She was silent for several minutes, until he began to believe she would tell him no more.
"I think the irritability was the first indication I saw that there was something wrong." Her voice became even huskier. "That and the forgetfulness."
Gus stroked her hair, tangling his fingers in its silky length. Once again he felt a ghostly tingle.
"He couldn't sit still, and little things bothered him. He began to swear a lot." Pulling away, she looked up at him, and the bruise was darker than a shadow on her pale cheek. "You've got to understand that Pop was an old-fashioned gentleman. He believed that swearing was a sign of ignorance—people who swore showed their lack of a better vocabulary. So, while he might let loose with an occasional 'damn' at work, he never, never used bad language at home."
Her eyes looked into the distance—or the past. Gus saw upwelling tears glimmering in the moonlight.
"He started to use a lot of really gross language, just a word or two at first, then nearly all the time." Again that shaken head. "That's when I finally accepted that something more than grief for my mother was affecting him and took him to the doctor."
"Just how violent does he get?" He didn't care why her father was abusing her, but he was certain it had to be stopped.
"He's wild, rather than violent. He'll throw things, or pound on the walls, but he's never raised a hand to me."
"Until tonight?"
"Not even tonight. I was trying to get him into bed, and he was struggling. This..." She touched her cheek. "...was as much my fault as his. I walked right into it."
"The truth?" He was still skeptical and let it show in his voice.
"Absolutely. I can't believe Pop would ever strike me on purpose, no matter how bad he gets."
The certainty in her voice told him more than her words. Gus relaxed and let her pull free of his loose embrace when she tried.
"We've been gone too long. I've got to get back."
He followed when she turned toward the park, content to watch pale light and deep shadow defining her slim shape as she walked ahead of him. How could he have ever thought she was middle-aged? Her skin was soft and firm, her body lithe, her hair molten bronze. He could dive into her bottomless blue-gray eyes and never come up.
"I hope you'll think about going to the May Fest with me," he said as they slowly walked the last little way to her home. "After all, you're a native, and I'm a newcomer." He did his best to look forlorn.
She chuckled. It was tentative, as if her chuckle muscles were out of practice.
"I'll tell you what. If I can get Milly to stay with Pop for a couple of hours, I'll go. But I won't be able to stay long, because she'll want to see Ben holding court."
"Ben?"
"Ben Kemp. Your landlord's son. He's a real live wire. I think the teachers might have nominated him as Consort out of desperation to get him involved in something harmless." Again that unpracticed chuckle. "At Halloween, a lot of the farm families bring their kids into town to trick-or-treat. One year—Ben couldn't have been more than ten or eleven—he and some of the older boys set up a speaker downtown and played a tape of shrieks, groans and howls at the highest volume. Most of the littlest trick-or-treaters were too frightened to go anywhere.
"Last year Ben and his friends ran around in sheets and glow-in-the-dark skeleton costumes, scaring the wits out of those kids who were brave enough to be out." They were at her gate, and she turned to look up at him, a smile on her face. "I shudder to think what they'll do next." She held out her hand, as if expecting him to shake it. "Thank you for walking with me. I hadn't realized how lonely I was."
Without a second thought, Gus pulled her into his arms.
Her face lifted, flower to his sun, ready for his kiss. Gently, he tasted her lips, wondering if she was as sweet as his memory told him. As he took her mouth, she sighed, the whisper of sound an aphrodisiac of the highest order. Her breasts against his chest were full and tempting, bringing him to immediate readiness.
He had to have her! Gus deepened the kiss.
Instead of pulling away, she pressed herself to him, cradling his male flesh against her soft belly. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer. He clasped her bottom in his big hands, lifting her. With his tongue, he explored her mouth, the slick ivory of her teeth, the thrusting arrow of her tongue, the hot, wet depths of inner cheeks. He felt her hands sliding beneath the collar of his shirt, tunneling through his hair. Her legs wrapped around his, bringing the feminine center of her hard against him, so close that, without their clothing, they would join in an instant.
