by Bonnie Pega
“Sure. Don’t you think I noticed? Every time there was anything going on that had to do with children, you were always right in the thick of things.”
She shrugged. “That was just because I was the head of my sorority’s special project committee and we always seemed to pick projects that had something to do with kids.”
“Maybe, but you volunteered to head that committee and you were the one who seemed to propose those projects.”
Annabelle didn’t answer. That was one of the things she’d never really mentioned to Gregory, yet he’d noticed it anyway. Odd, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, that she’d had her causes too.
They were silent most of the rest of the drive to Norfolk. When they reached the hospital, Annabelle dropped Gregory off at the door. “I’ll go park the car while you find out what floor Mrs. Cochran is on. I’ll catch up.”
Gregory waited for Annabelle in the lobby, and after she’d made a quick call to her grandmother to let her know where she was, they caught the elevator up to the cardiac intensive-care unit. Annabelle watched as Gregory talked briefly to the doctor, then sat next to Hilary Cochran’s best friend, Ada Wilson, Bosco’s mother. He took her thin wrinkled hands in his and spoke so softly that Annabelle couldn’t hear, but it wasn’t long before Ada smiled a little and her taut shoulders relaxed.
Gregory was allowed to see Mrs. Cochran for a few minutes, and when he came out, he had a smile for Ada. Only Annabelle noticed the shadows in his eyes and the lines that seemed more deeply etched in his forehead. When he came over to sit next to her, she said nothing, just took his hand and gave it a companionable squeeze.
Mrs. Cochran’s daughter, Pat, and her husband arrived about midnight, apparently having driven down from Arlington at breakneck speed. They were allowed into CICU for a few minutes, and when they came out, Pat burst into tears. Gregory sat and talked with her while her husband went to make some phone calls.
It was a long night, and Annabelle marveled at how Gregory managed to be unfailingly gentle, supportive, comforting. She also wondered why no one seemed to notice that this was taking such a toll on him. The shadows in his eyes were increasingly dark, his shoulders seemed almost bowed by the weight he was carrying as he submerged the part of himself that was the worried friend and carried on as the caring minister.
Toward dawn, when Pat and her husband, Tim, had dozed off in their chairs and Bosco had come to insist Ada go home, Annabelle went to get a cup of coffee for Gregory. She came back to find him slumped in his chair, his head in his hands. She sat beside him and set the coffee down, then, without thinking, ran a comforting hand over his head. Wordlessly, he turned to her and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. He held her tightly, as if trying to absorb her. She clung just as tightly, willing to let him draw whatever he needed from her.
The doctor came by about six and Gregory stood with Pat and Tim as they talked with him, then he came back over to Annabelle.
“How is she?” Annabelle asked softly.
“Holding her own. The doctor says the next few hours will tell.”
“Are you okay?”
Gregory looked at her strangely and waited a long moment before answering. “Funny,” he finally said, “I don’t think I ever remember anyone asking me that in this kind of situation.”
“They should have. Anyone can see you’re as worried and concerned as everyone else is. So, are you okay?”
He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek. “I’m okay. But I’m glad you’re here.”
“Why don’t you sit down and catch a catnap? I’ll wake you if anyone needs you.”
He shook his head and took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. “I’m fine. I’ve done with less sleep than this.”
Annabelle reached out and took the cup from him, setting it aside. “I’m sure you have, but it’s not necessary right now for you to turn yourself into a zombie from lack of sleep. Relax, close your eyes. I’ll wake you if you’re needed for anything. I promise.”
A tiny smile played about his lips as he looked at her. “You’re going to hound me until I do what you say, aren’t you?”
“Darn right I am!”
“What a bossy little thing you’ve turned out to be,” he murmured as he sat back in his chair and leaned his head against the wall. He looked at her again, letting his gaze wander over her features one by one, before his eyelids drifted closed.
Annabelle sat next to him, watching until his muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed in sleep. Pat and her husband went downstairs to the cafeteria for breakfast after Annabelle promised to come get them if there was any change.
Alone, Annabelle yawned and rubbed her burning eyes. She’d had less than her usual eight hours sleep the night before last and none at all this past night. She massaged her temples, trying to forestall the beginnings of a headache. She was getting too old to handle sleepless nights, she thought.
In college it hadn’t been as much of a problem. She could remember lots of nights when she and Gregory would study throughout the evening, then make love until the early morning. Of course, sitting in a whitewalled, antiseptic-scented hospital waiting room all night was a far cry from making passionate love.
No, it wasn’t making love. Annabelle thought of how Gregory had comforted Pat, how he’d prayed by Mrs. Cochran’s bedside, how he’d stayed all night in a hospital when he still hated them. No, certainly not making love, but an act of love, nonetheless.
He loved these people. He loved them with a pure and unselfish love. He wasn’t just mouthing comforting platitudes. He meant them. Suddenly Annabelle wanted to touch him. Simply touch him. Impulsively, she reached out and laid her hand on his arm.
He opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, then looked at her. “Is everything all right?”
