Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) (23 page)

She started to shake her head, but paused. “That may be it.” Her eyes sharpened; Garrick noticed that they were brown, rather nondescript, nowhere near as warm or interesting as Leah’s gray ones. Then she grinned. “That
is
it. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Pagen?”

“Pagen?”

“You know, the guy on television a few years back? Actually, his name was Greg Reynolds. I was a teenager when Pagen was in his heyday. He was one beautiful man.” She blushed, then frowned again. “He disappeared from the scene pretty quickly after the series ended. I wonder what happened to him.”

“Maybe he left the business and went to live in the woods,” Garrick heard himself say.

“Maybe,” she mused, then her look grew skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not him?”

Of course I’m not
, Garrick could have said, or
Are you kidding?
or
No way!
Instead, and for reasons unknown to him, he shrugged.

“You are,” she said, an inkling of excitement in her voice. “You are Greg Reynolds. I can see it now. Your hair’s a little different and you have a beard, but the eyes are the same … and the mouth.” She was looking at the last in a way that made him press it closed.

“You’re not talking,” she announced with a sage nod, then held up one hand. “And your secret’s safe with me. I promise.” Then, suddenly, all pretense of maturity crumbled. “I don’t believe it’s you,” she singsonged, eyes aglitter. “What was it like in Hollywood? It must have been so exciting doing the series! I thought you were wonderful! I’d like to be there for one day—one week—one month! You really
made
it. What have you done since then? Have you ever considered doing something here? You can’t have retired from acting completely, not after … all that!”

“I’ve retired,” he said quietly, but the statement was ineffective in staunching her enthusiasm.

“I had no idea we had a celebrity in our midst. No one else did, either, or word would have spread. My students would
love
to meet you. You’d be an inspiration!”

He shook his head. “I think not.” He took a step to leave, but she put a hand on his sleeve.

“Maybe you’d speak before the theater group. I know the other grad students and the professors would be as excited as I am—”

“Thank you, but I really can’t.”

When he started off, she fell into step beside him. “Just me, then. Would you let me take you to lunch some day? You have no idea how much I’d like to hear about your experiences. God, they’d make a fantastic book. Have you ever thought of writing about your years as Pagen?”

“No,” he said, and quickened his step.

“How about it? Just lunch, or … or dinner? I know a fantastic little place that’s dark and quiet. No one would have to know we were there—”

“I’m really not free.” He strode on.

The young woman stopped, but she couldn’t resist calling after him. “Mr. Reynolds?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t Mr. Reynolds. Not anymore.

T
HAT NIGHT, WHILE HE AND
L
EAH
were finishing off the last of the stew he’d made, Garrick told her what had happened.

“You told her who you were?” Leah asked in astonishment. It was the last thing she’d have expected him to do.

“She guessed, and I didn’t deny it.” He was reclining in his chair, one arm hooked over its back, the other fiddling absently with the spoon he hadn’t used. He looked nearly as confused as Leah. “It was strange. I think I wanted her to know, but for the life of me I can’t understand why. You know how I feel about my anonymity.” He looked up, those wonderful hazel-and-silver eyes clouded. “Why did I do that, Leah?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered quietly. “Did you feel anything … sitting there in the theater?”

“It was interesting. The kids were pretty good. But did I feel envious? No.”

“Did you get the urge to jump up there?”

“God, no.”

“You didn’t miss being on center stage?”

“I didn’t miss being on stage period. I was very happy to be sitting in the dark.”

She breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

“I heard that,” Garrick chided, narrowing one eye. “You were worried.”

“I don’t want you to miss anything about that life,” she said a little evasively, then added, “What about the woman?”

“What about her?”

“Do you think that somehow, maybe subconsciously, you wanted to impress her?”

He shook his head. “No. She was pretty and all, but not like you.”

“But she’s a thespian.”

“Good word, but it has no relevance.”

