by Karen Welch
“And now?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.
“Now I'm very interested, but only under the proper conditions. You see, I've always been curious as to what it might be like to be in love, not just to make love. I'd be interested in pursuing that subject if a certain girl would join me in the experiment.”
“If you mean me, you'll have to understand that I have no experience whatsoever. Until a few hours ago, I'd never really kissed a man. And I still haven't been kissed by a man, you know. So I would have to be considered a totally untrained assistant, I think.” She sat up, turning to face him.
“Never been kissed by a man? How can that be? Or is it just boys who've kissed you so far?”
“No, not really. I never had time and there was never anyone interesting enough.” She paused, lowering her gaze to a button half-way down his shirt-front. “Or maybe it was the memory of a certain red-haired violinist that kept me from considering anyone else. Angela told me once that I had fallen in love with the idea of you. Maybe it was more than just an idea.”
He was lost to respond, watching her poised so primly on the edge of the couch. Only her eyes, deep smoky gray now, betrayed the emotion behind her words. “What are you saying, Emily?” The huskiness in his own voice surprised him.
“I'm saying I want to be in love with you. If that's what you want. I've pretended for so long that it could never happen, I almost convinced myself. But you're here, you're so beautiful, and I don't want to lose you again. I'm sorry if that's not what a girl’s supposed to say to a man she's only known for a few weeks, but it's what I want to say to you.”
With an unconscious groan, Stani pulled her across his lap, cradling her in his arms. In spite of his promise to himself to go very slowly with her, he kissed her with all the passion inspired by her innocent little speech. Her response was instantaneous. Her body curved against him, her arms winding around his neck. Weaving her fingers into his hair, she pulled his face closer, parting her lips beneath his. For just a moment, he considered taking her where she was clearly willing to go. He tentatively invaded the open lips, his hands began to explore, and then, with all the willpower he could summon, he pulled away.
“Emily, love, please slow down! You don't want this--I don't want this--not this way.” Still holding her gently, he tried to look into her eyes, lifting her chin with one finger, but she resisted, burying her face on his chest. “Emily, darling girl, please listen to me.” For an instant, just when the words could finally be spoken, his voice threatened to forsake him. “I love you, Emily. And I want you, don't think for a moment I don't. But not this way.” She turned her face up to him, watching and listening now. “When I say I love you, I mean all of you, not some dream of you, not some idea. I love your mind, your spirit and yes, your body. I want all of you, for much more than the few minutes we would have here now. This is too important to rush, too vital to our future. If I made love to you now, and then left not knowing when I might be back, you would very soon come to resent me.”
“I may be inexperienced, but I think I know what I want.” Her eyes shadowed with pain, she clearly believed he was rejecting her.
Stani smoothed her hair, pressing her head to his chest. “When we make love for the first time, we should have all the time we want. Every detail should be something we'll remember forever. Do you have any idea what it means to know you want me, would have me even now, when we don't know how or when we'll be together again? When you kissed me this morning, it was as if you’d breathed life into me, given me reason to try to be the best man I could possibly be, just to earn another kiss from you. I want to be that man, or try to be, before I offer myself to you. Can you wait for me, Emily?”
She reached up to touch his cheek, burying her face against his neck. “Of course I can. I got swept off my feet, didn't I? The very first time you kissed me, I was ready to go wherever you wanted me to. You must think I'm totally without self-control. And apparently I am. I'm sorry.”
“Not sorry! Never be sorry for a thing like that.” He nuzzled her hair, breathing deeply of the sweet warmth. Then with a grin, he turned her face up to look into her eyes. “Unless you respond that way to some other man. Oh, Emily, darling unexpected Emily, do you realize how rare you are, how unique and original. You are a rainbow after a thunderstorm, a soft breeze at the end of long hot day. How can I convince you that you should never, never apologize for being you?”
She was silent for a time, her fingers curling inside his open collar, idly caressing his skin. “Are you always so poetic?”
“No, never.” Stani laughed softly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I must ask, do you really think I'm beautiful?”
She raised her head and studied his face. “Yes, I do. Do you mind?”
“I couldn't just be handsome? Some critic called me 'arresting.' Would that do?”
She gave his face another long, considering look. “No. You're beautiful. Handsome is too common. Lots of men are handsome in one way or another, ruggedly or classically or romantically. You are so much more, your eyes, the way you move, and most especially your hair.” She ran her fingers into the waves at his temple to underscore her point.
“Ah, my hair. The curse of my boyhood, the perpetual bane of my young existence. And now the thing you love most about me? How totally ironic.”
“Not the thing I love most, but certainly one of my favorite things about you.” She snuggled against him, sighing contently. One hand wandered inside his shirtfront, as if of its own volition, her fingers gently exploring the crisp curls on his chest.
“Emily, I warn you, all my honorable intentions could be abandoned if you keep that up,” he said sternly. Grasping her hand, he raised it to his lips. “You can be maddeningly single-minded, you know?”
