The Dream Comes True

by Barbara Delinsky

  Sliding into a chair beside the little one, she stroked his head in wordless “good morning.” When he grinned up at her, she grinned back. When he picked up a piece of his toast and offered it, she shook her head and the ache inside grew.

  “You’re leaving,” John said quietly.

  She nodded. “I have to.”

  He could have argued, she knew, but he didn’t. They had been through the arguments and exhausted each one. Nothing had changed.

  “Will you have breakfast first?”

  Though she wasn’t terribly hungry, she wasn’t denying herself a few last moments of the particular pleasure of being with J.J. and John. “Only if you have enough.”

  “There are two more eggs here. We’ll each have one. Same with the toast.”

  Clearly he hadn’t made extra, hadn’t expected that she’d eat. “Oh, no,” she said quickly, “you have them. I didn’t mean to take—”

  He interrupted her with a level stare and a firm, “We’ll share. I don’t mind. One egg is more than enough for me, and even if it weren’t, I don’t mind giving a little.”

  The emphasis on the last few words and the message therein was mirrored in his look. He was saying that life didn’t have to be all or nothing, that he was more than willing to compromise if she was.

  But she wasn’t. Though she nodded yes to the egg and accepted the plate he offered without a word, she felt guilty. She couldn’t compromise. She couldn’t. For too long, she had wanted her independence. With Crosslyn Rise about to go on the market, she was coming close to her goal, too close to give it up.

  But what she was giving up on the other end—that was where it was starting to hurt. Her feelings for John were strong and growing more so with each day. To stay would be asking for trouble. Already she wanted things she couldn’t have.

  I want to make love to you. I want to spend the night with you. I want to stay here forever. Those were the words she might have said if she hadn’t been so spent from his loving the night before. Then again, if she’d been in full control of her senses, she wouldn’t have said them at all. Leading John on, giving him cause to hope for something that couldn’t be, would be cruel.

  Did she mean the words? Yes. That was what she’d realized at dawn, why she knew she had to leave. She did want all those things. But she wanted her self-sufficiency more. In her mind—right or wrong—to be dependent on John would be a sign of weakness. She prided herself on being stronger than that.

  “Are you going right back to work?” he asked quietly.

  She pushed at the deckled edge of her egg. “Tomorrow, I think. I’ll get home today, maybe make a few calls. As soon as I get tired, I’ll stop.” Unspoken was the fact that as long as she felt all right, she’d keep at it. John knew she would. He had experience with her type.

  He bit hard into his toast, chewed, swallowed, took another bite.

  “We have a consortium meeting next week,” she said in an open-ended kind of way. When he didn’t respond, she said, “Will I see you before then?”

  He shrugged. “Do you want to?”

  She was asking herself the same question. On one hand, the thought of not seeing him at all was bleak. One the other hand, perhaps a clean break was for the best.

  But they were friends, weren’t they? And they’d just come through a harrowing experience together. Surely he’d want to know that she was all right. “I think I’d like to talk. You know, see how things are going here and all.”

  “Then why don’t you call when you have time.” With barely a break, he said, “Eat your egg. It’s getting cold.”

  At first she thought he was talking to J.J., but J.J.’s egg was gone. Seconds later, J.J. was gone, too, off to play in his room.

  Nina ate her egg. Not at all hungry for the toast, she held it out as a peace offering to John, but he shook his head, so she put the plate down. He was angry. Maybe hurt. Maybe disdainful again. He wanted her to stay, and she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t meet him halfway. He had a right to be upset, she supposed, after all he’d done for her.

  But that was exactly the kind of thinking that could get a woman into trouble, she knew. So, rather than apologize or try to explain things she’d already tried to explain more than once, she said, “I’d better call a cab, I guess.”

  John’s reaction was fast and furious. “You don’t need any damn cab. I’ll drive you home.” With the scrape of his chair, he rose from the table and carried the plates to the sink.

  She met him there. “Let me do that. You can take care of J.J.”

  “J.J.’s all ready to go,” he said, and began loading the dishwasher.

  “Then do something else. Let me help for a change.”

  He rounded on her with such suddenness that she took a startled step back. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. You’re not the only one who likes to be independent and self-sufficient.”

  Feeling duly chastised, she said a quiet, “I know. I was just trying to help. You’ve done so much—”

  “And I never asked for a thing in return. I never expected a thing in return. So don’t feel you owe me, because you don’t. I did what I wanted to do, what I wanted to do.”

  When he turned back to the sink with a vengeance, Nina silently withdrew from the room. She got her bag, dropped it by the door, then, without conscious intent, found herself looking in on J.J. He was standing in front of a low bookshelf, on the top of which was a large drawing pad. With crayons from a nearby box, he was making random marks on the pad.

  Approaching, she saw that the marks weren’t random at all, but his version of letters. There was a wide assortment of them in various shades and sizes, but her eyes were drawn to two deep blue ones, bolder and more distinct than the others, two Js.

