Now and Forever (19 page)

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" He looked momentarily confused.

"I mean why should we scramble everything up now? Why should you suddenly take on the whole burden? I love working; it's not a burden for me. It's fun."

"Can't kids be fun too?"

"I didn't say they weren't." Her face was as tight as a drum.

"But?"

"Oh, for Chrissake, Ian, why do we have to get into that now?" That one hadn't come up in years.

"I didn't say now. We're just talking what if's."

"That's ridiculous. It's like playing games." She turned away and suddenly felt Ian's hand on her arm. Hard.

"It's not like playing games. I'm serious, Jessie. I've turned myself into a fucking gigolo in the last six years. I'm a failure as a writer, and I just balled some two-bit tramp and got falsely accused of rape. I'm trying to figure out what means something in my life and what doesn't, and what needs changing. And maybe part of what needs changing is us. Not even maybe. I know it does. Now are you going to listen, and talk to me, or aren't you?"

She sat silent, looking at him. But she knew she had no choice. He let go of her arm and poured two more glasses of wine. "I'm sorry. But this is important to me, Jess."

"Okay. I'll try." She look the glass of wine and sighed deeply as she looked up at the sky. "All this because I told you that you make me happy? Oy very ... I should have kept my mouth shut!" She smiled back at him, and he kissed her again.

"I know. I'm a bastard. But Jessie ... I want to make it work with us. I want to make it better. I don't want to go screwing other women, or hating myself or ... it matters. It really matters. And I'm glad I make you happy, and you make me happy too. Very happy. But we can do better, I know we can. I've got to feel like your husband, like a man, like I carry the weight, or most of it at least, even if it means selling the house and living someplace where I can pay our rent. But I need to do things like that for you. I'm tired of having you 'take care' of me. And I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Jess, but ... I just need to, dammit."

"Okay. But why? Why now? Because of that idiot woman? Margaret Burton? Because of her, you have to give up writing and move us into some shack in the Mission where you can pay the rent?" She was getting bitchy now and he didn't like it. The comment hadn't missed its mark.

"No, sweetheart. Margaret Burton is just a symptom, just like the hundred or two hundred pieces of as before her. Is that how you want to play this, Jessie? Shitty, or straight? Take your pick. I'm willing to play either way."

She polished off the rest of her wine at a gulp and shrugged. "I just don't get the point."

"Maybe that is the point. Just like when I talk about having a child. You don't get the point of that either, do you? Doesn't that mean anything to you at all, Jessie?"

She shook her head solemnly, looking down, avoiding his eyes.

"I just don't understand that. Why? Look at me, dammit. This is important to me. To both of us." But when she looked up, he was surprised.

"It scares me."

"A baby?" She had never admitted that to him before. Usually she'd gotten nasty about it and closed the subject rapidly. It made him feel tender toward her to hear that. Scared?

"It scares you physically?" He reached for her hand gently and held it.

"No. It ... I'd have to share you, Ian, and I ... I can't." Tears swam in her eyes and her chin trembled as she looked at him. "I really can't share you, Ian. I can't, not ever. You're all I have. You're ..."

"Oh, baby ..." He took her in his arms and rocked her gently, tears stinging his own eyes. "What a crazy thing to think. A baby's not like that. It would never be. We're special. A baby would be something more, not less."

"Yes, but it would be yours. Real family." And then he understood. He had his parents, of course, but they were so remote and so old. He hardly ever saw them. But a baby would be so present, so real.