“So Jack says. I think it's one of my strong points. I might say the same of you. I mean you were the one who insisted we might have a future together when I was single-mindedly refusing to see it. If we are both single-minded and both mercurial, things should never be dull, should they?” She settled more comfortably across his lap, nestling her head in the bend of his shoulder. “Stani, you asked me if I was happy. Are you happy, with me I mean?”
“Have you heard anything I've said to you? Can you not feel how happy I am, just holding you in my arms and knowing I'll be able to hold you again in the future? What will it take for you to see that you have made me the happiest man ever to draw breath?” He kissed her, hard and long, wondering where he would find the strength to leave her when the time came.
When he finally lifted his head and looked down at her, she smiled, a smug little half-smile, and said sweetly, “Just checking.” Again, her fingers slid between the buttons.
Eventually, she rose to stir the fire and add more logs. She turned back in time to catch him idly rubbing his left shoulder, a little twist of pain crossing his face.
“Does it bother you much?” She brushed his hand aside, kneeling on the cushion, and began to gently probe his shoulder. “Take off your shirt.”
“What?” He drew back in alarm.
“Relax. I'm a nurse, remember. I might be able to help. I know it's cool in here, but I can't feel anything through this shirt. You’re not wearing an undershirt?”
He shook his head, eying her skeptically. She should know that. Hadn’t she just been driving him mad with her deliciously wandering hand?
“Then just slip this off.” She waited and when he made no move to obey, swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, her fingers moving efficiently down the front and sweeping it off his shoulders. Ignoring his doubtful glare, she said crisply, “There, now let's have a look.” He had the peculiar sensation of having been transported to a sterile medical office and looked to be sure she hadn't exchanged that lovely sweater for a starched white uniform.
Studying the crescent shaped scar, gently tracing it with a fingertip, she sighed softly. “It was very bad, wasn't it?”
He tried to adjust his response to this clinical
conversation. “Apparently. The doctor told Milo it was as if something tried to rip my arm off. For the longest time, I had almost no sensation in my hand.” Beneath the steady, soothing pressure of her hands, he began to relax.
“And now?” She had located a knotted muscle and begun smoothing out the tension, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she frowned slightly in concentration.
“My shoulder hurts at times. By the end of a performance it's stiff and sore. There's still a tingling in my fingers now and then. At first I wondered if I'd ever be able to keep up this kind of schedule, playing every day or two. I even started drinking again, thinking the pain was a good excuse. But thank God I realized I didn't want to go back there.”
Without taking her eyes from his shoulder, she asked, “Again?”
He took a deep breath. “I may as well confess everything, while I'm at it. I did have one very serious love affair. With good Scotch whisky. During those months in New York, after the tour, I was blissfully drunk much of the time. It seemed to help me fit in, put me at ease with people I had little or nothing in common with. It also got me in a lot of trouble with Milo. Things had gotten pretty ugly between us before the accident. I recognized just in time that I could go right back to that and think myself justified. I need to perform, and if I drank it would ease the pain so I could perform, and so on and on.” He dropped his head. Emily's hands grew still and she waited. Slowly he looked up to meet her eyes. “I'm sorry. I wish I had been a saint, right up until the moment you dragged me into this room. The truth is, I wasn't and I'm not now. I'm just a man trying to be better than he was, trying to learn things I seem to have missed along the way. But I'm determined to learn, now that I've been given this second chance.”
“You're doing just fine. I wouldn't love you if you were a saint. And I do love you, Stani Moss. This is my second chance, too.”
“You're determined to see past these things, aren't you?” Now her hands began to move over his shoulders with a very different touch, soothing, caressing, as if to ease a different kind of pain.
“You said yourself you're a better man already. I just see the man I love, have loved without even knowing it.” As his arms went around her waist, drawing her closer, her eyes swept over his shoulders and chest. Warm color flooded her cheeks and she reached for his shirt. “Here, you'd better put this back on. I may not be as professionally detached as I thought.”
Carefully closing each button, she asked, “What do you do for your shoulder, after a concert, when it hurts?”
Again, he tried to follow her train of thought, forcing himself to think past her inviting proximity. “Take a couple of aspirin and go to bed. Why?”
“You're no different from any other athlete, a tennis player or baseball pitcher. There are things you should be doing. Who helps you get ready for bed, helps you undress?”
He grinned, in spite of himself. “Excuse me?”
“If I'm right, you can't get out of your tailcoat by yourself, because of your arm?” She met his bemused gaze. “Does John help you?”
“Okay, sometimes I need help, but he doesn't exactly tuck me into bed every night. I'm not an invalid.”
“Of course not. Still, I'm going to write down some instructions for him, things he should do for you. Promise me you'll give them to him.” She reached up and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead.
“Ah, so you're going to take care of me, are you? How will I explain that to John? He's been taking care of me since I was a little boy.”
“Just remind him there are things you need now that you didn't need when you were a little boy. He should understand that.” She drew his face close, kissing him gently, but all too briefly. “I'm starving. Wait here, I'm going to fix us something to eat.”