As he lost himself in her, Gus was only peripherally aware of light sweeping across the yard. But she noticed, and immediately pulled away, unwrapping her glorious legs and leaving off her frantic search for entry under his shirt. He released her at once.
She took one step backwards and turned, leaning against the post beside her front gate.
"I can't believe this," she said, her voice a thready imitation of its usually husky contralto. As she spoke, headlights swept over them again and a car approached slowly, its tires rasping against the gravel.
Gus looked over his shoulder, recognized the roof silhouette of Lyle Curran's patrol car.
"You'd best go in," he said, not sure just how possessive Lyle might be of Sally. They'd seemed pretty close that day they'd been together in the café.
He was aware he was still an outsider, no matter that his help had been accepted with the May Fest.
Sally waved as Lyle cruised slowly past.
"I will," she said, "but not before I've said something."
He sensed, rather than saw, the nervous twisting of her hands. This time he recognized it as merely a symptom of her uncertainty, not as a sign of anxiety.
"I'm listening."
"I don't want you to do that—kiss me—again. I can't handle it. Not now, with everything else I have to deal with."
"I hadn't expected it to be like that. Not the first time," he said, "and not tonight, either." He sought the words to make her understand he was as confounded as she at what happened every time they touched. "Oh, I wanted to kiss you, I won't deny. But just a kiss. Not an explosion."
She shook her head, her hair swirling around her shoulders.
His fingers remembered the feel of it, his nose the scent of it.
"I'm scared," she whispered. "You...it...this...this hunger I feel. It frightens me." Lifting her head, she stared at him, although the darkness kept him from reading whatever message her eyes held. She sounded puzzled. "I'm not widely experienced, but I don't think most people ever feel anything like an electrical shock whenever they touch."
"Yeah. Me, too." He was probably as experienced as the average guy, and he'd never reacted to a woman as he did to her. As he was reacting now, at this very moment. Her voice tickled his ears, her faint scent tempted his nostrils, and her nearness made his arms long to hold her.
"Will you promise?"
"Promise?" He had all he could do to hold his desire in check. How could he follow what she was talking about?
"Not to kiss me again like that? Please?"
"I'll try," he said, thinking that the only way he would be able to leave her alone was to go away. "Goodnight." He went down one step, then another. "Goodnight." He took one last look back at her before he forced himself to turn and walk away.
Hands in pockets, Gus headed back toward downtown, while doing his best not to think about Sally Carruthers.
He'd managed to escape the group indulging in a post-meeting beer at the Chalk Pit after the May Fest meeting. But he'd been too restless to return to his adequately comfortable apartment above Kemp's Drugs. For the past three years he had deliberately avoided interacting with many people at one time. Ever since leaving Hartford, he'd deliberately sought jobs where he could work alone, or with only one or two other people. A drifter was always on the outside anyway, so it had been easy for him to remain socially and emotionally isolated.
Tonight, a
t the meeting, he'd found himself being sucked into the town's social structure like it was so much quicksand. His halfhearted objection had been to no avail. Before they adjourned to the tavern, he was counted as part of the town's movers and shakers.
Entirely without one word of assent from him. All he'd agreed to do was help police up the park after the crowds went home. Without being aware of it, he was appointed Clean-up Committee chairman, with responsibility for getting volunteers to help him.
The funny thing was, for the first time since he'd started running, he wanted to stay.
* * * *
Sally woke sometime in the night, stiff, aching and in tears. The awful tragedy of a dream clung to her until she could not stop the shuddering sobs.
A long time she wept, not even sure of what she was mourning, until shreds of the dream came back.
Momma had been there, and both her grandmothers. Her Grandfather Carruthers, Uncle Eddie and Jackie Fisher, who'd drowned when he and Sally were in the third grade. Each had appeared, stared at her with sad eyes, and turned to walk slowly away until they disappeared into a glowing, cloud-streaked horizon.
