One From The Heart

by Richards, Cinda

  “Not me,” Petey said, pulling on her jeans pocket.

  “No, not you, Pete. You keep yours. You’re a good sport, Miss Hannah,” he said quietly as he scrubbed her face with his handkerchief. She looked up at that comment, trying to meet his eyes. He wouldn’t look at her.

  Oh, Lord, she thought suddenly. He’s not going to make it through the ten days.

  Petey was sleeping the sweet sleep of exhaustion when they finally arrived home, and Ernie carried her into the bedroom to tuck her in. Hannah busied herself in the kitchen, thinking he’d probably put Petey down and just leave. He hadn’t spoken ten words in the last hour, and there was no reason for her to think he’d hang around so he could not talk to her.

  She was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the few breakfast dishes she hadn’t had time to do earlier. She didn’t see Ernie until he reached around her and turned off the faucet. He took a cereal bowl out of her hands and set it on the counter, then he reached up, pressing the warm roughness of his palms against the soft skin of her face—a face that still had traces of greasepaint on it.

  “What?” she said as his thumb brushed lightly over her lower Up. She tried to look into the eyes moving so intently over her face. Her heart was pounding, and she knew perfectly well what, but she said it anyway.

  “Hannah, you know what’s happening, don’t you?” he said in that soft, whispery voice of his. “I’m tired, honey. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to do this—”

  With that, he nuzzled her cheek, placing a small kiss just at the corner of her mouth. Another one followed on the bridge of her nose, then her eyebrow, and by the time he reached her mouth again, Hannah considered the possibility of dying from the sheer pleasure of it.

  I shouldn’t do this, she thought vaguely. But she wasn’t doing it; he was. He’d said so …

  She gave a soft moan and clutched the back of his shirt with her wet hands as his mouth covered hers. He tasted of popcorn, and there was nothing hesitant about him. His approach was uncomplicated and basic. She could feel it in the press of his body against hers, in the quickening of his breath, in the faint tremor of his hands.

  I’m a man; you’re a woman. I want you.

  She broke away from him, pressing her face into his shoulder to savor his heady masculine scent, but he was having none of that. His hands slid into her hair, bringing her around so he could kiss her again. She parted her lips for him because she knew he wanted it. She wanted it. She wanted to be explored, tasted, and he was doing just that.

  “Ernie,” she murmured, making a flagrantly token protest.

  “Hush,” he whispered, clearly recognizing it for what it was.

  She hushed—and offered him her mouth again. He took it, sweetly, thoroughly. From somewhere far away, it occurred to her that she had never been kissed like this. Or if she had, she hadn’t enjoyed it like this, responded like this.

  Suddenly he stopped and leaned back to look at her as if he’d just had another one of his horrible thoughts.

  “Well, one thing’s for damn sure,” he announced. “The two of us can’t be alone together without getting in trouble.” He took her arms from around his neck. “I got to go—”

  “Ernie!” Hannah said in exasperation, following him out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?” This man was going to drive her completely up the wall!

  “I just got to go—go!” he said, waving one hand in the air but not looking at her.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he said incredulously, as if he had never heard such a stupid question and never hoped to again.

  “Yes, why?”

  He turned around to look at her. “Because!”

  “Because why?”

  “Because I haven’t been with a woman in a long time, and I don’t want it to be you, that’s why!”

  “Well, thanks a lot, Ernie!” she said, marching past him to open the front door. He was still batting a thousand when it came to raising a woman’s confidence score.

  “Hannah, you know what I mean …”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, holding the door wide. “I’m not Elizabeth. If you’re in such a hurry to go—by all means, go!”

  He was about to say something, but didn’t, looking around him instead.

  “What are you looking for!”

  “My damn hat!”

  Hannah got to it first and threw it at him.

  “Hannah?” he said when he reached the door again. “I’m not coming back.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HANNAH BELIEVED HIM. There was no doubt in her mind that he meant what he said. But she waited for him anyway, finally giving up when she was nearly an hour late for work. She supposed she should be grateful; at least he hadn’t just disappeared. She called the station manager.

