Before Dawn, page 14
“I can imagine,” she said, something shivering inside her. “Is it dangerous work? I mean, look what happened.”
“That was an accident. Won’t happen again.”
She touched his cheek without thinking. It seemed like anything she did lately was thought out, careful. Why not say what she thought? “I like you without your sunglasses.”
“I can’t look directly into the fire, but I can look at you.”
“So I noticed.” There hadn’t been a day, or night, when she hadn’t caught him doing just that. “You look neater without the beard. Not so dissolute.”
“That should impress the people from the Bureau of Mines. Don’t want ‘em thinking I was on a month-long bender.” He waited for her laughter to subside. “We’re going to be honest here?” He nuzzled her hair. “There’s been a reason I haven’t said I love you, although I’ve loved you quite a while.”
Her heart stopped, anticipating.
“I wanted to be free of this worry.”
“I understand that.”
“I was so wrapped up in my own problems I never realized how badly you might want to hear it.”
“That’s all right. You’ve already said it.”
“I have? When?”
Her eyes twinkled. “In the hospital.”
He’d thought it. Lord, how he’d thought it. But he couldn’t actually remember. “When?”
She gave his ribs a good poke. “When you were coming out of surgery and still under the anesthetic. I ought to hit you with one of these pillows for putting me through all that. I understand not wanting to make promises when you don’t know the future, but who does? If you love someone, you should tell them. No guarantees, and no, I’m not crowding you, but if you do love me, I’d appreciate knowing how you feel!”
“Simmer down.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
He laughed instead. “How often have you wagged that finger at me when I couldn’t see it?” He took her in his arms, clearly enjoying the resistance she put up. “You have a lot of the schoolmarm in you, teach.”
“I take it that’s not a compliment.”
He kissed her nose, insinuating his body next to hers. “As a potter, though, I must say you have great hands.” He cupped her bottom and drew her even closer. “Not to mention your creativity.”
“And?”
“And I’m glad I’m not blind, so I don’t hit this damn coffee table every time I chase you around it.”
“And?”
“And I’m glad I can tell you I love you, which I should have said two months ago.”
Her heart filled. “Has it been that long?”
“At least.”
Their kiss was long, deep and ended in a kind of peace and contentment Cliff had never guessed would be his. But there was a question nagging him, too.
“Total honesty, right?” He paused, marshaling his courage, watching her solemnly nod. “I can’t move the Imperial Mine.”
She gave him a look that said, “That couldn’t be it, could it?” His big question? “My business is fairly portable,” she told him. “Maybe not the therapy part, but if you don’t mind my saying so, on a shared income I might get by with pottery alone.”
“Sounds well reasoned to me. I enjoyed this last fair.” He had more than enjoyed it. He used a break in the action to seek out a jeweler Annie had mentioned. The man specialized in hammered gold and silver, rings in particular, matching but individual, handcrafted by someone who cared. Nick hoped Annie liked his selection. It burned a hole in his pocket even now. Could it matter if they waited until he was cleared to return to work?
Anne was right, though. There were times when the past intruded on the present. “Linda had this thing about living that far north.”
“She missed out, didn’t she?”
He smiled a dashing smile of thanks that made Annie quiver like a violin string. “That’s what I always thought.”
He kissed her again, then leaned back. He couldn’t get enough of looking at her. Her hair was full of firelight, reddish-brown, highlights like dancing flame. “I love your hair like this, by firelight. On my pillow, in my hands. Heck,” he growled, “I love you on my pillow and in my hands.”
Tumbling back on the sofa, he found her hands resting exactly where he wanted them, where his desire grew under the soft weight of her palm. “You’re getting daring.”
“Mmm.”
“You know what I’d like? You on a blanket of leaves.”
“Want to get me outside again, eh?”
“Just think of the fall colors, the reds and golds and you, pale and pink.”
“And Kane, chasing deer and barking his head off.”
“And retrieving our clothes every time we drop them.”
“Speaking of which.”
“He’s whining to be let out.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Annie smiled.
Cliff sighed. “Is it my turn?”
“It’s your dog.”
Alone for a moment, she sat in front of the fireplace savoring the wine and the love. She turned the glass around in her hands, thinking about the sparks given off by wine, firelight and dark brown eyes.
He said he loved her.
She believed every word. “Back so soon?”
“He’s staying out on his chain tonight. He can sleep in his doghouse or bay at the moon.”
“Animal lover.”
“This particular animal. Care to claw my back, little cat?”
She did a so-so imitation of a cat’s purr, but it was the lowered eyelids and come-hither look that undid him. She was right—talking helped. Cliff felt closer to her, relieved of secrets of his own making. He loved her. And while they made exquisite love in front of the fireplace, and later in a body-warmed bed, he told her so again and again.
* * *
In the middle of the night, Cliff woke. Wine headache, he thought. He didn’t usually get them but it had been quite a while since he’d had any wine. Annie was sated and sleeping and curled beside him in the dark. He felt her there, just as he’d dreamed long before he ever actually had her there.