"You're my real family, silly. You'll always be my real family." How often had he told her that, after her parents had died? A thousand times? Ten thousand? It was strange to think back to those days. She had been so fiercely independent and sure of herself when he'd married her. But she had loved both her parents and adored her brother; just hearing her speak of them was like hearing reminiscences of very dear friends who had had a marvelous time together. And spending time with them was an extraordinary experience--four exceedingly handsome people, with lightning minds and quick laughter and immeasurable style. They'd been quite something. And when they were gone, part of her went too. Not an obvious part. She still had as much spirit, as much life, as much style, but suddenly in her soul she was an orphan. She had loved Ian before, but she hadn't needed him in the same way. Then she'd become like a frightened child lost in a war zone, stricken, scared, wandering from the burnt shell of one memory to another. Lost and alone. The attempted suicide had come after Jake. And it had left her different. Dependent. It was Ian who had led her to safety again after that. That was when she had started calling him "real family." Where before their closeness had been a loosely woven, sparkling mesh, suddenly there was nothing loose about it, and over the years it had all gotten too goddam tight. And now there wasn't even room in her heart for a child. He had known that for a long time, but he had thought that eventually the panic would ebb. It hadn't, now he was sure of it. Her own needs were still too intense, and probably always would be. It was a bitter thing for him to accept.

"Oh, God, Ian, I love you so much and I'm so scared ... I'm so fucking scared." He felt her in his arms again, his mind pulled back to her, away from his own thoughts. She took a deep breath and held tightly to him as he slowly stroked her hair, thinking of what he now understood and had to accept. Had to. Nothing was ever going to change. Oh, some things would, and he was going to see about making those changes, but she was never going to stand on her own two feet again, not entirely, not enough for them both to reach out to a child.

"I'm scared too, Jess. But it's going to be okay."

"How can it be okay if you're going to change everything after we get through this? You want me to sell the shop, have a baby, and you're going to stop writing and get a job and make us move and ... oh, Ian! It sounds horrible!" She sobbed in his arms again and he laughed softly as he held her. Maybe she was all he needed. Maybe it wasn't even normal for a man to want a child as much as he did. Maybe it was just an ego trip. He brushed the thoughts from his mind.

"Jesus, did I say I was going to change all that? It does sound pretty heavy. Maybe we should just pick a couple of things, like I'll have a baby, and you get a job, and ... I'm sorry, babe, I didn't mean to hit you with ten thousand things at once. I just know that something needs fixing."

"But all that?"

"No, probably not all that. And not unless you agree with me. It wouldn't work otherwise. We've both got to want it."

"But you make it sound like our life will never be the same again."

"Maybe it won't, Jessie. Maybe it shouldn't be. Did you ever think of that?"

"No."

"And you're not going to, either, huh? Look at you, hunched over like an Indian squaw, trying not to hear anything I'm telling you, with an ant crawling up your arm ..." He waited. It took half a second. She leapt to her feet with a scream.

"A what?"

"Oh ... tsk ... how could I forget? That's right, you're afraid of ants." He brushed her sleeve lightly as he stood up next to her and she punched him in the chest.

"Goddam you, Ian Clarke! We're having a serious talk and how can you do that to me! There was no ant on me, was there? Was there?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"I hate you!" She was still trembling with a jumble of emotions, terror and fury and fear because of the ant, and the much more real emotions of moments before. He'd invented the ant to lighten the mood.

It was a reprieve. Ian was good at them.

"What do you mean, you hate me? You said I made you happy." He looked all innocence as he put his arms around her.

"Don't touch me!" But she was limp in his arms and trying hard to conceal a smile. "You know--" her voice was soft again now--"sometimes I wonder if you really love me."

"Sometimes everyone wonders stuff like that, Jess. You can't have the kind of ironclad guarantees you want, sweetheart. I love you just as much as your mother and father did, just as much as Jake did, just as much as ... anyone. But I'm not them. I'm me, your husband, a man, just like you're my wife, not my mother. And maybe one day you'll get sick of me and walk off into the sunset with someone else. Mothers aren't supposed to do that to their kids, but wives do that sometimes. I have to accept that."

"Are you trying to tell me something?" She was suddenly stiff in his arms.

"No, silly, only that I love you. And that I can only be and do so much. I think I'm trying to tell you not to be so insecure and not to worry so much. Sometimes I think that's why you put up with so much shit from me, and pay the bills and all the rest, because that way you know you've got me. But I'll tell you a secret--that way you don't got me. As it so happens you've got me, but for all the other reasons."

"Like what?" She was smiling again.

"Oh ... like the beautiful way you sew."