  “Hannah, I know these are unusual circumstances,” he said. “You’re doing a wonderful job for us, and we don’t want to lose you, but as small as we are—when even one person is out, it really puts us in a bind. You’re going to have to get this thing with your niece worked out.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. It was only fair for one’s employer to expect one to be able to come to work.

  “Today,” he added.

  Oh, God, Hannah thought as she hung up the phone. She spent the next hour looking through the classified ads and calling day-care centers. Rick had been right; the good ones required immunization records and birth certificates, and the private individuals who looked after children charged prices she couldn’t begin to pay. She called friends with children, acquaintances—even near strangers—in the hope of finding something for Petey. She had no luck whatsoever.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, sitting at the kitchen table with her hands over her face, trying not to give in to her despair. But, it wasn’t the lack of babysitters that was making her feel so desperate. She was miserable because Ernie had gone, and because he loved Elizabeth.

  You knew that! she chided herself. The night they’d met, he’d told her he had once wanted to marry Elizabeth. She could understand why she felt so guilty: She hadn’t given her sister a single thought while she’d been in Ernie’s arms, and if she’d had any loyalty to Elizabeth, she wouldn’t have let herself get so involved in the first place. But why did she feel so rejected? What were a few hot and heavy looks and a little fumbling in the kitchen? Nothing to a man like John Ernest Watson.

  And everything to a fool like me …

  She had to get hold of herself. She had enough problems without indulging in this … whatever it was, over Ernie. Okay, Hannah Rose, she told herself. So what? You like him. You like him a lot. You like him more than any man since—

  No! She didn’t want to think about that. She was unhappy enough without calling up another major case of rejection. She looked up at a small noise. Petey was standing in the doorway with Cowpoke under her arm, her clown face still in evidence but a bit the worse for wear.

  “Where’s Ernie?” she asked immediately.

  “Petey. Good morning. He … can’t come. Looks like it’s just you and me today. What do you say we wash our face and make something good for breakfast?” She got up from the table, glancing at Petey and knowing instantly that her feeble attempt at cheerfulness hadn’t fooled this child for a moment. Petey had spent her life with Elizabeth; she’d learned a long time ago to assess the emotional atmosphere and disregard the words.

  “Let’s go wash,” Hannah said, heading toward the bathroom and holding out her hand.

  “No, Anna-Hannah, I’m a clown. Like Ernie. Where’s Ernie, Anna-Hannah?”

  “I told you, Petey. He can’t come today. Let’s go wash your face.”

  “No, no, Anna-Hannah! I’m a clown!”

  Hannah hesitated, her mind working furiously to decide how to handle this.

  “So you are. I forgot. How about some oatmeal and peaches?” she said after a moment, wondering if she was being reasonable or wishy-washy. She couldn’t see any point in forcing Petey to wash the makeup off. P
etey had loved having her face painted; it was only natural she’d want to keep it for a while.

  She braced herself for more questions about Ernie’s whereabouts, but Petey only clutched Cowpoke and watched solemnly as Hannah put together the instant oatmeal and fruit breakfast for her. But, Petey’s first tentative spoonful around Cowpoke sent the entire bowl into her lap and then bouncing onto the floor. She looked down at the heap of warm oatmeal on her nightgown, tears welling up in her eyes and her bottom lip trembling.

  “Go get Ernie, Anna-Hannah!” she said as the tears began to spill down her face.

  “No, it’s all right,” Hannah said, trying to soothe her. “We can take care of it—”

  “No! No! Get Ernie, Anna-Hannah! Get Ernie!”

  “Petey!” Hannah said in exasperation. “It’s just oatmeal. We can do it. Just let me get your gown off.”

  “No, Anna-Hannah. I want Ernie! Make him come here!”

  “Petey, I don’t know where he is,” Hannah said, still trying to scoop the oatmeal out of her lap and feeling near tears herself. “Let me have your hand, honey.”