Not wanting to wake her, he carefully got out of bed and tucked the quilt around her. His teeth felt furry. If he was going to wake her with the kind of kiss he planned, brushing wouldn’t be a bad idea.
He was naked. The house was cold. Reminding himself it was October and probably time to fire up the furnace, he shuffled through the discarded clothes at the foot of the bed. That was when he remembered the rings in the back pocket of his jeans. Touching them once for good luck, he hid them in the dresser drawer. In a matter of days, he’d be back for them. Proposing, a once terrifying prospect, seemed so easy. She’d practically said yes last night.
He retraced his path to the bathroom. Used to do this in the dark all the time, he thought, full speed ahead. Used to have bruises up and down his shins, too. He stepped over another pile of clothes—Annie’s.
Lowering himself gingerly onto the edge of the bed, he picked up what felt like silk—her blouse. Without sight he had sound. He rubbed the silk between his fingers and listened. Touch, that was there in his fingers, too, the fabric smooth and cool, not as warm as when he’d removed it from her. Smell, he raised it to his cheek, feeling the need for a shave as it caught and slid against stubble. He sniffed it. Yes. That delicate smell women have, the particular perfume Annie made, her body so sweet and loving last night.
Could a hundred “I love you’s” convey what she meant to him right now? He wanted to wake her and tell her. He got up instead.
She lay on her side, facing the bathroom. He closed the door carefully before turning on the light.
With a burst of profanity, he slammed a hand over his eyes. Damn, why hadn’t he brought his glasses in here! That white light was blinding.
He squinted, his eyes instantly sore, and fumbled for the toothpaste. At least he knew this routine with his eyes closed. Turning on the water, he opened his eyes just enough to smear on a rapid line of paste. As he brushed, he glanced up out of sheer habit.
One look was all he needed.
His eyes were red. Blood red where the white should be. He stood and stared, the light cutting through him like a knife. He didn’t care. The pain he’d mistaken for a headache was nothing compared to the panic.
“RSVP; Redness, Soreness, Vision, Photophobia.” Three out of four symptoms. He was losing it. The transplant was being rejected. He was going blind again.
It couldn’t have been that wine. Not half a glass!
It was a transplant, damn it. Anything could go wrong.
But could it be made right?
He dropped the toothpaste tube into the wastebasket with a thunk; he’d squeezed it flat. He sat numbly on the edge of the tub.
How long will I have to wait this time?
What if it fails again?
Half an hour was gone when he opened the bathroom door, letting a shaft of light fall across Annie. His heart lurched. She was beautiful, incredibly loving, and he had found her when he’d been blind. “How lucky could a man get?” he thought, overcome with fury at the irony of it.
Why, God? Why now, when he was so close?
To think he’d almost asked her to marry him last night. He almost laughed, then didn’t, for fear it would come out a sob. What he wanted, more than anything right now, was a convenient brick wall to ram his fist through.
He couldn’t keep her. That’s all there was to it. Not if he was getting back on that merry-go-round of waiting and hoping and relying on doctors. Not if there was any chance he could be permanently blind. He might have to face that prospect. There was no way in hell he would ask it of her. Trouble was something you kept from other people. This was his problem alone.
He had to call the hospital in Ann Arbor, he thought, suddenly calm. He would find out what he had to do, and whether he could drive there himself before it got worse.
But first, Annie would have to leave.
He took a deep breath, then another. Neither calmed his racing heart or the sick dread he felt. Let me look a little longer, he thought, memorizing her before he said goodbye.
Her eyelids fluttered.
His hand fumbled for the light switch and turned it off just in time.
“What time is it,” she said drowsily.
Her voice was hoarse in the morning. No wonder he loved making love to her then. He would have liked to at that moment.
“Don’t get up.” He strode to his side of the bed and grabbed his sunglasses off the side table. Pulling on a pair of jogging shorts and a sweatshirt, he laced his shoes, his back to her. “I’m taking Kane for a run.”
“It’s barely dawn.”
He stopped in the doorway and came back, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
Stay in my bed. Don’t leave me.
He unwound her arms from around his neck and left.
* * *
Annie showered, humming to herself, laughing sometimes. She felt giggly and giddy and more than a little all right. She smoothed soap over her abdomen, thinking how Cliff’s lips had pressed there the night before. He loved her. He’d said so many times.
She was still smiling when she shut off the blow dryer and heard him downstairs making breakfast.
Coming up behind him at the stove, she gave him a squeeze. He still wore his jogging shorts. A line dark with sweat ran down the back of his t-shirt. “You should change. You’ll get a chill.”
He didn’t answer, cracking two more eggs into the pan.
Annie set the table. “Eyes bothering you today? You don’t usually wear your glasses to breakfast.”
“I do sometimes.”
“Why not the adjusting lenses? It isn’t that bright in here.”
His fist clenched on the skillet handle, but he kept his face immobile. “Annie,” he said with great patience, “You know how much I liked being hovered over.”
That hurt. He didn’t have to see her to know it. It was the way she stopped in mid-motion, setting the orange juice so carefully down.
