Laura slipped back in time so easily that she could almost touch the daisy in her hair. Flower power at its finest. She could practically feel the wind whipping her long skirt around her knees as she’d stood with the antiwar protest line in front of the courthouse in York, in early April 1969—girls in everything from miniskirts and beads to guys with ponytails and beards taking advantage of their right to make their opinion count. Even more than that, they were rebelling against institutions they no longer believed in. All that passion paired with rebellion was scary, and Laura had shivered in spite of the warm day.
Although much of the protest against the war had originated on college campuses—she’d gone to business school for two years, then started working full-time—everyone seemed to have an opinion. That day she’d worked until four at the Bon Ton department store, then had walked to the courthouse.
The underground newspapers at the coffeehouse along with the antiwar lyrics strummed on a guitar had touched deep chords inside her. Throwing off her fear of getting involved, she’d decided another voice might make a difference. This was her first demonstration and she was jittery about it. But she had high-school friends who were in Vietnam and she wanted them home. Why should they be fighting a war the U.S. could never win? Maybe didn’t even know how to win.
She’d arrived at the courthouse steps, where about twenty-five other young people were gathered, holding signs, many wearing peace symbols. She had on a silver one on a leather thong around her neck. As she lifted her sign—it had taken hours to design it the night before, with its big blue peace letters and flowers around the borders in fluorescent shades of orange and green—someone started strumming a guitar, singing the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love.” The song brought tears to her eyes. There was something rousing and deep-down wrenching about raising her sign, singing along, wishing and hoping she’d see friends again who hadn’t been able to get college deferments and had gone to fight a war they didn’t understand.
When she turned away from the musician toward the sidewalk at the base of the steps, she noticed him. She was on one of the lower steps, her gauzy sleeves laced with ribbons flapping around the handle of her sign. He was standing across the sidewalk, seemingly removed from all of it, observing, a bystander rather than a protester. Their gazes met. She felt a ripple of awareness dance through her.
His eyes were blue, his shaggy hair coal black and wavy. Her heart lurched. Her breath came faster. He stood a little straighter, gave her a wry smile as if to say, It’s a shame you’re over there and I’m over here. His stance was so optimally male. His gaze held hers as the protesters began chanting. Remembering why she was there, she joined in. Still he stood watching as she turned to face the courthouse. She listened to one of the protesters spout his views of the war, but she was still distracted by him.
When she slanted toward the street again, she’d half expected the man—and he did look like a man rather than a boy—to be gone. But he was still there, interested in all of it, with his focus returning to her.
She’d dated in high school. She’d attended her senior prom. She’d gone out a few times with guys from business school. But losing her parents and living with an aunt who pretended Laura didn’t exist had made her yearn for self-sufficiency. In an era of girls learning that sex was fun, she wasn’t so sure. Before she gave herself to anyone, she had to be certain they’d have more than one night, one date, one groping session to build on. Besides, she was Catholic and the teachings of her parochial-school days had stuck whether she liked it or not. Deep down, she’d believed in the idea of saving herself for the man she’d spend her life with.
Yet, one look at this man, one fall into his eyes and she felt all trembly.
The police had surrounded the gathering now, watching just as the wavy-haired man was watching.
Suddenly an old bus rattled to the curb. The front and back doors opened simultaneously and twenty-five to thirty more protesters filed out. The bus’s arrival surprised everyone, including the police. The officers spread out. Laura heard one patrolman encouraging the new protesters to get back on the bus. But they were on a mission, even if they were late.
They shouted in unison, “Bring our boys home now!”
Then all at once, nothing was peaceful anymore.
As bedlam erupted, someone caught Laura’s wrist. When she turned, she was standing toe-to-toe with…him.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” he said, “or you’ll be arrested. Or worse.”
From demonstrations that had gone before at colleges and in other towns, she knew anything could happen.
He tugged on her arm. “This way.”
Without a second thought, she followed him across the street as he somehow kept her safe from a station wagon that almost mowed them down. As they ran up the block, Mr. Blue-eyes slipped the sign from her hands and dumped it in an office doorway. They kept up their fast pace until he guided her around the corner where the public library stood.
Breathless, they stopped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, placing his hand protectively on her back, peering into her face.
“I guess.” Her voice was shaky from everything that had happened—from running…from being so close to him. Yet underneath it all, she felt indignant. “We could have demonstrated peacefully.” She added angrily, “If only everyone had just kept their cool.”
“Have you demonstrated before?”
She shook her head. “No. That was my first.”
“And your last?” His eyes looked a bit amused now.
“No! Absolutely not. I don’t want to see anyone else sent over there.”
“I’m going to be going over there.”
She stared at him, dumbstruck.
He was six inches taller than she was, at least six-two. His shoulders were so broad. He was a stranger and she shouldn’t have just followed him like that, but no one could tell her now what she should or shouldn’t do. She was twenty and becoming liberated day by day.
Eager to know more about him, she asked, “When are you going?”
