Then Comes Marriage

by Bonnie Pega

  So why, how, had he allowed things to get this far? Someone was going to get hurt. And he had a horrible feeling that it wouldn’t be only her.

  The silence in the car had grown almost oppressive by the time they arrived at Zac’s condo. The only one who didn’t notice anything different was Victoria, who had fallen asleep by the time Zac had driven a couple of blocks.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Libby asked as soon as they walked in the door.

  “No. It’ll take me only a couple of minutes to nuke the potatoes while I toss the steaks under the broiler. Why don’t you go in the living room and make yourself comfortable? I’ll be in there in a minute.”

  Libby saw the flowers as soon as she walked in the other room. “Beautiful flowers,” she called out. “From one of your many admirers?”

  “No.” Zac came into the room. “From one of yours.”

  “One of mine?”

  “They’re for you.”

  Libby fell silent for a moment, then, inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears. “They’re beautiful, Zac. Thank you,” she said softly as she reached out and touched a soft rose petal with her finger.

  “Uh, when you’re ready to put Victoria down, you can use the second bedroom. It’s across the hall from mine. I fixed the bed for her. I piled pillows all around so it’s sort of like a nest.”

  She nodded and turned her head to blink the moisture away. This was harder than she’d thought. Every minute they spent together was one more memory she’d have to keep her warm all the long years ahead. Or to haunt her every moment. For her sake, for her own sanity, she was going to have to put an end to things. A heart could be broken more than once, and her heart would break every time she watched a science fiction movie or ate Italian food and he wasn’t there. And the more memories they built together, the more memories would break her heart in the years to come.

  But she’d take this night, this one night, and make one more memory. Just one more.

  The steaks were grilled to perfection. The baked potatoes were hot and fluffy and sweet with melted butter. Libby scarcely managed a mouthful of each. She spent most of her time rearranging the food on her plate. Zac wasn’t faring much better, she decided when she took a look at his plate. Most of his dinner, too, was untouched.

  Zac stacked the plates in the sink without commenting on the mountains of food still left. They wound up sitting on the sofa, listening to music on Zac’s compact disc player and staring at the tropical fish in their glistening aquatic world. Libby knelt in front of the tank and pointed to the two black and white angelfish. “What did you say these were named?”

  “Michael and Gabriel.”

  Two angel’s names. Just a few days earlier he’d acted horrified at the idea that he’d do something as sentimental as naming his fish. Maybe knowing her had changed him a little. It was only fair. Knowing him had changed her a lot.

  She noticed a few other changes too. The plants had been rearranged on the mantel and were no longer lined up in a neat little row. Instead, they were grouped in less formal but more pleasing arrangements. The carefully arranged magazines on the coffee table had simply been stacked one on top of the other. And the toe of a tennis shoe poked out from under the edge of the sofa. She wanted to smile at that, but couldn’t seem to make the corners of her mouth curl up.

  Zac came and knelt beside her. Without looking at him she said, “It seems kind of silly to me to have fish coordinated with your living room.” She pointed at the black mollies. “What did you say these were called?”

  “They’re black mollies. That’s A, E, I, O, and U.”

  Libby couldn’t resist a little smile at that. “That covers only five of them, and you’ve got six.”

  “The sixth one is Sometimes Y.”

  Libby turned to Zac. “I’m glad you named your fish.”

  He shrugged. “What else could I do? You even name your plants.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Because I heard you mumbling to one this morning, promising to water it later. Which one is Elliot anyway?”

  “The spider plant hanging over the kitchen sink.”

  “Spider plant … Anyway, I didn’t stand a chance. You would have named my fish for me, so I decided I’d better come up with names I could live with before you came up with Priscilla, Harry, and Bartholomew.”

  “I would never have come up with names like those. These are tetras, right? Did you name them too?”

  “Libby,” Zac murmured softly. “How much longer are we going to talk about my fish?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s talk about something else.” He reached out and grasped a handful of her hair, bringing it up to rub back and forth across his lips.

  “What, um, what do you want to talk about?” she said faintly. He was now rubbing the strands of hair across her lips.

  He released her hair and ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Oh, I don’t know.” He leaned closer and followed the path his hand had taken with his mouth. “I’d like to talk about you and me and this nice thick white carpet we’re kneeling on,” he said.

  Libby could feel his warm breath against the skin of her neck as he spoke. “What about the carpet?” Her voice was fainter still.

  “It’s soft.” He pushed her gently down onto the plush surface. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “And you’re soft.” He left a row of nibbling kisses along the top edge of her sundress. “And I need you more than you’ll ever know.”

  “I need you too.”

  “That’s good.” His hands molded the soft fabric of the dress to her breasts. “This dress is indecent. Did you know that?”

  “How?”

  “This button,” he muttered, his lips against the offending object. “This button dares a man to undo it.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  He raised his head and a slow, wicked grin spread over his face. “I intend to,” he vowed huskily. He bent his head again and tugged on the button with his teeth. It came off easily, as if it had been sewn on with the express purpose of inciting a man to do this.

