“No, you acted on instinct,” he retorted. “You did what you really wanted to.”
“I have to be sure! I have to consider more than just the temporary pleasure of making love with you! There’s my daughter, and...and this job and...I’m not sure I’m ready to risk getting hurt again.”
“This isn’t the same as ten years ago!” Michael snapped in exasperation. “I’m not going to leave you!”
“Can you guarantee that?” Isabelle retorted. “I don’t know if this is love or lust or just ending something that’s been open for ten years. How can you be certain that you won’t leave me when you aren’t even sure whether or not you love me? You don’t even know me anymore!”
“I would like to!” Michael swung out of bed and began pulling on his clothes with short, angry movements. “You won’t let me. Anytime we get close, anytime you soften toward me and it looks like we might have a chance, you pull away again!”
Isabelle marched toward the door. In a way he was right; she didn’t want him to know her because that meant knowing about Jenny, too.
“Dammit!” Michael exclaimed and went after her, clamping a hand around her arm and spinning Isabelle around to face him. He had had no time to put on anything more than his jeans, and even they were unbuttoned at the top.
Isabelle felt her eyes moving involuntarily down the smooth brown expanse of his chest, following the line of dark hair that curled down his chest to the well of his navel. She jerked her gaze away. But she found that she could not look into his blazing eyes, either.
“I’m not letting you run away!”
Isabelle straightened her spine, raising her chin, and stared resolutely back into his bright blue eyes. “I am not running away. I told you, I have to get home.”
“Then let me come with you.”
“No. Not tonight.”
“When? Ever? Or are you going to pretend none of this happened, like you did in Mexico?”
“I didn’t pretend none of it happened. I just didn’t want it to go any further. And I was right—it didn’t resolve anything. The same problems are still here.”
“What problems? Your daughter? Our past? What is there that we can’t talk about? That we can’t work on?”
“I—I have to think,” Isabelle repeated, disliking the little tremor she heard in her voice. “Give me a little time, Michael. I have to decide what’s best for my daughter and me. I can’t rush into things.”
“Do I not have any say in the matter?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“I have to make the decision for me and for Jenny.”
“Jenny? Is that your daughter?”
Isabelle nodded, wishing she hadn’t given even that much away. She felt strangely vulnerable and scared. “Look, I’ll call you. Give me some time to think it through, all right?” She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “I have to go now.”
Quickly she unlocked the door and stepped through it into the hall. She almost ran down the corridor and out of the building.
* * *
Isabelle met Nancy the next day for lunch at a small exclusive café where they often ate. Isabelle had not seen her friend since before she went on location, so as soon as they had ordered, Isabelle began to relate everything that had happened in Cancún and since, ending with the final scene between her and Michael the night before. Nancy listened quietly, watching her, until at last Isabelle sat back and looked at her friend expectantly.
Nancy shoved her thick mass of red-gold curls back from her face and sighed. “Maybe I’m stupid, but I don’t understand. Why shouldn’t you and Michael have a relationship? I mean, you two obviously still have feelings for each other.”
“Lust, Nance. That’s not the same thing as liking or respect or anything that you can build a real relationship on.”
“I know quite a few relationships that started out that way—and they didn’t all go down the tubes, either, so don’t give me that look. Maybe it won’t go anywhere, maybe it’s just unfinished business left over from ten years ago, but even if it is, wouldn’t you feel better if you went ahead and found out? At least you’d be able to close it for good, then. As it is, you’re going to always wonder.”
“Why are you so eager for me to have an affair with Michael Traynor?” Isabelle asked in exasperation. “You’d think you were his cheerleading squad.”
“No, I’m yours,” her friend replied simply.
“Then why would you want to see me get back together with somebody who dumped me before?”
“You told me that you had forgiven him, that you understood why he did it. I don’t see why you can’t let it go, too. After all, Michael was young and foolish. Twenty-three is not exactly a mature adult. And if he was trying to do the right thing, to act responsibly—”
“So he wasn’t a feelingless ogre. That doesn’t mean I have to jump back in bed with him.”
“You already did that,” Nancy commented wryly.
“You know what I mean. I don’t have to let it go any further than last night.”
“True. But you don’t have to cut it off, either. Why not see what develops?” When Isabelle continued to look at her skeptically, Nancy leaned forward and said, “Look, this is the first guy I’ve ever seen stir you up this way. Since the day he walked onto that soundstage, you have been talking and thinking about nothing but him. I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never seen you this bothered about any man. What I’m thinking is that maybe this guy is what you really need.”
“I need to be bothered and upset all the time?” Isabelle retorted.
“A little wouldn’t hurt. At least it would prove that you’re alive.”
Isabelle frowned at her friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that you need something in your life besides your job and Jenny.”
“I’m happy with my life. Or at least I was until Michael showed up here.”
“And reminded you of what you’re missing. Isabelle, everyone needs love—not just maternal love or the love between friends, either. You need romantic love, as well. This is the first time that you’ve acted like you might have found it. Didn’t you enjoy last night?”
Isabelle was unaware of the way her face softened. “It was wonderful.”
“Then do something for yourself for once. See what develops.”