When she stood alone on a featureless plain Jeff, her ex-husband, appeared. He, too, stared at her, but he didn't walk after the others. Instead, he shook his head, as if to apologize, and stepped around her to walk in the other direction.
Feeling as if her feet were caught in cold molasses, Sally turned to see where he was going.
In that direction was another glowing horizon, but verdant, broken by the profiles of tall trees and snow-covered mountains. Jeff never looked back as he approached it, and soon he was gone and she was alone.
Alone and filled with a sense of abandonment. That must have been when the tears began, for she still felt the residue of that terrible emptiness. She closed her eyes in the darkness, knowing there had been more to the dream but unable to remember.
Perhaps she should not try, because whatever had followed had only intensified the soul-searing grief she was feeling. She forced herself to relax, working on one muscle group at a time, the way she'd learned in a meditation class she'd taken in college. Slowly, the inner ache let go, and slowly, she drifted toward sleep.
This time she knew what was happening. It was almost as if she were awake, watching herself in a film projected on the ceiling. She still stood on the plain, still felt more alone than she would have thought possible. Movement caught her attention—two movements, one to each side.
First, to her left, a figure approached as if carried on a moving walkway. Pop. Dear Pop, looking young and vital as he still did in her memories. As he approached, he aged, until the man she saw was the shambling shell she cared for every day. But his eyes—his eyes were still intelligent, not empty and blank.
He came very close, until she could almost touch him with the hand she instinctively reached out. He smiled, shook his head.
"I'll be going soon," he said, but his lips were not moving, his smile was undisturbed. "You're a good girl, and I love you." And in the blink of an eye, he was swept off in the direction all the others except Jeff had gone.
Before she could react, another figure advanced on her right. This one was formless, its shape shifting and flowing, until she wasn't sure which of the many streams of glowing light belonged to it and which were part of the background. The light creature came close, surrounded her, enveloping her within its rainbow nucleus, suffusing her with its essence.
It enfolded her, cherished her, sheltered her. And then it spoke, voicelessly, yet she heard in every cell of her body.
"Stay...sojourn...linger...bide...stay. STAY!" it said. "Carruthers...need. Carruthers...essential. Stay. Remain. Fundamental. Belong. Carruthers belong...belong... belo-o-o-ng-g-g..."
Sally knew when the hallucination ended and true sleep began because she felt it overtake her and surround her. The light creature was gone, but its essence remained, filling the emptiness within her. She knew, without a doubt, that as long as she stayed within the luminous entity—as long as its essence stayed within her—she would never be alone again.
But in the morning, she had the real world to deal with. Pop couldn't seem to move his right arm or leg. His face, lately slack unless he was in one of his violent spells, seemed even slacker, and his breathing was...different. He plucked at the sheets with his left hand, mouthed meaningless syllables along with saliva.
Sally called Dr. Berman, who was in surgery and unavailable. His office would have him call back as soon as possible.
"Oh, God, Pop, I don't know what to do," she muttered as she rolled him to one side so she could get clean bedding beneath him. She spread a fresh sheet over him and laid a light blanket on top. "There. Will you be all right until I can figure out what to do?"
Her father lay unspeaking, more oblivious than ever to his surroundings.
She was certain he'd had a stroke, but knew there was nothing she could do. Dr. Berman had warned her this could happen, had told her that anything medical science could do would only prolong his life, not make it better. Not restore her father to what he had been.
But I have to do something!
She tried to remember if there was anyone in town with medical training of any kind and came up blank. If only she'd stayed home last night. Although, Pop had seemed all right when she'd checked on him before she went to bed.
She should've gotten up to check again when she awoke from that nightmare.
"I'll be going soon." She remembered those words, and the peace they'd seemed to bring her. Now they scared her.
Was he dying at last? Was that why he was so different this morning?
If he died, she'd be free. She could go back to her job, go back and try to pick up the pieces of her life. She could...
