by Sydney Allan
"Yes, I do. And I'm going to build a playroom when we get home."
Her eyes widened, and a generous smile spread over her face. The sweet Marian, the one he hadn't seen in years, crept from under her rock-hard façade. "Oh, Garret. I knew you'd come around." She inched closer, like she wanted to touch him, wanted to reach to him. He could see the hesitation, the unspoken question in her eyes, but he didn't encourage her. To do so would only be cruel.
As though she'd read his thoughts, she wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her sinewy upper arms with red-taloned fingers.
"Well, I'd better get in there. Raphaela's probably tired of Frankie, eh?" He tried to keep his tone light.
"Okay." She paused, and he expected her to say more. When she didn't, he released a sigh of relief and hurried down the hall.
When he entered the therapy room outside the isolated playroom, he paused to watch Raphaela interact with Frankie, through the wide one-way window.
Inhaling slowly, he reached for the door. Time to play with his baby, try out his new attitude. It had to work.
What other choice did he have?
* * *
Faith paused at Steven's door, her hand raised, ready to knock. Could she do this? Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Why hadn't he returned her phone messages? Answered his phone? She'd wanted to arrange a meeting somewhere public. She'd been trying to reach him for days.
A tidal wave of excuses, reasons for turning around and going back to her office, surged, leaving her treading within the murky waters of indecision, until the door opened of its own accord and drained the flood away.
Steven's anger-filled face appeared before her, in the narrow gap between the door and the frame. He hadn't bothered to open it all the way, nor had he bothered to dress or shower. His hair lay upon his head at odd angles and his sweats and t-shirt were rumpled and sweat stained. The odor of unwashed body assaulted her nose, making her stagger backward.
"What do you want?" he grumbled.
"I think we need to talk." She didn't sound as confident as she wished she did.
"I'm not in the mood right now. Besides, I need to get showered and finish my write up this afternoon. A few more shots--photographs--and I'll be outta here."
"I'm sorry if this is a bad time, but it's the only time I have--"
"Fine." He stepped aside and motioned her to follow him into the dark room. Not waiting for her to accept his invitation, he returned to the bed, flopping upon it with no regard for whether or not she followed him. Sweeping the TV remote from the nightstand, he punched a button and the screen glowed.
She hesitated, standing outside the doorway. This was stupid, going into his room after what had happened! But she couldn't ask him to go anywhere in public looking like that, either. Should she come back later?
"Are you coming in or not?" he asked, still punching the buttons of the remote with his thumb, his arm held straight out in front of him as though its length would ensure the remote's signal was received. Images splashed over the TV screen, punctuated by milliseconds of blackness in between as the channel changed.
Maybe it would be okay if she stood right by the door. She stepped in, leaving the door wide open.
"I want to talk about what happened the other day," she said, looking down at the diamond on her ring finger. It sparkled, catching a dim beam of light. She slid the ring from her finger and palmed it.
"You came to apologize?" he asked, still staring at the television. "That's mighty big of you."
"No, I didn't. Why would I apologize?"
His brows furrowed and mouth puckered. "Well, if you're not here to apologize, then what the hell do you want? Look at me!" He turned his face to her, the dim light casting deep shadows over the right side of his face. She didn't see any bruises or swelling.
Considering his meticulous grooming, she could imagine him overreacting to some miniscule mark on his face. "I don't see anything wrong with you--at least not on your face. You hurt me. Plus, you attacked a client. You were out of line."
"You have a short memory. He interfered, not me. He had no business coming between us."
She struggled to keep calm, think clearly. "He didn't come between us. He was simply trying to help me."
"Why? What the hell does he care? Hmmm?"
No emotion. No emotion. She repeated in her head. Simply break this engagement, get him to promise to leave you alone and get the hell out of here. " I’m not interested in getting into an argument with you--"
"Good," he interrupted.
It was amazing how cocky even his profile could look. She hated the man he'd become. "I'm not finished."
"No, I suppose you're not. You still owe me that apology for sickin' that asshole on me like a frickin' Doberman. Jeesh, why did you do that? I wasn't doing anything wrong." He looked at her, and bewilderment shone clearly on his features.
"I don't want to see you again." She reached forward with the hand holding the ring, and waited for him to reach out a hand toward hers.
He didn't. He simply stared at her fisted hand then raised his eyes to hers. "What are you talking about?"
" I’m not going to marry you, and I want you to leave."
"Really? Are you sure? I mean, if you're bluffing just to get an apology, you're being a fool."
His reasoning was more than twisted. It was frightening. "I'm not bluffing."
"It's that asshole. You have a thing for him. What the hell do you see in him? He's a pussy, a girl."
"No, I'm just through with you." Opening her shaking fist, she revealed the ring to him.
"I saw you two together in town."
"Yeah, so?" She tried to look nonchalant.
"Got a few great shots." He held up his camera, which sat next to him in his bed, to illustrate.
Before she broke down she had to get out of there. Would he keep those pictures to himself? She refused to plead for them, which she knew he wanted. Her heart thumped in her throat as she motioned toward the hand holding the ring again. When he didn't take it, she let it drop to the floor. "Don't call, don't write, and don't come back. I never want to see you again. If you try to contact me, I'll call the police." Her heart pounded in her ears and her hands quaked.
