by Mary Campisi
***
Sara closed the latch on the suitcase and glanced at the bed. Matt was on his stomach, head turned to the side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other flung out over an empty space of sheet. She'd been in that space an hour ago…
He would call her a coward when he discovered she was gone. He might be right, but she had to get away before she traded self-respect and self-esteem for long nights of pleasure. Again. What had it proved? That she couldn't resist him? Not now? Not ever?
There had been no words, no attempt to work things through, or find a common ground. And certainly, no promise or commitment. She'd allowed him to berate her, ignore her, and then, when he felt so inclined, bed her. But Matt wasn't the only one at fault. He'd only had to whisper a few words, brush his fingers over her skin, and she was shedding her clothes and her self-respect.
He'd needed her, maybe he'd even really cared about her in his own way, but her usefulness was short-lived. Another month, maybe three. It wouldn't be long before he would sit in Dodger Stadium and watch fly balls zoom by, gaze at the sunset from Dana Point, look in the mirror. See. Really see. And he wouldn't need a junior typist to transcribe his book. He could do it all himself. Matt wouldn't need her at all.
And when he tired of her? What then? When his sight returned and the women started flocking around him again? Adam had already deflected six phone calls from reporters this afternoon inquiring about Matt's visit to Dr. Myers. How had they found out so quickly? Two of the calls claimed Gabrielle Jontue was flying back from Greece to be with him. Matt didn't seem interested in the beautiful model anymore, but what about the next one? And the next?
What would happen when those silver eyes saw her for the first time? Really saw her. Would he be disappointed? Could he stay interested in ordinary? Doubtful. He might be nice to her, even sympathetic, but then what? Then he'd wish her back to Pittsburgh.
Well, she'd save him the trouble. There was an envelope on the nightstand with his name on it—brief, impersonal, informing him that with Dr. Myers's good news, her assignment was complete. She thanked him for his hospitality and asked him to say good-bye to Adam, Rex, and Rosa. That was it. Her association with Matthew Brandon culminating in five short sentences.
Sara grabbed her suitcase and briefcase. She'd send for the rest later, the ceramic butterfly mobile, the iridescent blue and green globe, the seashell picture frame. Or maybe she wouldn't. The fewer reminders of this trip the better. Tangible objects could be disposed of, left behind, or put in a drawer. But what about the memories? The slow half smile, the lingering touch, the deep voice? How would she erase those from her mind, strip them from her heart, tear them from her soul?
She hurried across the room and opened the door, stepping into the dark hallway before she changed her mind. A tiny finger of light stretched toward her from the kitchen. Thank goodness Rosa always left the stove light on. It made fleeing in the night so much easier. She'd have to call a cab, then she'd probably spend the better part of the next several hours trying to get a flight back to Pittsburgh.
“Going somewhere?”
Sara whirled around. “Rex? What are you doing up?”
He pointed to the fridge. “Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd grab a piece of Rosa's cherry pie.” He glanced at her suitcases and frowned. “What's going on?”
She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I'm going home.”
“Now? At three o'clock in the morning?”
“There's never going to be a good time.”
“I don't understand,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Why are you running away?”
“My job's done. And I am not running away.” She took in a deep breath and added, “I'm walking. Very fast.”
“But, you two are made for each other.”
Sara shook her head. “No. We're as different as night and day.”
“That's what makes you so right for each other. Contrast. Light and dark. Like taking a picture. Who would want something that blended into itself, so you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began?”
“It's not that simple.” Rex was a sweetheart, but he was way off base here.
“You love each other,” he said, shrugging his big shoulders. “What's simpler than that?”
“Rex. Please. That word has never been mentioned between us. Besides, he doesn't want commitment. Matt likes things the way they are between us.” Her voice wavered. “I can't live that way. Not forever. And he doesn't believe in forevers.”
“He could change.”