She was up and headed for the kitchen before he could stop her. “But we already ate!”
“That was hours ago. You'll find out soon enough, I have a very healthy appetite. All this unaccustomed activity had made me ravenous!”
He got to his feet, as she disappeared toward the kitchen. “Point the way to the loo, please.”
“Through that door, on through the bedroom. I won't be long. Just make yourself at home.”
As she began banging around in the kitchen, humming to herself, he tried to gather his thoughts. It had been a day full of marvels. He would have so much to think about, later, alone; but for the little time they had left, he intended to savor every moment with her. How could he have ever anticipated her? Even in her letters, she had not revealed the quicksilver of her mind, and certainly not the passion so easily stirred. More than ever, he was certain he wanted this amazing girl, wanted her by his side, in his arms. There would have to be changes in both their lives, decisions to be made. He was so accustomed to having everything arranged for him, simply going wherever he was directed. He’d rarely considered the planning that went into getting him there. Now it would be up to him to arrange things for the two of them, make plans for a future together. He felt completely inadequate, unprepared for such an undertaking. The prospect overwhelmed him.
In the old-fashioned bathroom, as he considered his reflection in the mirror, he noticed words painstakingly lettered on the wall. Studying them, he thought he recognized a phrase or two, but the rest was foreign to him. He would ask her about it. It might be just one more revelation in this day of unforeseen wonders.
When he returned to the fireside, Emily was just coming from the kitchen. “Here we are, just the thing to keep up our strength!” Bearing a tray loaded with a teapot and platters of food, she placed it on the table by the window and pulled out a chair for him. “Come on, while it's hot.” She was beaming, a look of supreme satisfaction on her face.
He sat, looking over the tray. “Emily, what is all this?” Here was a platter of steaming scrambled eggs and crisp strips of bacon, stacks of buttered toast and a pot of strawberry jam, glasses of orange juice and mugs waiting for tea.
Leaning over him, she took his mouth in a kiss of unexpected depth. “It's breakfast, silly.”
Stani tossed back his head and laughed, pulling her into his arms. No matter the daunting task ahead, or his fear of failure, she was sure to be the encouragement, the light and the comfort he would need along the way.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Emily sat watching the fire die, reliving each in the series of life-changing moments. It had certainly come true, his promise to make those hours count. Perhaps their letters had opened the way, allowed them to move ahead since that first visit so that they were ready to come together so quickly. No matter the time, they had crossed all the barriers and fallen headlong into the first soul-shattering phase of becoming lovers.
But there had been so much more than the kisses, the embraces and the lovers' words. He now knew more about that night, about what had saved him and what he was meant to do next. He had turned an unexpected corner and come face to face with the truth. Those moments of watching him search had been a revelation for her as well, opening the way for honesty and finally for admitting to the feelings she had fought for so long. They would share their faith, as his grew, and it would sustain them as they struggled to find the time and space to be together. Nothing would be easy, with the distance between their worlds, but faith would make it more bearable when they were apart and uncertain.
He had seen the words on the bathroom wall. She'd been surprised at first when he asked her so directly about them. They had been there for so long she hardly took note of them anymore.
“My mother did that,” she'd explained. “That was her comfort, a reminder when she was so sick during her treatments. It's from Philippians. It's beautiful, I think, the answer to every worry.” She’d gotten her Bible and opened it to the passage, handing it to him to read.
“Have no anxiety about anything.” He had smiled and said that was a tall order indeed.
“But it gives you the way to accomplish that. Simple instructions really. Just one step. Pray, with t
hanksgiving. It's being thankful that does it, I think. Welcoming the challenge. I love the last part of that passage, too. Whatever is true, whatever is pure, whatever is gracious. Focus on the positive things around you, think good thoughts.”
He had promised to remember the words, to take them with him along with all the other things she had shown him today. “How can I leave you?” he had asked.
It was a question she'd been asking herself, in the midst of being so uncommonly happy with him. How would she ever let him go without also letting him see her fears?
“Leave me with the promise that you'll be back as soon as you can. And that you'll write to me, pages and pages of your thoughts. We've had this day, so full of things that have changed us forever. Just promise we'll have another day, soon.”
He asked that she be patient, that she trust him. And she did. He said he loved her and she believed him. He had taken her hands, just before getting into the car, and pressed them to his chest, just over his heart. “Tell me we're strong enough to love this deeply when there are miles and months between us.”
It had been easy to promise. There were not enough miles or months to ever change her feelings for him, she'd said. If there were, she would already know. “You're new to this love, Stani, but I've had almost three years to test it. I know now that I've loved you all along. Thank God, for both our sakes, you came back to find me.”
He was gone, but she knew that just as he had been a ghost here since that first night, his presence was now indelibly etched in the house. At every turn she would picture him, with his smile and his searching eyes. She would hear his voice, his laugh. He would never be very far away, even when she knew he was hundreds of miles across the country. That would be their life together; while she carried on with what she had started here, Stani would be living the life he was meant to live, going where his talent demanded.