  His hands smoothed the snug bodice down to her waist, baring her breasts. He cupped them lovingly in his hands, then ran his tongue around one rosy nipple, inviting it to pucker. He turned his attention to the other. “How does the baby nurse,” he murmured against her breast. “Does she do it like this?” He took one swollen bud into his mouth and suckled.

  Libby moaned. “Yes. No. It doesn’t feel like this. It’s like … you’re … I …” Her words trailed off to an incoherent mumble.

  “Sweet. You taste sweet.” Those were the last words spoken by either of them, except for murmured words of passion, of love. There was a dark, desperate edge to their lovemaking that served only to heighten the sensations. Every feeling was explored to the fullest, as if each were aware this might be the last time.

  Zac caressed Libby until she writhed with need, only to have her return the favor. They sought the pinnacle of fulfillment again and again, until they were both exhausted. They dozed, awoke sprawled on the carpet, and made their drowsy way down the hall to Zac’s bed, where they loved one more time and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  When Zac awoke it was early, just after dawn. He lay with Libby cuddled next to him and watched the rays of sun wink on one at a time. The sun seemed to love Libby. It caressed the creamy satin skin and danced over the sleek dark hair. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything lovelier than Libby in the morning. Unless it was Libby at night.

  The night seemed to love her too. The dark flirted with the shadows in her hair and complimented her midnight-blue eyes. There wasn’t a single time of day that didn’t love her, he thought. And he loved her too. Loved her enough to realize that he couldn’t give her what she needed. What she deserved. He loved her enough to let her go.

  He heard soft babbling noises from the other room. He tugged on jeans and went in to check on th
e baby. She was wide awake and lying on her back, waving her arms in the air. He remembered seeing her on her stomach the night before and felt a distinct stab of pride that she’d apparently rolled over by herself. He dug in the diaper bag and came up with a fresh diaper, then changed her clothes too, dressing her in a frilly yellow shirt and matching pants. He carried her to the bedroom, where Libby still lay sleeping peacefully.

  It hurt to see her sleeping in his bed. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep there again without thinking of her—the feel of her hair beneath his cheek, her soft honeysuckle scent, her arms and legs entwined with his.

  She lay on her side, so Zac gently moved her arm out of the way and lay the baby next to her. It didn’t take Victoria more than a second or two to find breakfast, and she suckled hungrily. Zac lay propped on one arm, watching, and felt the unaccustomed sting of tears in his eyes. It was such a gentle, natural, homey scene, and he felt a stab of loneliness to know he wouldn’t be a part of their futures.

  He wondered what kind of little girl Victoria would grow up to be? Would she wear her hair in a long ponytail? Would she like dolls or trucks? Teddy bears or tree houses? Maybe she’d like both. There was no law that said she couldn’t. Would Libby make sure that Victoria had blocks to build with? He’d read that it improved hand-eye coordination. Would Libby—Zac stopped. It wasn’t his concern. Would never be his concern.

  Libby stirred and her eyelids fluttered once, twice, then opened. She looked down at the baby nursing contentedly at her breast, then up at Zac’s dark, brooding gaze watching the two of them. A wave of shyness swept over her, and she looked back down at Victoria. They both lay in silence until Victoria had finished nursing and Libby sat up, laying the baby against her shoulder and patting her back.

  As soon as she’d burped, Libby laid her down on the bed and turned to Zac. “We, um, we need to talk.”

  Zac sat up and swung his feet out of bed. “You’re right, we do,” he agreed flatly. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

  ELEVEN

  Libby wrapped a sheet around her and walked stiffly to the living room, grabbed her dress and panties from the carpet, and walked back to the bedroom. She dressed quickly, though the button from her dress was gone. A safety pin, found on Zac’s dresser, fastened the strap around her neck.

  From the shuttered look on Zac’s face it was obvious that he either knew what she was going to say or had something equally bad to tell her. Libby picked up Victoria and cuddled her, needing the closeness. The baby’s tiny, soft body and fresh, sweet smell gave Libby the strength to do what she had to do. She had to end this now. Victoria deserved more than the part-time attentions of her mother’s part-time lover. She deserved nothing less than the full-time attentions of a full-time daddy.

  Libby took a deep breath, then another, and walked back into the living room. As soon as he saw her, Zac spoke. “Libby, I don’t have time right now for anything more than a casual relationship. And you deserve more than that. You and Victoria deserve—”

  “You’re right.” She looked down at the cooing baby in her lap. “I need someone who can be there. Not just for me, but for Cupcake too.” She bit her lip and willed the tears stinging her eyes not to fall. “And I know that someone can’t be you.” Despite her determination not to cry, a single tear squeezed out from the corner of her eye and left a silver trail down her cheek.

  “I can’t be there all the time, but we could—we could continue to see each other—”

  Libby looked up then, her eyes sparkling with tears and with fire. “No! I can’t waste any more time with this. I need a man who’s not afraid to commit himself.”

  Stung, Zac snapped back. “What do you mean afraid? I’m not afraid.”

  Libby leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. “Aren’t you? All this talk of time and plans—those are nothing but excuses. Your precious plans aren’t engraved in stone, Zac. They’re not even written in blood. Plans can be changed if you’re not afraid. But you are afraid.”

