Wintergreen

Chapter 10

“I’m going to have to lock you up and keep you. You know that, don’t you, Misha?” Matthew’s palm smoothed back her mane of tangled hair. She lay stretched out beside him sleepily, her head tilted back against the pillow so she could look at him.

“I like your body, Matthew,” she said absently.

He chuckled, sliding down lower on the mattress so that they were exactly face to face again. The fierce tumult of lovemaking had exhausted them both, so that they could not seem to move except in slow motion. Slow motion was fine with Lorna.

His body was beautiful. He was so lean, a long torso with small flat buttocks, ribs with no spare flesh. The curve of his shoulders and upper arms fascinated her. He had a small appendectomy scar. The long muscles in his thighs…everything. All of him. When he made love, his movements were fluid; he had a male grace, an animal suppleness of lithe motion and dominant control that was both fierce and lazy.

She couldn’t understand what made him so different from other men in her life, what made him so beautiful to her, what made passion burst like something wild and free when he touched her. Because she loved him? But when she’d been very busy being honest with herself just the other day, she’d told herself that she was just a little too frightened to commit herself to that yet. Calling it love. Her finger absently trailed up his thigh, then turned at a right angle to touch the curling dark hair.

His hand closed over hers, shifted it. “If you don’t behave yourself, I’m going to get up and fetch you a glass of wine to put you to sleep.”

“I’m not going to behave myself,” she told him.

He chuckled again, lurched out of bed and disappeared into the dark hall. She was still smiling sleepily when he returned with a single glass of Pinot Noir for her from the kitchen. “This will cure your insomnia,” he remarked. “We can’t have you needing a book to put you to sleep every night.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll have that problem tonight.”

“The last thing I want to do is get up and leave you, Misha.”

But he was going to. He had to; she understood that. He had to go to work in the morning, and she had one small boy who would be popping back in at seven o’clock for breakfast.

Still, he put the glass on the nightstand, shifted the covers, crawled back beside her and lifted her so that she was cradled between his thighs, her head resting against his chest. She lifted her head long enough to take a single sip of wine and then set the glass down again. Absently, his hand nestled beneath the weight of one breast, his thumb stroking, as he kissed the top of her head. “What are you doing with a single bed, lady?” he whispered.

“Twin beds are cheaper.” She tilted her head back to look at him again. She liked looking at him. He had beautiful eyes. His hair was disheveled, all silvery at the sideburns. “You have a king-size, I’ll bet.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. And no, I’m not going to tell you, Misha. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

She decided she was uncomfortable and turned over so she was lying on her stomach, her breasts nestled against his chest. “Am I too heavy?” she murmured, and knew exactly why he’d shifted just a little.

“I think you know exactly what you are and what you’re doing,” he murmured back.

The pot calling the kettle black, she thought idly. His hands were lazily concentrating on the soft hollow at the small of her back as hers were reawakening the sensitive spot she’d discovered when her lips touched right over his heartbeat.

It was shameful, really. This wanton behavior… She didn’t want him to leave. When he was with her, she felt safe in a way she had never felt safe in her life, cherished, protected, drawn into the cocoon that was Matthew’s strength. She saw so many uncertainties in their relationship, so many reasons why she should want to move slowly and cautiously and sensibly, but when he was with her, her heart was full; she felt secure about the future, about love, about trust. He was the one man who seemed capable of healing all the bitter wounds from the past.

His body tensed responsively beneath her, and she slowly shifted her weight, moving her legs to make him more comfortable. His dark eyes locked with her pewter ones, which were peering out from beneath heavy lashes to assess his reaction. “So…” he whispered, his finger brushing a tender caress on her bottom lip. “This is how you want to make love this time?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, closing her eyes as she felt a dozen new little flames lick at her consciousness, reawakening a desire almost more intense than before. His touch was so exquisite. “Maybe,” she breathed. “With advice?”

“The last thing you need is advice,” Matthew said huskily, as he tossed the pillow from behind him on the floor. “You need nothing, Misha, to make you a more beautiful lover.” He drew her down so that her hair spun a curtain around their faces, sealing them in a very private world where they could see only each other. “And I love you for that,” he murmured. “But not just for that, Misha. I love you for so many reasons…”

Through half-closed lids, she watched him put on his clothes in the darkness. He had turned off the bedside lamp, but was faintly bathed in the brightness from the bathroom light. She knew he thought she was sleeping. He hadn’t made a move to go until he thought she was asleep, and she understood that Matthew objected to getting out of bed and deserting her after making love, that it was not the way he wanted to treat a woman he cared for.

