Lacey kept her mouth shut. Rosie often went as long as four hours between feedings. And there was such a thing as a breast pump, after all. But she knew her husband wouldn't hear her if she told him those things. No point in wasting her breath.
He sneered, "I've never met this—what did you say her name was?"
She sighed. "Adele Levenson."
"How do I know that this Adele Levenson is someone reliable?"
That really grated. She couldn't keep quiet, couldn't hold back the sarcasm. "Well, I don't know, Logan. How about because I say so and I'm your wife—and you trust me?"
He looked away, picked up his brandy glass, gulped down a too-big sip. She sat, waiting, watching him regroup, knowing just how his mind worked.
He'd come on way too strong, and he was realizing that now, remembering what he was. A reasonable man.
"Listen," he said at last, gently now. "You've got to look at this logically. It's just not a good time for something like this. You have a two-month-old baby. And responsibilities here. I thought you told me that on Saturday, you were helping Fiona out at one of her charity events."
She had to suppress a groan of disbelief. "Oh, Logan. Do you hear yourself? You're saying I should turn down the most important career opportunity that's ever come my way because I promised Fiona I'd help out at a rummage sale."
Now he looked wounded. "The rummage sale is something that you agreed to do."
"Yes, I did. But I'll call Fiona first thing tomorrow. I'm sure she'll understand. Everything—all of this—can be worked out. As I said, I have friends in L.A. who will help me with Rosie. And we have Mrs. Hopper. She's a jewel and you know she'll take good care of you while we're away, unless—" she tried one more time "—you decide to come with me?"
"I can't get away now. It's impossible."
"All right, then you'll stay home. But as I just said, we can work it out. It'll be a challenge, yes. But not an insurmountable one."
He had that intractable look on his face, an expression she'd always disliked—and never more so than now. "It's not good for Rosie," he said again. "You can't just run off and leave her with your flighty artistic friends."
She held on to her patience—by a thread. "Logan. Just because a person is an artist doesn't necessarily mean they're flighty. Or irresponsible."
"I don't know these friends of yours."
She closed her eyes, dragged in a breath. "We're going in circles."
"I don't want you to do this."
"I got that. Loud and clear. And my question is, why?"
"I've told you. For a number of reasons."
"Yes, you have. A number of trumped-up, fake, completely meaningless reasons."
"Meaningless? I'd hardly call it meaningless that I want my wife at home with me, and I want to know that my daughter is being well cared-for."
"Oh, come on. I'll be gone for five days. And Rosie, as I've said about ten times now, will be fine."
"It's not a good idea."
Oh, how she longed to start shouting. But somehow she managed to hold her anger and frustration in check. She leaned closer to him. "Why won't you tell me what's really going on here? Please. I want to understand."
He sat back, reached for his brandy again. "I've told you my concerns. They're completely reasonable."
"Reasonable," she repeated.
"Yes," he said, "reasonable."
"You know, it wouldn't be hard at all for me to learn to hate that word."
He emptied the glass and then set it down a little too hard. "I don't want to discuss it further. Call that dealer and tell her you're not coming."
Her mouth dropped open. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."
"Tell me this isn't happening. Tell me this is some nightmare I've stumbled into, that in a moment or two, I'm going to wake up."
"Just call that damn dealer."
"No."
He glowered at her.
She wanted to fling herself at him and pound on his chest. She wanted to scream rude, unreasonable invectives, to rant and rail at his impossible, pigheaded, unbearable male arrogance.
But she didn't. She held her temper and she spoke with low and hard-won control. She said, "I love you, Logan. We have a good life together. Yesterday, I told Fiona that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I meant it. You came to me in Wyoming when I didn't even know how much I needed you, and you refused to go away. You stayed at my side to see our daughter safely born. You convinced me to marry you. And I have been grateful, so grateful, that you did. Because on the whole, we're good together. I have been happy being your wife.
"You've never said that you love me. But I've learned to accept that. I've told myself that you love me by your actions, and that someday, when you're ready, you'll come to me and say your love in words."
He started to speak.
"No," she said, "wait. I'm not finished. I have gone into your world and learned to enjoy it—the upscale business parties, the charity dinners, the good works everyone seems to expect from a doctor's wife. I've made, or am making, space for all that in my life. For your sake. And I would like very much for you to return the favor. So far, you haven't."
"I—"
"No," she said. "Wait."
His eyes spoke volumes—angry, hard, ugly volumes—but he kept his mouth shut.
She said, "I've asked you to come with me to hear my friends play their music. You've put me off. Okay, I told myself, he'll come eventually. Just be patient. Give it time. I've wanted you to come with me to visit my sister. You put me off again. I've said to myself, All right, he loved her and she hurt him and I'll give him some time on that, too."
Lacey stood. "But this, I can't give you time on. People only get so many great chances in life. For me, this is one. It really won't wait. And there's no reason, other than your completely unreasonable possessiveness, that it needs to wait. I am not going to turn Belinda Goldstone down. Rosie and I are leaving tomorrow. We'll be back Saturday afternoon. And that is all there is to that."