But, she'd done it. Finally. Despite her fear, liberation swelled. Free, at last.
"Oh, no you don't," he growled behind her. The bedsprings squeaked, and she lunged for the doorway.
A shriek shot from her mouth as a sharp tug at her hair snapped her head back. Steven's hard body pressed against the back of hers, the smell of sweat and alcohol made her gag. What was he going to do?
A trail of sodden kisses slid down her neck, and she shivered. One steely arm viced across her chest and the other over her stomach, making it impossible to catch her breath.
"Let me go," she whispered.
"You don't want me to. I know you don't. Come on, my love. Stop with the melodrama." His kisses wound down her arm.
She tried to pull away from him, slide from his grasp, but he held her tighter. "I'm not being melodramatic. I want you to let me go." When he didn't stop kissing her, anger surged through her in excess. "Enough, damn it! Let me go, or I'll scream for help and file attempted rape charges."
His grip on her tightened for a brief minute, but then he released her and shoved her toward the door. The brilliant light in the hall blinded her for a moment. Her eyes squinted against the brightness as she turned around to look into his room.
He stood inside the doorway, his expression frighteningly calm and confident. "You can't get rid of me that easily." He held up the tiny ring in his thick fingers, letting the light splash over its facets. "You will be my wife." He smiled.
Was there nothing she could say? Nothing she could do to convince him? " I’ll never marry you. Never."
"You'll change your mind."
"No, I won't. Like I said, if you get near me again, I'll call the police. There's a law against stalking."
"You'd never call the
police on me." His grin was smug, a contemptible smirk she wished she could smack away. "And I wouldn't have you anyway. You're trash. Not worth my time."
She feigned indifference, shrugged, and turned her back to him, praying for the strength to make it back to her office before breaking down in hysterical tears. Why me, Lord?
As soon as she hit the door leading outside, she broke into a sprint. When she rounded the corner, she spied Marian sitting at a picnic table under the shade of a maple. The deep purple leaves ruffled in a minute breeze that broke the heavy heat for a moment before stilling again.
Marian's head was tipped down into her hands and her shoulders sagged.
Faith neared the table. "Marian?"
Marian's hands fell away, revealing two red-rimmed eyes and an odd smile.
"Marian, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What a funny question. What's wrong…" Marian motioned for her to sit across from her, on the wormhole-pocked bench. "It's ironic. I came here to win back my family-- my baby girl and my husband. Instead, I think I've lost them both for good."
Faith resisted the temptation to shoot back a clichéd response. "I'm sorry."
Marian nodded, dropping her eyes to the chipped white paint on the table. She picked at the flakes, peeling them free from the wooden surface. "It's not your fault. I made too many mistakes. They can't forgive me. He can't forgive me. What more can I do?"
"You still have two days left. We have an art therapy session tomorrow morning, and you have a family therapy session after that. I can't make any promises, but if you come with an open mind, you never know what might happen."
Marian slowly shook her head, the broken sunlight blazing red in her brown razor cut bob. "Maybe. But the chances are slim to none. Something, someone, has come between Garret and I. I can feel it."
Faith's breath caught in her throat as she thought about those photographs in Steven's camera. "What makes you say that?"
Marian's shrug, an unconvincing attempt at casualness, didn't hasten Faith's attempt to breathe. "Garret and I have known each other for years. It's just something I know. Why? Has he said something to you? I can see you've managed to get somewhat close to him."
Faith's gaze slipped, falling to rest on the paint clinging to Marian's fingernails. "No, he hasn't said anything. I talked to him about reconciling, but he became very defensive and told me it wasn't possible. I'm sorry, Marian. I tried."
"I know you did, but I can't help but wonder who she is. I know there's someone else."
Did those words sting! Or was Marian digging for something? Did she suspect Faith yet?
It was possible. "Maybe there isn't anyone. Maybe he's simply content with the way things are between you now."
"No. I see that look. A wistful, distant look. I haven't seen it in a long time. Garret Damiani is infatuated. Hell, for all I know he could be in love."
Garret Damiani…in love… The words echoed in her head. Could it be true? Without a doubt, she knew he was attracted to her. Oh, God, her heart might leap from her chest. She rested her hands on her breastbone, feeling the thud through its thickness. "Well, if he is in love, would it be so bad?"
"Of course it would. Why would you say such a thing?"
Stupid me. "Well, I mean, if he were to remarry some day, and you have to admit that is possible, wouldn't it be good for Raphaela?"
"No. How would having some other woman step in as mother to my baby, a woman who couldn't possibly love my daughter like I do, benefit her?"
"Granted, no woman would love her like you do. You’re her mother, and no woman could take that away from you. But don't you think there is room in Raphaela's life for a mother and a loving stepmother? She couldn't suffer from that."
Marian's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingertips now raking the paint from the tabletop. "What if the woman was cruel to her? I know how difficult Raphaela can be."