Yet she had only pretended to sleep, knowing he was tired and, perhaps, simply wanting to watch him as she was now doing. He pulled the heavy fisherman’s sweater over his head, then absently smoothed back his ruffled hair. He cast one look at her blanketed form, at her hair spread out over the pale pillowcase, then shut off the bathroom light and walked softly from the room.

He had to put his shoes on yet, his coat. She knew he was still in the house, yet that instant of dark loneliness hit her like a bullet wound, shadowing the softer emotions that had colored her whole evening. Her eyes blinked open, and a sick feeling of dread threaded through her. Suddenly, her body tensed, and she threw off the covers and snatched up a robe. She belted the white robe as she hurried down the hall, finding Matthew just as he was putting on his coat. She approached no closer than the back of the couch by the hall, clenching the warm robe with whitened hands.

He turned, already aware of her. “I could have sworn you were asleep, you little-What’s wrong?” Even in the shadows, his perceptive eyes had taken in her sudden tension.

“Nothing. Matthew…” Her throat was suddenly dry, yet she knew what she had to say. Already it had gone too far; already she had fallen too hard and too deeply. “We have to finish that discussion,” she said lightly. He looked perplexed yet half-amused. “My faults, Matthew. Insomnia, losing socks. I have a few serious ones as well, things you should know about.” She took a breath. His eyes were tender on hers as he started to take a step forward. She shook her head, and he stopped. “I’ve got no claims to perfection, but unfaithfulness has never been one of my faults. No, don’t say anything.”

She knew he’d been about to speak. His face was like granite. He looked impatient; his smile was gone.

“I know what you said, Matthew, that you understood, that it was a long time ago, that you didn’t know or care now. Unfortunately, it matters too much to me. It wouldn’t be so important if I hadn’t started falling in love with you…”

“Misha.”

“I was not unfaithful to your brother. I never slept with anyone else.” She shrugged a little, trying without complete success to shake off the tremulous feeling of tearfulness, the shaky quality of her voice. “That’s all. In my heart, I know we have nowhere to go if you can’t take my word for truth. I could never believe you trusted me unless you know the kind of person I am. I know how it all looked-I know exactly.

“But I’m asking you, Matthew. I have to ask you, and as hard as this is to say, if you can’t believe me…”

Don’t see me again. Don’t make me fall in love any harder, any deeper. The words remained unsaid, but she knew he understood. He stood as still as a statue, staring at her, his face shrouded in darkness. “You’re so damned sure I won’t believe you, Misha.” His voice came out low and vibrant, almost angry.

She shook her head. “I want you to…think about it. A week, Matthew. No less. Please, I…”

“All right, a week,” he agreed quietly. “But then the ghosts are going to be buried, Misha. Or there just isn’t a future, is there?”

That was exactly what she was too terrified to say. He said nothing else when she turned and went swiftly back down the dark hall. She hesitated before going into the bedroom, until she heard the latch of the front door. She winced at the sound, with tears in her eyes.

The horse tossed its mane and whinnied in sheer frisky pleasure at the cold day. Lorna grinned, watching Johnny astride him. The child’s smile was so huge that every one of his teeth should have been cold.

“He’s a fine boy, Lorna,” Stan said next to her.

“The best.” Lorna leaned back against the rail fence to look at Stan. Dinner was over, and it was dark out; only the yard lights made it possible for Johnny to ride the horse under Stan’s watchful eye. “It was kind of you to invite him.”

“No problem. I like kids. And I always feel the more exposure a young child has to a large animal, the less he’s likely to be afraid as he gets older.” Stan hesitated, drawing his coat collar closer around his throat. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your doing this work for my mother. She’s like a new woman, with an active interest, for a change.”

“She’s a darling. Two more weeks and it’ll be done, Stan.”

She knew what was coming and had known from the minute she’d stepped out of the car. The way Stan looked at her now, his eyes as warm as they were questioning, the slight tension in the way he’d held his shoulders…“And would you say yes if I asked you out to dinner, Lorna, when we didn’t have the excuse of my mother’s business?”

Lorna glanced down. “I’m afraid…” She didn’t directly say no, because she had no desire to hurt a very nice man. “But thank you,” she said very softly, “for asking.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood, that she didn’t have to say any more.