“And what if it develops that Michael decides that it’s ‘for the best’ for him to move on again?”
“Ah, so you haven’t completely forgiven him, have you?”
“Maybe not. I don’t know. I think—I think that I’ve forgiven him, but I can’t forget it. It happened, and even if his motives were good, that doesn’t mean that it won’t happen again. I was devastated when he left me last time. Destroyed. I won’t allow that to happen again.”
“You don’t have to commit yourself for life to the guy. Try going out on a date, something ordinary like that. See where it leads. You may find that you don’t even like him anymore, that it’s just the bittersweet memory that appeals to you.”
Isabelle shook her head. “It’s too scary.” She sighed and ran a hand back through her hair. “I’m afraid that if I let him into my life even one little inch, it’ll be like before. You don’t know the effect he has on me. If you had ever kissed this guy, you’d know what I was talking about.”
“But that’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s what everybody’s looking for, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s great until you crash and burn. And it’s not only me who will get hurt this time. There’s Jenny to consider. You know how hard I try to keep her life safe and sane, to protect her from publicity, keep everything orderly and smooth.”
“I know. You’ve done a wonderful job.”
“Well, what’s it going to do to her if Michael comes sweeping into our life?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her learning to share her mother. And don’t you think it might be a good thing for her to get to know he
r father, too?”
“No!” Isabelle’s eyes flashed. “I’m not hauling Michael in and saying, ‘Sweetheart, here’s your daddy.’ I just told you, I don’t want her disturbed.”
“Change doesn’t mean the same thing as disturb, necessarily. It could be a good experience for Jenny. Besides, doesn’t he have a right to know that he has a child?”
“He hasn’t known up till now, and he’s done okay,” Isabelle replied defensively. “I am her parent, the only one she’s ever known. I’ve raised her, done everything for her. And she’s done just fine.”
“Of course she has. I’m not saying that you haven’t done a great job. But you won’t be any less her mother if she has a father, too.”
“He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t have the right. He went off and left me—” Isabelle stopped and sighed. Nancy had touched her on a sore spot. She had felt guilty more than once when she looked at Michael and thought about the fact that he had a daughter he knew nothing about.
“All right,” Isabelle admitted, “I know I’m being unfair. Michael didn’t know I was pregnant. He’s never known about Jenny, so I can’t blame him for ignoring her. Maybe it would be fairer if I told him about Jenny, but that’s not my first priority. Jenny’s welfare is. What if he sees her and doesn’t want her? What if he rejects her?”
Isabelle quailed inside at the thought; it seemed as if something inside of her would shrivel up and die if Michael rejected Jenny.
“I know you’ve have one or two bad experiences with men who were put off by Jenny,” Nancy said. “But you don’t know how Michael’s going to react. Don’t tell her he’s her father until after you know how he feels about it. Maybe you could let him meet Jenny and not even tell him until you see how he reacts to her. He just might love her, too, you know. After all, she’s a pretty lovable little kid. Michael might be a wonderful addition to her life.”
“What if he does want to be her father? What if she comes to love him and depend on him? Then what’s going to happen to her, how’s she going to feel, if he decides to leave? What if he gets a great part in New York or in a movie, shooting on location? He’d be gone like a shot. An actor’s career always comes first. Whatever wonderful reasons he had for not taking me with him when he left Virginia, one thing he did not consider was not going. The part was more important—I’ve never met an actor to whom it wasn’t.”
“Maybe that’s true. And maybe it’s not. I don’t know the guy that well. But I do know one thing. Jenny is not as fragile as you think. You don’t have to wrap her up in cotton her whole life.”
“I’m not trying to do that. You know I don’t smother Jenny. She goes to school. She goes to that camp for two weeks in the summer.”
“I know that. You’re a wonderful mother—I’m not questioning that. You want Jenny’s life to be as perfect as you can possibly make it. But people can’t be happy all the time. Jenny can’t be any more than you or I can. She’s going to have hardships and sorrows and disappointments. It’s part of being a human being. If you try to protect her from all those things, then you’re not letting her be a real person.”
“You think I should knowingly let her get hurt—when I can keep her from it?”
“I think sometimes you have to let her have her own life experiences and not shield her from everything. Let her live a little life without knowing whether it’s going to be happy or sad, just like everyone else does.” She paused and looked meaningfully at Isabelle. “And maybe you have to let yourself do that, too. You and Jenny can’t live in a glass bubble.”
Isabelle gazed at her friend for a long moment. Could Nancy be right? Was she wrong to keep Jenny from her father? Was she smothering Jenny by protecting her so much? And was she herself rejecting love and joy just because there might be pain involved in it?
Isabelle drove home from their lunch slowly, thinking about everything that Nancy had said. She didn’t want to believe it; she had never thought of herself as cowardly. But something inside told her that Nancy had been right, that it was fear that kept her from Michael, fear that made her try to keep herself and Jenny locked in a private world.
She got out of her car and walked inside the house. Irma, sitting in the kitchen, reading a magazine, smiled and got up to leave. Isabelle said goodbye to her and walked on through the house to the family room, where Jenny sat playing with a friend from school. Jenny saw her and jumped up to come give her a hug. Her friend Carla followed suit. Isabelle hugged them both, and the two girls returned to their dolls.