  “Libby, I really lo—care about you.”

  Libby sighed and stood, walking to the big picture window overlooking Rockspring Park. “You probably do. Care is such a nice, insipid little word. It’s a great word for someone who’s afraid to commit himself any other way. But I want a man who loves me to distraction and one who’s willing to love Victoria too. She and I both deserve as much.”

  Zac walked over to stand beside her. “Libby, I wish you could understand. My whole life I’ve lived by plans. They’ve never let me down. They’ve given me goals to attain. And I’ve got a hell of a lot I need to do in my life before I’ll have the time to devote to a wife and family. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman to ask her to put up with a man who can’t give a hundred percent right now.”

  “You’re right. It’s not fair. I want more. And to get it, I’m going to have to get on with my life.” She turned to look at him, more tears trailing down her cheeks. She let her eyes roam over his face one more time, as if memorizing each line, each contour, so she could recreate it during the long, dark nights ahead when she couldn’t sleep and it hurt too much to cry.

  “God, Libby,” he murmured, and reached out a hand to touch her hair. He dropped it when she stepped away. “You don’t know how much I wish I could give you what you need.”

  A poignant, wistful smile touched her lips. “And you don’t know how much I wish that you cared enough to.”

  “It’s not a matter of caring enough—”

  “Isn’t it? I love you, Zac. I love you enough to rearrange my life for you. You just can’t bear the thought of rearranging your life for me. I understand. Really, I do. A wife and ready-made family is a lot for someone to take on. But there are men out there who aren’t afraid.” She turned away. “I need to go. May I use your phone to call a cab?”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  Libby shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said calmly. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

  She didn’t understand. He’d worked his whole life and he had certain goals. If he lost sight of those goals, then wouldn’t his whole life have been a waste? “I’d like to see you home,” he said again.

  “I don’t want you to. Now, may I use your phone?”

  “If that’s what you want, go ahead.” He turned and stared back out the window. This wasn’t in his plans. This ripping, slashing feeling in his gut. And as Libby hung up the phone and hoisted the diaper bag, he felt the gash deepening. “Let me help you with that.”

  “No, thank you,” Libby said politely, then opened the door and left.

  He took an abortive step toward the door, stopped, and slammed his fist against the wall. Dammit! Dammit all to hell!

  Teachers were due back at school in a couple of weeks, and Libby couldn’t wait. She couldn’t stand staying around her house anymore. The past few days she’d taken the baby to the park, to the museum—but not to the pre-Columbian exhibit—even to a couple of matinee movies. Anything was better than staying at home.

  Nights weren’t so easy, though. As darkness fell, it brought with it thoughts and memories that she didn’t want. She wound up sleeping on the sofa most nights. She’d go to bed, stare at the ceiling, and think of lying in the same bed in Zac’s arms. It was too much. She’d grab her pillow and head to the sofa, where she’d stare at the television half the night. Too many more sleepless nights and she wouldn’t be fit to teach school.

  Victoria seemed crankier than usual too. Libby often wondered, as she walked the floor with the fretful infant, whether the baby was responding to Libby’s own heartache or whether she missed Zac too.

  Every time the phone rang, Libby’s heart pounded and she nourished the irrational hope that it was Zac, telling her he was wrong and begging her to take him back. It never was, but that didn’t stop her from hoping. Finally, she stopped answering the phone, letting her answering machine do it for her. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone anyway.

&nbs
p; “Libby darling, I called you a day or two ago, but maybe you didn’t get the message. I’ll call you later. Give my beautiful granddaughter a kiss. Bye.”

  “Sis? This is the third time I’ve called. Get the lead out, okay? I’ve got to tell you about the greatest guy. Oops, time for biology lab. See ya.”

  “This is Hannah. I know something happened between you and Zac. If it’s any consolation, he looks miserable. If you want to talk, give me a call.”

  “Libby, it’s Deb. I’m not leaving any more messages on this blasted machine! Pick up the damn phone and talk to me, girl. I’ve talked to Hannah and know something happened between you and Zac. No man is worth going into hibernation over and—Shoot. My next patient is due in five minutes. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Libby’s, it’s ah, Zac. You, ah, left a couple of the baby’s things here. If you don’t want to, ah, see me, I can leave them at the security desk downstairs. Libby, I really—well, I hope you’re well. And the baby too.”

  Libby replayed that message at least a dozen times before she made herself erase it. God, I’m really losing it, she thought, and grabbed the baby, her purse, and her keys, and left. She couldn’t stay around this big, empty place any longer. She was beginning to hate it.

  Zac was beginning to hate his big, empty place. Every day he walked in from work, tossed his keys down, and began making excuses to go back out. He’d had dinner with every college buddy and business acquaintance he could dredge up. He’d played racquetball more in the past week than he’d played in the past two months combined. And he’d used the weight room downstairs more than he’d ever cared to. But anything was preferable to staying home alone.

  Maybe he needed a few changes. It had nothing to do with Libby. He wanted to change the white carpet to some other color because he was tired of it, not because every time he walked into the room he pictured Libby and him entwined on it. He rearranged the bedroom, not because all he saw was Libby curled up in his bed, but because he wanted a change.