A very nice, nice man. And she did not know if Matthew was going to call. She’d been condemned on the basis of strong circumstantial evidence a long time ago, and Matthew had once told her that as an attorney he set great store in circumstantial evidence. He was a believer in facts, not blind trust. She didn’t expect in her heart…

But it didn’t matter, as far as Stan was concerned. Another man wasn’t going to soothe the heartache. If common sense told her she should keep an open mind-for Johnny’s sake if not her own-her heart violently rejected the idea. Her heart, so very big, still had only room for one man.

Lorna was lying on her stomach in front of the Christmas tree in a white wool skirt and emerald-crepe blouse, her stockinged feet crossed absently in the air behind her. On a sheet of newspaper in front of her were the dozens of parts that made up a Zoid. The instructions informed her that any child could easily put it together.

“If you want me to help you, Mom…” Johnny offered.

“Thank you, no,” Lorna said crisply. His Zoid was done, its beady little plastic eyes gloating at her unfinished project. Santa had delivered two. Two plastic replicas of a robotic creature from a sci-fi fantasy film that Johnny had seen three times. That alone had given it status in Johnny’s eyes. It didn’t do much in hers. Johnny had taken fifteen minutes to assemble his Zoid. She was on step two of nineteen.

“Look, I know you can do it, Mom. If you just take this part here-”

And she hated it when Johnny was tactful. He grinned at her, understanding her baleful gaze far too well for a nine-year-old.

“Give up, Lorna,” Freda suggested from across the room.

“That would show lack of character.” She frowned, snatching up the part Johnny had pointed to…once he’d gone on to the chemistry set in front of the tree.

“Honey, you’ve got to have the courage to admit when you’re licked,” Freda began, then suddenly wailed, “Brian, you’re supposed to play with the presents, not the boxes!”

“I’m building a fort, Mom.”

Lorna’s living room was a disaster zone of tinsel, wrapping paper, bows and boxes. The tree was a spruce, because she loved live Christmas trees, although very little of its green showed. Melted-down candies hardened in molds and strung with wire caught the open light from the windows. Quilted ornaments, decorations made of baked flour and salt and water and paint, small framed pictures, popcorn, cranberries, lights, Christmas cards… Every branch of the tree was laden with colorful decorations.

Lorna and Johnny had opened presents with Freda and Brian on Christmas morning for the past two years. Later, the Noonans were going to a Christmas dinner with Freda’s father, but Lorna had backed away from the enthusiastic invitation to join them. She had bought a six-pound turkey and all the trimmings for herself and Johnny. Christmas had always been a lonely time for her, particularly since her father’s death, yet Johnny went a long way toward making up for that. She’d tried to set up their own rituals, to make it a special day for him. Just playing and being with him, trying out all his new toys. Caroling, a walk in the woods, a drive to see the Christmas lights, just talking, a special renewal of the relationship with her son…

She clicked two plastic parts together and reached for another, glancing unobtrusively at Johnny. He was still in pajamas, his cowlick sticking straight up, his bright eyes engrossed in the instructions for his chemistry set. She loved that little urchin more than life. And though she tried hard not to be overly dependent on him, Lorna knew she needed Johnny this day.

Matthew hadn’t called.

Eight days… She’d stopped expecting him to. One part of her was never going to forgive her for bringing up the subject to him that night, when everything had been going so well, when she had still been in the burst of unbelievable excitement over being with him, just loving him, needing nothing else…Why had it mattered so much? His respect and trust…the loneliness clawing at her insides certainly didn’t give a damn.

“Mom. Do you have any objection if I make some fire water?” Johnny asked absently.

Freda groaned.

“It’s like a volcano,” Johnny explained, with a careful glance at Freda. “Brian and I can do it together.”

“Exactly how much fire is involved in fire water?” Lorna queried, picking up another plastic part and studying it from both sides.

“It says, ‘will make a magical colorful flame.’”

Freda groaned again.

“Go to it,” Lorna acquiesced. Johnny leaped to his feet with a beaming Brian in his wake and headed for the kitchen. Her son patted Lorna consolingly on the shoulder as he took the time to nudge his toe at part nine of her Zoid. She snatched it up, no longer proud.

While the boys were chattering in the kitchen, Freda sat down on the carpet, picking up instructions on the Zoid. “Honey, you smell like dime-store perfume.”

Lorna grinned, not looking up from parts ten, eleven and twelve. “So do you.”

“I tried to talk Johnny into buying you a less…overwhelming scent.”

“I tried to talk Brian into giving you a less…overwhelming scent.”

