by Jill Barnett
She loved him. He could tell, especially when she wasn't very good at hiding her feelings. She sat there looking like nothing but one big heartache. He knew, because that was how he felt. Aching and empty.
But now watching her sitting there with her heart broken, crying so pitifully was almost more than he could take. It was so stupid. She was too stubborn to see how very wrong she was.
A gust of freezing wind hit him and ruffled his hair. Inside she was huddled in a blanket and had tear streaks running down her face. He stood and turned, then went quietly down the metal stairs. He went back inside his window, not caring that snow was all over the floor. He didn't think he could feel anything, even the cold. It couldn't affect him. He was already frozen inside.
He lay down on the bed, and soon he was crying, too. Tears just ran down his temples and into his hair. His chest was tight, and it hurt.
He closed his eyes and lay there until it passed, his arm slung over his eyes. When he opened them, only hard reality stared back at him. For the rest of his nights, he would have to lie to himself. He had no choice but to pretend that he didn't know she was just one floor above him.
* * *
December seventeenth, the evening of Sally Waverly's Christmas wedding, came all too quickly for Eleanor. It was one of those evenings when the air turned blue with cold, and breathing it was sharp and painful and made you long for the lush feeling of a warm summer night.
She dressed in a deep green silk dress with a fitted jacket trimmed in jet that was the same color as her hair. She piled that thick wad of hair up on top of her head in a loose knot, stuck in some hairpins, then walked across the room, her heels tap tap tapping. She gathered her kid gloves, her woolen coat and scarf, threw them on, and moved toward the door.
Her velvet hat hung from a peg near the door. She stood before the oval wall mirror. Raising her chin, she held the hat just so—one hand on the back and one holding the brim, then set it on her head at a perfect angle. She took the hat pin from between her teeth and jabbed it through her topknot before she locked the door and ran down the stairs.
And right into Conn.
"Hey there, Nellibelle. Slow down." His huge hands grabbed her shoulders, and she stared up at the same face she dreamed about. The man she had watched through the hole in the floor.
She grew as stiff as a street pole. "I'm sorry."
He leaned against the wall and gave her a look that started at her head and stopped at her toes. "You're all gussied up."
"I have somewhere I have to be in"—she paused and looked down at her watch pendant pinned to her lapel—"in fifteen minutes."
"Where?"
"United Methodist Church." She paused, then added, "For a wedding."
He just watched her, as if she hadn't said that word. As if he hadn't ever asked her to marry him. No emotion showed on his face. He just turned and started down the stairs. "I'll get you a cab."
"That's not necessary. I'll take a cable car."
"You'll never make it across town in fifteen minutes."
"But—" She raised her hand to stop him. The front door closed. She crossed the entry and opened the doors, then stepped outside, intending to tell him not to do her any more favors.
He stood there all tall and gallant, holding the door open to a shiny black cab. She looked from him to the carriage driver, then decided to avoid an argument and went ahead and got inside.
She leaned toward the window to the driver's seat. "How much is it to go to—"
Conn leaned inside the door. "Put your purse away." His loud deep voice blocked out hers.
"Mr. Donoughue—"
Conn handed the driver a gold coin. "Get the lady to United Methodist Church in fifteen minutes."
"You got it!" the cabdriver said, and he snapped the whip before Eleanor could protest.
She sat there inside the warm, roomy coach, half annoyed and half grateful. Something made her turn and look out the oval window in the back.
Conn Donoughue began to shrink, smaller and smaller the farther away they went, until he was only a black dot no bigger than her thumbnail.
She turned around, then leaned back and closed her eyes, telling herself that he was just a dream, one that with time would finally fade away.
* * *
It was cold when she left the wedding reception, a bouquet of Christmas lilies held loosely in her hand. It was so very cold that the twilight had turned a frozen blue. Above the sidewalks, the telephone lines crackled in the cold.
The air was different; it seemed to be alive. Her breathing was labored, and she could have sworn there was ice inside her chest. She kept walking, listening to the crunch of her boots in the icy snow. She stopped for a second and looked down at the bridal bouquet. She didn't coddle to superstitions. She'd even tried to give the flowers away, but everyone laughed at her.
She tossed the bouquet in a dumpster, then wrapped her arms around herself and just stood there for a long time. She would not be marrying anyone. She had lost her opportunity.
For the first time tonight, she understood what Conn had meant. Sally was twenty, youthful and pretty and full of life. The man she married was forty. But no one could have doubted their love. It was on their faces every time they looked at each other.
No one seemed appalled at the age difference. Old men frequently married younger women. So why did it bother her so that Conn was younger? She looked deep inside herself and knew that she was scared. It was her. Not anyone else. She had lived without love for so long that she had made herself into what she thought she was—an old maid.
But she hadn't been old with Conn. She'd felt alive and young and so very happy. What a foolish woman she was.