She’d forgotten what a light sleeper he was. Color flooded her face. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. I just—just—” She fell silent. I just wanted to touch you? I just needed to reassure myself that you weren’t too good to be true?
He didn’t press her to finish her sentence. Laying his hand over hers, he leaned his head back against the wall. “What time is it?”
“Probably between seven-thirty and eight. They’ve been rolling carts of breakfast trays up and down the hall.”
He grinned at the sound of distaste in her voice. “Still not a morning person, are you? You always said it was a crime against nature to eat before ten.”
“If it isn’t, it ought to be.”
“Maybe you should bring that up at the next town council meeting. Especially if you’re planning to stay in White Creek.”
Annabelle shrugged, not yet willing to commit herself one way or the other. First she had to determine whether she could get her rapidly escalating feelings about Gregory back under strict control.
“Where are Pat and Tim?” he asked.
“Downstairs eating breakfast. I promised you’d come get them if they were needed. Can I bring you some more coffee or something to eat? I think they have sausage biscuits or some such.”
“I’m okay for now. But you get something if you want.”
“At this hour?”
He smiled. “Sorry, I forgot myself.”
A nurse came out of the CICU and walked over to Gregory. “Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Cochran’s son?”
“No, I’m her minister.”
“Then she’d like to see you for a few minutes. No more than five.” The nurse’s expression plainly said that she wished Gregory were her minister, though Annabelle doubted she wanted his guidance on spiritual matters.
Gregory turned to Annabelle. “I’ll be right back.”
“That’s okay,” she said, still looking sourly at the nurse. She was hit with a sudden urge to print OFF LIMITS in big letters across Gregory’s shirt. Annabelle caught her breath, surprised she felt that way. Then terrified. She folded her arms across her chest and huddled back down in her chair, glad Gregory was with Mrs
. Cochran for a few minutes. She needed to pull herself together.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, she told herself, and wondered if there was a hospital some-place where she could get an injection of common sense or a brain transplant. Or, she thought hopefully, maybe just a good night’s sleep.
About nine o’clock Mrs. Cochran’s son, Richard, and his wife, Susan, arrived from Ohio. Annabelle remembered Richard, who was a few years older than she, from her summers in White Creek. Richard had been a dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager who’d had most of the girls between fifteen and twenty-five at his heels. Still, he’d always been pleasant, even to Virgie Pace’s gawky and curious grandchildren.
Annabelle slipped down to the cafeteria to call her grandmother, then got cups of hot coffee to carry upstairs. She handed out the coffee, then sat down out of the way and watched Gregory and the others. Suddenly she couldn’t see Gregory, the boy, at all. There was only Gregory, the man. Gregory, the minister.
She leaned her head against the wall and wondered tiredly where the boy had gone all of a sudden. Even two nights ago, as they’d walked in the moonlight, she’d seen glimpses of the boy she’d loved so long ago, through the new and improved Gregory. This morning, the boy was nowhere to be found. She closed her aching eyes for a moment, wondering if she still carried traces of the girl she used to be or if they had disappeared just as suddenly.
“Annabelle?”
“Mm?”
“Annabelle.”
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. “Gregory?” She realized immediately where she was and hastened to sit up straight, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Sorry, I must have dozed off a minute.”
“More like a couple of hours, but that’s all right. You were tired.”
“So are you.”
He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”
“How’s Mrs. Cochran?”
“The doctor was by a few minutes ago and it looks like she’s come through the worst of it. Her family is with her now. I thought I’d go and get a few things done, then come back later today.” He held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”
Without even thinking twice, she put her hand in his. He curled his fingers around it and tugged her to her feet, but didn’t release her hand as they went downstairs and walked out to the parking lot. Annabelle blinked at the brightness of the morning sun and stumbled a little.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “I seem to have forgotten how obnoxiously bright July sunshine can be.”
Gregory stifled a yawn. “I’ve noticed the same thing. And doesn’t it always seem that the more tired you are, the brighter it gets?”
She unlocked the passenger door for him, and he took her other hand in his too. “Thanks for coming with me, Annabelle. It helped to have you there.”
“You still don’t like hospitals much.”
He shook his head. “I doubt I ever will, but I tolerate them because it’s necessary. People need somebody with them during times like this.”
And what about you, Gregory? she asked silently. Who’s there for you?
Annabelle pushed a Moody Blues tape into the cassette player and music filled the air. Gregory yawned and rubbed his eyes, itchy from lack of sleep. “Why don’t you take a nap as soon as you get home?” she asked.
He sighed. “I’m too tired to sleep.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I had planned to pick out the hymns to go with Sunday’s service, but I don’t think I’m in any shape to make any decisions right now. I guess I’ll mow the church lawn and pick out the hymns tomorrow.”
“I thought you usually wrote your sermons on Saturday.”
“I’ll do that Saturday too. I have the germ of an idea already. The idea you gave me a couple of weeks ago.”
“You mean the one about charity being freely given and all that?”
“That’s the one.” He stifled another yawn.
“I still think you ought to lie down a little while.”
“No, I couldn’t sleep. Too much adrenaline, I guess.”