  But Petey was waving both hands frantically and crying loudly.

  “Petey, please—”

  “I want Ernie to come here!”

  Hannah scraped off as much of the oatmeal as she could and finally picked Petey up and carried her into the bathroom. Inconsolable, she continued to cry, switching her attention suddenly from Ernie to her mother.

  “Where’s my mommy? Make my mommy come here, Anna-Hannah!”

  “Oh, baby,” Hannah whispered, hugging her tightly. She had no idea what to say, no words of comfort. She could only stand there with oatmeal and greasepaint all over her and let Petey cry. How could she make a child understand what she didn’t understand herself?

  “It’s all right, Petey,” she kept whispering, but they both knew it wasn’t true.

  The phone rang, and, still carrying Petey, Hannah went to answer it. She was afraid to let it go because it might be Elizabeth. She tried to put Petey down on the couch—Lord knew, she was little comfort to the child—but Petey clung to her desperately. She answered the telephone with Petey in her arms, still sobbing.

  “It’s me,” the male voice said, and her heart began to pound. Ernie might not come back, but he was keeping his promise to Petey that he’d call. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Ernie, I can’t talk to you now,” Hannah said over Petey’s crying. As much as she wanted to, needed to, she couldn’t. He was the one who had left; she had to remember that.

  “What’s wrong!”

  “I can’t talk to you now!”

  “Let me talk to Petey, Hannah.”

  He was still upset; she could hear it in his voice. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Ernie, I don’t think she will,” she said, because Petey had finally acknowledged her mother was gone, and Ernie, beloved though he was, as a disembodied voice, wasn’t likely to be of much help. “You can try.” She held the receiver to Petey’s ear, but she only cried louder.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong with her?”

  “Ernie, I can’t—she wants her mother. I have to go—”

  “Hannah, wait! Are you and Petey all right?”

  No. No, we’re not all right.

  “Yes. You don’t have to worry about us. Thank you for calling.”

  “Hannah, I have to talk to you!”

  “Not now, Ernie. Please.”

  She made herself hang up the phone, swallowing hard to control the burning ache in her throat. The last thing she needed was to cry, too, and having to face her stupidity about John Ernest Watson was enough to undo the last remnants of her control. She carried Petey back into the bathroom, talking to her continuously, a soft running account of what she was about to do next to get the oatmeal off and leave the face unwashed, but to get the hair brushed and braided. Petey still cried, less hysterically and more desperately, suffering it all in tearful misery.

  Damn you, Elizabeth! Hannah thought at one point, because Petey, trembling and afraid, again pleaded, “Make my mommy come here, Anna-Hannah.”

  Dressing them both in clean jeans and T-shirts, Hannah led Petey back into the living room. She intended to sit down and take her onto her lap, but someone pounded on the front door. Petey’s crying immediately intensified, and she clung to Hannah with all the desperation that Hannah herself was feeling.

  Hannah answered the door the same way she’d answered the phone—carrying Petey. Strange, she thought, that she couldn’t make Petey stop crying, and yet the child still wanted the comfort of her arms.

  No one was there. Just a photocopy of the standard apartment lease taped to the door—with the No Children clause circled in black Magic Marker and punctuated with exclamation marks.

  “Great!” she said, snatching it off. “Subtle, but to the point.” She crumpled it in her hand and slung it toward the nearest wastebasket. It bounced off the rim and landed on the rug. She kicked the door shut, only to have someone knock on it again almost immediately. Expecting the building superintendent, she hugged Petey tightly and gave her a kiss on the cheek, breathing deeply a few times to shore up her courage before she opened it.

  Ernie was standing there with his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, looking about as haggard as she felt. She had never in her life been bombarded with so many conflicting emotions. She was angry with him for leaving the way he had, and embarrassed that her response to his kiss had precipitated it, and relieved that he’d come back again—all at the same time. She wanted to tell him to go away, and she wanted to fall into his arms. But she stood still and said nothing, looking into his eyes.