“Why should he? He's going to have his sight back. Then he can pick up right where he left off last November. Do you really think he's going to want me here, expecting love, trust, and fidelity, when he can have ten women who'll take him with no demands?”
Rex looked at her, long and hard. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“No.” She dashed the spark of hope in her heart and turned so he would not see her pain. “I've got to go. I was just getting ready to call a cab.”
“Don't call a cab,” he said. “If you really want to go, I'll take you.”
“Thank you.”
“I just wish you'd give him a chance.”
“Look,” she said, facing him. “If by some outside chance I'm wrong and Matt can't live without me, he knows where to find me.”
“But why can't you just wait? At least until you've talked to him.”
“Trust me, I'm making it easy on him.” She forced a smile. “In six months' time, he won't remember my name.”
***
Matt rolled over, the smell of orange and lemons filling his senses. Sara. He'd missed that the last few nights. Missed her smell, her touch, her voice. Missed everything. Last night, she’d made love to him with such fierceness, almost as though it were their last time.
It was anything but that, and it was time to tell her.
Time to say the words and take the risk. Without her, his life and his heart were empty. She was the only one who could fill it. He needed her. He loved her, had for a long time, even though he'd been too thick-headed to realize it before last night. He opened his eyes, squinting at the blurred space in front of him. It was empty.
“Sara?” No answer. She was probably in the kitchen talking to Rosa. Well, he'd just go find her there. Flinging back the covers, Matt reached for his shorts, humming a little tune under his breath. Life was good and he was the luckiest man in the world. He couldn't wait to find Sara so he could tell her he loved her and wanted her at his side. Forever. As his wife.
Ten minutes later, Matt left the room and headed toward the kitchen.
“Hi, Matt.”
“Adam? Why aren't you at work?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
His voice sounded strained and unnatural. “Sure,” Matt said, heading toward the coffee pot “Just give me a minute.” He reached for his cup and opened the carafe, pouring with great care. “Where's Sara?”
A sniffling sound in the corner got his attention. It grew louder, ending on a hiccup. “So sad.”
“Rosa? What's the matter? Why are you crying?” He started moving toward the crying gray shape at the end of the table, but Adam put a hand on his arm.
“She's fine. Just a little upset. I have to talk to you.”
Matt pushed his hand away. “Rosa? Are you okay?”
She sniffed. “Yes. Go.” The clicking of rosary beads mingled with her quiet sobs.
“Come on, Matt.” There was an edge to Adam's voice this time.
“Okay, okay.”
“I'll meet you on the patio in a minute,” Adam said. “I have to get something first.”
“Fine.” The sun's rays greeted him as he stepped onto the patio. Maybe Sara was in the hot tub. “Sara?”
“She's not there,” Adam said from behind him.
“Where is she?”
There was a long pause, but no response.
“It’s not a trick question. Where is she?”
“Gone.
Back to Pittsburgh.”
“Gone?” She couldn't be gone. He loved her. He was going to commit, for God's sake. He wanted to marry her.
“She's gone, Matt.” Adam paused. “I'm sorry. She left you a note.”
His chest felt like a three hundred pound weight was sitting square in the middle of it. “Read it.”
“‘Matt, Dr. Myers's prognosis is excellent. Soon you'll be seeing again. I think it's time to end this assignment and get back to the clients who really need me. Thank you for your generous hospitality. Please say good-bye to Adam, Rex, and Rosa. Sincerely, Sara.’”
“Sincerely? She signed it that way?”
“She loves you,” Adam said. “But she's a proud woman. If you love her, go after her. Bring her back.”
“Sincerely?”
“She's hurt. Go after her.”
How could she do such a thing? A goddamn note was all she left? Damn her. “Looks like she's made her choice.”
“No she hasn't. She's giving you the choice.”
“She left me.” He let out a hollow laugh. “The only woman I ever really wanted, and she left me.”
“So go bring her back. Convince her she needs you. Tell her you love her and want to marry her.”