They laughed, comfortable with each other. The boys had both presented their mothers with huge bottles of cologne, colorfully wrapped, with great pride. As far as Lorna was concerned, that made up part of the smell of Christmas. Johnny had chosen Lily of the Valley this year. Actually, she almost liked it. Last year the scent reminded her of a Detroit hooker on Twelfth Street; it might even have deterred potential customers.

Freda studied the half-assembled Zoid and handed her a part. “You can turn off that big smile for a few minutes,” she said absently.

“Pardon?” Lorna glanced up.

“You’ve lost weight in the last week.” Freda glared balefully at her. “It takes me a year to lose three pounds on a strict diet. If they ever clone people, I hope you’re not on the list.”

Lorna smiled absently; once, Freda’s remarks would have elicited a full-hearted chuckle at the least. “This fits. Have you got the next one?” she asked. The Zoid now had clawlike hands and looked properly ferocious; it was only missing parts of the body and legs.

“I want you and Johnny to come to dinner with us today.”

Lorna glanced up again. “It’s nice of you to ask us, Freda, but honestly, no thank you. We’re fine here, and Christmas has always been a special time for you and your dad.” She frowned. “We’ve covered all that.”

Freda handed her another part. “You know damned well you don’t really want to be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Johnny.”

“You’ve got circles under your eyes. You’re trying like hell to keep a smile on your face. You’re gaunt and haggard.” Freda took a quick breath.

Lorna glanced toward the kitchen, delighted at the sound of the children’s laughter. “Dammit. I’ll have to get a refund on that erase-circles makeup. I paid a fortune for it.”

“He used you,” Freda accused roughly.

Lorna sat up, snapped the thirteenth part into place and stared at Freda. “No one,” she said softly, “used me. He was perfectly wonderful to me, Freda. Don’t think that. And stop worrying. Why on earth are you wasting all this time worrying?” she asked irritably. “I’m fine. Do you think I haven’t coped with worse situations than this?”

Freda sat back, silent, and handed Lorna the parts to the silly Zoid. Gradually, the plastic form achieved its shape. Lorna spent all her concentration on the trivial task, and refused to think about anything else.

She had no intention of crying. It was Christmas. Holidays made some people cry. She wasn’t going to be one of those…

One part of her scolded, but…well, there was another part. The relationship with Matthew couldn’t have gone on. Every time she bought something from a male clerk; every time she spoke with a man at a party; every time she laughed with a repairman, she would wonder if Matthew was suspicious of her. Richard would have been. Richard had been. She’d never been able to breathe in front of a masculine person without Richard being jealous and suspicious. She could not get involved with someone who didn’t trust her. Though Matthew had said the past didn’t matter to him, she would forever have walked the plank of uncertainty, would never have been able to convince him that she had never been promiscuous, that she’d had no affairs, that Johnny was of his blood-the things that mattered deeply to her. Matthew could not understand her, not in the way that counted, if he didn’t understand what she had been through. Being sentenced without a trial, the desperate need she had for his trust, the fears that made up her nightmares…

“Mom! C’mere!”

Freda clicked her tongue as Lorna rapidly brushed away the single tear on her cheek and got to her feet.

“This is going to be a perfectly wonderful day,” she told Freda.

“How I hate men.” Freda more slowly uncoiled herself and then dropped back down on the carpet. “I’ll finish this Zoid. I have a feeling you’ll have more than you can handle in the kitchen.”

Lorna didn’t mind the chaos in the kitchen. She applauded the rainbow of smoke spouting from the paper volcano, laughed at Johnny’s triumphant smile. They had raided her cupboard for baking soda, evidently a necessary ingredient for volcanoes. There was a trail of it on the floor.

Candles were flickering in the windowsills, red and green, scenting the kitchen with cinnamon and pine. More ornaments hung from her windows, hard candies that reflected the light like stained glass. The turkey was still defrosting on the counter, now surrounded by a variety of vials from Johnny’s chemistry set. Some tinsel had made its way to the floor; a strand of it lay on her son’s shoulder, another in Brian’s hair. A second tiny Christmas tree was perched on the far corner of the kitchen table, just a foot high, decorated with ribbons and bows… Lorna had two more artificial trees in the other rooms. She’d told Johnny before he was old enough to walk that it was impossible to have enough Christmas in the house…

“Can you believe it?” Johnny demanded, looking at his lopsided volcano.

“You’re a genius,” Lorna agreed, ruffling his tousled hair affectionately. “In the meantime, do you think there’s a chance that either of you geniuses might condescend to pick up a bit?”

“What does condescend mean?” Brian asked Johnny.

“She just means move it.”