  Ernie had never been one for waiting to be asked in, and he didn’t wait now, stepping inside and attempting to take Petey out of her arms. Still crying, Petey reached for him with one arm and held on to Hannah’s neck with the other, locking them into a three-way embrace much the way she had that day under the umbrella.

  He took his hat off and gave it a haphazard toss. “Who is this, Miss Hannah?” he said, kissing Petey on the forehead. “Do I know who this is?” After a moment’s hesitation, he put his arms around both of them, and Hannah had the distinct feeling he wanted to kiss her on the forehead as well. It was all she could do not to lean into him.

  “Me—” Petey said, her voice wavering.

  “Me? I don’t know any clowns named Me. Now, let me see … This is Miss Hannah over here, so this must be—”

  “Petey!” she cried, her tears still streaming down her face.

  “Petey! It’s not!” Ernie said with such incredulity that Hannah almost smiled. Watch yourself, Hannah, she thought. He had been back for ten seconds, and she was just as smitten as ever.

  “Where is she?” Ernie continued to tease. “I don’t see Petey.”

  “Here, Ernie,” Petey insisted.

  “Where?”

  “Here,” she said, patting herself on the chest.

  “Well, dang if it’s not. Anna-Hannah, I thought you’d brought the wrong clown home. Here, let old Ernie take you.”

  This time she let go of Hannah’s neck. Ernie stood with her for a moment, patting her on the back, then walked toward the couch to sit down. He still limped, and he still presumed, taking Hannah by the arm and pulling her along with them.

  “You through crying, Pete?” he asked, repeating the question he’d asked that first night and painfully lowering his tall frame onto the couch. He glanced at Hannah, and she sat down beside him, trying unsuccessfully to read his look.

  Petey shook her head no and continued to cry.

  “Well, let me know when, because I want to tell you something. I want to tell you what I think about your mama.”

  Hannah was about to protest, but he shot her another look. Trust me. She pressed her lips together and waited. She could do that easily enough—God help her. Ernie sat with Petey on his lap until she grew quiet.

  “This is what I think, Pete,” he said when sh
e was calm enough to listen. “Your mama left you with me, and she told me to take you to Anna-Hannah because she had important things to do. And what I think is as soon as she gets through doing those things, she’ll be right back to get you. Now, she knows I love you and Anna-Hannah loves you, so she doesn’t have to worry. You don’t have to worry either, Pete.”

  “I want her to hurry,” Petey said, her eyes filling with tears again.

  “I know you do, Pete. And I’ve told everybody I know, and Anna-Hannah’s told everybody she knows: ’If you see Petey’s mama, tell her to hurry.’ Okay?”

  After a very long moment, Petey nodded.

  “Now give me a hug,” Ernie said to her. “I need one pretty bad today. How about you?”

  “Yes,” Petey said, her voice still tearful.

  “Right,” Ernie said, giving her a hug that was more sound effect than squeezing. “Now have you got one for me?”

  “And Anna-Hannah, too,” Petey decided. “Everybody needs a hug.” She gave Ernie his return hug, hugged Hannah and finally slid down from Ernie’s lap to find Cowpoke and bring him in to watch television. Hannah got up to go into the kitchen, exhausted from the emotional trials of the morning and needing some kind of busy work to keep her mind off the man who was openly watching her every move. She just didn’t know what he wanted from her! She hadn’t from the first night he limped into her life. He liked her, she thought, but he certainly didn’t want to. She had sensed the struggle he was having with himself all along, and she couldn’t attribute it to anything but his regard for Elizabeth. The fact that a man was in love with one woman didn’t necessarily keep him from being attracted to another. It was his sense of honor and decency that kept him from doing anything about it, and John Ernest Watson, if last night was any example, was a decent, honorable man.

  She began cleaning up the rest of the spilled oatmeal, wiping up places she’d already wiped because Ernie had followed her to the kitchen.

  “She hasn’t had any breakfast,” she said after a time. She wanted to tell him how good she thought he was with Petey, but she didn’t want him to think she was trying to compromise him—again.