"That is where you have to trust Garret. After knowing him for thirteen years, don't you believe he would choose someone who would be a good stepmother?" She couldn't believe she was talking about this--as if it was a given. As though she and Garret were about to get married. They'd only known each other for two weeks, for God's sake. How could anyone know for certain they were meant to be together after only two weeks?
Of course, their conversations had been deeper than most, because of the nature of their relationship. She had learned more about Garret, Raphaela and Marian in the short time they'd been at Mountain Rise than she would normally have in months of dating. Still, the whole notion of a relationship with Garret felt foreign--exciting and energizing--but nonetheless awkward.
Was there a relationship at all?
Marian's eyes were fixed upon hers now, searching, probing.
Faith reached her hand up and swiped at a strand of hair that had blown across her face.
"Your ring. It's gone," Marian said, pointing at Faith's left hand.
Faith stared at the empty finger and nodded. "I broke the engagement."
"I'm so sorry." Silence, then, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Ironic, her client was offering to discuss her personal problems. Or was she? Was it a ploy to find out what was going on? "No, thanks anyway."
Marian smiled. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me. I know we've worked together as therapist and client, but I like to think we're more than that."
"Thanks, but I think it's best if we keep things simple between us. More professional."
Marian looked dejected, hurt, like a child who'd been told her best friend had found a new best friend.
What was she doing? Look at the pain she was causing. She wasn't only messing with her own life here; there were three other people involved. What the hell would she do?
In two days, they would leave Mountain Rise. Marian would return to her weekly art therapy sessions at the church, with a new therapist, and Garret would be nothing but a pleasant memory. Could she live with it that way? She knew she didn't want to.
"Professional. I suppose you're right. At least until we're through here. I'm thinking of quitting the art therapy too. You're gone, and it's too long a drive to come way out here. But, I'm not sure yet."
Didn't Marian have any friends? During their sessions, Marian had talked about a number of people. Their names escaped her now, but she recalled the way Marian had described each of them. Guilt treaded up Faith's spine like a pack of soldiers and pummeled her brain.
She struggled to continue the conversation with Marian, trying to hide the conflict within. "I hate to see you quit the sessions, but you must make the decision that is right for you."
"Yes, don't we all?"
A lump formed in Faith's throat. Don't we all? She swallowed hard and nodded. Marian knew. She had to.
* * *
Dread sitting in the pit of his stomach, Garret gripped Raphaela's delicate hand and led her down the corridor to the art therapy room. He hid his unease behind friendly banter with Marian. Chattering incessantly about a myriad of subjects, none of which interested him, she walked on the other side of Raphaela.
When they reached the familiar door to Faith's studio, he paused, drew in a long breath, and opened the door. The first thing his eyes were drawn to was Faith, standing in profile, sunlight skimming the outline of her body as she stood before the windows.
The air leaked from his lungs, and failed to inflate, sending a wash of heat over his face and neck and down his chest. She turned her head and met his gaze, and he wished they were alone. And then he thought they might be. The world had suddenly closed in around them, and they were the only two people alive and Raphaela by his side.
"Garret, what is with you today?" Marian asked from behind him, breaking the spell.
Faith bit her lip, a soft smile tugging at the mouth he'd kissed only yesterday. That had been a lifetime ago. Would he take another breath if he couldn't do that again? Did he want to?
"Nothing's wrong with me. I'm a bit tired, th
at's all. It's been a long week." Raphaela tugged her hand free from his and shuffled toward Faith, and he watched as she walked across the room. Faith's gaze dropped to his daughter, and a smile, tentative and warm, touched Raphaela's face.
Faith stooped down, greeting Raphaela as she approached, and the shy smile flashed brilliant, angelic, as his baby threw her arms around Faith's neck and squeezed.
Faith's eyes lifted, her gaze locked once more with his. Her hand ran down the length of Raphaela's hair as it tumbled in waves and curls down her back.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with the art session, Faith," Marian said.
Faith's smile faded only a touch, her gaze shifting to Marian, who stood next to the table where a smattering of art supplies had been laid out. "Sure," she answered her tone light and cheerful. After giving Raphaela one more squeeze, she stood and led her by the hand to the table.
Garret sat in one of the child-sized chairs, his legs too long to fit under the table, he scooted his chair closer and faced sideways, catching a playful smirk on Faith's face as he scraped the chair over the linoleum floor.
Marian sat on the other side of the round table, Raphaela taking a seat between them. Faith sat across from Raphaela, between Garret and Marian. Their positions, he reflected, were telling.
A circle, Raphaela on his left, Faith on his right. "Are we drawing circles again today?" he asked.
Marian snickered, and he immediately wondered why.
Faith simply grinned. "No, not today. Although I know how much you enjoyed that particular exercise. Actually, since today is the last day, I thought we'd have a free session--you may choose." She glanced at Raphaela. "I know Raphaela likes to paint."
A pallet of bright colors where presented to the little girl, who smiled brightly. Picking up her pallet and brush, she dashed for the easel next to the window.
"What about us?" Marian asked.
Garret could easily imagine what project Marian might like to try--maybe clay. And then he chuckled to himself when he realized that was probably the best medium for himself as well. Always changing people, reshaping them.
He wondered what Faith's favorite might be. Something deep, with layers, translucence. Oils.