“I will not beg.”
“Who said anything about begging? Can't you just ask?”
Pain seared him, spilling into red-hot rage. He'd be damned if he'd ask her. She'd have to come to him and do the asking. A little begging might not be a bad idea either.
***
By the seventh day, Matt realized Sara was not going to contact him. He'd waited every day for her to call and make amends, his patience thinning by the second. But she hadn't and now he was in the middle of another sleepless night. All because of her.
What time was it? His fingers scanned the watch on his wrist. Four thirty in the morning. He and the early-morning hours were becoming good friends. In the last several days, he'd spent time with each of them, tossing and turning at two, cursing at three, pacing at four, and falling into an exhausted sleep by five.
How much longer was he going to put himself through this kind of hell? He needed closure, one way or the other. His writing wasn't worth shit right now, he barked at everybody, including Rosa, and he didn't even like himself.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his cell out and pressed speed dial number one. Adam had gotten her number from Jeff and programmed it on his phone—just in case, was what he'd told Matt. The phone started ringing. It would be seven thirty in Pittsburgh. She'd probably be awake, maybe getting ready for work.
“Hello?” It was a man's voice, thick with sleep.
What the hell? “Is this Sara Hamilton's residence?” Maybe Adam had programmed the wrong number.
“Yeah,” the man said. “I think she's in the shower. Is there—”
Click.
Matt didn't wait to hear any more. He threw the phone across the room, letting out a satisfied grunt when it crashed against the wall. Now he knew how Sara spent her nights. Now he had his closure.
***
Sara wrapped a towel around her wet hair and padded barefoot into the living room. “Who was on the phone?”
Her brother rolled his big frame to one side of the burgundy-striped sofa and squinted a brown eye open. “Some guy,” he said, letting out a yawn.
Some guy? “He…didn't leave a name?”
“Nope.” He yawned again. “Asked for you, then hung up.”
Sara gnawed on her lower lip. Could it have been Matt, maybe calling to tell her he missed her, wanted her to come back? Of course not. That was only very wishful thinking, something she had to stop if she were to maintain her sanity. Matt Brandon was not going to call her or show up on her doorstep, no matter how many different ways she'd dreamed it.
She pulled the towel from her hair and started combing out the tangles. “Since you have to report back to base tomorrow, I thought we'd go out tonight. Japanese, maybe?”
“Sounds great,” he mumbled, his eyes closed.
“See you at six.”
“Hmm.”
Sara watched her brother drift off to sleep. Greg was a Marine, from the top of his half-inch crew cut to the soles of his laced boots. He was seven years older, a man committed to God, country, and family, who said what was on his mind. No pretense, no facade. No games.
She could never talk to him about Matt and the heartache of loving and losing that threatened to crush her. He wouldn't understand, because half the time, she didn't understand it. Part of her was desperate to contact Matt and crawl back into his arms, no matter how temporary. But the other part, the survivor, squelched the mere thought of it.
Either way, it didn't matter. Matt's silence told her what she needed to know. He didn't want her. Now or ever.
Chapter 19
Seven months later
Matt pulled a tan and black sweater over his shirt and looked out of his hotel window. Pittsburgh in April was cold, dreary, and dark, with a chiller wind that sliced through a spring jacket faster than a ground ball to first base. A slow steady rain dripped from the sky, covering the ground like a damp blanket.
He turned from the window. Some things never changed. And others…well, others did.
Three more days and he could head home. He hadn't wanted to come here, had fought his publicist for weeks. But there was a lot riding on Over the Edge—a lot more than money. His publisher had pushed the book through, jumping every deadline, skipping over the shortcuts to get it on the streets. This was his first book since ‘the accident’ and readers would be looking for signs that Matt Brandon still had the touch. Pittsburgh was a good launching pad. Hometown boy and all that
So here he was, on the ninth floor of the hotel, with an hour to go before his book signing and all he could think about was her. She was here, in the city. So close. It had been seven months. When in hell was the wanting going to stop? When was he going to eat an orange or see a slice of lemon and not think about her? When was he going to feel alive again?