“Want your eggs over easy?” he ground out. What sense was there in keeping up the civilized pretense when he was about to do one of the lowest things he’d ever done?
“Over easy’s fine.” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “Chilly in here.”
He clenched his jaw. If that was bait, he wasn’t biting. His gut was in knots. He knew right now he wouldn’t taste this food.
Sitting down at the table, he forced himself to eat. It was harder keeping his eyes away from her when all he wanted to do was look.
The toast popped. She was up before he was. “Jam?”
“No. I have to leave.”
She stopped moving altogether, staring at the red raspberry jam smeared on the bread, knowing that in a few minutes it wouldn’t matter whether he liked her friend’s homemade jam better than any store-bought. She remembered the fair where they’d bought it, the sunshine, the laughter.
She would remember this moment, too.
“I have to go to the Upper Peninsula,” he said without emotion. “Check in with the mine doctor.”
“What time will you be back?”
He didn’t answer right away. This he didn’t want to see. “I don’t know if I’m coming back.”
He looked anyway; he couldn’t help it. From behind the sunglasses he wondered why God let him see again if this was all he’d have to remember Annie by—the hurt and anguish, her determination not to let it show, the courage it took her not to crumble, not in front of him.
All right, look, you selfish bastard, look what you’re doing to her. All because you couldn’t wait.
Annie swallowed a bite of toast, thinking it would never go down. When he left so abruptly this morning, she’d been afraid but only for a moment. He kissed her before going and the fear had vanished. How easily she could be fooled by a gesture.
When she decided her hands weren’t shaking all that badly, she took a sip of her juice. “That’s it then,” she said, swallowing mechanically.
“I’m sorry.” They were the only words that would come out, the only words that weren’t “I love you.” He felt like choking on them.
ELEVEN
Annie couldn’t remember how she got home, only that she was here, hugging herself on the couch, feeling like a scarecrow with the stuffing pulled out.
She’d half expected this. But never, never had she imagined it would end so abruptly. How? Why? He said he loved her. He’d meant it. Unless she’d been wrong about him all along.
Over the next few days she went through the motions. She couldn’t work on her pottery, something about touching, creating; there were too many memories of Cliff out there in the studio.
One morning she woke up. Here she was hiding from the only other thing she loved in life, the thing that might get her through this if she worked hard enough, concentrated hard enough. Marching into her studio like an army retaking a hill, she purposely sought out the pots Cliff had made. Hurled against the wall, the first broke with a satisfying smash. She reached for the chimes. They sang when she touched them, a plaintive ache. She couldn’t destroy them. That was when she sat down and cried.
How could he? Why? Was she that easily fooled?
And what about him? Was the Cliff Sullivan she’d known through so much pain capable of this coldness? Leading a woman on then dropping her the moment he was healed? She reached over to pick up the broken vase. Like an unsolvable puzzle, the pieces just didn’t fit.
“No, Mr. Sullivan, you are not going to discard me like this. I will not go gentle into that good night. In that way we are a lot alike. I’m going to do some raging of my own.”
She had gone it alone, carrying her pain inside, not wanting to burden anyone else with her problems. Wasn’t that his way of dealing with things? Well, she would show him. Real strength meant being vulnerable, reaching out. She’d reach out one more time and demand an explanation. Not yelling, not crying, simply asking and deserving an answer. She loved that man, period. He’d said he loved her.
Annie marched down the beach and pounded on the cottage door. No answer. She went around to the window. Seeing inside was easy; the setting sun lit the cottage’s interior like a movie set. There was no one there. Walking slowly around to the road, feeling the revitalizing determination that accompanied her down the beach seeping away, she noticed the bowls in Kane’s pen were empty and dry, his chain hung up. Whatever tire tracks Cliff’s car had left were blown over with sand. He was gone, had been for days.
He had returned to the Upper Peninsula, two hundred miles and a world away. It was over.
* * *
Annie didn’t know what day it was, how many it had been. Autumn so far was cold and damp, cloudy and miserable, but the weather had nothing on her mood. She worked because she had to, taught because she had to. She signed up to teach Pottery I, Evening Session, at the local college. And never stopped thinking about Cliff.
That was why it didn’t really surprise her two weeks after the breakup to glance up one day and see a man who looked like him walking slowly down the beach, head bowed to the wind. At first she thought she was imagining it, the sunglasses on a stormy gray day, the hunched shoulders. He kept walking, hugging close to the water’s edge. She kept looking.
The next time. Two days later. After dawn. The garage door was down, but Annie had used every excuse to get up and glance out, finishing pot after pot, filling up shelves. This time there was no doubt. He had Kane with him, in the harness.
It was a public beach, she reasoned. The man could go where he wanted.
Like hell.
Holding her hand-loomed sweater closed against the October wind, Annie stalked across the sand toward him. “Why are you haunting me?” Let him deny it. Let him say he was just walking the dog. She wanted answers.
After a long expressionless look, all he said was, “I wanted to see you.” His jaw was tight and clenched, sprinkled with the beginnings of another beard. He turned his head to the pounding water.