She tilted her face upward and took in the night sky, which was filled with so many stars it seemed impossible for the streets to be dark. She wondered what it was like out where the stars sparkled and the moon glowed silver or orange.
If she were the moon, would she be able to watch the world below? Could she spend her life watching everyone else live and love? If she went somewhere else, would she feel as she felt here—a loneliness that made life sometimes seem almost insurmountable?
It would be so marvelous to just go soaring off into the sky until you were nothing but a tiny bright dot. Away. Far far away from everything. Far away from Conn Donoughue.
By the time she had walked another cold and icy block she was crying, sobbing hard painful tears that froze on her cheeks and chin and made her nose feel like an icicle. And when she got home and climbed up those stairs, she stopped on the third floor, wishing for something that could never be.
Half an hour later she climbed into her cold bed. What had she done? She had given up what she wanted. She gave up her future. It seemed as if she had lived her whole life between cold sheets and dreams. She wanted so badly to take back the years. She wanted to take back the moment she looked into Conn's strong face and said no. She wanted the chance to live part of her life over again. The part she had wasted, and the part she had thrown away.
Chapter 8
Four days before Christmas, Eleanor was in the kitchen making a huge pot of fudge so she could drown her sorrows in something wicked. She heard a thump above her and looked up. One of the cats was on a glass panel and crying down at her.
"How did you get up there?"
She wiped her hands and walked around the room. The cat followed her, crying the whole time. She went to the window and opened it and called him. All he did was cry harder and harder.
He was stuck up there.
She grabbed her skirt and climbed out on the fire escape. She went up the ladder and scrambled onto the roof. "Here, kitty. Come here."
The cat just cried and sat there.
After a few more tries she began to scoot over the roof. The moment she got near the cat, he leapt up and ran past her. Like a fool she tried to grab him and missed. She slid in the snow and ice. She tried to grab something. Anything.
Oh, God she was go
ing to die! She screamed as loud as she could. Panic seized her so hard, she couldn't breathe.
A second later she felt nothing but cold air. She reached out again, and her hands closed around the icy gutters while momentum slammed her against the bricks. Her shoes scraped at the building, looking for some kind of footing. There was none. She just dangled there. Her hands ached, but she hung on.
"Nellie!"
It was Conn.
"Don't move!" he hollered.
"Do I look that stupid!" she screamed back. She glanced over her shoulder as best she could and saw Conn running across the street. She gripped the gutter more tightly. Her arms hurt like the dickens. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on.
Then she heard a clanging. It was the fire wagon. She looked over one shoulder again and saw Conn Donoughue driving the wagon, a line of shouting firemen running after him.
He'd stolen the wagon. For her. She smiled a little. Suddenly her arms didn't hurt anymore. She wasn't scared. She knew she would be safe.
The crank of the extension ladder made a squealing sound. The ladder crawled up the side of the building. "Hang on, Nell!"
As if she would let go.
Conn climbed the ladder two rungs at a time. Then his arms were around her.
She just held onto him and closed her eyes.
He carried her back down, whispering things that didn't really register because she was so thankful to be in his arms again. She could make out some words. Strange words like crazy and love and stupid along with a few choice curses. She could feel his racing heartbeat.
The air was cold, yet his face was dripping with sweat. They reached the wagon and he got down, then strode toward the gym door.
"You can put me down now."
He was silent.
"I can walk."
"Be quiet."
She frowned at him. "I'm not hurt."
"Not yet."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I said, be quiet, Nellie."
"I won't be quiet. I can speak whenever I choose. You are not my lord and master, you know. I realize that you just saved me from an awkward predicament, and I'm very grateful, but that doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do and not do. I'm my own woman. An adult. So don't think I'll just cower and be meek and submissive just because you tell me to. In fact, I don't know who you think you are—"
He kicked open her door with such force she did shut up. He slammed it closed with an elbow. He lowered her legs to the floor and cupped the back of her head with his hand. "This is who I am." His mouth came down on hers.
She was so surprised, she just let him kiss her. Then it was too late. She kissed him back. Kissed him with every hidden emotion in her lonely heart. His tongue slid inside, and her breath caught just like before. Her heart pounded in her ears. She gave herself up to the passion and desire, all those things she had only imagined before.
He pulled her closer, kissed her longer and deeper, and held her so tightly she didn't have to hold on to him. Her toes barely touched the floor. She could feel his hard body against hers. She wanted more. She wanted to climb inside of him and feel everything he was and everything his kisses offered her.
She heard a low and earthy moan. It was her own voice.
He broke off the kiss so abruptly, she staggered back against the door.
He was angry, and his face showed it. "You need a goddamn keeper. If you even think about climbing on one more piece of furniture or get near that roof for any reason, I swear I'll—" He cut himself off and drove a hand through his hair. He jerked open the door, then scowled back at her. "I don't know what I'll do, but if I were you I wouldn't test me."
He slammed the door behind him.
