter who is mentally retarded."
"Miss Gibbs ..." She blanched at the sound of his voice, and Daniel realized he'd practically shouted. He moderated his tone. "You should leave now. You don't want to keep Miss Townsend waiting."
Mentally retarded. His secretary's words hung in the air like a dark cloud. He clutched a pencil so hard, it snapped in two. Daniel flung the pieces into the garbage can, then walked to the window.
Mentally retarded. Labels. How he hated them.
"You're a rebel, Daniel," his father- had shouted to him the day they'd put Michael into the ground, the day Daniel had announced he wouldn't be embracing the political career his father had charted for him. "Where is the justice of a God who takes my noble son and leaves the rebellious one behind?"
Labels. How they hurt.
The whole town probably regarded Jenny as retarded, never looking beyond what she was to who she was. By staying away, was he labeling her too?
Muttering dark Irish curses, he strode from his office and stormed through his building, looking for ways to make Sullivan Enterprises the most important corporation in America.
o0o
"Jenny was sad," Megan said at dinner that evening.
Daniel wanted to shut his ears to the truth. "You're not eating your chicken, Megan. Eat your chicken."
"Jenny didn't swing with us," Patrick added.
It was a damned conspiracy. Daniel clenched his fists, wadding his perfectly pressed linen napkin into a tight ball.
"She didn't hum, either. And we didn't get to eat cookies and tea. She looked real sad, Daddy. How come Jenny was so sad?"
"Sometimes people are sad, Megan."
"Yeah, but how come?" His daughter stuck her rebellious little chin out, and Patrick regarded him with solemn eyes.
"I'm not a magician, children. I can't guess the motives of others." But he knew. In his heart he knew. "Now eat your dinner."
Dinner was a morose affair. Everybody was relieved when it was over. He sent the children off to play, then, feeling somewhat cowardly, he called the nanny and asked her to come over for the night.
"I have some work to do at the office."
"Certainly. I'm available anytime, Mr. Sullivan."
When Miss Nell Williams bustled in, Daniel felt a sense of order restore itself. Jenny would finish the portrait in a few days, and his life would be back to normal. Until then, he'd keep busy.
o0o
Daniel was halfway to his office before he knew he wasn't going there at all. Some dark, destructive impulse made him turn and head across town to a Victorian house with a sign in the yard. He slowed the car, gazing at her house. All the windows were dark. Jenny was sleeping. Perfectly at peace.
But wait. Was that movement at the win
dow? He squinted into the darkness. Not a sign of life. His children had probably been imagining things.
A strange sense of loss haunted him as he turned his car at the end of the street and drove back by Jenny's house, heading to work. The back of his neck tingled. He felt such a strong sense of her presence that he stopped the car in the shadows of a huge oak tree.
Fool, drive on, he told himself, but the eerie sensation of not being alone kept him there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light come on in a second-story window. Gazing upward, he saw Jenny with her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders.
She lifted a hand, and slowly he got out of the car. The grass cushioned his step as he walked toward the light.
"Daniel?" She'd opened the window and was leaning out, calling softly.
"Jenny." Her name was magic on his lips. He felt as if candles had been lit in his soul.
"I knew you'd come. I kept on my blue dress."
"I just wanted to check on you."
"I'm coming down."
"No ... wait..." he said, but she had disappeared from the window.
What had he done? Gwendolyn was probably going to come tearing out of the house with a shotgun and blow him to kingdom come. And it would be no more than he deserved.
Suddenly Jenny was there, her soft hand touching his.
"Daniel, I'm beside you."
She was more than beside him: She was in him, the best part of his heart, an essential part of his spirit. He saw the glimmer of tears on her cheeks.
"You've been crying," he said, touching her cheek. Not since his grandmother had a woman cared enough to cry for him.
"Yes. I thought you had forgotten me."
"I could never forget you, Jenny."
"I'll never forget you, Daniel. Never."
The joy he felt at her simple confession set off alarm bells. Yet he couldn't bring himself to take his hand away from her soft cheek.
"I'm so sorry, Jenny, so sorry I made you cry." He traced her delicate cheekbones and the determined lines of her chin. "I never meant to hurt you."
"I know that."
Her fingers tightened on his, and his right hand lingered on her cheek. They gazed at each other. He got lost in her eyes, and she in his.
"Jenny... I don't quite know how to say this..."
"Shhh." She put her hand over his lips. He tasted the tips of her fingers with his tongue, just one small taste.
"Be my friend, Daniel," she whispered. "Just be my friend."
Claire had asked for so much, and Jenny asked for so little. Her request honored and humbled him, and in that moment he swore that he would never betray her trust.
"Jenny, I will never hurt you again."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He curved one arm around her back and one hand around her head. Her silky hair twined through his fingers.
He began to sway, rocking her gently in the cradle of his arms.
"Is this like dancing, Daniel?" she asked, lifting her face to his.
"Almost."
"How lovely it must be."
And Daniel, who hadn't danced in the moonlight in years, began to hum.
"What is that song?"
" 'If I Loved You' from Carousel." He bowed at the waist, bending over her hand. "May I have this dance, Miss Jenny Love-Townsend?"
"Why, thank you, kind sir." Her smile was radiant.
She was lithe and graceful in his arms, just as he'd imagined. And he held her close, just as he'd dreamed. With him guiding her, Jenny didn't miss a step. The limp that was so pronounced when she walked was nowhere to be seen, as if the magic of music had made it vanish.
