by Donna Hill
After a quick shower and getting dressed she entered the kitchen where Lincoln was just putting breakfast on the table.
“Morning,” she said.
Lincoln looked up from what he was doing. A slow smile moved across his mouth. “Morning, baby. Breakfast is just about ready. Didn’t want to wake you.” He came around the table to stand in front of her. He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Did you sleep okay?” He touched her cheek.
“Yes, I did,” she said, realizing just how soundly she’d slept and knowing the reason why. She stepped out of his space and moved toward the table. “You?” she asked over her shoulder.
Lincoln frowned for a moment, taken aback by her suddenly cool behavior, a far cry from the woman who lay beneath him the night before.
“Slept fine.” He tossed the dish towel he was holding onto the Formica counter and watched her as she seemed to intentionally keep her back to him. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you this morning?”
He could always read her, she thought. “Nothing,” she murmured and picked up a glass and filled it with orange juice.
Lincoln counted to ten, determined to keep a lid on his bubbling temper. He knew she was still in a fragile state mentally and emotionally, but her maddening habit of evasiveness drove him to the edge.
“Let’s eat,” he said from between his teeth.
They sat on opposite sides of the table like sparring partners, the only sounds were the clinking of forks against china. Desiree kept her eyes on her food as if it held some vital secret.
Lincoln couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “You want to tell me what’s on your mind? And please don’t insult me by saying nothing.”
Desiree glanced at him for a hot second and looked away. She tried to frame the words she needed to say so that they wouldn’t sound so harsh and cold.
“Last night…”
“What about last night? Are you going to tell me what a big mistake it was?”
She put down her fork and looked directly at him for the first time. “Yes.”
Lincoln blew out a breath of annoyance and clenched his teeth. “Why did I know that’s what you were going to say?” He pushed away from the table with such force that the glasses on the table shook.
He stood and glared down at her. “What is it, Desiree? Why is it so damned hard for you to give anything of yourself except to your work? Is it really about your father or is it just me?”
“What!” Her eyes flashed. “What does my father have to do with anything?”
“I took a trip to see your mother before I came to your apartment.”
She leaped up from her seat in a face-off. Her voice lowered. “You did what?” she asked, enunciating every word.
“I didn’t stutter. I went to see your mom in the hope that she would be able to give me some insight into what makes you tick.” His tone softened, as did his steel expression. “She told me that your father died on your birthday and that it happened right in front of you.” He saw her lips tremble as she fought not to cry. “She said you lived for your father and when he died, so did a part of you right along with him.”
Desiree tugged in air through her nose and blinked rapidly. The pain and the feeling of immense loss and abandonment were as raw and fresh at that moment as they had been all those many years ago. She adored her daddy, worshipped the ground he walked on and basked in his love and praise of her.
She could still see so clearly her father’s big smile and feel his strong arms as he’d lift her into the air and swing her around. Sometimes she could still hear the sound of his voice when he’d read to her at night and tell her that she was his special little girl.
And then one day he was gone, gone into a dark, deep hole, the same hole that had been carved out in her heart. She was crying openly now as the memories of that summer morning ran through her mind…
She’d been getting dressed, preparing for her big birthday party. She was so excited. Her father had arranged for a clown and a pony. All of her neighborhood friends and her friends from school were coming and she couldn’t wait for the festivities to start.
“Let me tie your ribbons,” her mother had said as she fastened the back buttons on Desiree’s party dress.
Desiree turned from the mirror. “Can Daddy do it?” she asked. “Please? I want him to see how pretty I look.”
Her mother gave her an indulgent smile. “All right but hurry up. Your guests will be here soon.”
Desiree darted out of her bedroom and out into the backyard where her father was putting the finishing touches on the tent.
“Daddy! Daddy!” she called out as she ran across the freshly cut grass, her long ponytails flying behind her.
He turned and a smile of pure delight bloomed across his wide mouth. But just as he started to speak a stricken, panicked look froze his features. He clutched his chest and seemed to gasp for air before he went to the ground like a fallen oak tree.
Desiree stopped running and stood rooted to the spot. A fear like nothing she’d ever felt before gripped her heart and she went completely cold.
“Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, get up.” Hesitantly and then with urgency she ran to where her father lay facedown in the grass and dirt. She shook his shoulder. “Daddy, Daddy.” Her stomach rolled over and over. “Please wake up,” she whimpered. He didn’t move.
She sat as still as stone, unable to move. Slowly she lowered her head and rested it on his back. She wrapped her arms around him as the skies suddenly opened and the rain came down.
* * *
Lincoln held her as she released the years of hurt, the loss and loneliness.