“Sure, it does. She’s involved in the same kind of life you came from. A person like that might not go gaga over trapping, but she would about acting, particularly big-time acting.”

“What I used to do was small time compared to the people who do Chekov or Williams or—even more so—Shakespeare. No, I wasn’t trying to impress her.”

“Maybe you just got tired of the waiting.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah searched for an example to illustrate her point. The only one was the most obvious, and since it filled so much of her thoughts, she went with it. “There are times,” she began quietly, “when I just want this baby to be born—one way or the other. It’s the waiting and worrying and not knowing that’s so bad. Even if the worst happens, at least I’ll know, so I can go on with my life.”

“Leah …”

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only thing I can think of, and it makes my point. I would assume that for you, it must be nearly as bad wandering around Concord, waiting for someone to recognize you, worrying about what will happen when someone does. Maybe you wanted to get it over with. Maybe one part of you wanted that woman to know who you were.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut and was silent for a minute. “Maybe.”

“How did you feel when the truth came out?”

His tawny brows knit as he tried to verbalize his thoughts. “Weird. A little proud, but a little like an imposter, too. I felt distanced … like she was talking about someone else entirely when she started bombarding me with questions. I felt like I was playing a game, letting her
believe
I was Greg Reynolds, superstar, when I knew that I wasn’t.”

“Did she bring back memories of how the fans used to be?”

“Yes and no. She went all wide-eyed and high-voiced like a typical fan, but I didn’t like it the way I used to. To tell you the truth, it was disgusting. Up to that point, she’d seemed dignified.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I have to admit that I felt damn good walking away from her.”

“Do you think she was offended?”

“Lord, I hope so,” he answered without remorse. “With luck, she’ll dismiss me as a fraud. If she starts blabbing about who I am, things might get a little hairy.”

“She doesn’t know your real name.”

He scowled. “No, but she knows I’m studying Latin. It wouldn’t be hard for her to track me down. Maybe I’ll cut the next class or two and stay here with you.”

“Chicken.”

“Nuh-uh.” He covered her hand with his and began a gentle massage. “I do want to be here with you. It’s getting close.”

“Three weeks.”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“Emotionally?”

“Tired. I meant what I said before. The waiting’s getting to me.”

“Everything’s been fine so far.”

“It was the other two times, too.”

“You’ve never had a ceasarean section before. It’ll minimize stress on the baby during delivery.”

“I hope.”

He squeezed her hand. “It will. Things will work out fine, love. You’ll see. A month from now, we’ll have a squirming little thing on our hands.”

“That’s just what I told myself eight months into two other pregnancies.”

“But this time is different. That’s
my
baby you’re carrying.”

She sighed, then smiled sadly. “Which is precisely why I want it so badly.”

T
HE NEXT WEEK WAS
an uneventful one for Leah, but, then, she’d known it would be. Aside from when she was eating or using the bathroom, she remained in bed. She didn’t do much reading because she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She didn’t do much weaving because, with the bulk of the loom and that of her stomach, she couldn’t get comfortable. She listened to music, which was fine for a time, particularly since Garrick kept her supplied with new tapes that they both enjoyed. Susan came to visit often, usually—and deliberately, Leah suspected, to keep an eye on her—while Garrick was in school.

She didn’t do much work of the official puzzle-making variety because she’d declared herself on a temporary leave of absence. But she found herself working on that private puzzle, the one involving words that related to what she’d fondly come to think of as the life and times of Garrick and Leah. It was a whimsical endeavor and it helped keep her occupied.

Garrick’s week wasn’t quite as uneventful. He went back to school without missing a class, and though he was edgy during the first two days, he saw no sign of the young woman from the theater. On the third day, just when he was beginning to relax again, she accosted him as he was leaving his class.

“I have to talk to you for a minute, Mr. Reynolds,” she said quickly and a little nervously as she fell into step beside him. “I was serious about what I said the other day. It would mean the world to all of us if you would agree to speak.”