She stared at the door for a moment, then raised her fingers to her lips. She crossed the room to her sofa and plopped down on it. She grinned, then gave a short joyous laugh that on anyone younger would have been called a giggle.
"Oh, my," she sighed. "Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my. Be still my heart."
And then she began to really laugh.
* * *
Someone knocked on Conn's door that night. He was still trying to decipher his accounts. He shoved back the chair and threw open the door.
Nellie stood there holding a plate. "Here." She held out the plate. "It's fudge."
He stepped back from the door. "Come inside."
She crossed the threshold as if she were stepping into hell.
"I'm not going to eat you."
"You're still angry."
"I'd like to wring your neck. How the hell did you get on the roof. And why?"
"I was saving one of my cats."
"The little black one?"
She nodded.
"That damn cat goes up there all the time."
"I didn't know that. I thought he was stuck and scared."
She was such a softy. "Why didn't you come to me?"
"I didn't even think to go to you. I just reacted."
He turned to keep from grabbing her and kissing the breath out of her. "We're friends, too, Nellie. We became friends first. Just because you have some idiotic idea about our age difference doesn't mean I have stopped loving you. It doesn't mean I'm not still your friend."
"I'd like to be your friend."
"I'd like you to be more."
"How much more?"
"I already asked you once. I won't ask again."
"Oh." She stared at her hands. "You don't want to marry me anymore. I understand."
"That's not true. I do want to marry you. I just won't be the one who asks."
She stood there a long time. When she raised her head, there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You know pride is a crazy thing. It can actually make something completely unimportant seem to be the most important thing in the entire world." He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, knowing he was lying, knowing that he would ask her to marry him every single day of his life if that's what it took.
She muttered something against his chest, but he couldn't understand her. She tilted her head up and looked at him. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Will you marry me?"
He stood there for a moment. "What about our ages?"
"I was wrong. I was very wrong. I think I was just so scared, too scared of what I was feeling." She tightened her arms around him. "I used our age difference as an excuse."
He kissed her long and hard and with every ounce of passion and love he felt. "God, how I love you, Nellie."
Chapter 9
They were married Christmas Eve morning at a small neighborhood Presbyterian church. Since he was Catholic and she was Methodist, they settled on Presbyterian. It was also the first place Conn found that would marry them in less than twenty-four hours.
Tony was his witness and Mrs. Edna Waverly stood up for Eleanor. The wedding was small and fast, but it was the happiest moment in his life. His friends gave them a luncheon. Cuba passed out his finest cigars, and Tony made a toast, then Pete said a few words: "Das ist the happiest day for my friends. Vhat God meets, let nein people bury us."
No one understood what he meant until Cuba stood up. "What the Lord had brought together, let no man put asunder."
"Ja. Das ist vhat I said."
They spent the evening having Christmas dinner with Tony's family, then left to come home. For now, they were going to live on the third floor, where the rooms and furniture worked better for a man Conn's size.
Nellie had been puttering around from room to room.
Conn had a feeling she would just keep on doing so all night unless he said something. "Why don't you go on and get ready for bed."
She just stood there, looking lost and frozen. It was almost as if she had grown roots.
"Nellie?"
She blinked once, then looked at him as if she had just seen him for the first time in her life. She nodded and disappeared in the water closet.
He sat down on the bed, the
n laid back and stuck his hands behind his head. He turned and glanced at the clock. It wouldn't be long now. After all those nights of lying awake so he could listen to her above him. She was now his wife.
It seemed to him as if he had waited forever for her. He glanced at the clock again. He could wait a little longer. They had a whole lifetime. Patience. Just a little more patience.
One of the things those years of boxing had taught Conn was how to be calm and wait for the right moment. He'd learned the lesson well, which was why he never lost. Conn Donoughue was a patient man.
* * *
Eleanor brushed her teeth so long she used up half a can of Pepsident tooth powder. She mindlessly brushed her hair a hundred times. Twice. She put almond nut cream on her face and hands, braided her hair three times in three different kinds of braids and then took each one out. And brushed her hair again. She spent another ten minutes dabbing on French perfume and a little talcum under her arms.
Now she stood there, feeling lost and confused and nervous. She went over to her bag and dug around inside it for a moment. She pulled out a brown bottle of Dr. Hammond's Nerve and Brain Pills. She took four, then sat there for another twenty minutes waiting for them to go to work. Ten minutes after that she decided Dr. Hammond was a shyster.
She paced the small linoleum floor. Was she supposed to just waltz out there naked? She pressed her eye to the crack in the door. She was actually getting pretty good at this.
The lamps were on. She made a face. She just couldn't walk out there wearing nothing but skin. Forty year-old skin.
She looked down at her body. Her breasts pointed downward.
When did that happen? Moving in front of the cheval mirror, she squared her shoulders. Perhaps that helped a little. She turned sideways. She had a small waist, but her hips were too rounded and her stomach had a small pouch. She sucked in a breath. That just made her ribs stick out farther than her breasts.