  Grinning, Nina pointed to them. “Look at that. Good boy, J.J.” Remembering what John had done, she signed the word “good,” then clapped her hands together. Then, while J.J. was beaming with pride, she took a bright pink crayon and wrote her own name. “N-I-N-A. Nina.” She pointed from the name to herself and back several times, then gently tipped up J.J.’s chin to see if he understood. “Nina,” she mouthed, pointing again to herself.

  He repeated the mouth exactly.

  “Good boy!” she signed, then arched her brows and pointed questioningly at herself.

  He mouthed her name a second time, this time pointing to her as he did it.

  Grinning widely, she grabbed his hand, brought it to her mouth and gave it a smacking kiss. Then she hauled him in and gave him a full-fledged hug while he giggled and squirmed. She’d miss him, she knew.

  But she’d miss his father even more.

  * * *

  Her apartment was quiet, the same yet strange. She wandered from room to room, trailing her fingertips over the furniture, trying to reacquaint herself with possessions that were familiar, until she realized that she was the one that was strange. She had been away for a week and a half. A week and a half. Not much. Then again, a long time.

  John had insisted on stopping at the market on the way for fresh food so that she wouldn’t have to go out, but the emptiness she felt wasn’t from hunger. She climbed into bed, thinking that maybe after a nap she’d feel more like herself. When an hour passed and she couldn’t sleep, she got up, opened her appointment book and picked up the phone.

  Work was what she needed, she knew. It had always been her greatest source of satisfaction. It was what made her tick.

  Sure enough, after calling first the office, then several clients to tell them she was back on track, she was feeling fuller. Liking that feeling, she made more calls and would have made even more if she hadn’t been legitimately tired by then.

  This time she slept, and when she woke up, she made more calls. When she ran out of calls to make, she dialed John’s number, only to hang up before the phone had rung. Calling him so soon after she’d seen him was a weak thing to do. She was fine on her own, just fine.

  As though to prove that to hersel
f, she grabbed pen and paper and began to organize her thoughts for the rest of the week. With each note she took and each list she made, she felt more convinced that what she was doing was right. Work was definitely what she needed. It was the best medicine money could buy.

  * * *

  The following morning, telling herself how great it was to be out and moving around on her own once again, she drove to the office. She didn’t stay long, only long enough to let everyone know she was back and ready to work. Armed with a computer printout of the latest listings, she spent the rest of the morning viewing the new entries. By then, to her chagrin, she felt drained. So she went back home, changed out of her dress into shorts and spent the afternoon lounging on the living room sofa, feeling blue.

  That was why she didn’t call John. She refused to go running to him when she was down. She could pick herself up. She always had before, and she would again.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, things were better. Feeling just that little bit stronger, she took several clients out for showings. By noon, though, she’d had it. She slept most of the afternoon away, picked at the dinner she had halfheartedly cooked, then spent the evening trying to get into one of the books she had brought home from John’s. But she was distracted. She kept thinking of him, wondering what he was doing and whether he was thinking of her—then chastising herself for the thoughts. She’d made her choice. She would just have to live with it.

  And damn it, if he wanted to talk with her, he could call.

  * * *

  Thursday morning, after showing two clients five separate pieces of real estate with little more than a nibble of interest, she went out to Crosslyn Rise. She needed uplifting. Crosslyn Rise could give her that.

  The mansion was moving along nicely. It occurred to her that with the open house pushed back those two extra weeks, something impressive might well be done here. Her mind shifted into gear, turning the possibilities around and around. Pulling a notepad from her bag, she jotted down some ideas.

  Then she headed for the duck pond, where the first cluster of eight condominiums was nearing completion, and she was struck, truly struck, by the beauty of the place. The outside hadn’t changed drastically since she’d seen it last. She still loved the modified Georgian design, the hints of pillars and balconies, the sloped roofs that hid rear skylights, the cedar shingles painted taupe with cream trim. But something was different. Lowering herself to the ground with her back braced against a tree, she pondered that difference.

  After a long time, during which she stretched her legs out in the sun, followed the antics of an occasional duck and breathed deeply of air redolent with the smell of grass, new wood and nature, she realized that it was the trees. With the start of summer, they were fuller and richer than they had been. And the lawn. Sod that had been put down where men and machines had mangled the earth had taken root and was now a deep, healthy green. And the shrubbery. Christine had worked with a landscaper on that, and between them, they had created a masterpiece of color and texture. As the icing on the cake, the greenery worked.

  For the first time, Nina wished she could afford one of the units herself. There was something so peaceful about the place. Everything that had been done was of high quality and refined—everything Nina might have let herself dream of owning, but hadn’t. She’d always had other dreams. They came first.

  Sitting there in the sun, though, lulled by the smells of the outdoors and the sounds of the ducks and the nearby ocean, she didn’t want to think about those other dreams. She just wanted to be.

  Which, to her surprise, was exactly what she proceeded to do for what had to have been nearly half an hour, before two people emerged from the model condominium and approached her.

  Tipping her head back against the bark of the old maple, she grinned. “Hey, you guys, what’s been goin’ on in there?”

  Christine shot her husband a mischievous look. “Nothing much—”

  “—through no fault of mine,” Gideon cut in. “But Chris is all business when it comes to this place. She wants everything done, and done right, in time for your show.”

