Waiting for Lila

by Billie Green

  After a moment of tense silence the group began moving out of the suite, then the door closed softly behind them.

  Bill walked closer to where Delilah stood and said again, "Lila?"

  This time she could hear the fear in his voice. She couldn't let it get to her. She had to pull this off. For him. For her.

  Standing up straighter, she smiled slightly. "I didn't ever tell you why I came to Acapulco early, did I? I came to see the group, of course, but I also came to find a husband," she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. "The group decided to help by having a scavenger hunt to find a rich doctor for me." She met his eyes. "You were my rich doctor. Bill. Don't you see how funny that is?" Her voice broke on the last word, and she paused to regain control. "Why didn't you tell me? You mentioned working in the slums, but I thought it was the pro bono work that we all do. Why didn't you tell me about the clinic?"

  He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "I don't know," he murmured, shaking his head. "I guess I didn't think it was important. There was so much more we had to talk about."

  "You didn't think it was important?" Her voice was angry and incredulous. "When you knew how I felt about being poor?"

  "I didn't know. You never said— You said you wanted to be secure."

  "What in hell do you think security is?" she asked, her eyes wide and angry.

  A strange smile twitched across his lips, then died. "Not money," he said softly. "Not to me."

  "It is to me," she said, forcing the words through tight lips. "It is to me."

  There was no expression on his face now, but something told Delilah he was staying upright by sheer force of will. She drew in several deep breaths, fighting her need to hold him.

  She swung away from him abruptly. "Will you stop looking at me with those damned stray-dog eyes?" she told him. "Just leave. Bill. You're a nice man. Find yourself a nice woman. One with no hangups, no horrors from the past for you to deal with. Find someone who can give you what you need, because I can't."

  "You have me a little confused." His voice sounded strange, different. "Are you leaving because I don't make a lot of money or because I'm nice? Which is it. Lila?"

  "It's— What difference— It's both," she got out finally. "You're too nice and too—"

  "Nice," he said, spitting the word at her as he moved between her and the window, forcing her to look at him. "You keep saying that."

  Suddenly his face changed, growing ugly with fury. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and moved her backward until she bumped into the couch, then he pressed her down with his body. "Would you stay with me if I were not so nice?" he asked, his voice harsh. "If that's what it takes, then to hell with nice."

  He kissed her then. And for Delilah it was like walking through hell. There was no love in the kiss. There wasn't even passion. The grinding strength of his anger didn't hurt her, but the absence of his love broke her heart.

  "Is this better, Delilah?" he said in a raspy voice. "Not quite so nice? Will you stay with me now?"

  He stared down at her. Delilah didn't know what he saw in her face, but after a moment he closed his eyes tightly and pushed away from her. Rising to his feet, he turned and walked a few steps away, his shoulders sagging as though he were suddenly very weary.

  With his back to her he said, "You've been engaged to half a dozen wealthy men. If money was all you needed, why didn't one of them work out? Why, Lila? I'll tell you why. Because you were looking for more. You needed more. And whether you admit it or not, you found what you needed with me. Two hours ago . . . two hours ago—" He broke off and inhaled slowly. "Now suddenly you're scared. But I don't think it's poverty that frightens you. I think you're afraid of being helpless. And that's also why you won't let yourself love."

  He walked over to where she still sat on the couch and knelt beside her. "Someday, babe, you're going to figure out that the lack of money doesn't make you helpless unless you let it . . . and neither does love."

  Delilah heard the words, but she couldn't take in their meaning. She was too confused. Too afraid. She was running for her life and couldn't think of anything except getting away from the pain. From Bill.

  "You're hurting, Lila," he whispered softly. "I wish I could make it all better. But this time I can't. You have to work through this by yourself." He drew in a rough breath. "When you do, I'll be—"

  "Don'tsay it,"she begged in desperation. "Don't wait for me. Bill. This is the end. It was a beautiful dream, but I'm a realist. Dreams fade," she said. "Reality is always there."