“I’ll be called up as soon as I graduate.”
“Graduate from where?”
“Lehigh Valley. I’m just home on break.” He extended his hand to her. “Brady. Brady Malone.”
His fingers felt so wonderfully warm engulfing hers. He didn’t exactly shake her hand, but rather just held it.
“Laura. Laura Martinelli.”
Ten more buses could have stopped at the curb and expelled demonstrators, but they wouldn’t have noticed.
“I have a car,” he said. “It’s parked in the public lot. Would you like to go for a burger and shake?”
“That depends,” she decided. “Will I be safe with you?”
“You’ll be as safe as you want to be.”
This Brady Malone was obviously a lot more experienced than she was. But instinct told her she had nothing to fear from him.
Nothing at all.
As Laura finished recounting the first time she’d met Brady, Sean studied her and asked thoughtfully, “So you just went off with him without knowing him?” His voice didn’t hold reproach, rather surprise.
“Yes. But don’t tell your sister. It’s not something I ever want her to do.”
“Don’t want me to do what?” Kat asked, suddenly standing in the waiting room, a soda in her hand.
“I was telling Sean how I met your dad. It was at an antiwar protest.”
Kat’s eyes grew big.
But before her daughter could ask questions, Dr. Gregano appeared, a serious expression on his face.
Chapter 2
When Laura opened the glass door into Brady’s CICU cubicle a few minutes later, she drew in a huge, bolstering breath. She felt so responsible for what was happening now…the condition he was in. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt him.
Brady was hooked up to monitors, IVs, oxygen and a blood pressure cuff. The leads on his chest were producing the green lines—the
hills and peaks on the largest monitor. He was so white, so lifeless, that she feared she’d lost him already. She was paralyzed for a moment, afraid to go forward. She’d been afraid so many times with Brady. But she’d covered it, and in acting strong she’d discovered strength—when he’d returned home from the army, when she’d tried to get pregnant, after they’d adopted Sean. Although when their baby had died of SIDS, Brady had been the strong one.
She only had ten minutes with him, so she dragged the orange vinyl chair to the bed. Nurses bustled in and out constantly. To have a few seconds alone with her husband, she’d have to talk to him now. Who knew what could happen next?
She covered his hand, the one without the IV line, with hers. He was cool to the touch, not at all like the man who always emanated heat. He could be hot in the dead of winter, when her hands and nose were usually cold.
“Brady,” she whispered.
When there was no response, she cleared her throat and said his name again, louder.
His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.
“Brady, it’s Laura. I’m so sorry. I never should have pushed you—” Her voice broke. Regaining her composure, she said, “I love you. You have to fight. You can’t let anything happen now. I want to be married to you for another thirty-three years.”
She kept talking. “Soon the doctors will determine exactly what’s wrong. You have to cooperate with them. You have to fight to get well. Kat and Sean and I need you.”
“Sean,” Brady mumbled, then drifted off again.
“Brady?”
He appeared oblivious to her presence. She understood his body needed rest, but she needed all the time with him she could get. With a lump in her throat, she stroked back her husband’s hair. Although it had silvered at the temples over the years, it hadn’t gotten any thinner. She loved running her fingers through it. She’d loved him from the moment she’d met him. Definitely from that first night when they’d gone to dinner and talked.
After Brady had rescued her from the protest demonstration, they’d walked to the public lot where his car had been parked. The blue Camaro was shiny and new.
“Wow!” she’d said, impressed. “Nice car.”
“I just got it last week. The old one broke down when I was driving home from school.”
He was dressed in bell-bottom jeans and a knit shirt, but from the way Brady Malone spoke and acted, she’d expected he’d come from a middle-class home. Now she knew he was probably upper middle class. “Did you buy the car yourself?”
“I work summers on my dad’s construction sites. But I have to admit, he helped with this. Bottom line is, he and Mom don’t want to drive me back and forth to school. And I’ll need a car eventually. It’ll sit in the garage when I’m away, but I think my dad wanted something tangible of mine that he could take care of. Sort of like he’s doing something for me.”
She hated the fact that this man was leaving the U.S. to risk his life in a war everyone was confused about, a war that took up so much of the news and caused controversy. “You might not go. More troops could be pulled out. You could get a medical deferment.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he told her over the hood of the car.
She saw the truth of it in his eyes. Her heart pounded every time she looked at him. How could that be when she’d known him such a short time?
“Where do you live?” he asked.
Now she went on alert. “Why do you need to know?”
“We could get something to eat near wherever you live, then I could drop you off at home.” Studying her face, his gaze lingering on the daisy over her temple, he suggested almost casually, “On the other hand, if you’re afraid to ride in the car with me, if you think I’m going to take advantage of you, I can walk you to the bus stop.”
He seemed annoyed that she would even consider he wasn’t a man with a fine reputation. That bit of arrogance wasn’t unattractive. “Where do you live?” she asked.
“So you can seek vengeance if I don’t behave?” Now he grinned and the annoyance was gone.
