by Sandra Brown
"This is going to be a blast. I'm going to eat myself into oblivion. When one doesn't have a date for Saturday night, there's only one consolation – blow your diet. Besides I heaved my guts up yesterday and couldn't hold anything down all day. I deserve a feast."
"Nothing serious or catching, I hope," Keely said, leading Nicole into the kitchen.
"I don't think so. Just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs."
"Well, just in case, don't breathe on my plate."
"Just get it ready and—" She broke off when the doorbell rang. "Damn! Who can that be? I look like hell and didn't want anyone to see me."
"I don't know who it could be," Keely said. "I didn't invite anyone else."
"Well, I'll get rid of them, whoever it is. I don't intend to share any of that delicious-smelling food."
Nicole flounced through the door and Keely was distracted by the boiling spaghetti. She didn't turn around until she heard Nicole call her name in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "Keely, there's a man, a soldier, to see you." Her blue eyes reflected her bewilderment.
"A soldier?" she asked on a high note and dropped her wooden spoon onto the countertop.
Nicole nodded.
Keely went past her, drying her hands on a dishtowel as she walked into her living room. The soldier was standing nervously, twisting his cap in his hands. He was pale and thin and had the sallow complexion of one who had been recently ill. His hands and feet looked too large for his spare body. His ears seemed abnormally large under his military haircut. He was around thirty years old, though the lines running down from either corner of his mouth should have belonged to an older man.
"I'm Keely Preston Williams," she said by way of introduction. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Mrs. Williams. I'm Lieutenant Gene Cox."
The name struck her right between the eyes and she staggered back a step or two before she clutched the back of a chair for support. Her ears rang so loudly that she almost didn't hear Nicole's gasp of concern. She warded off her assistance, however, and tried to pull herself together. "Won't you please sit down?" she said hoarsely.
The soldier was obviously distressed that he had brought on such a drastic reaction. Keely's face had drained of color and her lips looked blue. He sat down, fearing that if he didn't do as she asked, she might fly apart altogether. Keely collapsed on the chair and leaned forward. "Why did you come to see me?"
He glanced fleetingly toward Nicole as if seeking her advice about talking to this deranged woman, but at her nod he brought his honest, open eyes back to Keely's strained face. "Well, I've known about you since Paris. I was in the hospital, but we were kept informed about what was going on. I think it was the chaplain who told us about PROOF and all." He looked down at his hands, which were still twisting the cap. "Everything happened so fast, I get confused about who told me what."
"I'm sorry," Keely said gently. "I don't mean to rush you. Take your time and tell me what you came for."
"Well as I said, I knew about your work in PROOF and that you were in Paris. Excuse me, Mrs. Williams, but didn't Congressman Devereaux tell you what I told him in the hospital? I mean when he left that day after we figured out that it was probably your husband I went down with, I felt sure that he'd go straight to you and tell you."
Keely ignored Nicole's soft cry of dismay. She nodded her head. "Yes, he told me, but—"
'Well, I saw him in Washington last week. I finally got to come home five days later than everybody else. I was pretty sick," he said bashfully. "I'm sorry, I'm off the track again. I saw the congressman in Washington and asked him how you had taken the news. He said you weren't convinced that it was really your husband who was flying that chopper. 'Course I can't be certain either, but I brought something today that might clear it up for you."
He was digging in his breast pocket and Keely's heart began to thud. It couldn't be! But it was. Gene Cox was taking a medallion on a silver link chain out of his pocket. She recognized it immediately.
"The Mark Williams I went down with was wearing this with his dog tag. Just before he – he … uh … died, he asked me to get this back to you if I ever made it out. When I got captured by the Gong, they took my dog tag and his, but they weren't interested in this, so they gave it back to me. I've kept it all this time. I didn't know if I'd ever have an opportunity to return it to you or not, but I hung on to it. I never bartered it for food or anything. I promised that GI I wouldn't." He was attacked by self-consciousness again when he extended the oxidized medallion toward Keely.
Her fingers could barely close around it, they were trembling so hard. She looked at the St. Christopher medal she had given Mark on their wedding day. Turning it over in her palm, she read the inscription she had paid extra to have engraved there: "God keep you, my husband." It was also dated. Tears flooded her eyes as she stroked her thumb over the blackened silver.
"Is it his, Keely?" Nicole asked quietly from behind her.
She only nodded. Her throat was closed to speech.
Gene Cox shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and said, "I wish I could tell you he didn't suffer, but he did. His legs were broken, and he kept vomiting bl— But he died like a hero. Even with his legs the way they were and the chopper exploding and burning debris flying, he wanted to look for the other boys. I think there were three of us besides him in that chopper. I really can't remember. I only remember that I had to fight him like hell to get him out of that clearing and under the cover of the jungle. When – when the end did come, he was peaceful-like about it, you know? He said something about better this way than to come home to you a cripple."
"He was wrong," Keely said hoarsely.
"Yes, ma'am, But I guess I know how he felt." He cleared his throat loudly again. "My – my wife's been married to another guy for three years now. She came to Washington last week to see me. I barely recognized her. And she sure as hell didn't recognize me."