“Your father always wanted the best for you, baby. He wouldn’t have wanted you to go through life being afraid of loving. He taught you how to love, and what it was. He couldn’t have wanted you never to share what he’d shared with you.”
“I’ve been so afraid, Lincoln. Afraid of losing what I love again.” She looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “I believed that if I left you before you left me I would be safe.” That much was true, she thought, leaving out her doctor’s diagnosis of infertility. “So I put all of my emotions into my work and I lost that, too.”
“You haven’t lost. You’ve been sideswiped. Obstacles have been set up in front of you. But I know it’s in you to go around them—find a way.” He took a breath and tried to find the right words that would hit a chord and break through. “Desi, listen, if you were as incapable, as vulnerable as you would like me to believe, there is no way that you could have come as far as you have.
“We all carry scars and wounds from our pasts. It’s all part of life. But we have choices. We can either choose to succumb to the injustices or we can choose to win and overcome them. But often we can’t do it alone. You’ve spent your life locked up inside yourself, afraid to reach out for help or support. Every weight is always lighter if we share it.” He lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, compelling her to look at him. “Let me share the weight, Desiree. If you truly give us a chance, there’s nothing that we can’t overcome together. But you have to want it as much as I do.”
“What if I lose you, too? What if you…found out that I couldn’t make you happy?”
“How could you ever think that? All I want is you.” He searched her eyes, looking for the answers that were missing in her words.
She moved away from him and crossed the room, putting as much distance as possible between them. She kept her gaze pinned to the floor when she finally spoke.
“I’m not the woman you think I am.”
His chuckle was stilted. “What does that mean?”
She swallowed hard and dug deep for the courage to find the words that had haunted her for the past five years.
“After�
��I…we lost the baby…when I went back to the doctor for my six-week checkup, she told me that there’d been some damage and that the chances were very slim that I could…” She folded her arms and leaned her hip against the counter as much for support as bravado.
“That you could what?” The answer was in her eyes, the way she held on to her body, but she needed to say the words and let them go.
“That I could ever have any more children.” She glanced at him for an instant and looked away, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.
A deafening silence filled the kitchen.
“I should have known. Why didn’t you tell me, why did you think you had to lie to me and tell me that everything was fine?” he asked gently.
“I didn’t want you feeling sorry for me or staying with me because you felt obligated. I wasn’t…I’m not a real woman anymore,” she tossed out, suddenly defensive.
“If you can still say that, then you haven’t understood anything I’ve been telling you, woman. I love you. Do you understand that? Do you understand what it means? It’s not just a word or a feeling, it’s a commitment.” He cut short the space that separated them until he was close enough to feel the heat rise from her body. “That means through good and bad times, sickness or health, broke or rich. I could never think differently about you.”
Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I’m not a real woman anymore.”
“Baby.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. It takes more than having babies to be a woman.”
“That’s not what my family thinks, what society thinks. I’ll never be able to tell my family.”
He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “Is that what’s at the heart of it—what your family will think of you?” he asked, not wanting to believe it.
“They all have children. They live to populate the world. Motherhood is a rite of passage for the Armstrong women.”
“Your life is not about ‘them.’ It’s about you and how you feel about yourself.”
She pulled away. “That’s easy for you to say. It’s not happening to you. It’s not you that relatives will discuss over the dinner table or look at with pity in their eyes at family gatherings. It’s me!”
“Desi, since you’re so worried about what everyone thinks, do you want to know what I think? Do you care?”
She looked at him defiantly. “No.”
“I’m going to tell you anyway. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Don’t lie to me, Lincoln, just to make me feel better. I know how much you wanted children.”
“Not as much as I want you. If we can’t have children, that’s something I can live with. But I don’t want to live out the rest of my life without you in it.”
“What if years from now you regret your decision?” she asked in a tentative voice.
“The only thing I would regret is letting you go and allowing you to believe that you’re not all the woman I could ever want.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Every word.” He waited a moment. “Do you love me, Desiree, really love me?”
Her heart pounded. She knew what he was asking. He was asking for a commitment. Could she honestly give it to him? Could she beat back the demons that plagued her and open herself up to this man without hesitation?
“Yes,” she finally said and it was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her soul.
She felt light, almost giddy. A smile of joyful acceptance brightened her eyes and practically lit up the room.
“Yes, yes, I love you.” She ran into his arms, giving in totally to the feel of him, allowing his strength to become hers.
Their kiss was gentle, yet filled with longing and hope for their future.
“I’m always here for you,” Lincoln whispered against her pliant mouth. “You’ll never be alone again. I promise you.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Make love to me,” she said, her words urgent and full of need.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure.” He took her hand and led her to his bedroom.