  He stared at her for a moment, then his mouth twitched violently. "Yes, I guess you're right," he said wearily. "Reality doesn't go away."

  He rose to his feet and walked to the door. When he had opened it he said, without turning to look at her, "Good-bye, Lila."

  Then he walked out of the room.

  Chapter 10

  Delilah turned slightly, studying the face of the man in the driver's seat of the Mercedes.

  Dr. Michael Linden was tall, blond, and had a smile that could charm a Dallas Cowboy linebacker. His clothes were tailor-made, discreetly elegant, tasteful, and expensive. His hair had been cut by the best stylist in the area, and there wasn't a single lock out of place. On his wrist he wore a simple gold watch, and on his middle finger of his left hand, a simple sapphire ring. His reputation as a plastic surgeon had brought his patients from both coasts and even from Europe. He was intelligent and entertaining. Dr. Michael Linden was perfect.

  She glanced away from him, staring at the street ahead. Yes, she thought without emotion, he was perfect.

  It had been four months since Acapulco. Only four months, but so much had happened in those months. Booger and Addie had set their wedding date, and the group was planning to fly to Kansas on the night before and celebrate by having what Booger called a Madness Marathon.

  Jack had called Delilah several times in the last few months, talking for hours, building his courage to make a career move. She never gave him advice. She merely let him get all the worries out in the open. Someone had done that for her once, and she knew what a cleansing experience it could be.

  The last time she talked to Jack had been in the days immediately after he had flown to Cincinnati to tell his parents about his decision to give up surgery. It had been, as expected, a rough experience for him. His father had been angry, his mother sympathetic but confused. But Jack had taken the first step, and Delilah was proud of him.

  As for Glory and Alan, Delilah saw them often. Delilah had tried on more than one occasion to apologize personally to Alan for the pain she had caused him in Acapulco, but Alan refused to recognize any need for apology.

  Glory was still saddened by her inability to have children, but at least now she was able to talk openly about it. Glory had been an only child and had looked forward to raising a large family. Although she still wasn't ready to think about adopting, Delilah was positive it was only a matter of time.

  And what about the last member of the group, she asked herself silently. What had Delilah Jones accomplished in the past four months?

  Four months, she repeated silently. Eternity.

  Inhaling slowly, she pulled her attention back to the man beside her. Moments later Michael was in the process of recounting the events of a recent trip to Switzerland when the music on the radio faded and was replaced by the soft voice of the KOAC announcer.

  It didn't surprise Delilah that Michael listened to that particular station. The peppy chatter of the upwardly mobile stations or the harsh openness of the rock stations would have disrupted the calm atmosphere that surrounded Michael. And nothing was allowed to do that.

  On station KOAC even the newscaster spoke in soft, reassuring tones, making the corruption, crime, and catastrophes reported seem remote and therefore less disturbing.

  Suddenly, as the soothing tones of the newscaster began to actually form words and penetrate her consciousness, Delilah caught her breath, then reached over quickly to turn up the volume
.

  "... only minor damages and no reported deaths in Acapulco; however, isolated areas in the nearby mountains, closer to the epicenter of the earthquake, were reported to have experienced widespread destruction and loss of life. The earthquake registered 7.3 on the Richter scale. In Acapulco residents are preparing for the aftershocks which could cause even more extensive damage. The military—"

  "Turn right at the next corner." Delilah said abruptly.

  "I beg your pardon."

  "Turn right at the next corner. I'm sorry, Michael, but this is an emergency."

  She had to talk to Glory. She had to see if her friend had heard anything about Nuevo Oviedo. Delilah gave Michael brief but complete directions, and fifteen minutes later, when the car stopped in front of Glory's house, Delilah jumped out.

  "I'll take a cab home, Michael," she said as she was closing the door of the Mercedes.

  "But. Delilah—"

  Delilah didn't hear the rest. Mrs. Anderson, Glory's housekeeper, opened the front door for her, and as Delilah opened her mouth to ask for Glory, Alan walked into the entry hall.