Keely raised her eyes to him. "I'm sorry."
He only shrugged, made a fist, and coughed unnecessarily into it. He stood up. "Well, I hope that settles things for you anyway."
She went to him and, without reserve, hugged him tenderly. "Thank you so much," she whispered in his ear before backing away.
"I'm glad I could do it. I wish I had answers for all the others. See, sometimes we thought we were the only twenty-six guys left over there. It's spooky to think there are a hundred times that many still unaccounted for. We had no idea." He turned toward the door.
"Lieutenant Cox, I have one more question."
"Yes?"
"Did you show Congressman Devereaux the St. Christopher medal?"
"Yes."
Keely's hands clasped together at her waist. "What did he say?"
The soldier's eyes darted to Nicole again then back to Keely. "He … uh … he said it would mean more if I brought it to you myself."
Before he left, he wrote down Keely's address, promising to stay in touch with her. He volunteered his services to PROOF in any way the organization could use him.
When he closed the door behind him, she laid her forehead against the hard wood. The metal was still impressed into her palm and she squeezed it tightly.
"Come sit down," Nicole said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her away from the door. She let herself be led to the sofa and sank down on it. Nicole sat beside her, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back.
"Now you know, Keely. I'm sorry about Mark, but now you know."
"Yes."
"I know it's hard right now, but in a few days you'll feel such a sense of relief that it'll be like rebirth. You can go on with your life." She continued her soothing ministrations as she asked, "Keely, did Dax tell you about Mark in Paris?" Keely nodded. "And you didn't believe him?" Nicole's voice told of her incredulity that Keely could be so stupid.
"No!" Nicole was flung back by the impetus with which Keely leaped to her feet. "I didn't believe him," she cried, anguished.
"Why would you not
believe him? For godsakes, Keely, what was wrong with you?"
"I don't know," she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "I thought he was playing a low trick."
"Trick! Dax Devereaux doesn't have to play tricks."
"I know, I know, but I was so confused. It was too incredible, too coincidental, and I was feeling so guilty—" She floundered when she realized her slip.
"Guilty? Why?" When Keely tried to avoid her eyes, Nicole went to her and clamped her hands on either side of Keely's face. "Why?"
"Because we had slept together," she shouted and pushed Nicole away.
"So?" Nicole shouted back.
"So?" She rounded on her friend, aghast that she hadn't caught on yet. "So I was still married to Mark. I didn't know until after I had spent the night with Dax—"
"Oh, no!" Nicole threw back her head in exasperation. "Don't stand there and tell me you're going to feel guilty about betraying a man who had already been dead for twelve years!"
"But I didn't know—"
"You already said that and I'm sick of hearing it," Nicole yelled. "You can't mean that after living the life of a vestal virgin for twelve years, you're consigning yourself to another interminable purgatory. You slept with a man you love! Your husband has been dead for twelve years. Explain to me your sin."
"You don't understand," Keely said impatiently.
"You're damn right I don't. I could overlook some senseless, unbalanced person for hanging on to grief and guilt for years as some sort of security blanket. But you're an intelligent, vital, beautiful woman, and there's something pathetic and sick in your wasting your life this way. How many crowns in heaven can one person use? Huh? Well, I'm tired of you and your self-righteous self-sacrifice. Feed on your misery, culture it until it destroys you more than it already has, but count me out. I've had it."
She spun away from Keely and, after retrieving her bottles of wine from the kitchen, stormed out the front door.
* * *
Tossing on her bed, she tried to block out the visions, turn off the sounds, erase the memories, but they refused to be eradicated. Nicole's desertion had hurt. Keely had cried herself to sleep last night after feeding all the food she had prepared to the garbage disposal. She had spent Sunday morning working up a profuse sweat repotting the plants on her patio. But the work had run out and she had been cursed with hours of time in which to brood. She had never been so grateful as when the hands on her clock indicated it was late enough to go to bed.
But sleep wouldn't come. After her mind had replayed its recording of her argument with Nicole, it switched to the morning she and Dax had awakened in each other's arms.
They had decided that before they left the small hotel they would avail themselves of the bathroom that their hostess had been so proud of.
"Let me celebrate you," he had whispered as they stood facing each other in the narrow European tub.
"I never have had very good aim with one of those," she said about the hand nozzle of the shower.
"I have terrific aim."
"You sure do," she crooned and pressed herself up against his nakedness.
One black wing of an eyebrow arched over his eyes. "Do I detect a double entendre?"
"I don't know what you mean." She fluttered her eyelashes innocently.
"Like hell you don't," he growled and bit her playfully on the shoulder before he leaned down to turn on the faucets. "How do you like it? Hotter or cooler?"
"Hotter."
"One hot shower it is," he said and then they both hollered as ice-cold water sprayed on them.
"You did that on purpose," she accused when the water temperature finally adjusted and she had her stolen breath back.
"No, I didn't. I swear," he laughed as her nails raked down his chest.
When they were properly wet, they shared the soap, lathering each other until they looked like two snow-people. "You're going to wash all the skin off," she said when he had given his attention to her breasts, delicately rubbing them with soap-slickened fingers.