Isabelle stood watching them, idly reaching down to scratch Prudence when she came up to wind around Isabelle’s ankles in greeting. Jenny was such a loving child; Isabelle could not remember anyone that Jenny didn’t immediately accept. Jenny would love Michael if he didn’t turn away from her. She had none of the fear that kept Isabelle frozen into her patterns.
Isabelle turned away and went into her bedroom. She called Carol Nieman and then dialed the number Carol had given her. After two rings, Michael’s voice answered.
“Michael?” Isabelle asked quickly. She hoped he didn’t recognize the nervousness in her voice. “This is Isabelle.”
“Yes, I know.” There was a wariness in his tone.
Fear touched Isabelle’s heart. Had he decided not to put up with her uncertainties? Had he cut himself off from her?
“I—I wanted to ask you—that is, I’m fixing, uh, lasagna tonight for Jenny and me, and I thought, well, would you like to come?”
Isabelle thought she heard the slightest sound on the other end, like a quickly indrawn or released breath. Then Michael replied quietly, “Yes. I’d like to very much.”
Ten
The doorbell rang, and Isabelle started toward the front door, wiping her damp palms down the sides of her skirt. She was as nervous as a girl on her first date, she thought.
Would Michael be put off by Jenny, as some of the other men she’d dated had been? It would be painful to lose him, to have the new delicate shoots of caring chopped away and the soaring passion that they shared, ended. Worse than that, though, would be the disillusionment. It would hurt to discover that he didn’t have the strength or compassion to accept Jenny.
And would he recognize Jenny as his daughter? Isabelle wasn’t sure. Because she was quite small for her age, and looked younger, judging from her size, he might think it was impossible that she was his. Jenny could have gotten her coloring from Isabelle herself as easily as from her father; Isabelle’s hair was as dark as either Jenny’s or Michael’s, and Jenny’s skin was pale, like Isabelle’s. It was harder, Isabelle knew, to see one’s own resemblance to someone else. But those eyes! Could anyone look at Jenny and not see that her intense blue eyes with the startlingly thick, straight black eyebrows above them were exactly like Michael’s own?
She could only hope that he would not, for then either course could be painful. He might want to have nothing to do with Jenny, have no feelings for her, and that would be like a knife to Isabelle’s heart. Or he might want to be with Jenny, to acknowledge her as his daughter, but then if he left, Jenny would be devastated.
Isabelle opened the door. Michael was standing there, and for a moment they faced each other a little uncertainly. The way they had parted the other night left them both tentative.
“Isabelle.” Michael stepped inside, hesitated, then bent to kiss her.
Isabelle answered by tilting up her face to his kiss. A shaky little sigh escaped him, and Michael’s kiss was deep and searching. He pulled Isabelle to him, pressing her into his body. When at last he released her and Isabelle stepped back, they were both a trifle flushed and breathing unevenly.
Patience, who had followed Isabelle to the door, interrupted them by squirming in between their legs and rearing back on her hind legs to greet Michael. She planted her forepaws on his leg and seemed to grin up at him, her tail wagging furiously. Michael glanced down at his new admirer and smiled.
“Hey, there.” He reached down and stroked Patien
ce’s head, scratching that certain spot behind her ears that sent her into a state of pure bliss. “Quite a watchdog you’ve got here,” he remarked.
“Only if a burglar could be licked to death.”
Jenny came into the entry. She stopped and gazed at Michael in that solemn, unnerving way she had. “Hi.”
Michael smiled at her. “Hi. I’m Michael Traynor. You must be Isabelle’s daughter.”
He held out his hand to her to shake, and Jenny took it gingerly. “I’m Jenny.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jenny.”
“You want to see my bike?” she asked. “I can take Patience for a ride on it.”
“Can you?” Michael looked interested and impressed. “How do you get her to stay on?”
“She sits in her basket. Sometimes she jumps out.”
“I see.”
Jenny was already leading Michael down the hall and through the kitchen, to the door leading into the garage, where her three-wheeler was parked. Isabelle followed them, her stomach twitching nervously.
“Here it is.” Jenny pointed to her bicycle.
“Mmm-hmm.” Michael inspected it from all sides. “It’s big, isn’t it? You must be strong to handle it.”
Jenny nodded her head emphatically. “That’s the truth,” she said, her voice an uncanny imitation of Isabelle. “I had trouble at first. But you just have to get back on. When you fall off, you just have to get back on.”
“That’s right.”
“You want to see me ride it?”
“Sure. You going to take the dog?”
“Patience,” Jenny corrected him. “Her name is Patience. We used to have Lady, but they took her. Lady’s in Heaven now. She was sick, and Mom took her.” Jenny made a gesture with her hands as though drawing a rectangle. “To that place. And the doctor said she was too sick. So they took her there. Lady’s in Heaven now.”
Michael nodded. “She’s probably happier there.”
“Yes.” Jenny nodded. “She was sick. Mom cried. But she’s better in Heaven. And we have Patience now.”
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