  "Glory is on the phone with Jack," he said before she had a chance to ask. "And she's already talked to the Mexican authorities."

  Delilah followed him into the study, then straightened her back in an automatic reaction to the grim look on Glory's face.

  "Yes, that's right. . . tomorrow. Just a second. Jack. Dee just walked in." She turned to Delilah. "I suppose you've heard?"

  Delilah shook her head. "Only that a quake had hit near Acapulco. They didn't say anything about Nuevo Oviedo."

  Glory bit her lip. "I'm afraid it's bad. The village was almost at the center. Equipment and a few doctors have already been flown In, but we're going too. Booger and Addie are already on their way from Kansas, and Jack is flying in early tomorrow morning."

  When Delilah nodded, Glory turned back to the telephone to talk to Jack.

  Alan moved toward the door. "If we're leaving tomorrow," he said, "I'd better start making arrangements."

  "You're going too?"

  He turned slightly, gazing at his wife. "It's going to be painful for her, maybe even dangerous. I won't ask her not to go, but if anything happens, I'll be there."

  Delilah nodded, then sat on the leather couch to wait for Glory. As soon as Glory hung up the phone, she walked over and sat down beside Delilah.

  "I don't think I've quite taken it in yet," Glory said. "All those children in the marketplace . . . that beautiful little girl who gave me her cornhusk doll—" She met Delilah's eyes. "Dee, she could be hurt ... or worse." She shuddered, then glanced at Delilah's long satin dress. "Why are you here? I tried to get you on the phone earlier, then I remembered you had a date with Michael. Where is he?"

  "I had him drop me off here when I heard the report on the radio."

  Glory studied Delilah's face. "I don't suppose I even have to ask if you're going with us?"

  For months Delilah had held many pictures in her mind. One picture was a large house, a welcoming family, an autocratic old man, and laughing children. The Fuentes household.

  "No," she said quietly, "you don't have to ask."

  ❧

  Because the mountain road had been blocked by a series of rock slides, the group was flown to Nuevo Oviedo by helicopter. Delilah began treating victims the minute she and the others set their feet on the ground. She worked frantically alongside doctors of all nationalities, caring men and women who hadn't hesitated in responding to the village's need.

  The beautiful little village of Nuevo Oviedo had changed beyond recognition. The church, which had sustained minor damages, was the only building left standing on the plaza. The others had been destroyed or irreparably damaged. By some miracle the little garden in the center had been left untouched, its beauty incongruous somehow, like a butterfly fluttering over a battlefield.

  Even though the possibility of further aftershocks was a serious one, the church was considered safe and had been turned into a temporary hospital. It was there, on the afternoon of her arrival, that Delilah ran into Arturo Fuentes. With quiet dignity he told her of the death of his grandfather, Tomas Fuentes, the old man who had made himself responsible for the welfare of Nuevo Oviedo.

  Like most of the village, the Fuentes house and its occupants had survived the initial quake, but later the old man had gone out to search for Jaime, the seven-year-old with the dirty face and bright eyes who had wandered away from the yard. Senor Fuentes had been looking in the forest, near the valley of rainbows, when the first aftershock brought a tree down on him. Jaime was still missing.

  Delilah accepted the news without flinching. She knew that someday the shock and anger and pain she was holding in would hit her hard, but she couldn't allow herself to think of the quiet, dignified old man or the laughing little boy. She didn't have time for emotion. There were too many people who needed her.

  In the church the wooden pews had been removed, and the floor was lined with wall-to-wall pallets and salvaged mattresses. Doctors worked on their knees beside the patients—men, women, and children all lying side by side, like a scene from a Civil War movie.

  Delilah was stooped beside a little girl with a gaping cut on her leg when she glanced up and saw Bill beside her. He had his back to her as he held a stethoscope to the abdomen of a woman in the advanced stages of pregnancy.

  After a moment and without pausing in his work, he said, "A copter just arrived with more supplies, so we don't have to keep rationing the Novocain."