  “How are you feeling, Nina?”

  Other than squinting against the sun, Nina didn’t move. “Fine. Lazy. This place is like a drug. I’m in awe that you both manage to get work done here. Every time I come, I get sidetracked.”

  This time, the mischievous look Chris sent Gideon was reflected right back. “We know the feeling,” she said, then took a deep breath and tore her eyes from his to look at Nina again. “You’re looking good. It’s hard to believe you went through what you did only two weeks ago.”

  “I had good care. I was lucky.”

  “John was pretty worried about you,” Gideon said, more serious now. “When he called to tell us you were sick, he was upset.”

  Nina chuckled. “He was laying it on thick, so none of you would dare ask me when I’d be getting back to work.”

  “He was right about the open house, though,” Chris put in. “It can just as easily wait until the end of the month.”

  Gideon draped an arm around his wife’s shoulder. To Nina, in a conspiratorial voice, he said, “Especially since the fabric of the living room furniture in the model came through wrong. Chris has been sweating bullets about that. With the few extra weeks, it’ll be fixed.”

  “So. Are you guys buying one of the units?”

  They exchanged a meaningful look. It was Gideon who said, “We’ve been sorely tempted. It’d be a gorgeous place to live in. But Chris’s daughter is still in high school. It wouldn’t be fair to uproot her and tear her away from her friends—”

  “And then there’s this little matter of Gideon’s dream,” Chris put in, looking up at him again. “He’s been waking up in the middle of the night with the notion that once Jill graduates we should sell his place in Worcester, buy land somewhere and build a spectacular house of our own.”

  “It’s not a notion,” Gideon argued. “It’s a full-fledged plan. I can picture the whole house. Hell, I’ve got the basics already down on paper. It may take us a while to get it built, but when it’s done, it’ll be super.”

  He kissed Chris lightly on the lips and looked as though he wanted to do more, when Chris offered a soft, “If we don’t get going, we’ll be late.” To Nina she said, “We’re meeting Carter and Jessica for a late lunch. You know that Jessica’s pregnant, don’t you?”

  Nina nodded. “I’m thrilled for her.”

  “So are we.” As they started off, she added, “Listen, I’ll give you a call in a day or two. Don’t work too hard, Nina. We want you well.”

  Nina raised a hand in a wave, then let if fall to her lap as Chris and Gideon went farther up the path toward the mansion. She was thrilled for them, too. They were clearly so pleased to be together, so very much in love.

  Sitting there, she felt a smidgeon of envy. Christine Lowe had it all—a husband, a daughter, a career. Jessica Malloy was on her way, too. Gideon and Carter were both fine men.

  So was John. Fine, and kind, and smart, and sexy.

  Feeling, at the very moment, an intense urge to touch him, she moaned aloud. She hadn’t seen him since Monday morning. She missed him. Indeed, she’d been missing him all week. It occurred to her that the idea of making a clean break had sounded good but it wasn’t much fun.

  She deserved a little fun once in a while, didn’t she? A little fun wouldn’t be compromising her independence, would it?

  Determined to call him that night, she pushed up against the tree trunk, returned to her car and drove home. By the time she got there, she knew that a call wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to see John. Just a short visit. A drop-in visit. Just to see how he was getting on. And how J.J. was getting on. She could say hello, then leave with her sense of independence and self-sufficiency intact.

  * * *

  She went shortly after seven. The Leaf Turner was closed then, dinner would be over, and though there was a chance that John might have taken J.J.
out for ice cream, she figured that with his bedtime approaching, they’d be back soon.

  Her heart did a soft flip-flop when she saw the car parked back by the garage. Driving up to the side door, she rang the bell, then stuck her head inside. “John?” she called. Hearing no response, she went up the stairs.

  She found them in the bathroom. John was giving J.J. a bath, though it was questionable who was the wetter of the two. For a minute she just stood at the door and watched. They were an adorable pair, playing under the guise of rinsing. Aside from the sounds that weren’t quite like those of other children, J.J. looked like a happy, normal child. But it was to John that her eye kept returning. He looked wonderful, pleasantly wet and mussed, capable, strong. Thanks to the water, his shirt and shorts were clinging to his body more lovingly than they might otherwise have done. To her hungry eyes, he looked extraordinarily masculine.

  Suffused with a warm glow inside, she asked, “What’s going on here?”

  John’s head flew around at the sound of her voice. His sudden movement alerted J.J. to her presence. Though the child wasn’t wearing his glasses, he must have recognized her overall color and shape, because with the splash of water and a nasal squeal, he began to jump up and down.

  “Easy,” John said, turning quickly back to him and grabbing an arm. “You’ll slip if you’re not careful.” He said it more to himself, because with one hand on J.J. and another groping for a towel, he couldn’t sign. Not that that would have worked, anyway. J.J.’s eyes were riveted to Nina.

  Nina was the one who grabbed the towel and shook it open. “Lift him out,” she said, “and I’ll wrap him up.” John did that, and within seconds, J.J. was enveloped in a warm terry-cloth cocoon. Nina gave him a hug, only to pull quickly back when he complained in the most vociferous of ways. “Oops, what’d I do?”