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
Logan recognized the look on his wife's face.
On this issue, there would be no compromise.
She was going to Los Angeles tomorrow and nothing he could say would change her mind.
He'd told her all of the reasons she shouldn't go, and she refused to hear them.
Rosie chose that moment to let out a cry. Logan glanced toward the baby monitor, then back into his wife's flushed, furious face. Lacey stayed where she was for a grim few seconds, staring down at him with fire in her eyes. He stared right back at her, his will meeting hers. Rosie let out another wail.
Lacey spun on her heel and left him there.
His beeper went off about two minutes later. He removed the device from his belt and checked the number: his exchange.
Five minutes after that, he stopped at the threshold of Rosie's room where Lacey sat in the rocker, nursing their child. She hadn't turned on the light. A wedge of brightness from the hall fixture behind him spilled across the floor, not quite reaching the chair where she and the baby rocked.
"Emergency," he said. Ordinarily, he would have given her some explanation. He would have said, That asthma patient's had another severe attack.
But not tonight. Tonight he didn't want to explain anything to her.
"I don't know when I'll be back."
She looked at him. Her eyes were somber and far away. In the dim light, they seemed strangely without color. "All right," she said. "I won't wait up."
He turned and left her in the dark.
* * *
In the morning, over an otherwise silent breakfast, she told him that her flight left from Sacramento at four that afternoon. "I'll just take my SUV and use the long-term parking."
"No. I'll take you."
She would have smiled at him in pleasure at the gesture, if only he hadn't been looking at her through eyes as cold as a midwinter ni
ght. "Thanks, but it isn't necessary, honestly. I can just—"
"I said, I'll drive you. Is there some reason you'd prefer I didn't?"
"Of course not. I just thought that it might be hard for you to manage the time away from the office on such short notice."
"If I couldn't manage it, I wouldn't have offered."
"All right, Logan. Thank you. I'll ride with you."
"When is your flight back?"
"I should arrive in Sacramento at four-thirty Saturday afternoon. I'll leave you the flight number and Adele's number and Barnaby's, too."
"Fine."
He didn't speak again until it was time for him to leave for the office, when he said, "I'll be here to pick you up at two."
"I'll be ready."
He left without granting her his usual fond goodbye peck.
She had plenty to do that morning. She got her portfolio in order, tucking in some sketches that would help her to explain her works in progress to Belinda. She wrote out detailed instructions for Mrs. Hopper, packed for herself and Rosie and then called Fiona.
Fiona wished her well, and made her promise that she'd help out with something called Food for Friends. "We have our big food drive next month, for Thanksgiving."
"Count me in."
"I knew I could. Good luck in L.A."
"Thanks. It's a big step."
"And your paintings will be hanging in a gallery in March?"
"That's right."
"Remember, you're getting Dan and me tickets to the opening."
Lacey promised she wouldn't forget.
She called the twins next, first Mira, then Maud.
Mira let out a shout of glee when she heard the news. "Call the minute you get back," she instructed. "Maud and I will want to know everything."
Maud's reaction was a mirror to her twin's. Their unbridled enthusiasm helped to cheer Lacey up—as the disagreement with Logan dragged her down. She tried to put images of his scowling face from her mind as she hurried to get ready.
The ride to the airport was as silent as breakfast had been. Rosie fussed some and Logan demanded suspiciously, "Is she feverish?"
Lacey reached over the seat to press her palm to Rosie's brow. "Feels normal to me."
Her husband shot her a glance in which skepticism vied for dominance with brooding hostility. She bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she'd later regret.
At the terminal, Logan helped her check her luggage, then carried Rosie's car seat, diaper bag and Lacey's bulky portfolio to the boarding area for her.
She and Rosie boarded early. Logan helped with that, getting the steward to find a place for the portfolio and strapping Rosie's car carrier in the seat next to Lacey's.
Then he muttered a gruff, "Goodbye," and turned to go.
Rosie rested on Lacey's shoulder, cradled on her left arm. She reached out with her right and caught his elbow. "Logan?"
He faced her again, unsmiling.
She pulled him to her and kissed him, a quick, hard kiss, on the mouth. "See you Saturday."
"Yes." His eyes were distant, his voice without inflection. "I'll be here." Rosie made a cooing sound. He laid his hand on her small back. "Bye, Rosie." Those words, at least, had feeling in them.
Lacey watched him walk up the narrow aisle away from her, until he disappeared through the exit. Then she strapped Rosie into her seat.
* * *
Adele met Lacey and Rosie at LAX and drove them straight to her shingled bungalow-style house in Pasadena. The two women spent the early evening playing catch-up, filling each other in on their separate lives in the months since Lacey had left L.A.
Adele Levenson was in her mid-fifties, with a cap of wild gray curls and a body of Rubenesque proportions. She wore flowing dresses in dramatic colors: hot turquoise, emerald green, yellow as bright as lemons in sunlight. She'd been married and divorced and had three grown children living in different parts of the state. She confessed that she'd enjoyed her marriage—at least the first ten years of it. And she'd loved raising her children.