Daniel wanted to lift his voice to the heavens, but mindful of the hour and the sleeping neighbors, he kept his voice low and intimate. For Jenny's ears only.
"I'm dancing," she said, laughing. "Look at me. I feel like Cinderella."
"You should have a thirty-piece orchestra with violins, and a polished floor lit by candles."
"I don't need that. I have you."
Moonlight spilled over them, and summer roses growing beside the front porch scented the air with their perfume. Overhead, the stars lit up the sky.
"Oh, Daniel... I could dance forever."
So could he. With Jenny.
They danced on. He went through his repertoire of show tunes, making up words when he forgot the real ones. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed. Midnight. The hour when coaches turned to pumpkins and dreams turned to ashes.
"I have to go, Jenny."
"You'll come back, Daniel?"
"Yes, Jenny. I'll come back."
Standing on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his cheek "Good night, Daniel."
"Night, Jenny."
She floated across the yard, with her golden hair streaming behind her back. Daniel watched her go, unconsciously holding his hand against the cheek she'd kissed.
"Sweet dreams," he whispered.
o0o
Daniel arose for his early-morning jog with a song on his lips. He hummed while he dressed, and it was only while he ate breakfast that he became aware of the song—"If I Loved You."
"It's just a song," he said. Nothing could mar his mood.
Dressed in shorts and a muscle shirt, he raced along his usual route, down the winding driveway of his estate, through the grove of pecans, through the double wrought-iron gates, and down the sidewalk.
Jogging was something he did religiously. A healthy body helped keep a healthy mind, and a sharp mind translated into business success.
He'd built Sullivan Enterprises from scratch, selling discount pots and pans and cosmetics from the back of an old station wagon to housewives on dirt roads. He believed in taking the product to the customer.
"A damned fool notion," his father had said.
But it hadn't been. Sullivan Enterprises now had discount stores on the outskirts of every urban center in the South as well as a thriving mail-order business. Still, Daniel wasn't satisfied. He wanted to make it bigger and better. His immediate goal was to expand to the eastern seaboard.
A couple of bulldogs snapped at his heels as he rounded the corner from his neighborhood and headed down a street filled with brick storefronts, green awnings, and window displays.
A display in the jewelry store caught his eye. Jogging in place, he stopped to look. Behind the glass was a tiny silver carousel, spinning round and round, playing its tinkly tune.
Business expansion along the eastern seaboard was forgotten. Daniel tapped on the glass window.
In his office at the back of the store, the office manager looked up. The store wouldn't be open for hours, but he knew an eager customer when he saw one.
He unlocked the door and let Daniel in.
o0o
Gwendolyn still had her nightcap on when the doorbell rang. She hadn't slept worth a flip. Last night it had seemed to her that Bert was under her window serenading her, though her lover had been dead for five years. Probably it was just her hair curlers pinching her head.
Grumbling, she shuffled to the door. Mercy, she was dragging her slippers as if she were an old lady.
She swung open the door, and there stood Daniel Sullivan looking like every woman's dream in tight jeans and open-necked shirt with that wild black hair partially tamed. He was holding on to a silver package for dear life, and he looked as uncomfortable as an eagle at a bluebird party.
"Good morning, Miss Phepps."
"Good morning, Mr. Sullivan." She blocked the doorway with her body. Whatever he was up to, she wasn't going to make it easy.
"Is Jenny home?"
"She's sleeping late."
"I see." He shifted the package from one hand to the other. "I probably should have called first."
"If you want to talk to her about the portrait, you can set up an appointment."
"This is personal."
"How personal?" She was too old for manners and too mean for intimidation. Bes
ides that, she had a sworn duty to protect Jenny. With hands on her hips, she glared at Daniel Sullivan.
Daniel took stock. He didn't want this woman as his enemy.
"Miss Phepps..." He smiled, knowing that sometimes a smile could disarm. "Obviously you have Jenny's interests at heart."
"That's more than I can say for some folks." Arms akimbo, she continued to scowl. She was nobody's pushover.
"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, Miss Phepps. I drove by last night because my children told me Jenny was sad. She came downstairs and we danced in the moonlight."
"In the front yard?" Things were worse than she had thought. Daniel Sullivan was no ordinary man.
"In the front yard." He was more at ease now. A sign that didn't bode well for Gwendolyn.
"Miss Phepps, I've sworn never to hurt Jenny again. I merely want to be her friend." His face softened. "I know her medical history."
"Do you know her personal history? Do you know how hard she's had to fight for every small victory? Do you know how she struggles to do the things that other people take for granted ... read the newspaper and write out grocery lists and count out change for a hamburger?" Tears stood in her eyes. "Do you?"
"I didn't know, but I guessed."
"Can you be her friend when she makes a mistake in public, when she stumbles over her own feet or over words? Can you be her friend when people whisper behind her back?"
"I can and I will." Daniel pinned her with his fierce eyes. "Don't deny Jenny a friendship because you underestimate me, Miss Phepps."
A small glimmer of hope sprang to life in her ancient heart. Gwendolyn stepped aside and swung open the door.
"Come in, Mr. Sullivan. You can wait in the sitting room."
"Gwendolyn?" Jenny's voice echoed down the stairs. "Is that Daniel?"
They both turned their faces upward as Jenny descended the stairs. Hanging onto the railing, she tried to hurry, but her feet wouldn't cooperate. Daniel held his breath as she stumbled, then regained her balance. His first instinct was to bound up the stairs and carry her down; his second to let her come under her own power, at her own pace. Jenny had pride. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her chin.