"Sew? I can't sew." She looked at him strangely and then started to laugh.

"You can't?"

"Nope."

"I'll teach you."

"You're adorable."

"Come to think of it lady, so are you. Which reminds me. Reach into my pocket." Her eyebrows lifted with interest and she grinned mischievously at him.

"A surprise for me?"

"No, my laundry bill."

"Creep." But she slipped her hand carefully into his jacket pocket as they talked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. It was easy to find the little square box. She pulled it out with a grin and held it clutched in her hand.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"This is the best part." She giggled again and he grinned at her.

"It's not the Hope diamond, I promise."

"It's not?"

"Oh, for Chrissake ..." And then she suddenly snapped open the box. And he watched.

"Oh ... it's ... oh, Ian! You nut!" She gave a whoop of laughter and looked at it again. "How in God's name did you get it?"

"I saw it, and I knew you had to have it."

She laughed again and started to put it on. It was a thin gold chain with a gold pendant shaped like a lima bean. The thing she had hated most in the world as a child.

"Good God, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd wear one of the bloody things. And in gold, yet." She laughed again, kissed him, and tucked in her chin to look down at the small gold nugget on its chain.

"Actually, it looks very elegant. If you didn't know what it was, you'd never guess. I had a choice between a kidney bean, a lima bean, and some other kind of bean. They're done by the same very fancy designer, I'll have you know."

"And you just saw it in a window?"

"Yep. And I figured that if you have faith as a mustard seed, you can move mountains and all that stuff. So hell, if you have faith like a lima bean, you can probably move half the world."

"Which half?"

"Any half, sexy lady. Come on, let's go back to the hotel."

"Lima beans ... sweetheart, you're crazy. May I ask how large a portion of your fortune this sensational lima bean cost you?" She had noticed that it was eighteen-karat gold and that the box was from a very extravagant store.

"You most certainly may not. How can you ask such a thing?"

"Curiosity."

"Well, don't be so curious. And do me a favor. Don't eat it." She laughed again and bit his neck as she reached over for the rest of the wine.

"Sweetheart, there is one thing you can bet on. I ain't never gonna eat lima beans. Not even a gold one." And then they both burst into laughter, because that was exactly what she had told him the first time he had cooked dinner for her at his place eight years before.

He had fixed roast pork, mashed potatoes, and lima beans. She had devoured the meat and potatoes, but he had found her rapidly shoveling lima beans into her handbag when he'd come back from the kitchen with the glass of water she'd requested, and she had looked at him, thrown up her hands, burst into laughter and said, "Ian, I ain't never gonna eat lima beans. Not even if they're solid gold." And this one was indeed solid gold. For the tiniest of moments, her stomach felt queasy at the thought of the expense. But that was Ian. They were going down the tubes in style. With picnics and passion and gold.

The mood for the rest of the weekend was sheer holiday spirit. Jessica flashed her gold lima bean at every possible opportunity, and they teased and hugged and kissed. L'Auberge restored their love life to what it had always been. They had dinner by candlelight in their room--a feast of fried chicken from a nearby take-out place, devoured with a small bottle of champagne they had bought on the way back to the hotel. They giggled like children and played like honeymooners, and the threats of the morning were forgotten. Everything was forgotten except Ian and Jessie. They were the only people who mattered.

The only sorrow, and it was a hidden one, was Ian's hope of a child, now put away. Insanely, desperately, he had wanted to father a child, now, before the trial, before ... what if ... who knew what was coming? A year from then he could be in prison or dead. It wasn't a cheerful way to look at things, but the realities were beginning to frighten him. And the possibilities were even more terrifying when he let himself think of them. A baby would be a fresh blade of glass springing from ashes. But now that he understood how panicked Jessie still was, the subject was closed. His books were his children. He would simply work that much harder on the new book.

On Sunday, Jessie bought Ian a Sherlock Holmes hat and a corncob pipe. They shared a banana split for lunch, then rented a tandem bike and rode around near the hotel, laughing at their lack of precision. Jessica collapsed when faced with a hill.