They fell into a companionable silence, Annabelle softly humming along with “Nights in White Satin,” Gregory sneaking glances at her as she watched the road. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure her out. Why had she insisted on coming with him last night? Why had she stayed?
She stopped in front of the little house the church provided for its ministers. He turned to thank her for the ride, only to find Annabelle already out her door. Bemused, he got out and followed her as she headed up the sidewalk to his house.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?” he asked, still trying to figure out what she was up to.
“Well, where’s the key?”
“Uh, it’s not locked.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And all this time you’ve jumped all over me for not locking my car doors?” She opened the door and went inside, Gregory following behind her.
He stood in his living room, watching her take in the surroundings. He wondered what she thought of the room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was comfortable, with the overstuffed sofa and chairs and the braided rug on the floor.
He saw her gaze linger on the stack of various environmental journals on the coffee table, then pass on to the Dean Koontz novel lying next to his favorite chair. She finally turned her attention to the eclectic collection of framed posters and pictures on his walls—everything from an expensive and elegant engraving of the Three Wise Men given to him by his father a few years ago, to Greenpeace and PETA posters.
Why was she there? he wondered. “Uh, would you like to sit down?”
“Actually, I’m hungry. I thought I’d fix some toast or something. You do have bread on hand, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Most single guys I know have just a refrigerator full of six-packs, pretzels, and cookies.”
“I don’t drink.” What single guys? he thought. And how do you know what they have in their refrigerators?
“Right,” she said. “What about Communion wine?”
“We use grape juice.”
“Oh. Why don’t you sit and I’ll bring you a couple pieces of toast. Just butter, like you used to like it, and a cup of tea.”
Actually he preferred clover honey and coffee now, but he was too tired to argue. He simply sat in the recliner he preferred, and Annabelle reached down and pulled the lever that lifted the footrest.
“Just close your eyes and take it easy. I’ll bring the toast when it’s done.”
Ten minutes later, when Annabelle walked into the room with a plate of buttered toast, Gregory was sound asleep. “I knew if I could just get you to sit for a minute, you’d be out like a light,” she whispered, and sat on the arm of the sofa nibbling on a piece of the toast. The lines of fatigue that etched his face had relaxed a little as he slept, and Annabelle felt a peculiar clenching feeling inside as she watched him.
She knew that feeling had some awesome significance to it, but was just too tired to think about it right now. Right now her priority was to make sure Gregory was comfortable, then go home and put herself to bed for a long nap.
She set down the plate of toast and gently tugged off Gregory’s sneakers, smiling as she saw the holes in his sweat socks. The boy was back again, she thought, inexplicably glad. Earlier at the hospital, she’d been a little afraid she’d never see him again.
She ran her fingertip lightly about the hole in his left heel. He’d always loved disreputable sneakers and well-worn socks. His socks were always clean, but he’d wear them long past the time when most people would have tossed them out. They were like old friends, he’d said.
Old friends. Old lovers. Only lovers. She still wanted him. Which, all things considered, made about as much sense as wanting an IRS audit. It was just that being in White Creek, which was at the heart of so many of her favorite childhood memories, and seeing Gregory, who was at the heart of her most poignant college memo
ries, was getting things all mixed up.
No, she told herself as she left, I’m just tired, that’s all. Exhausted. I’ll take a nap and wake up with a clearer head and all this will fall into place. Into place back in the past where it belongs.
EIGHT
Gregory woke up when the rays of early-afternoon sun streaming in the windows fell across his face. “Annabelle?” He opened his eyes, but he was alone. Not that he expected her to be there, but it had been a nice thought to wake up with. He glanced at his watch, then got to his feet, noticing the plate of cold toast and tea on the coffee table. He smiled when he saw one nibbled-on piece lying on top of the others.
Which brought him back to his disjointed thinking of earlier that morning. What was with her? Ever since her return to White Creek, she had been making him dizzy with her inconsistency. She pushed him away, pulled him closer, pushed him away again. She acted like she could barely stand to be in the same room with him, then kissed him like there was no tomorrow. She was prickly and wary and always running away—except that she hadn’t run away last night. She’d stayed with him, brought him coffee, worried about him. She’d somehow known that he needed her, and she’d been there.
Just a day or two ago he’d wondered what it would be like to have someone there for him. Now he knew. It was almost unbearably sweet and so much easier to be strong when he knew he wasn’t alone. Gregory sighed ruefully. At least he hadn’t been alone last night. He was alone now, though, with no guarantees about tonight or tomorrow or the next day.
He sighed again and headed for the bathroom, nearly tripping over the cat who sat in the middle of the hall, his yellow-striped tail twitching. “Hello, Merlin.” He didn’t even wonder how the cat had gotten in.
Over the past five years the cat had come and gone as if he’d owned this house, as well as Danni and Sebastian’s and Virgie’s. Danni jokingly referred to the cat as Sebastian’s familiar. It wouldn’t surprise Gregory if that were so. After six years in this odd little town with its vet who could talk to animals, senior citizens who zipped around on motorcycles, and a self-sworn Gypsy, nothing could surprise him.