He kept walking at the same even pace. “I have nothing to say.”

“But you do. You’ve had experiences we’ve only dreamed of having.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“You are. After we talked the other day, I went to the library and pored through the microfilms. The last anyone heard from or saw of Greg Reynolds was shortly before an automobile accident. The accident was reported in the papers. Greg Reynolds survived it, then disappeared. With your face and body, it would be too much of a coincidence to think that you’re not him.”

He sliced her a glance, but she went on, clearly proud of herself.

“I researched further. Greg Reynolds’s real name is Garrick Rodenhiser. That’s the name you’ve enrolled under here.”

Garrick stopped then. “I’m a private citizen, Miss—”

“Schumacher. Liza Schumacher.”

“I don’t give talks, Miss Schumacher—”

“Liza. We could keep it to a small group, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer,” he said quietly, almost beseechingly, “to have my privacy respected.”

“We’d pay you—”

“No, thanks.” He started off again.

“An hour. A
half
-hour. That’s all we’d ask—”

But he simply shook his head and kept going. Fortunately she didn’t follow.

Again he told Leah about the encounter. Again she explored his feelings about it. “Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

“Speak? Are you kidding?”

“She’s right, in a way. You have had the kind of experience that many of them want. It’s not unusual for representatives of different careers to talk to groups of students.”

“Whose side are you on, Leah?”

“Yours. You know that.”

Thrusting his legs from the bed, he landed on his feet and stalked off to the window. “Well, I don’t want to speak—before students or any other group. For one thing, I don’t think much of the kind of experience I had. For another, I don’t relish the idea of confessing my sins to an audience.”

“There was a positive side to what you did.”

“Mmm. Somewhere. I can’t seem to see it, though. I suppose I could make up a good story. …”

“Garrick …”

He continued to stare out the window.

“Why—really—won’t you speak?”

He was silent for several more minutes, but he knew that Leah suspected the truth. It remained to be seen whether he had the courage to confirm it.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered at last. “The truth of it is that deep down inside, I’m afraid I’ll like the feeling of power that comes when you’ve got an audience in your thrall—the rapt faces, the adulation, the applause. If I do it once, I may want to do it again, and if I do it a second time, a third could follow, and by that time I could be hooked on how wonderful I am.”

“You are wonderful.”

He bent his head and smiled, then turned and retraced his steps to the bed. Stretching out on his stomach before Leah, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. “You’re the only one I want to hear saying that, because you’re the only one who knows the real me. I’ve never talked to anyone the way I have to you. You’re better than an analyst any day.”

Leah wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of being an analyst, because knowing another person’s thoughts meant knowing his fears, and Garrick still had many. She thought he’d made progress since he’d been in Concord, and perhaps, to some extent, he had—but he still didn’t trust himself. And that frightened her. She knew that she’d need his strength in the coming weeks and she didn’t want anything to dilute it.

“I’ll settle for being your soul mate,” she said, and offered her lips for a kiss.

T
HE SUDDEN SNOWSTORM THAT HIT
during the first week of December did nothing for Leah’s peace of mind. True, Garrick’s classes were canceled, so he stayed home with her. But she had visions of going into premature labor while they were snowbound, in which case everything they’d gone through might have been in vain.

They weren’t truly snowbound, as it happened. Nor did she go into premature labor. Day by day, though, she felt the baby move lower, and though Gregory had made arrangements to do the section on the fifteenth of December, she wondered if Garrick’s monster would wait that long.

It was harder to see Garrick off to class now. She was physically uncomfortable and emotionally strung out. Only when he was with her could she begin to relax, knowing that he’d take over if something happened. But she did send him off. She felt he needed it, in more respects than the obvious one of taking his mind off the baby and her.

On the eleventh of December she wished she’d been more selfish.

10

G
ARRICK LEFT CLASS
and walked to his car, but he’d barely reached for the door, when a loud call echoed across the parking lot.