"Then I'll just have to move on to someplace else." His soapy fingers were only championed by his use of the nozzle spray when he meticulously rinsed every place he had washed.
"I need a shave," he mused aloud, running his hand over his jaw as he studied his reflection in the mirror over the basin. They had eventually quit the tub in favor of drying each other with fresh-smelling, fluffy towels.
"You certainly do. You look positively piratical."
"How do you think people would react to a bearded congressman?"
"Grow one sometime and see"
"I might just do that. But are you sure you want me to? It can get awfully scratchy."
"Oh, it would be understood beforehand that we wouldn't kiss or anything while you were growing it. How long does it take to grow a nice, soft beard? Several months?"
"Would you be impressed by my unusual virility if I could do it in a couple of weeks?" His grin was smug, a modern Tom Sawyer and his Becky Thatcher.
"No," Keely said saucily and skipped out of the bathroom.
He tackled her on the other side of the door, spun her around, and backed her toward the bed until the backs of her knees caught on the edge and she collapsed. "Then I'll have to think of something else to impress you."
His mouth was like a live electric wire that had snapped in two. It danced erratically across her stomach, striking at will, shocking each place it struck, electrifying her whole body with shooting sparks.
Then it became more tame, traversing the delta of her abdomen and leaving soft, damp kisses in its path. Her thighs knew the thrilling rough scrape of his bearded cheeks. She was burning, burning, and his lips both fueled the flame and melted against it. Her fingers burrowed through his hair. She called his name over and over, though she was never sure that she spoke it aloud.
He raised himself from his knees and made a slow climb up her body. His stubbled chin abraded her skin in a way that made her shiver. He paused at her breasts. His tongue leisurely stroked the nipples while his hands admired the full round shape. When he was face-to-face with her, his body stretched over hers, powerfully declaring his need between her thighs, he asked, "Are you impressed?"
Now Keely buried her face in her pillow and screamed her torment. Would she ever forget? No, no. That night, that dawn, was the most precious day of her life. The night she had spent with Dax bore no similarity to the nights she had spent as Mark's bride. That passion had been furtive and under cover of clothing and darkness.
She and Dax had cavorted nakedly without embarrassment or shame. She knew his dark, muscled body by touch, by smell. He knew every inch of her intimately. She had never known what it was to love and be loved by a man until she had spent that night with Dax.
Acquainted now with all the pleasures he could give her and she could return, her body throbbed with desire for him. She longed for his fervent, passionate kisses as well as the tender ones. She craved to hear once more his rushing breath in her ear and the quiet love words he had chanted.
"I love you, Keely."
She could see his face as he had said that. Why hadn't she, at that moment when he spoke the words she longed to hear, thrown herself into his arms and begged never to be released?
It was too late now. She knew that the rigid, hard jaw and the blazing black eyes he had speared her with when she had accused him of lying meant that whatever love he had felt was destroyed by her doubt. Even if she called him to beg forgiveness, he would never love her again. He would always remember the time she mocked him when he tried to tell her something that would change the course of their future. Nicole was right, she was a fool.
Should she call him? Should she put down her fear and hesitation and call him, asking for his forgiveness? Yes!
She was reaching for the telephone when another thought struck her. He knew about Gene Cox bringing her the medal! What had the soldier said? He said it would mean more if I brought it to you myself. Dax knew, but he hadn't made an
effort to contact her. He knew she was free, but he hadn't come to her seeking a reconciliation.
She was free, but he wasn't.
He was still running for the Senate. She had seen his picture with Madeline Robins in the Sunday paper. Madeline had given him a lavish welcome-home party last night after his return from Washington.
So while Keely was listening to Gene Cox's story, Dax had been partying with Madeline. While her best friend was scorning her, deserting her, he was dancing with Madeline. Laughing.
He had said he loved her. Maybe he did. But would it be the best thing for him to have her in his life right now? What would it do to his career? The name Keely Preston was too fresh on the public's mind. She would have to officially announce Mark's death soon, but people had seen her and Dax together before the MIAs returned. They would be the subjects of gossip and speculation. They weren't out from under the shadows of scandal yet.
He needed the Madeline-types in his life who could help him win his Senate seat. He didn't need Keely Preston Williams.
She felt like she might very well die without him in her life, but she knew that he certainly couldn't live with her in his.
Obligation and responsibility forced her to drag herself out of bed when her alarm went off at five. She dressed and applied her makeup mechanically. She managed to gulp down one cup of coffee before she left her house and drove to the Superdome.
The morning was warm and humid with the promise of spring. There were clouds on the horizon where the sun would soon rise, but the sky overhead was clear. She had a few minutes to ponder the deep lavender-gray sky before she heard the clatter of the helicopter blades and saw it flying over the buildings of downtown like a giant mosquito.
Joe set it down with ease. Keely locked her car and ran toward it. The terrific wind tried to tear her clothes and hair off, but she was used to that and knew that it rarely did any permanent damage.
"Good morning," she shouted over the racket as she climbed inside.
"Hi there, good-lookin'," Joe greeted her. "I brought some doughnuts this morning. Help yourself."