  There was no stiffness in his voice, no awkwardness in the air between them. His tone was casual, as though it had been four minutes since they had last been together rather than four months.

  Delilah nodded, then smoothed the air from her patient's forehead and said. "Bill, she's frightened. Could you tell her how I'll go about cleaning and stitching the cut? 1 don't want to make it worse for her."

  As he checked a bum on his own patient's shoulder, Bill spoke softly, occasionally turning his head to smile at the little girl in Delilah's care. After a while the girl began to relax. She even returned Bill's smile.

  The girl's reaction came as no surprise to Delilah. She knew exactly what effect Bill had on the female of the species, in fact, on anyone who came in contact with him.

  When he had finished with his patient, Bill got to his feet and looked around, checking to see where he was needed next. Before he could walk away, Delilah rose to stand beside him.

  "Bill, I heard about Jaime and Senor Fuentes. I'm sorry," she said quietly, meeting his gaze. "What will happen to the village without him? How can they possibly recover from this without his help?"

  "Arturo will take over," he said. "He's young and determined. Although I don't think he realizes it yet, Abuelo's dreams have become his dreams." He paused, drawing in a deep breath. "I can't seem to get it through my head that he's gone. I can't believe that hell never be here again."

  Delilah had taken a step toward him when two more patients were carried into the makeshift hospital. With efficient movements Bill began to examine the worst of them before the volunteers could even get the man to a bed.

  When Delilah saw that Booger was handling the other newcomer, she turned away and began checking the progress of those who had already received treatment. There was no time to think. No time to feel.

  ❧

  At dusk on the first day there was suddenly a lull in the work. Everyone had a chance to catch their breath while they waited for the volunteers to clear away more debris and locate more victims.

  Bill knew he should be using the hiatus to rest, but he was too keyed up to sleep. He sat on the grass under a tree in the little garden in the center of the square.

  When he closed his eyes he saw her face, as always. She looked thinner now. The fine bones of her cheeks were more sharply defined. Now, instead of strikingly beautiful, she was hauntingly beautiful. Appropriate somehow for a woman who had been haunting him for months.

  When she
had seen him kneeling beside her in the church, there had been no discernible expression on her face. Although he had looked deeply into her eyes, he had found nothing there. It was as though a light had gone out. The passionate heart was missing, and its absence left a chill in the air.

  Bill couldn't count the number of nights he had stayed awake worrying about her, afraid for her, wondering if she was still having the nightmare that was so painful for her.

  Over and over again in his mind he had heard her say, "It was a beautiful dream, but I'm a realist. Dreams fade. Reality is always there."

  Whose reality, he wondered. His reality was apparently worlds apart from hers, because not one memory, not one infinitesimal part of what he felt for her had faded. Delilah hadn't left his thoughts for a single moment in the months they had been apart. When he wasn't actively thinking of her, he could feel her, all around him, inside him.

  This was his reality, and Bill had no doubt that it would last forever. She was a part of him now. Sometimes he hated her for that. Sometimes when her frustratingly nebulous presence made his heart beat fast and his palms sweat, he cursed her. She had left him with the taste of her still in his mouth, the feel of her still on his fingers, the fire of her still in his loins. She had left him with the knowledge that he would forever have the echoes of the woman, but never the woman herself.

  Like Nuevo Oviedo, he had somehow survived the earthquake that was Lila, but the aftershocks threatened to destroy him.

  A few minutes later Delilah's friends arrived in a group and collapsed on the grass close around Bill, each one dirty and exhausted.

  Bill had noticed Glory's husband working beside the other nonmedical volunteers as they searched through the ruins for survivors, and had wondered about his presence here. He had read newspaper articles about Alan and knew he was a rich and powerful man. He didn't look it now. He looked like a tired man watching carefully over his tired wife. He looked like the kind of man Bill wanted to know.

  Jack lay on his back with his eyes closed, but after a moment he murmured, "I'm not really this tired . . . it's an illusion. And I'm not really hungry. Why didn't someone think to stop by the food tent?"