Chapter 32
Cynthia awoke with a throbbing headache. She could barely open her eyes against the high noon sun. She squinted against the light and it only made matters worse.
She groaned as she tried to figure out why she felt so utterly horrible. Slowly, in bits and pieces, like a movie being edited, the previous night began to take shape.
She groaned again when she thought about how many drinks she’d had. Then, how in the world had she gotten home in the condition she knew she must have been in?
Gingerly she stood and walked with great trepidation toward the window. She peered through the slats in the blinds. Parked below was her car.
She didn’t remember driving home. She glanced down at herself and saw that she was still fully clothed.
Cynthia pressed her fingers to her temples and gently massaged them, hoping to still the thumping that beat in her head like a rock band.
She was inching past her dresser on the way to the bathroom when she noticed a note propped up against the mirror.
Rest well. I hope you don’t feel too bad in the morning and that you’ll let me see you again. Lance. His phone number and a cell number were below his name.
Cynthia stared at the note until a faint image of Lance began to take form. Had anything happened between them? She was suddenly worried. But she still had all her clothes on. Hopefully that counted for something. If she had been as inebriated as she thought, why in the world would he want to see her again?
She folded the note and stuck it in the top drawer of the dresser. Maybe after a shower and a steaming cup of black coffee her head would clear. She crept to the bathroom, careful not to rattle her head with heavy footsteps.
* * *
Dressed in a worn jogging outfit and fluffy slippers, Cynthia sipped her coffee. Yesterday had been one for the record books, she thought. It was the confrontation with her mother that had sent her to a bar—alone—to wash away her sorry mother-daughter relationship.
Why couldn’t her mother simply love and respect her for who she was instead of working so hard to make her and her life appear so worthless and insignificant?
All her life she’d desperately wanted a relationship with her mother, but it was not to be.
But there was something else bothering her, something nagging in the back of her head that had nothing to do with the receding headache, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Whatever it was had to do with her visit to her mother’s house.
Frowning in thought, she tried to figure it out, but the answer eluded her. Maybe it would come to her later, she concluded, and tried to push the unsettling feeling aside.
Cynthia checked the time on the clock that hung above the refrigerator. It was already three o’clock. More than half the day was gone and it had been uneventful, frustrating and lonely. What she craved was company, someone to talk to.
Pushing back from the table, she returned to her bedroom and retrieved the note from Lance. She sucked on her bottom lip debating whether or not to call. She couldn’t make any more of a fool of herself than she’d already done, she thought, taking the note and walking to the phone on the nightstand.
She sat down on the side of the bed and picked up the phone. “Here goes nothing,” she murmured.
* * *
“Tell me about this investigator, Jackson,” Lincoln said as he spooned with Desiree and kissed the back of her neck.
“It’s kind of hard to concentrate with you doing that,” she said, her voice thick and soft.
“Hmm. I can give you something hard if that’s what you really want,” Lincoln said in a voice filled with need.
“Behave,” she warned without bite.
“Can’t a guy have any fun?”
She turned over onto her other side to face him. “You’ve had enough fun to last you at least until tonight.”
“That’s what you say. I’m a growing boy,” he taunted, reaching for her hand to wrap around his sex.
“Oooh, so I see.” Her lids grew heavy as she stroked him to climax and listened to his moans of pleasure. She smiled, relishing in her power to arouse him, to satisfy him.
They lay curled in each other’s arms.
“I owe you one,” he said, catching his breath.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me.” She kissed his lips.
They were quiet for a while, basking in the afterglow of rediscovering each other.
This was the way it had been between them in the early years of their relationship, Desiree thought. They couldn’t wait to get at each other with a hunger that seemed insatiable at times. There had been other men in her life before Lincoln, but none who could compare to him as a lover, none who could take her to the heights she reached with him.
Yes, she’d missed him, missed him more than she had ever been willing to admit, even to herself. The years that she had locked herself away from Lincoln and the possibility of love had changed her, made her distant and cautious with men. She didn’t want to risk her heart, or better, her body, with someone else. There were times when she’d been tempted to cross that line, but there was a part of her that inexplicably felt that she would be betraying Lincoln—even though they were apart. Silly, she mused, but it was how she’d felt. She was the reason that their relationship had been severed. She was the one who walked away from all that he offered. She’d been so afraid that he would somehow think less of her, love her less, that she would see the pity in his eyes, his loss of a family. And that was what she could not bear.
That was all behind them now. She should have trusted his love. Now she did. She would take him at his word that what he wanted was her, no matter what. With that thought to sustain her, she could deal with anything, even losing her own dream.