That smile. With it, he could become president of the United States. Or join a rock band. “I’m keeping my options open.”
He laughed. “I live behind the hospital.”
Those were nice homes, and reinforced her feeling that this man might be out of her league. “I live in Elmwood—Third Avenue. Half a house.” She wanted to make it clear she didn’t come from one of the large homes on the boulevard or even in the nicer single-family dwellings on Fourth Avenue.
“We can go to the Sportsman Diner.”
The restaurant was close to Third Avenue. “They have more than burgers and fries.”
He gave her another one of those long appraisals. “I think you could use more than burgers and fries.”
“Hey, if you don’t like the way I look—”
“I didn’t say that.” His voice had a sensual I’m interested quality to it.
She was skinny and her legs were long. That was why she preferred skirts that fell below her calves. Her tummy tumbled as her gaze met his again. What was she doing?
Suddenly he came around to her side of the car and opened the door. The gesture was his personal invitation. She couldn’t resist it. She couldn’t resist him. She slid into the low, blue vinyl bucket seat, and when he closed her door, a happy feeling warmed her.
Over the next hour, they’d eaten and gotten to know each other. They’d stayed away from discussing the demonstration and the war, sensing they were on opposite sides, if not by belief then by circumstance. She loved listening to Brady’s deep voice. She liked studying his interesting face with the slight bump on his nose, the scar along the right side of his mouth, the beard line growing darker on his jaw.
It distracted her so. She yearned to touch it. Instead she tried to focus her mind on the conversation.
“So your parents were killed when you were twelve?” he asked, finishing a slice of coconut cake.
When she nodded, an old weight filled her heart. The deep cavern of missing would never have a bottom no matter how many years passed. “Yes, and my aunt Marcia took me in. It wasn’t a free choice. She was my only relative. She let me live with her because she knew I wouldn’t give her any trouble.”
“That’s not a reason to take in a child who’s lost her parents.”
“It’s been okay. I’m hoping by next year to be promoted to department manager. When I get that jump in salary, I can rent my own apartment.”
He reached across the table, and she thought he was going to take her hand. But he backed off. “You’ve been through some tough times. I can’t imagine only having an aunt for family. I have two younger brothers and a younger sister. I always have family around. Holidays at our house are wild.”
“Holidays at my aunt’s are quiet. In fact, she went away over Christmas and I spent it with a friend.” Laura mentioned it as if it was no big deal. The truth was, she’d had a great time with her best high-school friend and her mother, better than she would have had with her aunt. But she longed for a family of her own. More than anything, she wanted to be a mother. But she couldn’t tell Brady that. Not yet. Maybe someday.
They talked until the restaurant emptied, asking for refills on coffee to occupy the waitress. They had so much to say. All the while Brady had gazed at her with a focus she’d never felt from a man. They listened to much of the same music, and after dinner when “Aquarius” played on the car radio as he drove through Elmwood, they sang along—“Let the sunshine in.”
Laura loved the unselfconscious way she felt around Brady. It was as if she’d known him for years instead of hours. Her sixth sense told her he wasn’t leading her on.
After he drove down her street and she pointed out her house, he parked at the curb, then came around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She was terrifically aware of him as they walked up the path to the three concrete steps.
“Is your aunt strict?” he asked. “I mean, does she expect you hom
e at a certain time?”
Laura checked her watch. “My aunt spends Saturday nights with friends. She won’t be home for a while.”
A corner of his lips quirked up. “Does that mean you’re going to invite me in?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You shouldn’t have been involved in an antiwar demonstration that could have landed you in jail,” he muttered, obviously disappointed with her answer.
“I stand up for what I believe in,” she replied quietly. He’d better understand that about her.
The porch light her aunt had left on backlit him. After a thoughtful pause and a frown, he stared into her eyes. “Do you believe we should get to know each other better?”
She was feeling too much already and realized she should be smart. “If you’re going into the service, is there any point?”
Moving closer to her then—just a step, yet it seemed to cover a mile—he enveloped her hands with his. “It would be nice to have someone to write to, someone who mattered.”
“You don’t have anyone who matters?”
“I have my parents, sister and brothers. But family is one thing—a pretty girl with a flower in her hair another.”
Laura had nosy neighbors. An older couple sat on a porch a few doors down, and who knew how many other neighbors had noticed them.
Pulling one hand from Brady’s, she took a key from her pocket. Still holding his hand, she tugged him up the steps onto the porch and to the door. Then she unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The living room was unremarkable, and Brady would probably consider it plain. The low-pile carpet and flowered upholstered furniture were ordinary.
But Brady didn’t seem to care. He put his arms around her and drew her toward him. “Do you believe in free love?”
The heat and hunger in his eyes sparked a like response in her. But she wasn’t going to be foolish. “Love isn’t free.”
Her conclusion made his brows raise. “You’ve learned that already?”
The Bracelet (Everlasting Love) Page 2