"But I love this, too." She gestured with a wide sweep of both arms. "My own house. Time just for me. The luxury of working whenever the mood strikes."
They spent a couple of hours on the sunporch in back, which Adele used as her studio. Lacey admired the new landscapes Adele showed her, struck as always by the way Adele's watercolors shimmered with vivid color and gorgeous washes of golden light.
"You just get better and better," Lacey told her friend.
Around nine, after Adele had served a dinner of lamb chops and wild rice and Lacey had put Rosie down to sleep in the spare room, the two women went out onto the big stone front porch. They sat on the porch swing in the moonlight and listened to the sounds of night birds and the whispering whoosh of cars going by down the drive.
"You seem … a little sad," Adele said. "A little pensive. It's in your eyes. And in your voice. Is it something you'd like to talk about?"
Lacey shook her head.
"I'm here to listen, if you need me."
Lacey reached out, put her hand on Adele's bright sleeve. "Thanks. I'll remember that."
At a little after ten, Lacey excused herself. She went to the bedroom she shared with her daughter, took out her cell phone and dialed the house on Orchard Street
. After four rings, the answering machine picked up. Lacey listened to her own voice instructing her to leave a message.
Then she said, "Logan, it's me. I just … wanted you to know we got in all right. We're at Adele's now, all settled in for the night. I … I love you. Don't ever forget that."
She hung up feeling foolish, wondering if he'd had to work late, or if he'd rushed out to the hospital to handle some emergency. Or if maybe he'd been standing right there as she left her message, listening to each word that she said, unwilling to pick up the phone and talk to her.
* * *
The next day, Adele insisted that Lacey use her car. "It's ridiculous for you to rent one. I never go out that much anyway. We can share while you're here."
So Lacey drove Adele's comfortable old Chrysler into downtown L.A., where she met with Belinda at Barnaby's place. Belinda liked the seven other paintings Lacey showed her. And she seemed honestly enthusiastic when Lacey described her ideas for the three or four more pieces she thought she could finish before the show in March.
"Come see me at the gallery, tomorrow," Belinda said.
Lacey agreed to be there at eleven. Then she gave Barnaby a big hug and promised she'd find some way to get together with him before she left for home. She raced back to Adele's, her breasts aching and full, to feed Rosie her lunch.
That evening, after she'd told Adele good-night, she called Logan again. And got no answer. She left another message, a brief one, "It's me. Everything's going fine. I love you. I'll see you Saturday."
Strange, she thought when she hung up. Last winter, it was Logan calling me, leaving messages I never answered.
And just look at us now—the situation reversed.
She'd thought they'd come so far, in the two months of their marriage. But now she wondered if they'd made any progress at all.
She loved him.
She would always love him.
But she was beginning to ask herself the scariest kind of question: Would they get through this with their marriage intact? Could she, perhaps, have been right from the first about the two of them, that they were two people distinctly not meant for each other?
The way it looked now, either she gave up her dreams for him, or she would lose him. What kind of choice was that?
And why would a basically good man—and she did believe that Logan was a good man—force her to make such a choice?
* * *
Logan got in after midnight.
The house seemed too empty, too damn gray and dreary, without Lacey there. He'd stayed away as long as he could, eating dinner out, then heading back to the hospital to check on a couple of patients in critical care.
After the hospital, he'd made a last stop at the office. There was always a stack of stuff on his desk crying out to be dealt with. He spent a couple of hours plowing through the pile.
And then, because he couldn't think of any more ways to avoid it, he returned to the house on Orchard Street
. He went straight to the answering machine on the counter in the kitchen. The message light blinked at him.
He pushed the button—and he heard her voice.
He played the message three times, longing coursing through him like a pulse.
I love you, she said, just as she had the night before. Only then, she had added, Don't ever forget that.
I love you…
Don't ever forget that…
The words echoed through his brain, along with all the things he kept trying not to think about, those hard things she had said to him the night before she left.
This really can't wait. And there's no reason, other than your completely unreasonable possessiveness, that it needs to wait.
I have gone into your world and learned to enjoy it. I would like very much for you to return the favor. So far, you haven't.
I've asked you to come with me to hear my friends play… To visit my sister… You've never said that you love me…
Logan leaned on the counter and pressed his head between his hands. "Stop, damn it!" he shouted at the silent, empty room.
It worked, more or less. It silenced the remembered echo of her voice.
But it didn't make what she'd said any less true.
* * *
Thursday evening, Adele invited Xavier and Barnaby and Xavier's wife, Sophia, to dinner. Barnaby had a previous commitment he couldn't get out of, but Xavier and Sophia came. It was a good evening, full of laughter and interesting talk. Xavier held Rosie, declared her a beauty and said she smelled like peaches. He and his wife left at a little after ten. He had an early flight to New York the next day.
At ten-thirty, after she'd bid Adele good-night, Lacey called her husband for the third time. He didn't answer. She left a three-sentence message that ended with I love you.
Then she got into bed with her daughter and tried to sleep.
THE M.D. SHE HAD TO MARRY Page 16