His vision was perfect. Dr. Myers had been right on target. Three months after the exam, Matt could function as well as he had before the accident. With one exception. He no longer frequented the fashionable nightspots or trendy restaurants of his past life. Gone were the models and starlets. Funny thing was, he didn't miss them, didn't miss any of it. Not really. When Thanksgiving rolled around, instead of hopping a plane to Vegas or some other party spot, he'd stayed home and eaten Rosa's turkey with habanero stuffing and watched eight straight hours of football with Adam and Rex.
And not once did he think about her, not until that jerk-off commercial came on spouting the luxuries of a Caribbean cruise and zooming in on a huge buffet piled with crab claws, jumbo shrimp, filet mignon, lemons… Lemons! Why not strawberries? Or mangos? It was a Caribbean cruise for Christ's sake—it should be something exotic. Pineapple. Coconut. Kiwi. Why the hell did it have to be lemons? That was it, the rest of his night was spent in gloomy silence, staring at the television, cursing the jerk-off on the commercial with his too-happy voice and bleach-whitened smile.
Christmas was another bonanza of television, this one on DVD. Matt chose The Godfather I, II, and III— they could eat up a whole day and there weren't any commercials, no opportunity for some asshole to start gushing about love and romance. And no close-ups of lemons. But damn it to hell, if a barrel of oranges didn't come crashing down when Marlon Brando got blasted outside the neighborhood fruit stand. Fifteen, maybe twenty of those suckers rolling down the road as Brando staggered then hit the ground. Now he couldn't even watch The Godfather without thinking of her.
The week after Christmas, Amy and the boys flew in, and Matt's ten and twelve-year old nephews showed him how to celebrate New Year's Eve, pre-adolescent style. They'd blasted some god-awful music on the stereo, hurled streamers off the patio, tossed bunches of champagne-glass shaped confetti in the air, stuffed their faces with Doritos and guzzled Sparkling Grape Juice from p
lastic cups. It was a decided difference from the live band, filet mignon, and Dom Perignon at the Ritz.
When the boys finally fizzled out around twelve thirty, Matt and Amy settled themselves on the patio for a few minutes of quiet. “You were wonderful with the boys,” Amy said.
Matt lifted his cup and saluted his sister. “Thank God, they're finally asleep. I'm beat.”
“Children are so incredible. Exhausting and overwhelming, but absolutely incredible.”
He nodded, tipped back his head and swallowed the last of his Sparkling Grape Juice. God, but this stuff was sweet. No wonder kids got cavities.
“Ever consider having any of your own?”
He was still thinking about bicuspids and sugar. “Huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Children.”
The plastic cup cracked in his hand. “I know I'm a modern guy, but I'm still old-fashioned enough to believe there should be a husband and wife before there's a child.”
“I know that, silly.” She tilted her head to one side, waited. “Well?”
Matt tossed the scrunched-up cup on the table beside him. “Well, I'm not married, so it's not an issue.”
She sighed and narrowed her gaze on him. “You used to do this when we were kids. Whenever I'd ask you something you didn't want to answer, you'd played dumb, just like you're doing now.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Leave it alone, Amy. Just leave it alone.
“Right. And the Pope's Protestant.”
“Just because Nick isn't here, doesn't mean you have to nag me instead.”
“I do not nag my husband,” Amy said. “I prod him, ever so gently.”
“Nag.”
“Don't change the subject.” She leaned forward, braced her hands on her knees like she was getting ready for a really big secret. “What happened to all the super skinnies? Are they too hung up on their eating disorders to have a meaningful relationship?”
“I'm done with super skinnies.” She'd had curves, lots of them.
“Oh?” She leaned in closer. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. I just don't find them particularly attractive.”
“But you used to.”