Oh, God! What am I thinking? She should be worrying about her father instead of wishing him into his grave.
Sally nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the doorbell. She gave Pop one last look to make sure he was quiet and dashed to the door.
"Good morning," Gus said over the top of an enormous box. "Ardith had car trouble yesterday and didn't get these delivered. Where do you want them?"
"What? Ardith? I didn't order...Oh, yeah, the ribbons." She remembered Milly asking for the use of her dining room table again. Stepping aside, she motioned him inside. "In the dining room, I guess. I'll let Milly take care of them."
She led him through the parlor and into the dining room, turning on lights as she went. Although she'd begun leaving the blinds open, the windows were so overgrown with Virginia creeper on the north side of the house that little light entered.
He set the box on the floor beside the big table.
"There you go." He straightened and waited, as if expecting something.
Sally started out of her worried daze.
"Oh. Thanks." She looked at him, wondering if his hair actually glowed from within. Whenever he came into her house, he brought light and life with him.
He smiled, that heart-stopping smile he rationed so carefully. "I've got time for coffee."
Somehow, those innocent words were the final straw. She burst into tears.
Immediately, Gus had her in his arms, holding her safe, protecting her with his strength and his warmth. "What is it, Sally? What's the matter?"
"Pop," she sobbed. "It's Pop. Something's wrong."
"Where is he?"
She led him to Pop's room, controlling her sobs now but still aware of a painful tightness in her chest.
Gus walked to her father's bedside and looked at him. He touched Pop's slack cheek, lifted his right hand and let it drop a few inches to the bed.
"Has he ever been like this before?"
She shook her head.
"He's sometimes lethargic, occasionally uncoordinated, but he's never been so...so limp before."
"You've called the doctor." It was an assumption, not a question.
"He's at the hospital, in surgery. He'll call when he can." She wrung her hands.
"I couldn't really say it was an emergency. I mean, Pop doesn't seem to be in pain, and his pulse is steady and he doesn't—"
"Hush," he said. With one arm he pulled her close while he held her hands until they stilled their nervous clutching. "Isn't there anyone here in town with some sort of medical training?"
"Not since Mildred Jones died. She was a nurse."
Gus seemed lost in thought. Finally, he said, "Stay with your father. I'll see what I can do."
For what seemed like forever, Sally sat beside Pop's bed, holding his limp hand and staring at him. He lay without moving, his breath stertorous, his skin pale and waxy. She wanted to do something, anything, but was afraid to leave him for more than a few minutes. If only she'd checked on him in the night.
When Gus finally returned she jumped to her feet, almost knocking the coffee cup from his hands.
"Where did you go? What did you do?"
"Drink this." He thrust the cup into her faintly trembling hands. When she'd taken a careful sip, he told her, "I called Lyle Curran. He'll be here in a few minutes. He's a certified EMT."
"I didn't know that." Why had Lyle never told her?
"Drink your coffee." Gus pushed her back into her chair. "You look like you need it."
Sally had handled her mother's lingering illness, her painful, drawn-out death. For five years and a little more, she'd watched Pop deteriorate, seen him lose, bit-by-bit, everything that made him human. And she'd coped, because she had to. Because she chose to.
Suddenly, she couldn't seem to cope anymore.
She looked up at Gus Loring, thinking how strong and dependable he appeared.
INTERVAL
Carruthers contemplates departure when useless genitor discorporates...
Remedy required. Passive collaboration undesirable. Inducement entails cooperation...
Concentrate energy attempt communication...
Contact!
Rejoicing!
TEN
Gus stayed with Sally. He drove her to Ontario behind the ambulance that eventually arrived for her father, held her hand while Dr. Berman examined Will Carruthers and, later, while she waited for the doctor's diagnosis. Wishing he were anywhere else, he stayed because he couldn't abandon her when she needed him. Not and live with himself.
Improbable Solution Page 8